Scramble
Location: Weyrleaders' Office
Time: Evening on Day 1, Month 8, Turn 3
Players: Roa, R'vain, Ashwin
Scene: Immediately after this scene, Roa and Ashwin seek out the Weyrleader and try to decide what to do next.
Ten minutes ago, the dragon of High Reaches began keening. Some still are, their voices heard and their vibrations felt through the stone of the Weyr. Tialith, or at very least her rider, has composed herself enough that when Roa steps into the office, she looks calm. Save that nose and eyes are red. She stops a few feet inside the doorway, gaze flicking around the space to determine if the weyrleader is in attendance. Arriving shortly after her is Ashwin who keeps a pace behind as he comes to a stop, his face blank and his pale eyes making their own assessment about the room.
R'vain is already there, but has been such for only the least split-second if his doings are any sign. He's got a freckled paw up to the middle buttons of his shirt, shoving them through their eyes with frenetic disinterest; the other paw clenches and unclenches at his side, and he stalks toward the cold pot that contains colder klah left from earlier in the day with a snarl on his mouth. He almost flings it off with a shake of his head, eyes rolling; a hissed, 'Shut UP' comes out between his teeth and he flattens a palm to the table, head drooping. All of that before he looks up and realizes he's had an audience for at least a moment. His nostrils flare and his mouth twitches all sorts of things, settling-- once his glare drifts to Ashwin and back-- for tense misery. "Yeah."
Ashwin has no response to tense misery, keeping his place a pace behind Roa. Not the Weyrwoman's weyrmate just now, but - his subtly altered carriage indicates - the Weyrleader's Captain. And here, blank, attentive gaze fixed on the red man patiently.
"Did you get the gist of it, yet? Or just the panic?" the weyrwoman asks softly. "There's going to be a lot of questions, soon. We need to decide what's to be said. Captain's here for whatever you need from him and the men." There is one other thing Roa offers, wordlessly. An unspoken request from Roa to Tialith has the gold pressing her thoughts towards Ruvoth and half-demanding, half-requesting that he calm and ease off of whatever he's doing in R'vain's head.
"Nenuith," replies R'vain in a low growl. That is his gist of it. The rest is conveyed, or would be conveyed were he quite yet capable of burning holes in things with his eyes, by his glare. It takes a few long seconds for Tialith's efforts to win: it isn't Ruvoth's influence, really, she fights with. But as those seconds stretch by the Weyrleader's expression does soften, and tension drains out of him inch by inching inch. In a few seconds more it is enough that he can crack a weak, stupid version of one of his many grins. "Yeah, he's not invisible yet," says the Weyrleader of his captain, to the captain's weyrmate. "I ain't got nothin' t'have y'do yet, Ashwin. Roa. Thank you." He hasn't /looked/ at Ashwin yet; the immediate word on the subject is practical, while what he says to the weyrwoman is personal. "Have 'er check on Teraneth next. Make /sure/ he's got a mind on th'weyrling dragons. Especially th'ones with riders whose heads're made out of firestone." His head droops again, and shakes. "Then I think some suggestions'd be about right because all I got is a mess of ideas and wishes and what-fors that ain't practical."
Ashwin is silent through that talk, his pale eyes shifting away from the Weyrleader, and to the far wall, where they fix. If he's hoping to interrogate it for some sort of information, it seems has has luck, for into the silence after R'vain has spoken, the guard has words to pour. Quietly, with his customary reserve, and all aimed at the tapestry across from him. "Roa said the other weyrs might not know yet, from Nenuith. Need to tell them, or they'll ask why you didn't."
For the thanks, there is a small nod from Roa. "She's heading down to the weyrling cavern. She'll tell me, if I need to get there, too. Issa keeps her head." The implication, that Teraneth's rider may not, sort of drifts away unsaid. There's another nod for Ashwin's words. "First thing, I think, we need to figure out what it is we could do, if we wanted to. Technically, they're in Nabol's territory. They don't belong to the weyr except, debatably, Nenuith. I don't...without a direct request from Nabol, they've tied our hands, haven't they? Or...fuck. Fifty seven dragons, autonomous of any weyr." She moves forward then to haul out a chair and sink down with a small chinjerk that requests Ashwin to do the same.
