Convincing.
Who: A'son, Leova
What: A'son seeks out Leova. He finds her. Is she asleep?
When: After he speaks to K'del. (Evening of Day 10, month 10, turn 19 of Interval 10)
Where: Kitchens, HRW.
Logfile from A'son.
Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
The evening's quieter than most, and Leova's slumped in one of the nooks with a plate of half-eaten food pushed to the side in front of her, head collapsed on crossed arms. Elbows on the table? Definitely. Across the way, a couple other plates' contents are crumbs, the corresponding glasses drained, abandoned.
A'son arrives from the inner caverns, peeking his head in. He looks around, clearly casing the place out before he actually steps in. Who's mother works in the kitchens? That's right, his mother works in the kitchens. He's sporting a black eye that's beginning to take on yellow tinges. Leova's tawny head grabs his attention and he moves her way, stepping around a few workers before he gets to her nook. There's no invitation requested, he merely sits. Dishes are pushed out of his way so he can see her more clearly. "What are you doing?"
Her shoulders sink. "A'son." Muffled. Her head rises about the same amount, just enough that she can peer over the top of her hands to his... shirt front, probably. "Eating." Then, "How's the eye?"
"Don't sound so excited." A'son says in response to that muffled version of his name. "You look like you're ready to take a nap." Eye. Right, the eye. "It's fantastic." He pushes one of the empty plates off to the side. "And I didn't mean right now." She's looking at his shirt front. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"
"Mmm." Silence, silence, silence, "No." Leova straightens some, pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, gives his eye a real look this time and not the cursory pre-sweeps glance. She's not shy about it, either. "What's on your mind?"
"I've got this thing that I need to do. And I need to go with someone who's really invested in it. That can be trusted. Not because they trust me but because... we have a similar goal or common ground." A'son starts, beginning to tap his finger onto the table. "It's sort of important. You can protect yourself, right?" His eyes roving over her figure.
Not much of a figure, clothed as she is, jacket loose about her and made that much more boxy for it. "Depends on what's going down," the greenrider says after a moment, amber eyes that much more level now. "Sure try, anyhow. Learned what I could learn." Those lessons with C'del, for starters. "Spill."
"Let me just make something clear first." A'son starts holding up a hand, "If I didn't think N'thei was too busy being... I don't know what he's doing to be honest. But I'm sure he's not interested. I'd ask him." The hand drops and he matches brown eyes to amber ones, 'brows lifting. "I don't trust you. But I think you've got loyalty to this place, like I used to." Used to. Said with a wry twist to his mouth, a derisive tone. There's a glance around before he drops his head and begins to speak in low tones, "I plan on sneaking onto the remaining tithe trains. I can't go alone."
He holds up a hand, Leova sits back. Folds her arms. Keeps watching. "/Used/ to." Such a quiet echo. It can't get much quieter: "You got a lot of disclaimers. Noted. Got the okay to ask questions, myself. What you got in mind?"
"Used to. Before." A'son shrugs it off, shaking his head. "Still have to iron out some details with the kid. A certain woman," And his hand brushes over his black eye, "wants me to find some guys. And do something." He glances around again before once more settling in to talk. "Dragons stay behind someplace during the day. We get on board the tithe train pretending to be holders hired to help, need a few extra marks. At night, Vrianth and Nikoth would catch up. If our tithe theives don't think anyone is watching the trains? They might attack. Dragons swoop in, look scary. You and I, whatever person or two we bring in to help? Try to snag someone." His fingers tap on the table. "They don't attack, we don't lose anything."
She has a slow nod for him and after a few moments, a half-smile that becomes a chuckle that she doesn't yet explain, quieting quickly instead. At the end, "Couple questions, for starters: going to actually get ourselves hired on, not just say someone-else-hired-me? And: /Crom/?"
A'son rubs his face. "Yeah, you've got a point. We're going to have to get ourselves hired on. It would look more legit that way. But we don't have much time, there aren't really much more shipments coming in. This is like a stab in the dark anyway." He admits, watching her across the table. The hold's name gets a lift of his 'brows. "Crom? What about it? It's one of the last to come, right?" The bronzerider doesn't seem too sure on this. "I've got kind of an idea. For a cover story. If you promise not to throw up."
He's got a decided nod for stab-in-the-dark. "Not much time at all. Don't want to get us looking like thieves either. You got a different train in mind?" And Leova keeps on eyeing him. "You should know, can handle wagon runners just fine. Or could." There's a twist to her mouth, there. "But. Bring it on."
