LOG: At Fort.
Date: Day 24, Month 4, Turn 25
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Taikrin reports in.
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.
Dragon> There's a distant sort of distress echoed in Vrianth's rough voice, not hers, but heard and overheard. She does not hesitate to interrupt. << Cadejoth. >> Cad-e-joth, it could have been. << Your rider, where is he. We send Szadath's to him. He must know. >> Flickering imagery underlies her words: an all-but-somnolent brown, a sense of distance, distant calamity she will not touch. A rider, pacing. Hers, standing. The reek of numbweed that she passes along to him without, entirely, bothering to smell it herself. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> It takes but a moment for the clink of Cadejoth's chains to register that oh-so-distant distress; he amplifies it, seeking without actually asking. << Vrianth. >> And Szadath: it doesn't seem to surprise him, that /Szadath/ would be involved. << Our weyr. Send his to our place, and we will deal with them. >> /Deal/. Because - surely - there must be something to be dealt with. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> His weyr? Something about that is... entertaining, a gleam of light on a wavelength beyond even dragonsight. It might flick along a link or two, if it could. << Simple enough. >> Which is to say, perhaps even Szadath should know where that is, and manage it. For more than one reason. << You should find him soon nearby, and her. >> Along with... but Vrianth does not say. Nor why. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> And why shouldn't he be in his weyr - it being his, and no one else's! Theirs, anyway. K'del, and Cadejoth, and-- well, all right, /others/. But still: theirs. << Preparations will be made, >> he reports, with a shuddering flick of chains that don't entirely hide the growing curiosity beneath their touch. << Thank you for the warning. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Report to her, as he should... the gleam brightens. Warms. He's welcome. ... She's gone. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
It's a rough-looking brownrider indeed who finds her way up K'del's ledge. She's not drunk yet, but sure looks like she /wants/ to be. With Szadath firmly ensconced on Iskiveth's ledge again -- and probably as wrapped around her as the pointy queen will allow -- there's nobody to announce her presence but herself, so she calls, "Weyrleader?" Taikrin hesitates just outside the led. "Leova said y'wanted to see me, to-- uh--" Clearly unwilling to volunteer more, she simply settles for falling silent.
It's Cadejoth that beckons the brownrider further inwards, turning his rapidly whirling gaze onto her before flicking his tail towards the awaiting weyr - a clear invitation. It's one that K'del echoes a moment later, his tone even enough, though inclined towards the formal. "/Leova/ said that you needed to see /me/," he says, invisibly; inside, he's settled in one of the armchairs with a glass of whiskey, despite the early afternoon hour. "Come in."
Taikrin doesn't contradict K'del, though she doesn't confirm, either. She drags her way into the weyr, reluctantly, and seems to take some solace in assuming a weyrling-report posture: posture straight, hands clasped behind her back, no real expression to speak of. "I was, uh, at Fort. Sir." In case he hasn't heard.
It's obvious in an instant that K'del has grasped what Taikrin's talking about; that he has already heard about happenings at Fort. He doesn't /seem/ to have been aware of Taikrin's part in the whole mess, though, because his eyes have gone wide. "Shells," he-- breathes, mostly, just barely making the sound audible. "Come in. Sit. Whiskey? Then: tell me /exactly/ what happened."
"Uh," Taikrin swallows, uncertainly, but after a moment's hesitation does take the offered seat-- even if she does only sit on the very edge. "Yeah. That'd be-- good." She's silent again, reluctant to tell the story... or perhaps unsure of where to start. Finally, she volunteers, "Really, we just wanted to go to Boll, you know? Beach and all?"
Getting up from his seat, pouring a second glass, handing it across to the brownrider; all of this gives K'del something to do for a few moments, before he actually has to respond. There's silence, then, until he's back in his seat and taking up his own glass again, and then: "Right. Boll. Beach. But you ended up at Fort, instead?"
