News
Location: Issa and Oshishyth's Weyr
Time: Evening on Day 4, Month 3, Turn 3
Players: Issa, Roa, Oshisyth, Tialith
Scene: After Cassiel speaks, Roa relays the evening's events to Issa.
Clear as it is as evening settles over the bowl, the air still carries a definite chill that sneaks easily past the wide-flung curtain that flanks the entrance to Issa's weyr. The woman and her green linger just inside that yawning hole in the stone, watching the wide strip of sky that remains visible from that vantage point though watching is hardly necessary. There's a pot of oil open just below where Issa sits perched on Oshisyth's forearm, but it's plainly just for show, as there's no oiling being done just now. No, now is reserved for drinking, the greenrider cradling a tumbler with a rolling inch of clear liquid lining its base. Every so often, she will stir to tug her draped white blanket tighter about her shoulders or settle into a position of less pressure for her green, but otherwise the motionless watching endures, as does the silence.
A small dot winks into the horizon and it grows into a wide-sided, pale, golden dragon that wings her way in the direction of Issa's ledge. There is a rumbling sound as the queen angles in for a landing, her modified bulk making it unlikely that she can land as primly on the edge of the small perch as she usually does. Once precarious footing is secured, Roa scrambles down, thumping into a crouch before straightening. "It was fine," she offers by way of greeting, her gaze darting to the tumbler. "Have you got a second glass?"
Issa has seen many dots while she's been here waiting, false alarms all of them. So it isn't until the lines become more defined, until those lines reveal themselves to be those of an egg-heavy gold dragon that the greenrider moves, sliding with a thump to the ground to await the landing on her feet. Anxiety is allowed to seep past her normally calm exterior in the jerky tappings of her fingers where they hold the blanket as well as in the wrinkle of worry between her brows. Eyes thinned in response to the wind the gold's backwinging forced into the weyr widen again at Roa's greeting and the heavy efforts of a blink and a sigh do much to ease her tension. "I do," she replies, a second more falling after it before she picks up her feet and moves to the sideboard. "Define fine," she requests further after she's fished out the appropriate bottle-- hard, cheap stuff by the look of it-- and has begun to refill her own glass first.
"They came, they talked, they left. Everyone was civil. Nobody got angry. They seemed to be taken seriously and Tialith verified what Chiavelth offered. It was quiet. The information was passed. Now it's up to Telgar and Harper." All of that before Roa holds her hand out for a glass of her own. The gold, usually keen to settle on her own ledge during these meetings, instead lowers her bulk right where it is, and closes her eyes.
Oshisyth, distracted from her usual free greetings has now settled enough to offer a mental thread of general welcome to the queen and stretches onto her belly, unkinking her forearm from the crouch that served to let Issa perch. Talons scrabble as she pulls the stretch back in and turns to watch the two riders as her eyes spin down from their frazzled whirlings. "I couldn't be there, Roa," Issa reminds the goldrider as she restoppers the bottle and delivers the second glass squarely into that outstretched hand. "The least you could do is give me details. How did Cassiel take the whole thing, what questions did Ysidro ask, what questions did Kazimir ask," she rattles off, curiosity taking over as anxiety is put to rest. "Something." Then she lifts her glass to wet her lips with a sip of her topped-off drink, the taste swallowed down hastily with a twitch of a grimace to follow it down.
The little weyrwoman indulges herself in a gulp, wincing as it goes down, but still allowing herself a second before she answers. "Cassiel was stoic. It was clear she didn't want to be there, but she was determined, since she was there, to do it properly. She spoke well. Kazimir didn't do much speaking. He mostly observed. Ysidro asked general questions. He just gave her the window to recount what happened. He wanted names of exiles at one point." Another sip. "J'lor refused to say. The healers found her injuries to line up with the proper timeframe and said it was clear she'd been badly treated. In the end, Ysidro asked J'lor, after Cassiel was already gone, if anything like this had ever happened before." Sip. Wince. "He said Ysidro had access to the records and should find it himself."