A'son waves his hand aside at the looking like theives thing. "If no one attacks, we just walk off. No harm, no foul. Something happens, we catch someone. We don't catch someone? We beat on each other so that it looks like the enemy attacked us. Then we get the fuck out at the next possible moment." But then he's really thinking about it and starts to look concerned. "Not full-proof really. Any train but Crom's would be better, might be our only choice though. I'm not sure." The point of her being able to handle runner's gets a look. "Interesting. Probably will help." He gestures between the two of them. "/We/ go as a pair. Husband and wife. Need a cover story. Easier to think of one than two."
"Meant, more, us looking like strangers-and-so-suspicious." Leova lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. Listens. Mutters, "Rather do the getting-out before the beating-on, all the same to you." But she waits out the rest, quiet, quieter, and then her mouth compresses. Just for a few moments, before there's a deep breath and, "Guess you don't look enough like my brother. Thought about Rhonda, while you were talking... but she's too pretty. Not pretty. But they'd pay attention, is what I mean. Cover story? /That's/ easy."
"Meant, more, us looking like strangers-and-so-suspicious." Leova lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. Listens. Mutters, "Rather do the getting-out before the beating-on, all the same to you." But she waits out the rest, quiet, quieter, and then her mouth compresses. Just for a few moments, before there's a deep breath and, "Guess you don't look enough like my brother. Thought about Rhonda, while you were talking... but she's too pretty. Well, not /pretty/. But they'd pay attention, is what I mean. Cover story? That's easy."
"Tons of people in the major holds. I don't think anyone would notice us. Though I might have to stop shaving altogether and look really messy." A'son scratches his jawline, "Extra messy." As for her brother, he raises his eyebrows. "No, I don't think so either. We don't look alike at all. I don't have any idea who Rhonda is." The name doesn't seem to ring any bells for him. "Not to be like... offensive or anything. But you're sort of like me. Dress down, keep it low key and we could blend in anywhere. You know? Not that you're uh... unattractive. But you can be a chameleon." Awkward look. Moving on! Cover story, oh good. "You've got a good one? Thank whoever. /Someone/ has to be the brains here." There's definitely some relief in his voice now. "I don't do this shit normally. I'm an order-follower."
Tersely: "Impressed with me. Boreal. Ishawith." Not much less so: "/Rather/ follow orders myself... Good orders, anyhow." This time, when Leova gets that one-cornered smile in getting back to his offensiveness, it's actually more amused than not. "None taken. Actually." But she cuts it off: not /her/ storytime. Instead, that smile ratchets up a notch, less in breadth or depth than how it gets just a touch of wickedness to it. "Going to go visit my cousin at the Weyr. She's going to have a baby, see. Need to be there. Can't let me go alone: a woman, after all, got to have /someone/ protecting her. But you're pissed about it, don't want to get stranded before the snow comes, and that's why... we've been fighting."
"Isha..wasth?" A'son's tongue stumbles around the name. "I want normal people with normal names. Damnit. I'm so tired of people with weird names and now weird dragons." That's all he wants in the world, really. "Well, I'm under orders. To find good people and it led me to you. Lucky woman." There's a grin. The type that says he doesn't /really/ think she's so lucky. The wicked smile turns his grin to a smirk. "We're going to fight the whole way?" Pause. "I'm sure I can make that look... convincing. I'm good at being grumpy."
"Shoulda flown Teonath, then," no mercy from Leova there. "/Nikoth/ would've sired perfectly normal names on her." Lucky woman: it gets something of an eyeroll. "Anyhow. Not so much fighting that we aren't paying attention, mind. If it really were us, wouldn't want to do it in public, hm? But the story, it can explain why we're not... comfortable." She rubs her forehead, then, abruptly quiet from the brightness of before, her glance slipped from his.
"Yeah, should have. Shouldn't have expected /Wyaeth/ to make normal names." A'son rolls his eyes, though he hardly seem serious. "Minimal fighting." The bronzerider appears to be making a mental note of this, more face rubbing while he sits across from her. "I have to talk to the kid soon. Tonight? Tomorrow?" He's asking the question aloud while he looks up at the ceiling. "Maybe now." Dark eyes drop to her again before he begins to slide out of the booth. "Thank you."
"What kind of a name is his, anyway." Now Leova does look back. Says, briefly, "Don't need to. Wanted to /do/ something. More. Anyhow. Want I should come too? Or are you going to practice being the man, pass the information down."
"Exactly. That's what I said." Total agreement there. A'son gets out, pulling himself to his feet. "I think that I should try to..." It's here that he trails off. "Fuck it. You should come to. I'm too old to stary pretending I'm a man now. No amount of practice is going to help me with it. Lets go. Track the little skinner bugger down." Whether Leova follows or not, he's making his out of the kitchen towards the shortest route to the bowl.
"Right after you." And there she goes, hot on his heels. Plates? Now they're /all/ left behind.