"Well, Szad, he pinged on the queen, you know? Said we ought to go, and, you know... practice." The last is mumbled around her quick gulp of whiskey. "Nothing serious. And anyways we ain't ever been, and we were bored, and-- uh. Anyways. Wasn't a big deal, y'know? Didn't mean nothing by it." Taikrin still isn't very clear on /which/ queen they were after.
There's dubiousness in K'del's expression - and, well. Perhaps it's politeness that doesn't have him remarking on the /closed/ nature of Elaruth's flights. Or maybe it's something else. He does however repeat, meaningfully: "'Practice'. Right. So. You ended up at Fort. A queen was rising. Elaruth?"
"I guess that was the one what was goin' up from the Weyr? Szad kind of-- we kind of lost track. I dunno which one he picked up on. The other one came out of nowhere, you know? Like she was hangin' around nearby. And both of the weyrwomen were there--" Taikrin breaks off, draining the remainder of her glass quickly. "The darker one came out of nowhere, came right /at/ the other one."
"I guess that was the one what was goin' up from the Weyr? Szad kind of-- we kind of lost track. I dunno which one he picked up on. The other one came out of nowhere, you know? Like she was hangin' around nearby. And both of the weyrwomen were there--" Taikrin breaks off, draining the remainder of her glass quickly. "The darker one came out of nowhere, came right /at/ the other one."
K'del mouths, rather than actually says, 'lost track'. There's disbelief in his expression, but he shuts his mouth, aims for his drink, and listens, instead. This time, he actually does speak, though, albeit quietly. "Came right at her. Shells. Like it was intentional?" His disbelief is rather stronger for this, as though he honestly can't get his head around anyone being quite so stupid. "So they fought."
"It's all kind of fuzzy," Taikrin retorts defensively. "Weren't quite /thinkin'/ about things. I ain't-- the whole thing was just-- /yeah/, like out of nowhere. I dunno where she was hiding, but then they were /biting/ each other and we didn't know what to /do/. Some bronze got in the middle, and I think he got bit up too, and--" She tips the glass back to finish it off, only to frown when she realizes that her drink is empty. "I don't think they died. And-- shells, I gotta clean Szad up." Taikrin gives a start in her seat, as if the thought had only just occured to her.
K'del holds up his hand in an apparent attempt to forestall Taikrin's departure; he indicates the whiskey bottle with his head instead, apparently a 'help yourself' kind of thing. "Sure he can wait a little longer, Taikrin. If he's survived this far. You've obviously already seen Leova." Implication: dragonhealers. He's utterly serious as he continues, his frown deep set into his face. "You managed to separate them. You-- someone. That bronzerider? And were both caught? What happened next?"
Taikrin does pop to her feet, though at least it's just to refill her glass. "Guess they did. They were-- fighing on the ground too, you know? And I was tryin' to help, too, and Szadath didn't know what to do, and we weren't really-- /thinking/. You know?" She makes a gesture of helplessness as she struggles to convey the mid-flight mindset. "One of 'em almost got Szad, when she was going by. Up. He could'a caught her, I guess, but-- there was all that /blood/ and we just-- wanted out."
The breath K'del lets out, now, is a ragged one; emotional. "Shells," he whispers again, breathing out the word with just the faintest amount of volume. "No. 'course you weren't thinking. None of you were-- suppose that's the problem. Though. That /junior/. Is she mad?" Despite his words, he doesn't seem to think that's likely, the way his gaze narrows towards the floor. "Got to be more to it. Her. 'less she's just weak-willed and refused to go away." His musings pause after a moment, and he turns his attention back to Taikrin. "Szadath is not too badly hurt, I take it?"
"I dunno. I still-- I ain't sure which is which. The senior-- she's the light one, or the dark one? I think I sat on the light one." Taikrin shakes her head, still confused. "Because they were fighting," she clarifies, all unnecessary. "He's okay. Wrenched his wing, like, got a couple of scratches. Be back on duty by the end of the seven. And Iskiveth is-- helping. So. He's okay. Reckon he won't remember anyways, in a coupl'a days." Unspoken: Taikrin will remember a /lot/ longer.