R'vain's head comes up. He looks at Ashwin; but speaks, after a moment, to Roa. "Can we get away with telling 'em with message by runner? Formally. Maybe run it by Sorel first, good reason. Delay. Just a notification--" He pushes himself up off the hand he's been leaning into and transfers that hand from the table to the back of a chair, which he hauls out, obedience to Roa's chinjerk imminent even though the gesture was meant for the Captain. He drops heavily into the chair and looks up, morose. "Fifty-seven dragons, thirtyish of which got no right t'be in our coverage. What're we goin' t'do, just shoo 'em away? Took a trial t'send 'em out, it'll take as good as a conclave t'deal with 'em now. And that's assuming we do what a conclave'd expect. Yeah." What he said first: Yeah. And what Roa said, the part he agrees with most: "Fuck."
"Fuck," Ashwin echoes quietly, but with feeling. "Due respect, sir, you can delay by sending word to Nabol, but you send a runner, they're going to ask what all your dragons were busy doing." Only once he's said that does he step forward to take a chair. He pulls it out and sits forward, on the edge, as though he'd rather be moving. As to a conclave, the guard has no reply.
"Don't imagine they came all this way if they didn't have some means to keep from being sent back. Or at least the willingness to fight it. I think Ashwin's right. I think, if we send a runner, it's obvious we're stalling, and Sorel might not be able to afford the delay, anyhow. Or..." Roa falls quiet, brows lifting, "maybe he already knows. His watchrider's from Reaches, and he would have been closer to it all. We already have extra sweeps over Five Mines..." she shakes her head. "Has to be a dragon. Has to be tonight. Has to be us, I think." She draws in a slow breath. "Who do you trust to go tell the other weyrs? We want a touch more time, we send one rider to hit all the weyrs, instead of five." Then she blinks, closes her eyes, and groans softly. "Caucus."
"Don't." R'vain lifts a paw and flips up his bare palm: talk to the hand. "Caucus'll spread th'word and if we send one rider instead of five, instead of fifty and one t'each fucking Hold on Pern, that's our reason why. Caucus. Right there tellin' everyone. Good th'fuck enough." He drops his hand back to his lap, knees wide, and lets his shoulders fall against the seatback behind him, /slump./ "Send-- Send-- " Options obviously come to mind and are just as obviously discarded; R'vain's eyes roll and his head goes back onto the top of the chair and he glowers up at the ceiling, hateful ceiling. "Fuck, shoulda kept goddamn Ch'dais." A beat goes by before the Weyrleader can smile at the very idea. Poor Ch'dais: a punchline. "R'hal's fine, he's obvious. But we /have/ t'have a word with Sorel first or we're putting our own beholden over a barrel."
Quiet, Ashwin. No word on Ch'dais, no word on R'hal, no word on Caucus. The Captain's counsel, such as it is, has been offered. He turns his head out towards the world, to where the Caucus dragons are perhaps even now relaying back to their own Weyrleaders the same thing that these Weyrleaders discuss.
"Ginella's going to be thumping the door down in a moment. Tomorrow. If we're lucky." Roa tips her own head back, eyes closing slowly. "Sorel tonight. We'll send our messenger when we get back to the weyrs who still have daylight. The ones that are already asleep, we alert tomorrow. Let's just...we might as well call a council. Better us than Benden or, fuck, Telgar. Better us. Better to tell than to be told."
R'vain's eyes narrow, but they do not close. He watches his weyrwoman through them, thoughtful now, better without whatever's going wrong in his dragon's head going wrong in his, too. "I think I'd like t'visit Fort," rumbles the Weyrleader then. "Maybe we go there, send R'hal t'th'others. I think I'd like t'call a council with M'lik behind it. Not oblige him t'show up. Just what I'd like." A beat; all it takes for his gaze to flicker and refocus on Ashwin. "Can th'men do extra time t'overlap shifts-- and will they?"
"Headmaster," Ashwin chips in quietly. Then, after a moment's consideration: "Probably just knock, though." He eases back in his chair a little, though not so far as would permit his back to find support. "Men'll follow orders," he replies quietly, shifting his gaze to R'vain.