What: A'son seeks out Leova. He finds her. Is she asleep?
When: After he speaks to K'del. (Evening of Day 10, month 10, turn 19 of Interval 10)
Where: Kitchens, HRW.
Logfile from A'son.
Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs)
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
The evening's quieter than most, and Leova's slumped in one of the nooks with a plate of half-eaten food pushed to the side in front of her, head collapsed on crossed arms. Elbows on the table? Definitely. Across the way, a couple other plates' contents are crumbs, the corresponding glasses drained, abandoned.
A'son arrives from the inner caverns, peeking his head in. He looks around, clearly casing the place out before he actually steps in. Who's mother works in the kitchens? That's right, his mother works in the kitchens. He's sporting a black eye that's beginning to take on yellow tinges. Leova's tawny head grabs his attention and he moves her way, stepping around a few workers before he gets to her nook. There's no invitation requested, he merely sits. Dishes are pushed out of his way so he can see her more clearly. "What are you doing?"
Her shoulders sink. "A'son." Muffled. Her head rises about the same amount, just enough that she can peer over the top of her hands to his... shirt front, probably. "Eating." Then, "How's the eye?"
"Don't sound so excited." A'son says in response to that muffled version of his name. "You look like you're ready to take a nap." Eye. Right, the eye. "It's fantastic." He pushes one of the empty plates off to the side. "And I didn't mean right now." She's looking at his shirt front. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"
"Mmm." Silence, silence, silence, "No." Leova straightens some, pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, gives his eye a real look this time and not the cursory pre-sweeps glance. She's not shy about it, either. "What's on your mind?"
"I've got this thing that I need to do. And I need to go with someone who's really invested in it. That can be trusted. Not because they trust me but because... we have a similar goal or common ground." A'son starts, beginning to tap his finger onto the table. "It's sort of important. You can protect yourself, right?" His eyes roving over her figure.
Not much of a figure, clothed as she is, jacket loose about her and made that much more boxy for it. "Depends on what's going down," the greenrider says after a moment, amber eyes that much more level now. "Sure try, anyhow. Learned what I could learn." Those lessons with C'del, for starters. "Spill."
"Let me just make something clear first." A'son starts holding up a hand, "If I didn't think N'thei was too busy being... I don't know what he's doing to be honest. But I'm sure he's not interested. I'd ask him." The hand drops and he matches brown eyes to amber ones, 'brows lifting. "I don't trust you. But I think you've got loyalty to this place, like I used to." Used to. Said with a wry twist to his mouth, a derisive tone. There's a glance around before he drops his head and begins to speak in low tones, "I plan on sneaking onto the remaining tithe trains. I can't go alone."
He holds up a hand, Leova sits back. Folds her arms. Keeps watching. "/Used/ to." Such a quiet echo. It can't get much quieter: "You got a lot of disclaimers. Noted. Got the okay to ask questions, myself. What you got in mind?"
"Used to. Before." A'son shrugs it off, shaking his head. "Still have to iron out some details with the kid. A certain woman," And his hand brushes over his black eye, "wants me to find some guys. And do something." He glances around again before once more settling in to talk. "Dragons stay behind someplace during the day. We get on board the tithe train pretending to be holders hired to help, need a few extra marks. At night, Vrianth and Nikoth would catch up. If our tithe theives don't think anyone is watching the trains? They might attack. Dragons swoop in, look scary. You and I, whatever person or two we bring in to help? Try to snag someone." His fingers tap on the table. "They don't attack, we don't lose anything."
She has a slow nod for him and after a few moments, a half-smile that becomes a chuckle that she doesn't yet explain, quieting quickly instead. At the end, "Couple questions, for starters: going to actually get ourselves hired on, not just say someone-else-hired-me? And: /Crom/?"
A'son rubs his face. "Yeah, you've got a point. We're going to have to get ourselves hired on. It would look more legit that way. But we don't have much time, there aren't really much more shipments coming in. This is like a stab in the dark anyway." He admits, watching her across the table. The hold's name gets a lift of his 'brows. "Crom? What about it? It's one of the last to come, right?" The bronzerider doesn't seem too sure on this. "I've got kind of an idea. For a cover story. If you promise not to throw up."
He's got a decided nod for stab-in-the-dark. "Not much time at all. Don't want to get us looking like thieves either. You got a different train in mind?" And Leova keeps on eyeing him. "You should know, can handle wagon runners just fine. Or could." There's a twist to her mouth, there. "But. Bring it on."