"Huh," Issa utters while she processes the information, swirling her measure of alcohol up against the sides of its glass as her eyes flit thoughtfully to the queen, the green and back to Roa again. "You think that he'll bring that up if there's a trial then?" she asks, focus returning to her eyes. With a jerk of her head, she urges the Weyrwoman on toward the sitting area, waiting a half a second before heading there herself. She sinks heavily into the high-backed chair angled toward the ledge, her feet flopped straight out in front of her, her glass propped by both hands against her stomach.
Roa follows, flopping down besides Issa. "I don't know. He was so awful when he was defending E'sere, but I suppose he did his job well. And the exiles seemed to think he was all right. I suppose it will depend on if he finds anything at Harper. He invited me to dinner sometime. I've a mind to take him up on it and see if I can't nudge him in the right direction." Sip. She wrinkles her nose. "What am I drinking, by the by?"
"A homemade concoction. From the stills at the family cothold of an old friend," Issa responds with a slight grin, lifting her glass to pass a glance at it before downing another swallow. "Awful stuff," she comments with a twist of amusement to her tone. Indeed, it's like vodka, only stronger and with a hint of bitter berries mixed in. But it gets the job done. "You already sent Miniyal to Harper to look through those records, didn't you?" she slips into the space before she drinks again, her eyes already nonchalantly lowered to watch the bottom of the glass tip up toward her.
"It is a bit," Roa murmurs as she lifts up the glass to study its contents. "I thought it would be rude to say." And yet, down goes another gulp. There is a small nod at Issa's question. "Really, she went by herself. She just shared what she found. I have copies, if you like. Well...'like' isn't really the word. If you wish to read them."
There's no telling really, whether that grimace, more than a twitch this time, is for that heftier swallow she just downed or for the thought of what she might find in those specified records. "I think I should," she says, all the same, hefting herself up in the chair and angling sideways so that she can throw a leg up over the arm. "I'll swing by on the pretext of some concern or another sometime soon," she says with a wave of one hand. "So. We're done then," she half-notes, half-queries, raising her brows across at Roa.
The weyrwoman sighs. "We're waiting," she amends softly, "to see how this will go next. You're right, it would be better if Telgar speaks up. Or Harper. But if no one does...I suppose we'll be talking again, because I'm not sure what to do. But something, if nothing comes of it. But. I hope we're done." Sip. Wince. "Ugh. You did really well, Issa. I couldn't...that last trip, you carried it. Completely. Thank you."
"Waiting," Issa repeats with a mulling nod, lips pursed as she stares down into her drink once again. Her face remains down when Roa offers her thanks, but her attention rises slowly from the alcohol, eyes tilted up at that extreme angle to catch sight of the Weyrwoman. "I try," she says dismissively, her chin brought up and revealing the smile that quickly turns wry. "Learned from the best." Groomed for a purpose she never got to see. Swirl, swirl, her glance gets caught in the motion of the clear liquid caught by the waning firelight for a second then she looks up again. "You should really work on that," she continues frankly, blue eyes squinting across at Roa.
"I know," Roa sighs. "It's not..." she only shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips, only to find that she's already emptied it. "Bother," the little weyrwoman mutters. "Anyhow, I know. What's happening with D'ven and the job? Any word?"
"Not a single one," Issa returns. "Think I might have scared him off with all my talk of untried methods. I imagine he's either taking his time or already chosen someone else. Though if it were that, I think..." She pauses with a flick of a few fingers, the word wrong; she replaces it a swift second later. "Expect I would have heard something by now." Gossip monger that she is. "I really should run into him somewhere," she adds, though her tone suggests that any chance meeting that happens will have nothing to do with chance. "More?" she asks, eyes falling pointedly to the Weyrwoman's empty glass while swirling the couple of swallows still left to her.
"I haven't heard anything either, and more to the point, neither has R'vain. So I suspect he's still considering." Roa sighs softly and shakes her head. "No. I'd better not. It doesn't take much, and I don't think I want to be more than pleasantly muted."