"You want to go to Fort just you?" Roa asks, head tipping to the side. "Probably, it would make more sense, just you. Man to man. Confiding. It would make it less an official weyr visit and more a quiet discussion on what needs to be done." Roa looks, then, over at Ashwin, brows lifting. "Fuck. Yes. Headmaster. If anyone would have suggestions on how to spin this so we don't look utterly hapless..."
"I want double shifts if you think we can sustain it-- a seven or two, I hope no more." R'vain addresses Ashwin with this, raising his head only enough to do so, eyes tired. "In case we need a group ready t'go somewhere, and a group ready t'stay behind." Incrementally more tired after saying this, and his voice grows weary too; a long look at his Captain might seem to beg for understanding or just try to read something from that professionally unreadable face. Most likely the Weyrleader fails, and turns to Roa instead, to heave out an almost-desperate objection, weakly grinning. "Ain't he taught you t'do that y'self yet?"
The Captain only observes his Weyrleader with his pale blue eyes and his stoic expression, chin tipping downward into a nod. "Yessir. I'll have it arranged." There is a small pause, and perhaps he takes in the red man's growing weariness because he then adds, "The men and I are with you, sir." He pushes his chair back, but doesn't yet rise, waiting instead for R'vain's dismissal.
The weyrwoman glances over at Ashwin as he scoots backwards, but after only a beat, she looks back to R'vain. "He taught me that sometimes it's a good idea to have a sounding board for ideas. He's in the position to be more impartial than either of us, and I trust him. Anyhow, couldn't hurt."
R'vain gives Roa a pained expression, the weak effort at grinning abandoned in favor of suffering. Easier to accept Ashwin's gracious reply and to look up at him with something resembling weary gratitude. "Thank you, Captain." A jerk of a nod, not quite as sharp as it should be, serves as dismissal relatively informal. He'll wait for that to be accepted and acted upon before he speaks to the Weyrwoman again, which is probably bad sign enough.
If the captain is aware there is more to be said, then he also knows those words are not meant for him. He rises in a single fluid motion, snaps off a crisp salute, and makes his way out of the office and towards the living cavern to begin organizing the guard.
The weyrwoman takes another moment to watch Ashwin depart before she turns back to study R'vain. She leans forward, arms folding and settling on the table, chin resting on her folded arms. She blinks slowly, exhales softly. "All right. Let me have it."
R'vain does not watch his Captain depart; he watches his Weyrwoman instead, while she watches her weyrmate. When she tells him to let her have it, he does. "Knowing what a man's good for ain't th'same as trusting him t'do it without some recompense." His rumble's unhappy in the extreme, mouth frowning sour around the words. "I ain't concerned with askin' him. I'm concerned with what he asks back, and who might know how close his ear is t'our doors, then. Who's closer t'him than we are. You ain't concerned about any of /them?/"
Head propped on her arms, Roa considers and then shakes her head. "No," she begins softly, "I trust him. I mean I think...he won't ask anything back. He'll help me because...because he'll help me. No price. I can't say I understand exactly why he's decided that but I'm...I don't know. It's just different. I can ask safely."
"Please." R'vain would sneer this if he didn't seem so drained of energy; even so it is rich with the weight of skepticism. "You're th'Weyrwoman. You were always goin' t'be someplace's weyrwoman, but now you're High Reaches'. If there's no price, it's because he figures you're a valuable friend t'have." A beat. "You know he came up here, few days after, t'offer me advice on th'Weyr council? On how t'handle 'em. Each of 'em. Which of 'em I could /have./"
The weyrwoman blinks slowly, studying R'vain for an instant before her gaze flicks down to the table, to stare at her knuckles or the glass or the writing sand beneath it. "Oh," she says very softly. "Suppose so." But then she glances up, brows hitching upwards a little. "Well? Which ones -could- you have?"
R'vain lets out a little snort of air from flared nostrils when Roa 'supposes.' But her question drains him of all possibility of superiority or satisfaction in his supposed clarity of vision-- he looks away, at the table's blank and unhelpful surface. The muscles beneath one eye twitch. "K'ver and M'lik, he figured."
"Do you know how?" is her next question. "Do you think he's right?" Roa draws in another careful breath and lifts her head. "Sefton's not a fool. He knows how to play the game and he's not going to ask for anything that would keep important people from seeking him out again. Think of him what you will, but the man's advice is sound. Anyhow. Not saying you have to do anything. Might just...be a good thing to know. Who and how."