"Hattie's dark. Elaruth is light. But I don't know the other pair, especially." K'del says all of this as an aside, without seeming to think about it: he's still unreservedly focused upon the rest of the story. 'Sat on' certainly gets a visible reaction - but maybe it's something that might be an indication of humor, if the situation were otherwise. He does seem genuinely relieved to hear about Szadath, however. "Good. /Good/. Wouldn't do for him to be injured." Now, he stands, transferring glass from one hand to the other, restless and agitated. "Shells. Shells, shells. Well." Beat. He turns his attention back towards the brownrider. "Guess you'll think twice before joining foreign goldfights now, eh?"
"Weren't her, then. The other one." This drink, too, follows the path of the previous one down Taikrin's throat. She moves back towards her seat, only to stop, mid-step, at K'del's attempt at humor. Her expression snaps shut like a trap, and the look she levels at the Weyrleader is cold. Brownrider: unamused. "If that's all. I ought to go and clean up some of the ichor off my dragon what ain't his."
Unamused though Taikrin may be, K'del meets her gaze squarely: he's not ashamed, not caught out. "Right," he allows, after a moment. "Just: glad you're both okay. And. In general? /Try/ not to crash other people's closed senior flights. Know it wasn't entirely your fault this time-- and shells, I'm really not one to talk. But. As a general rule." He dips his head towards her, which is, apparently, a dismissal. "Thank you for reporting in."
Taikrin sets the glass down on the nearest flat surface-- gently, to her credit. "Sir. Keep it in mind, next time." Her tone is clear: there will definitely /not/ be a next time. Jaw set, she nods at K'del-- then seems to think better of it, and transitions to a salute. "I need to go find F'rint. Thanks. For the drink." And, unless stopped, she'll vanish out of the weyr as fast as both propriety and exhaustion will allow.
K'del, certainly, doesn't seem to be inclined to halt Taikrin's departure. Once she's gone, though, he drops back into his chair with a /thump/. He looks-- well. Bothered. /Intensely/ bothered.
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Taikrin reports in.
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.
Dragon> There's a distant sort of distress echoed in Vrianth's rough voice, not hers, but heard and overheard. She does not hesitate to interrupt. << Cadejoth. >> Cad-e-joth, it could have been. << Your rider, where is he. We send Szadath's to him. He must know. >> Flickering imagery underlies her words: an all-but-somnolent brown, a sense of distance, distant calamity she will not touch. A rider, pacing. Hers, standing. The reek of numbweed that she passes along to him without, entirely, bothering to smell it herself. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> It takes but a moment for the clink of Cadejoth's chains to register that oh-so-distant distress; he amplifies it, seeking without actually asking. << Vrianth. >> And Szadath: it doesn't seem to surprise him, that /Szadath/ would be involved. << Our weyr. Send his to our place, and we will deal with them. >> /Deal/. Because - surely - there must be something to be dealt with. (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> His weyr? Something about that is... entertaining, a gleam of light on a wavelength beyond even dragonsight. It might flick along a link or two, if it could. << Simple enough. >> Which is to say, perhaps even Szadath should know where that is, and manage it. For more than one reason. << You should find him soon nearby, and her. >> Along with... but Vrianth does not say. Nor why. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> And why shouldn't he be in his weyr - it being his, and no one else's! Theirs, anyway. K'del, and Cadejoth, and-- well, all right, /others/. But still: theirs. << Preparations will be made, >> he reports, with a shuddering flick of chains that don't entirely hide the growing curiosity beneath their touch. << Thank you for the warning. >> (Cadejoth to Vrianth)
Dragon> Report to her, as he should... the gleam brightens. Warms. He's welcome. ... She's gone. (Vrianth to Cadejoth)
It's a rough-looking brownrider indeed who finds her way up K'del's ledge. She's not drunk yet, but sure looks like she /wants/ to be. With Szadath firmly ensconced on Iskiveth's ledge again -- and probably as wrapped around her as the pointy queen will allow -- there's nobody to announce her presence but herself, so she calls, "Weyrleader?" Taikrin hesitates just outside the led. "Leova said y'wanted to see me, to-- uh--" Clearly unwilling to volunteer more, she simply settles for falling silent.
