LOG: Prefer Someone Raised Local
Date: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 22
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Gabrion and Taikrin also want wine seal. Taikrin has questions.
K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large, tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.
The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area, is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.
Gabrion appears at the entry to K'del's weyr, with someone else behind him. His face is ... interesting-looking; the brusies have started to fade to glorious yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. He looks cheerful enough despite that. On seeing that K'del is, in fact, here, he clears his through and scuffs his foot on the stone to announce his presence.
Having already been interrupted once this afternoon, K'del doesn't look too surprised at the sound of that scuffing foot. He's settled on the couch, though, all curled up and comfortable with the fire just in front of him, and he doesn't move to stand. Just: "Come on in." He /does/ turn his head to look at the new arrivals, his expression narrowing distinctly at the sight of Gabrion's face.
Taikrin is not hiding behind Gabrion, really! Because that would be silly, given not only that she's still quite a bit taller than the boy but that he's still looking pretty rough around the edges. Hovering uncertainly behind Gabe is just a /strategic/ move, really, and the nervous whisper is just to lull everyone into a false sense of security. "Y'/sure/ it's okay for us t'be here? I dunno 'bout this whole game thing, but this's--" She jumps at the greeting, then stiffens her spine in defensive response while directing a gruff, "Uh. Sir," towards K'del.
Gabrion steps forward into the weyr, though he seems to shrink a little, when K'del looks at him that way. "It's fine," he says to Taikrin, distractedly. "He's just the weyrleader, not a Lord Holder or something." Thus says the weyrbrat! "Hello, weyrleader," he greets K'del very politely. "We were wondering if we could have one of those wine seals, for the scavenger hunt. I hope we haven't interrupted you."
K'del's gaze leaves Gabrion's face long enough to consider Taikrin, enough recognition lingering there that he manages an easy enough smile for her. "It's fine," he assures them both, unconsciously echoing the male candidate. "Come on in, let me dig something up for you. If I wasn't willing to be interrupted, wouldn't have signed up, would I?" Even if, by his expression, he's possibly regretting it. /Now/ he draws himself from the couch, heading towards the desk in the corner.
"S'worse, Gabe, not better," is the muttered remark back to the other candidate, but Taikrin otherwise subsides without further complaint. She continues to drift in Gabrion's wake, gaze darting around the room to assess occupants an exits in a habitual sort of way. "We ain't meanin' t'be a bother," she adds, despite the reassurances. "Guard Jerron said we weren't t'interrupt if y'were busy." That would be the guard assigned to Taikrin today, then. She's silent for a moment, neck craning to follow K'del's movements, then blurts suddenly, "Yer family really makes /wine/, sir? They ain't all riders?"
Gabrion grins at Taikrin, but he takes K'del's word at face value. "See, told you it was fine," he tells her. "Thank you, sir," he adds, for K'del's benefit. He gets a kick out of Taikrin's question. "My mom's a rider, but she comes from a trader family," he tells her, then looks back to K'del. "You came from out of the weyr too, right, weyrleader?"
"Know you're not," says K'del, easily, putting that in before the questions about his background. /Those/ questions make him laugh, and he turns his head about, the rest of him still facing the desk, to shake it firmly. "First rider in my family, s'far as I know," he reports. "We-- /they/ grow grapes. Brother-in-law's family makes the wine." His handles fumble around in the desk: he's clearly not /that/ prepared. "Plenty of riders're hold bred. Or craft, or trader or whatever."
Taikrin does not look terribly pleased at everyone's amusement, though she attempts to halt the burgeoning scowl with a toothily-unnatural smile. "Well, I just reckoned maybe th'/important/ riders were weyrbred, like. Weyrwoman said she was, an' her da an' all," is the defensive response that's only a few hairs shy of a snap. Her arms fold across her chest, the casted one tucked carefully atop the other. "Ain't th'dragons prefer someone raised local, like? Uh, sir?" At least some of her overt nervousness has been lost in the rising tide of irritation.
"Ezalea wasn't," Gabe points out, perhaps too cheerfully, given the history there. "Right? She was from one of those little holds, wasn't she?" He looks to K'del for confirmation. "I don't think it matters to the dragons where somebody is born." Not that he knows, because who does? but that's not going to stop him from holding forth about his opinions.
Apologetic, K'del says, "Didn't mean to laugh at you." And that seems genuine enough, his gaze reaching out towards Taikrin: he's smiling, still, but not in a laughing way. "But--right. Ezalea wasn't. She's from Balen. And Satiet, our former Weyrwoman, she was from a fishing hold in Tillek, I think." He finally seems to get what he wants from the desk, and takes a couple of steps back towards the pair. "Not really sure /what/ it is they look for. Just know that they know who they want, and there doesn't much seem to be rhyme or reason to it."