"Why would I /want them/?" R'vain raises a splayed paw from the arm of his chair, his back unbending from the upholstery with a sudden lunge forward. "I don't say he's a fool. I say he's exactly what you say he is: a player of the game. I am /not/ here," and his nostrils flare emphasis on 'not,' "to play a game with lives, with men, with Weyrs!" The palm comes down with a heavy slap on the table's surface.
"Well, fuck, R'vain. Then tell you what," Roa lifts her head, blue eyes flashing, "When five weyrs come roaring into the bowl demanding to know what we plan to do about fifty seven unaffiliated dragons living with a deposed lord in our coverage area, and when they're forming agreements and shaking hands deciding what's to be done about -us-, you go on and tell them that. I'm sure they'll understand."
"Five Weyrs are not going t'come here t'blame us for allowing a handful of pairs t'take up residence at a little hold," snaps back R'vain, suddenly rouged, freckles vanishing into the burn. "They're goin' t'come here, or t'Harper Hall if we're lucky, along with th'whole slew of Holders and, F'ranth's nipples, Craftmasters-- t'blame us for allowing th'Instigators t'set up fucking housekeeping. That's th'fact, Weyrwoman. They ain't 'unaffiliated dragons.'" Snort.
The weyrwoman tips her head a little to the side, one brow still lifted. "I rather fail to see how that makes my point any less valid."
"It makes your point a drop in a bucket, Roa," replies R'vain, more pleading than angry now, though the shade of his face fails to improve. "There ain't nothing wrong with it except that if we don't address th'whole slop we're goin' t'drown in it."
One hand lifts to rub at her eyes, a bit of weariness peeking though Roa's own expression. "Right," she says with a soft sigh. "Thoughts, then. You said you had some, even if they weren't practical. Let's start there. Figure out what we aim to do. Then worry about how to get there."
The weariness does not go unnoticed; it's what finally causes the freckles to reappear against paling skin. "Sorry," he rumbles, very softly, voice rasping and ragged. He clears his throat and gets up, stalking around to the end of the table so he can take up the klah-pot for a shake. Of course there's liquid in it, probably cold. "What we /should/ do," R'vain says to the pot, "is inform the Masterharper and Derien, make a quiet suggestion that a greater authority than us should be responsible f'handling it since a greater authority than us /supposedly/ handled it before, and keep /your/ head kinda down. But I can't help th'feeling that ain't how it's goin' t'go."
"You'd send them back then," Roa says quietly, making an intent study of her own fingers. "if you could. Maybe get Diya and Nenuith to stay behind. Or make them. No more threat." She steals a quick glance towards R'vain and then back down again. "They're all in one place, this time. Easier to round up."
R'vain slumps back into his chair's welcome embrace, flattened hand dragging off of the table's edge to his knee. "No. That's just it. F'I had my druthers, we'd split 'em out thin and sort 'em. Take back th'kids and families and the weyrlings they kidnapped th'rider parts of, and maybe retry some of th'questionable folk. It'd take turns. Be messy. But th'right thing t'do." A grumpy frown tangles over his broad mouth, and he folds his arms after that.
"Turns," Roa agrees with a small nod, "and another weyr that would take them in. And what do we do with the other ones? They wouldn't...it's not...have to assume, until we know otherwise, that they're all on the mainland. Non-riders included. That's a lot of people, and some are genuinely dangerous. Not to mention, if Odern's allowed them in, he plans to do something with them. Almost would've been easier...they'd just shown up at -our- door." She heaves another slow sigh. "Sorry. I'm being useless."
"We're both being useless," admits R'vain, growlishly. "Have t'assume they're all trouble. Trap 'em, keep 'em where they are, harmless, until we can sort 'em out. Try t'get th'innocents out as fast as we can-- " He lifts a hand and reiterates his top priorities for salvation into proper society with fingers, counting. "Children, families, th'stolen weyrlings. Get that done and have Harpers investigate th'rest. Turns just t'handle th'trials alone. D'you think we can sell th'rest of Pern on this?" A beat. "You could sound it out with th'headmaster. Right now. And I could see M'lik. Right now, maybe, morning if not. Send out word that there's... renegade riders at Five Mines, keep an eye on, f'now. And in a day, send out what we /really/ know and what we plan t'do."