A'son waves his hand aside at the looking like theives thing. "If no one attacks, we just walk off. No harm, no foul. Something happens, we catch someone. We don't catch someone? We beat on each other so that it looks like the enemy attacked us. Then we get the fuck out at the next possible moment." But then he's really thinking about it and starts to look concerned. "Not full-proof really. Any train but Crom's would be better, might be our only choice though. I'm not sure." The point of her being able to handle runner's gets a look. "Interesting. Probably will help." He gestures between the two of them. "/We/ go as a pair. Husband and wife. Need a cover story. Easier to think of one than two."
"Meant, more, us looking like strangers-and-so-suspicious." Leova lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. Listens. Mutters, "Rather do the getting-out before the beating-on, all the same to you." But she waits out the rest, quiet, quieter, and then her mouth compresses. Just for a few moments, before there's a deep breath and, "Guess you don't look enough like my brother. Thought about Rhonda, while you were talking... but she's too pretty. Not pretty. But they'd pay attention, is what I mean. Cover story? /That's/ easy."
"Meant, more, us looking like strangers-and-so-suspicious." Leova lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. Listens. Mutters, "Rather do the getting-out before the beating-on, all the same to you." But she waits out the rest, quiet, quieter, and then her mouth compresses. Just for a few moments, before there's a deep breath and, "Guess you don't look enough like my brother. Thought about Rhonda, while you were talking... but she's too pretty. Well, not /pretty/. But they'd pay attention, is what I mean. Cover story? That's easy."
"Tons of people in the major holds. I don't think anyone would notice us. Though I might have to stop shaving altogether and look really messy." A'son scratches his jawline, "Extra messy." As for her brother, he raises his eyebrows. "No, I don't think so either. We don't look alike at all. I don't have any idea who Rhonda is." The name doesn't seem to ring any bells for him. "Not to be like... offensive or anything. But you're sort of like me. Dress down, keep it low key and we could blend in anywhere. You know? Not that you're uh... unattractive. But you can be a chameleon." Awkward look. Moving on! Cover story, oh good. "You've got a good one? Thank whoever. /Someone/ has to be the brains here." There's definitely some relief in his voice now. "I don't do this shit normally. I'm an order-follower."
Tersely: "Impressed with me. Boreal. Ishawith." Not much less so: "/Rather/ follow orders myself... Good orders, anyhow." This time, when Leova gets that one-cornered smile in getting back to his offensiveness, it's actually more amused than not. "None taken. Actually." But she cuts it off: not /her/ storytime. Instead, that smile ratchets up a notch, less in breadth or depth than how it gets just a touch of wickedness to it. "Going to go visit my cousin at the Weyr. She's going to have a baby, see. Need to be there. Can't let me go alone: a woman, after all, got to have /someone/ protecting her. But you're pissed about it, don't want to get stranded before the snow comes, and that's why... we've been fighting."
"Isha..wasth?" A'son's tongue stumbles around the name. "I want normal people with normal names. Damnit. I'm so tired of people with weird names and now weird dragons." That's all he wants in the world, really. "Well, I'm under orders. To find good people and it led me to you. Lucky woman." There's a grin. The type that says he doesn't /really/ think she's so lucky. The wicked smile turns his grin to a smirk. "We're going to fight the whole way?" Pause. "I'm sure I can make that look... convincing. I'm good at being grumpy."
"Shoulda flown Teonath, then," no mercy from Leova there. "/Nikoth/ would've sired perfectly normal names on her." Lucky woman: it gets something of an eyeroll. "Anyhow. Not so much fighting that we aren't paying attention, mind. If it really were us, wouldn't want to do it in public, hm? But the story, it can explain why we're not... comfortable." She rubs her forehead, then, abruptly quiet from the brightness of before, her glance slipped from his.
"Yeah, should have. Shouldn't have expected /Wyaeth/ to make normal names." A'son rolls his eyes, though he hardly seem serious. "Minimal fighting." The bronzerider appears to be making a mental note of this, more face rubbing while he sits across from her. "I have to talk to the kid soon. Tonight? Tomorrow?" He's asking the question aloud while he looks up at the ceiling. "Maybe now." Dark eyes drop to her again before he begins to slide out of the booth. "Thank you."
"What kind of a name is his, anyway." Now Leova does look back. Says, briefly, "Don't need to. Wanted to /do/ something. More. Anyhow. Want I should come too? Or are you going to practice being the man, pass the information down."
"Exactly. That's what I said." Total agreement there. A'son gets out, pulling himself to his feet. "I think that I should try to..." It's here that he trails off. "Fuck it. You should come to. I'm too old to stary pretending I'm a man now. No amount of practice is going to help me with it. Lets go. Track the little skinner bugger down." Whether Leova follows or not, he's making his out of the kitchen towards the shortest route to the bowl.
"Right after you." And there she goes, hot on his heels. Plates? Now they're /all/ left behind.