Issa merely nods for Roa's refusal, but rises anyway, gulping down the last of her glass and passing off the resulting shiver to say, "We should build up your tolerance. So you can go head to head with Sefton without batting your... an eye." She reaches for the young Weyrwoman's empty glass, hand waiting open as she comes to the realization, "Oh. I keep forgetting your not in Caucus anymore." With a shake of her head, she tosses off her forgetfulness.
"I still go head to head with Sefton on occasion," Roa notes idly, handing off the glass. "Though not when alcohol's involved. I'm not sure...I mean, i think I'd need to gain a hundred pounds and at least ten inches before I even had a chance." She smirks as she stands, stretching.
Issa lifts an eyebrow for the revelation that Sefton still merits a chunk of the Weyrwoman's time, but the expression is soon carried away as she goes to deposit the dirtied glasses on the sideboard where she got them from. "Maybe only five inches," Issa counters, as if that were the more easily accomplished of the two suggestions. The greenrider pauses at the sideboard for a moment, considering the bottle past lazy lids before she decides to leave it out and turns back. It only takes her a flick of a glance to note that Roa's standing and after she does, she says, "You'll keep me updated on... things. Yeah?"
"Yeah," Roa says with a small nod. "Promise. And come by anything you want the...those things."
"Right," Issa responds, "I'll remember." It's a slightly greater effort to store away such things just now in her booze-sluggish brain, but she does so, a beat spent in unfocused concentration. "The next day or two. Now, go," she adds cheerfully, jerking her head lightly toward the resting gold, a smile returning with slyness in its curve. "I have a Caucus boy to retrieve."
One brow arches high and Roa chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Have fun," she murmurs before moving towards the ledge where the weighted Tialith waits. "see you soon."
A surge in her smile tells that Issa will, indeed, have fun, but all she offers is a quick, "Bye," before returning to her own dragon. They watch the gold depart together, then the rider, after a gentle hand smoothed across the tip of her dragon's muzzle, swings up and they drift down into the bowl as well.
Time: Evening on Day 4, Month 3, Turn 3
Players: Issa, Roa, Oshisyth, Tialith
Scene: After Cassiel speaks, Roa relays the evening's events to Issa.
Clear as it is as evening settles over the bowl, the air still carries a definite chill that sneaks easily past the wide-flung curtain that flanks the entrance to Issa's weyr. The woman and her green linger just inside that yawning hole in the stone, watching the wide strip of sky that remains visible from that vantage point though watching is hardly necessary. There's a pot of oil open just below where Issa sits perched on Oshisyth's forearm, but it's plainly just for show, as there's no oiling being done just now. No, now is reserved for drinking, the greenrider cradling a tumbler with a rolling inch of clear liquid lining its base. Every so often, she will stir to tug her draped white blanket tighter about her shoulders or settle into a position of less pressure for her green, but otherwise the motionless watching endures, as does the silence.
A small dot winks into the horizon and it grows into a wide-sided, pale, golden dragon that wings her way in the direction of Issa's ledge. There is a rumbling sound as the queen angles in for a landing, her modified bulk making it unlikely that she can land as primly on the edge of the small perch as she usually does. Once precarious footing is secured, Roa scrambles down, thumping into a crouch before straightening. "It was fine," she offers by way of greeting, her gaze darting to the tumbler. "Have you got a second glass?"
Issa has seen many dots while she's been here waiting, false alarms all of them. So it isn't until the lines become more defined, until those lines reveal themselves to be those of an egg-heavy gold dragon that the greenrider moves, sliding with a thump to the ground to await the landing on her feet. Anxiety is allowed to seep past her normally calm exterior in the jerky tappings of her fingers where they hold the blanket as well as in the wrinkle of worry between her brows. Eyes thinned in response to the wind the gold's backwinging forced into the weyr widen again at Roa's greeting and the heavy efforts of a blink and a sigh do much to ease her tension. "I do," she replies, a second more falling after it before she picks up her feet and moves to the sideboard. "Define fine," she requests further after she's fished out the appropriate bottle-- hard, cheap stuff by the look of it-- and has begun to refill her own glass first.