"I think we're better off going to Sorel first. Headmaster and M'lik afterwards. If Sorel wants us out of it, that's a whole other mess to deal with. He'd...be sort of an idiot, he wants us out of it but. His lands. We talk to him first." Roa continues to watch her fingers, drawing in a careful and steadying breath. "Trials," she repeats quietly. "Oh, Faranth. I can't...I think I need a couple minutes. Before we go."
"Get a couple minutes. Sorel's going t'appreciate every second we give him." But R'vain's mind is somewhere else even as he's pushing himself up out of the chair; his gaze goes distant and his mouth is twisting around a shape that's nothing to do with pleasure or grins. "You can between? Think I might like y't'leave Tialith here t'keep th'Weyr calm."
"Yeah," Roa says simply, pushing her chair back. "I can. I'll have her stay. She says she'll keep around the barracks for now. A few of the younger ones are pretty shaken. No surprise. Ten minutes. Back here. We'll go then." She stands and turns, moving towards her own weyr not quite as fast as she might, but not exactly slow.
Time: Evening on Day 1, Month 8, Turn 3
Players: Roa, R'vain, Ashwin
Scene: Immediately after this scene, Roa and Ashwin seek out the Weyrleader and try to decide what to do next.
Ten minutes ago, the dragon of High Reaches began keening. Some still are, their voices heard and their vibrations felt through the stone of the Weyr. Tialith, or at very least her rider, has composed herself enough that when Roa steps into the office, she looks calm. Save that nose and eyes are red. She stops a few feet inside the doorway, gaze flicking around the space to determine if the weyrleader is in attendance. Arriving shortly after her is Ashwin who keeps a pace behind as he comes to a stop, his face blank and his pale eyes making their own assessment about the room.
R'vain is already there, but has been such for only the least split-second if his doings are any sign. He's got a freckled paw up to the middle buttons of his shirt, shoving them through their eyes with frenetic disinterest; the other paw clenches and unclenches at his side, and he stalks toward the cold pot that contains colder klah left from earlier in the day with a snarl on his mouth. He almost flings it off with a shake of his head, eyes rolling; a hissed, 'Shut UP' comes out between his teeth and he flattens a palm to the table, head drooping. All of that before he looks up and realizes he's had an audience for at least a moment. His nostrils flare and his mouth twitches all sorts of things, settling-- once his glare drifts to Ashwin and back-- for tense misery. "Yeah."
Ashwin has no response to tense misery, keeping his place a pace behind Roa. Not the Weyrwoman's weyrmate just now, but - his subtly altered carriage indicates - the Weyrleader's Captain. And here, blank, attentive gaze fixed on the red man patiently.
"Did you get the gist of it, yet? Or just the panic?" the weyrwoman asks softly. "There's going to be a lot of questions, soon. We need to decide what's to be said. Captain's here for whatever you need from him and the men." There is one other thing Roa offers, wordlessly. An unspoken request from Roa to Tialith has the gold pressing her thoughts towards Ruvoth and half-demanding, half-requesting that he calm and ease off of whatever he's doing in R'vain's head.
"Nenuith," replies R'vain in a low growl. That is his gist of it. The rest is conveyed, or would be conveyed were he quite yet capable of burning holes in things with his eyes, by his glare. It takes a few long seconds for Tialith's efforts to win: it isn't Ruvoth's influence, really, she fights with. But as those seconds stretch by the Weyrleader's expression does soften, and tension drains out of him inch by inching inch. In a few seconds more it is enough that he can crack a weak, stupid version of one of his many grins. "Yeah, he's not invisible yet," says the Weyrleader of his captain, to the captain's weyrmate. "I ain't got nothin' t'have y'do yet, Ashwin. Roa. Thank you." He hasn't /looked/ at Ashwin yet; the immediate word on the subject is practical, while what he says to the weyrwoman is personal. "Have 'er check on Teraneth next. Make /sure/ he's got a mind on th'weyrling dragons. Especially th'ones with riders whose heads're made out of firestone." His head droops again, and shakes. "Then I think some suggestions'd be about right because all I got is a mess of ideas and wishes and what-fors that ain't practical."