"Eza-- Ezawho?" Taikrin looks, uncertainly, from K'del to Gabrion then back again, still wary for amusement directed her way. At mention of 'weyrwoman', though, a measure of comprehension dawns. "I wouldn'a reckoned, them bein' so keen on outsiders." Her response is gruff, gaze lowering. She moves to gently nudge Gabe's back with an elbow, then, with an abrupt change of subject. "What's all else on our list, then? We ain't s'pposed t'get th'lecture from th'Weyrleader too, is we?"
"No, that's W'chek," Gabe says sourly, ducking the question about Ezalea. "I already /got/ a lecture from him." He gestures toward his much-abused face. "We could go see if the Headwoman's in, though? We're supposed to get uh... a kiss from her." Which ought to be interesting.
K'del opens his mouth, presumably to explain Ezalea, but her evident comprehension forstalls himself. Offering over the seal, once he gets close enough, his face has turned more serious-- probably due to mention of W'chek. "Reckon that counts for a lecture and a half." Poor face. But; "Bet Milani'd be willing to kiss a cheek, or something. But... you'll have to work the rest out for yourselves, I guess."
Taikrin's good fist tightens at mention of W'chek, and the scowl that'd been threatening to emerge all afternoon finally makes a full appearance. "Like t'give him a lecture, I would," is muttered half under her breath. Still, she reaches out to take the seal, offering a curt nod to K'del. "Uh, thanks. Weyrleader, sir. Best we shouldn't bother y'all afternoon, like." A pause, then, as Taikrin expression grows tighter in an entirely different way and her voice grows strangled. "A /kiss/ from th'Headwoman?"
Gabrion aims an elbow at Taikrin's side. "He says it counts!" he says, triumphant. "Nice. Thanks, Weyrleader." He's all smiles: two down, however many to go. As for the kiss: "Yeah," he says to Taikrin as he turns to head out of the weyr. "Are you into girls?"
"You're welcome," says K'del, more firm and formal than his other statements, on the whole, have been. "Good luck?" His expression begins to twitch pretty quickly, though; he obviously finds Taikrin's reaction to the kissing /distinctly/ amusing. Thus, he stands, watching them go.
Taikrin turns to follow after Gabrion-- and promptly trips over her own feet at his question and comes to a complate standstill. She splutters for a moment, then demands, "What th' bloody-- what th'bloody shells kinda question is /that/?!" She remains there for a moment, staring at Gabrion's retreating back, before darting a quick glance over her shoulder at K'del. Movement suddenly returns, then, in a graceless lumber after the other candidate, as she calls out in an even more strangled voice, "/Gabe/!!"
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Gabrion and Taikrin also want wine seal. Taikrin has questions.
K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large, tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.
The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area, is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.
Gabrion appears at the entry to K'del's weyr, with someone else behind him. His face is ... interesting-looking; the brusies have started to fade to glorious yellows and greens, and his nose is still red, though less swollen. He looks cheerful enough despite that. On seeing that K'del is, in fact, here, he clears his through and scuffs his foot on the stone to announce his presence.
Having already been interrupted once this afternoon, K'del doesn't look too surprised at the sound of that scuffing foot. He's settled on the couch, though, all curled up and comfortable with the fire just in front of him, and he doesn't move to stand. Just: "Come on in." He /does/ turn his head to look at the new arrivals, his expression narrowing distinctly at the sight of Gabrion's face.
Taikrin is not hiding behind Gabrion, really! Because that would be silly, given not only that she's still quite a bit taller than the boy but that he's still looking pretty rough around the edges. Hovering uncertainly behind Gabe is just a /strategic/ move, really, and the nervous whisper is just to lull everyone into a false sense of security. "Y'/sure/ it's okay for us t'be here? I dunno 'bout this whole game thing, but this's--" She jumps at the greeting, then stiffens her spine in defensive response while directing a gruff, "Uh. Sir," towards K'del.
Gabrion steps forward into the weyr, though he seems to shrink a little, when K'del looks at him that way. "It's fine," he says to Taikrin, distractedly. "He's just the weyrleader, not a Lord Holder or something." Thus says the weyrbrat! "Hello, weyrleader," he greets K'del very politely. "We were wondering if we could have one of those wine seals, for the scavenger hunt. I hope we haven't interrupted you."
K'del's gaze leaves Gabrion's face long enough to consider Taikrin, enough recognition lingering there that he manages an easy enough smile for her. "It's fine," he assures them both, unconsciously echoing the male candidate. "Come on in, let me dig something up for you. If I wasn't willing to be interrupted, wouldn't have signed up, would I?" Even if, by his expression, he's possibly regretting it. /Now/ he draws himself from the couch, heading towards the desk in the corner.
"S'worse, Gabe, not better," is the muttered remark back to the other candidate, but Taikrin otherwise subsides without further complaint. She continues to drift in Gabrion's wake, gaze darting around the room to assess occupants an exits in a habitual sort of way. "We ain't meanin' t'be a bother," she adds, despite the reassurances. "Guard Jerron said we weren't t'interrupt if y'were busy." That would be the guard assigned to Taikrin today, then. She's silent for a moment, neck craning to follow K'del's movements, then blurts suddenly, "Yer family really makes /wine/, sir? They ain't all riders?"