"They came, they talked, they left. Everyone was civil. Nobody got angry. They seemed to be taken seriously and Tialith verified what Chiavelth offered. It was quiet. The information was passed. Now it's up to Telgar and Harper." All of that before Roa holds her hand out for a glass of her own. The gold, usually keen to settle on her own ledge during these meetings, instead lowers her bulk right where it is, and closes her eyes.
Oshisyth, distracted from her usual free greetings has now settled enough to offer a mental thread of general welcome to the queen and stretches onto her belly, unkinking her forearm from the crouch that served to let Issa perch. Talons scrabble as she pulls the stretch back in and turns to watch the two riders as her eyes spin down from their frazzled whirlings. "I couldn't be there, Roa," Issa reminds the goldrider as she restoppers the bottle and delivers the second glass squarely into that outstretched hand. "The least you could do is give me details. How did Cassiel take the whole thing, what questions did Ysidro ask, what questions did Kazimir ask," she rattles off, curiosity taking over as anxiety is put to rest. "Something." Then she lifts her glass to wet her lips with a sip of her topped-off drink, the taste swallowed down hastily with a twitch of a grimace to follow it down.
The little weyrwoman indulges herself in a gulp, wincing as it goes down, but still allowing herself a second before she answers. "Cassiel was stoic. It was clear she didn't want to be there, but she was determined, since she was there, to do it properly. She spoke well. Kazimir didn't do much speaking. He mostly observed. Ysidro asked general questions. He just gave her the window to recount what happened. He wanted names of exiles at one point." Another sip. "J'lor refused to say. The healers found her injuries to line up with the proper timeframe and said it was clear she'd been badly treated. In the end, Ysidro asked J'lor, after Cassiel was already gone, if anything like this had ever happened before." Sip. Wince. "He said Ysidro had access to the records and should find it himself."
"Huh," Issa utters while she processes the information, swirling her measure of alcohol up against the sides of its glass as her eyes flit thoughtfully to the queen, the green and back to Roa again. "You think that he'll bring that up if there's a trial then?" she asks, focus returning to her eyes. With a jerk of her head, she urges the Weyrwoman on toward the sitting area, waiting a half a second before heading there herself. She sinks heavily into the high-backed chair angled toward the ledge, her feet flopped straight out in front of her, her glass propped by both hands against her stomach.
Roa follows, flopping down besides Issa. "I don't know. He was so awful when he was defending E'sere, but I suppose he did his job well. And the exiles seemed to think he was all right. I suppose it will depend on if he finds anything at Harper. He invited me to dinner sometime. I've a mind to take him up on it and see if I can't nudge him in the right direction." Sip. She wrinkles her nose. "What am I drinking, by the by?"
"A homemade concoction. From the stills at the family cothold of an old friend," Issa responds with a slight grin, lifting her glass to pass a glance at it before downing another swallow. "Awful stuff," she comments with a twist of amusement to her tone. Indeed, it's like vodka, only stronger and with a hint of bitter berries mixed in. But it gets the job done. "You already sent Miniyal to Harper to look through those records, didn't you?" she slips into the space before she drinks again, her eyes already nonchalantly lowered to watch the bottom of the glass tip up toward her.
"It is a bit," Roa murmurs as she lifts up the glass to study its contents. "I thought it would be rude to say." And yet, down goes another gulp. There is a small nod at Issa's question. "Really, she went by herself. She just shared what she found. I have copies, if you like. Well...'like' isn't really the word. If you wish to read them."
There's no telling really, whether that grimace, more than a twitch this time, is for that heftier swallow she just downed or for the thought of what she might find in those specified records. "I think I should," she says, all the same, hefting herself up in the chair and angling sideways so that she can throw a leg up over the arm. "I'll swing by on the pretext of some concern or another sometime soon," she says with a wave of one hand. "So. We're done then," she half-notes, half-queries, raising her brows across at Roa.