Ashwin is silent through that talk, his pale eyes shifting away from the Weyrleader, and to the far wall, where they fix. If he's hoping to interrogate it for some sort of information, it seems has has luck, for into the silence after R'vain has spoken, the guard has words to pour. Quietly, with his customary reserve, and all aimed at the tapestry across from him. "Roa said the other weyrs might not know yet, from Nenuith. Need to tell them, or they'll ask why you didn't."
For the thanks, there is a small nod from Roa. "She's heading down to the weyrling cavern. She'll tell me, if I need to get there, too. Issa keeps her head." The implication, that Teraneth's rider may not, sort of drifts away unsaid. There's another nod for Ashwin's words. "First thing, I think, we need to figure out what it is we could do, if we wanted to. Technically, they're in Nabol's territory. They don't belong to the weyr except, debatably, Nenuith. I don't...without a direct request from Nabol, they've tied our hands, haven't they? Or...fuck. Fifty seven dragons, autonomous of any weyr." She moves forward then to haul out a chair and sink down with a small chinjerk that requests Ashwin to do the same.
R'vain's head comes up. He looks at Ashwin; but speaks, after a moment, to Roa. "Can we get away with telling 'em with message by runner? Formally. Maybe run it by Sorel first, good reason. Delay. Just a notification--" He pushes himself up off the hand he's been leaning into and transfers that hand from the table to the back of a chair, which he hauls out, obedience to Roa's chinjerk imminent even though the gesture was meant for the Captain. He drops heavily into the chair and looks up, morose. "Fifty-seven dragons, thirtyish of which got no right t'be in our coverage. What're we goin' t'do, just shoo 'em away? Took a trial t'send 'em out, it'll take as good as a conclave t'deal with 'em now. And that's assuming we do what a conclave'd expect. Yeah." What he said first: Yeah. And what Roa said, the part he agrees with most: "Fuck."
"Fuck," Ashwin echoes quietly, but with feeling. "Due respect, sir, you can delay by sending word to Nabol, but you send a runner, they're going to ask what all your dragons were busy doing." Only once he's said that does he step forward to take a chair. He pulls it out and sits forward, on the edge, as though he'd rather be moving. As to a conclave, the guard has no reply.
"Don't imagine they came all this way if they didn't have some means to keep from being sent back. Or at least the willingness to fight it. I think Ashwin's right. I think, if we send a runner, it's obvious we're stalling, and Sorel might not be able to afford the delay, anyhow. Or..." Roa falls quiet, brows lifting, "maybe he already knows. His watchrider's from Reaches, and he would have been closer to it all. We already have extra sweeps over Five Mines..." she shakes her head. "Has to be a dragon. Has to be tonight. Has to be us, I think." She draws in a slow breath. "Who do you trust to go tell the other weyrs? We want a touch more time, we send one rider to hit all the weyrs, instead of five." Then she blinks, closes her eyes, and groans softly. "Caucus."
"Don't." R'vain lifts a paw and flips up his bare palm: talk to the hand. "Caucus'll spread th'word and if we send one rider instead of five, instead of fifty and one t'each fucking Hold on Pern, that's our reason why. Caucus. Right there tellin' everyone. Good th'fuck enough." He drops his hand back to his lap, knees wide, and lets his shoulders fall against the seatback behind him, /slump./ "Send-- Send-- " Options obviously come to mind and are just as obviously discarded; R'vain's eyes roll and his head goes back onto the top of the chair and he glowers up at the ceiling, hateful ceiling. "Fuck, shoulda kept goddamn Ch'dais." A beat goes by before the Weyrleader can smile at the very idea. Poor Ch'dais: a punchline. "R'hal's fine, he's obvious. But we /have/ t'have a word with Sorel first or we're putting our own beholden over a barrel."
Quiet, Ashwin. No word on Ch'dais, no word on R'hal, no word on Caucus. The Captain's counsel, such as it is, has been offered. He turns his head out towards the world, to where the Caucus dragons are perhaps even now relaying back to their own Weyrleaders the same thing that these Weyrleaders discuss.