It's Cadejoth that beckons the brownrider further inwards, turning his rapidly whirling gaze onto her before flicking his tail towards the awaiting weyr - a clear invitation. It's one that K'del echoes a moment later, his tone even enough, though inclined towards the formal. "/Leova/ said that you needed to see /me/," he says, invisibly; inside, he's settled in one of the armchairs with a glass of whiskey, despite the early afternoon hour. "Come in."
Taikrin doesn't contradict K'del, though she doesn't confirm, either. She drags her way into the weyr, reluctantly, and seems to take some solace in assuming a weyrling-report posture: posture straight, hands clasped behind her back, no real expression to speak of. "I was, uh, at Fort. Sir." In case he hasn't heard.
It's obvious in an instant that K'del has grasped what Taikrin's talking about; that he has already heard about happenings at Fort. He doesn't /seem/ to have been aware of Taikrin's part in the whole mess, though, because his eyes have gone wide. "Shells," he-- breathes, mostly, just barely making the sound audible. "Come in. Sit. Whiskey? Then: tell me /exactly/ what happened."
"Uh," Taikrin swallows, uncertainly, but after a moment's hesitation does take the offered seat-- even if she does only sit on the very edge. "Yeah. That'd be-- good." She's silent again, reluctant to tell the story... or perhaps unsure of where to start. Finally, she volunteers, "Really, we just wanted to go to Boll, you know? Beach and all?"
Getting up from his seat, pouring a second glass, handing it across to the brownrider; all of this gives K'del something to do for a few moments, before he actually has to respond. There's silence, then, until he's back in his seat and taking up his own glass again, and then: "Right. Boll. Beach. But you ended up at Fort, instead?"
"Well, Szad, he pinged on the queen, you know? Said we ought to go, and, you know... practice." The last is mumbled around her quick gulp of whiskey. "Nothing serious. And anyways we ain't ever been, and we were bored, and-- uh. Anyways. Wasn't a big deal, y'know? Didn't mean nothing by it." Taikrin still isn't very clear on /which/ queen they were after.
There's dubiousness in K'del's expression - and, well. Perhaps it's politeness that doesn't have him remarking on the /closed/ nature of Elaruth's flights. Or maybe it's something else. He does however repeat, meaningfully: "'Practice'. Right. So. You ended up at Fort. A queen was rising. Elaruth?"
"I guess that was the one what was goin' up from the Weyr? Szad kind of-- we kind of lost track. I dunno which one he picked up on. The other one came out of nowhere, you know? Like she was hangin' around nearby. And both of the weyrwomen were there--" Taikrin breaks off, draining the remainder of her glass quickly. "The darker one came out of nowhere, came right /at/ the other one."
"I guess that was the one what was goin' up from the Weyr? Szad kind of-- we kind of lost track. I dunno which one he picked up on. The other one came out of nowhere, you know? Like she was hangin' around nearby. And both of the weyrwomen were there--" Taikrin breaks off, draining the remainder of her glass quickly. "The darker one came out of nowhere, came right /at/ the other one."
K'del mouths, rather than actually says, 'lost track'. There's disbelief in his expression, but he shuts his mouth, aims for his drink, and listens, instead. This time, he actually does speak, though, albeit quietly. "Came right at her. Shells. Like it was intentional?" His disbelief is rather stronger for this, as though he honestly can't get his head around anyone being quite so stupid. "So they fought."
"It's all kind of fuzzy," Taikrin retorts defensively. "Weren't quite /thinkin'/ about things. I ain't-- the whole thing was just-- /yeah/, like out of nowhere. I dunno where she was hiding, but then they were /biting/ each other and we didn't know what to /do/. Some bronze got in the middle, and I think he got bit up too, and--" She tips the glass back to finish it off, only to frown when she realizes that her drink is empty. "I don't think they died. And-- shells, I gotta clean Szad up." Taikrin gives a start in her seat, as if the thought had only just occured to her.