Gabrion grins at Taikrin, but he takes K'del's word at face value. "See, told you it was fine," he tells her. "Thank you, sir," he adds, for K'del's benefit. He gets a kick out of Taikrin's question. "My mom's a rider, but she comes from a trader family," he tells her, then looks back to K'del. "You came from out of the weyr too, right, weyrleader?"
"Know you're not," says K'del, easily, putting that in before the questions about his background. /Those/ questions make him laugh, and he turns his head about, the rest of him still facing the desk, to shake it firmly. "First rider in my family, s'far as I know," he reports. "We-- /they/ grow grapes. Brother-in-law's family makes the wine." His handles fumble around in the desk: he's clearly not /that/ prepared. "Plenty of riders're hold bred. Or craft, or trader or whatever."
Taikrin does not look terribly pleased at everyone's amusement, though she attempts to halt the burgeoning scowl with a toothily-unnatural smile. "Well, I just reckoned maybe th'/important/ riders were weyrbred, like. Weyrwoman said she was, an' her da an' all," is the defensive response that's only a few hairs shy of a snap. Her arms fold across her chest, the casted one tucked carefully atop the other. "Ain't th'dragons prefer someone raised local, like? Uh, sir?" At least some of her overt nervousness has been lost in the rising tide of irritation.
"Ezalea wasn't," Gabe points out, perhaps too cheerfully, given the history there. "Right? She was from one of those little holds, wasn't she?" He looks to K'del for confirmation. "I don't think it matters to the dragons where somebody is born." Not that he knows, because who does? but that's not going to stop him from holding forth about his opinions.
Apologetic, K'del says, "Didn't mean to laugh at you." And that seems genuine enough, his gaze reaching out towards Taikrin: he's smiling, still, but not in a laughing way. "But--right. Ezalea wasn't. She's from Balen. And Satiet, our former Weyrwoman, she was from a fishing hold in Tillek, I think." He finally seems to get what he wants from the desk, and takes a couple of steps back towards the pair. "Not really sure /what/ it is they look for. Just know that they know who they want, and there doesn't much seem to be rhyme or reason to it."
"Eza-- Ezawho?" Taikrin looks, uncertainly, from K'del to Gabrion then back again, still wary for amusement directed her way. At mention of 'weyrwoman', though, a measure of comprehension dawns. "I wouldn'a reckoned, them bein' so keen on outsiders." Her response is gruff, gaze lowering. She moves to gently nudge Gabe's back with an elbow, then, with an abrupt change of subject. "What's all else on our list, then? We ain't s'pposed t'get th'lecture from th'Weyrleader too, is we?"
"No, that's W'chek," Gabe says sourly, ducking the question about Ezalea. "I already /got/ a lecture from him." He gestures toward his much-abused face. "We could go see if the Headwoman's in, though? We're supposed to get uh... a kiss from her." Which ought to be interesting.
K'del opens his mouth, presumably to explain Ezalea, but her evident comprehension forstalls himself. Offering over the seal, once he gets close enough, his face has turned more serious-- probably due to mention of W'chek. "Reckon that counts for a lecture and a half." Poor face. But; "Bet Milani'd be willing to kiss a cheek, or something. But... you'll have to work the rest out for yourselves, I guess."
Taikrin's good fist tightens at mention of W'chek, and the scowl that'd been threatening to emerge all afternoon finally makes a full appearance. "Like t'give him a lecture, I would," is muttered half under her breath. Still, she reaches out to take the seal, offering a curt nod to K'del. "Uh, thanks. Weyrleader, sir. Best we shouldn't bother y'all afternoon, like." A pause, then, as Taikrin expression grows tighter in an entirely different way and her voice grows strangled. "A /kiss/ from th'Headwoman?"
Gabrion aims an elbow at Taikrin's side. "He says it counts!" he says, triumphant. "Nice. Thanks, Weyrleader." He's all smiles: two down, however many to go. As for the kiss: "Yeah," he says to Taikrin as he turns to head out of the weyr. "Are you into girls?"
"You're welcome," says K'del, more firm and formal than his other statements, on the whole, have been. "Good luck?" His expression begins to twitch pretty quickly, though; he obviously finds Taikrin's reaction to the kissing /distinctly/ amusing. Thus, he stands, watching them go.
Taikrin turns to follow after Gabrion-- and promptly trips over her own feet at his question and comes to a complate standstill. She splutters for a moment, then demands, "What th' bloody-- what th'bloody shells kinda question is /that/?!" She remains there for a moment, staring at Gabrion's retreating back, before darting a quick glance over her shoulder at K'del. Movement suddenly returns, then, in a graceless lumber after the other candidate, as she calls out in an even more strangled voice, "/Gabe/!!"