The weyrwoman sighs. "We're waiting," she amends softly, "to see how this will go next. You're right, it would be better if Telgar speaks up. Or Harper. But if no one does...I suppose we'll be talking again, because I'm not sure what to do. But something, if nothing comes of it. But. I hope we're done." Sip. Wince. "Ugh. You did really well, Issa. I couldn't...that last trip, you carried it. Completely. Thank you."
"Waiting," Issa repeats with a mulling nod, lips pursed as she stares down into her drink once again. Her face remains down when Roa offers her thanks, but her attention rises slowly from the alcohol, eyes tilted up at that extreme angle to catch sight of the Weyrwoman. "I try," she says dismissively, her chin brought up and revealing the smile that quickly turns wry. "Learned from the best." Groomed for a purpose she never got to see. Swirl, swirl, her glance gets caught in the motion of the clear liquid caught by the waning firelight for a second then she looks up again. "You should really work on that," she continues frankly, blue eyes squinting across at Roa.
"I know," Roa sighs. "It's not..." she only shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips, only to find that she's already emptied it. "Bother," the little weyrwoman mutters. "Anyhow, I know. What's happening with D'ven and the job? Any word?"
"Not a single one," Issa returns. "Think I might have scared him off with all my talk of untried methods. I imagine he's either taking his time or already chosen someone else. Though if it were that, I think..." She pauses with a flick of a few fingers, the word wrong; she replaces it a swift second later. "Expect I would have heard something by now." Gossip monger that she is. "I really should run into him somewhere," she adds, though her tone suggests that any chance meeting that happens will have nothing to do with chance. "More?" she asks, eyes falling pointedly to the Weyrwoman's empty glass while swirling the couple of swallows still left to her.
"I haven't heard anything either, and more to the point, neither has R'vain. So I suspect he's still considering." Roa sighs softly and shakes her head. "No. I'd better not. It doesn't take much, and I don't think I want to be more than pleasantly muted."
Issa merely nods for Roa's refusal, but rises anyway, gulping down the last of her glass and passing off the resulting shiver to say, "We should build up your tolerance. So you can go head to head with Sefton without batting your... an eye." She reaches for the young Weyrwoman's empty glass, hand waiting open as she comes to the realization, "Oh. I keep forgetting your not in Caucus anymore." With a shake of her head, she tosses off her forgetfulness.
"I still go head to head with Sefton on occasion," Roa notes idly, handing off the glass. "Though not when alcohol's involved. I'm not sure...I mean, i think I'd need to gain a hundred pounds and at least ten inches before I even had a chance." She smirks as she stands, stretching.
Issa lifts an eyebrow for the revelation that Sefton still merits a chunk of the Weyrwoman's time, but the expression is soon carried away as she goes to deposit the dirtied glasses on the sideboard where she got them from. "Maybe only five inches," Issa counters, as if that were the more easily accomplished of the two suggestions. The greenrider pauses at the sideboard for a moment, considering the bottle past lazy lids before she decides to leave it out and turns back. It only takes her a flick of a glance to note that Roa's standing and after she does, she says, "You'll keep me updated on... things. Yeah?"
"Yeah," Roa says with a small nod. "Promise. And come by anything you want the...those things."
"Right," Issa responds, "I'll remember." It's a slightly greater effort to store away such things just now in her booze-sluggish brain, but she does so, a beat spent in unfocused concentration. "The next day or two. Now, go," she adds cheerfully, jerking her head lightly toward the resting gold, a smile returning with slyness in its curve. "I have a Caucus boy to retrieve."
One brow arches high and Roa chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Have fun," she murmurs before moving towards the ledge where the weighted Tialith waits. "see you soon."
A surge in her smile tells that Issa will, indeed, have fun, but all she offers is a quick, "Bye," before returning to her own dragon. They watch the gold depart together, then the rider, after a gentle hand smoothed across the tip of her dragon's muzzle, swings up and they drift down into the bowl as well.