K'del holds up his hand in an apparent attempt to forestall Taikrin's departure; he indicates the whiskey bottle with his head instead, apparently a 'help yourself' kind of thing. "Sure he can wait a little longer, Taikrin. If he's survived this far. You've obviously already seen Leova." Implication: dragonhealers. He's utterly serious as he continues, his frown deep set into his face. "You managed to separate them. You-- someone. That bronzerider? And were both caught? What happened next?"
Taikrin does pop to her feet, though at least it's just to refill her glass. "Guess they did. They were-- fighing on the ground too, you know? And I was tryin' to help, too, and Szadath didn't know what to do, and we weren't really-- /thinking/. You know?" She makes a gesture of helplessness as she struggles to convey the mid-flight mindset. "One of 'em almost got Szad, when she was going by. Up. He could'a caught her, I guess, but-- there was all that /blood/ and we just-- wanted out."
The breath K'del lets out, now, is a ragged one; emotional. "Shells," he whispers again, breathing out the word with just the faintest amount of volume. "No. 'course you weren't thinking. None of you were-- suppose that's the problem. Though. That /junior/. Is she mad?" Despite his words, he doesn't seem to think that's likely, the way his gaze narrows towards the floor. "Got to be more to it. Her. 'less she's just weak-willed and refused to go away." His musings pause after a moment, and he turns his attention back to Taikrin. "Szadath is not too badly hurt, I take it?"
"I dunno. I still-- I ain't sure which is which. The senior-- she's the light one, or the dark one? I think I sat on the light one." Taikrin shakes her head, still confused. "Because they were fighting," she clarifies, all unnecessary. "He's okay. Wrenched his wing, like, got a couple of scratches. Be back on duty by the end of the seven. And Iskiveth is-- helping. So. He's okay. Reckon he won't remember anyways, in a coupl'a days." Unspoken: Taikrin will remember a /lot/ longer.
"Hattie's dark. Elaruth is light. But I don't know the other pair, especially." K'del says all of this as an aside, without seeming to think about it: he's still unreservedly focused upon the rest of the story. 'Sat on' certainly gets a visible reaction - but maybe it's something that might be an indication of humor, if the situation were otherwise. He does seem genuinely relieved to hear about Szadath, however. "Good. /Good/. Wouldn't do for him to be injured." Now, he stands, transferring glass from one hand to the other, restless and agitated. "Shells. Shells, shells. Well." Beat. He turns his attention back towards the brownrider. "Guess you'll think twice before joining foreign goldfights now, eh?"
"Weren't her, then. The other one." This drink, too, follows the path of the previous one down Taikrin's throat. She moves back towards her seat, only to stop, mid-step, at K'del's attempt at humor. Her expression snaps shut like a trap, and the look she levels at the Weyrleader is cold. Brownrider: unamused. "If that's all. I ought to go and clean up some of the ichor off my dragon what ain't his."
Unamused though Taikrin may be, K'del meets her gaze squarely: he's not ashamed, not caught out. "Right," he allows, after a moment. "Just: glad you're both okay. And. In general? /Try/ not to crash other people's closed senior flights. Know it wasn't entirely your fault this time-- and shells, I'm really not one to talk. But. As a general rule." He dips his head towards her, which is, apparently, a dismissal. "Thank you for reporting in."
Taikrin sets the glass down on the nearest flat surface-- gently, to her credit. "Sir. Keep it in mind, next time." Her tone is clear: there will definitely /not/ be a next time. Jaw set, she nods at K'del-- then seems to think better of it, and transitions to a salute. "I need to go find F'rint. Thanks. For the drink." And, unless stopped, she'll vanish out of the weyr as fast as both propriety and exhaustion will allow.
K'del, certainly, doesn't seem to be inclined to halt Taikrin's departure. Once she's gone, though, he drops back into his chair with a /thump/. He looks-- well. Bothered. /Intensely/ bothered.