"Ginella's going to be thumping the door down in a moment. Tomorrow. If we're lucky." Roa tips her own head back, eyes closing slowly. "Sorel tonight. We'll send our messenger when we get back to the weyrs who still have daylight. The ones that are already asleep, we alert tomorrow. Let's just...we might as well call a council. Better us than Benden or, fuck, Telgar. Better us. Better to tell than to be told."
R'vain's eyes narrow, but they do not close. He watches his weyrwoman through them, thoughtful now, better without whatever's going wrong in his dragon's head going wrong in his, too. "I think I'd like t'visit Fort," rumbles the Weyrleader then. "Maybe we go there, send R'hal t'th'others. I think I'd like t'call a council with M'lik behind it. Not oblige him t'show up. Just what I'd like." A beat; all it takes for his gaze to flicker and refocus on Ashwin. "Can th'men do extra time t'overlap shifts-- and will they?"
"Headmaster," Ashwin chips in quietly. Then, after a moment's consideration: "Probably just knock, though." He eases back in his chair a little, though not so far as would permit his back to find support. "Men'll follow orders," he replies quietly, shifting his gaze to R'vain.
"You want to go to Fort just you?" Roa asks, head tipping to the side. "Probably, it would make more sense, just you. Man to man. Confiding. It would make it less an official weyr visit and more a quiet discussion on what needs to be done." Roa looks, then, over at Ashwin, brows lifting. "Fuck. Yes. Headmaster. If anyone would have suggestions on how to spin this so we don't look utterly hapless..."
"I want double shifts if you think we can sustain it-- a seven or two, I hope no more." R'vain addresses Ashwin with this, raising his head only enough to do so, eyes tired. "In case we need a group ready t'go somewhere, and a group ready t'stay behind." Incrementally more tired after saying this, and his voice grows weary too; a long look at his Captain might seem to beg for understanding or just try to read something from that professionally unreadable face. Most likely the Weyrleader fails, and turns to Roa instead, to heave out an almost-desperate objection, weakly grinning. "Ain't he taught you t'do that y'self yet?"
The Captain only observes his Weyrleader with his pale blue eyes and his stoic expression, chin tipping downward into a nod. "Yessir. I'll have it arranged." There is a small pause, and perhaps he takes in the red man's growing weariness because he then adds, "The men and I are with you, sir." He pushes his chair back, but doesn't yet rise, waiting instead for R'vain's dismissal.
The weyrwoman glances over at Ashwin as he scoots backwards, but after only a beat, she looks back to R'vain. "He taught me that sometimes it's a good idea to have a sounding board for ideas. He's in the position to be more impartial than either of us, and I trust him. Anyhow, couldn't hurt."
R'vain gives Roa a pained expression, the weak effort at grinning abandoned in favor of suffering. Easier to accept Ashwin's gracious reply and to look up at him with something resembling weary gratitude. "Thank you, Captain." A jerk of a nod, not quite as sharp as it should be, serves as dismissal relatively informal. He'll wait for that to be accepted and acted upon before he speaks to the Weyrwoman again, which is probably bad sign enough.
If the captain is aware there is more to be said, then he also knows those words are not meant for him. He rises in a single fluid motion, snaps off a crisp salute, and makes his way out of the office and towards the living cavern to begin organizing the guard.
The weyrwoman takes another moment to watch Ashwin depart before she turns back to study R'vain. She leans forward, arms folding and settling on the table, chin resting on her folded arms. She blinks slowly, exhales softly. "All right. Let me have it."
R'vain does not watch his Captain depart; he watches his Weyrwoman instead, while she watches her weyrmate. When she tells him to let her have it, he does. "Knowing what a man's good for ain't th'same as trusting him t'do it without some recompense." His rumble's unhappy in the extreme, mouth frowning sour around the words. "I ain't concerned with askin' him. I'm concerned with what he asks back, and who might know how close his ear is t'our doors, then. Who's closer t'him than we are. You ain't concerned about any of /them?/"
Head propped on her arms, Roa considers and then shakes her head. "No," she begins softly, "I trust him. I mean I think...he won't ask anything back. He'll help me because...because he'll help me. No price. I can't say I understand exactly why he's decided that but I'm...I don't know. It's just different. I can ask safely."
"Please." R'vain would sneer this if he didn't seem so drained of energy; even so it is rich with the weight of skepticism. "You're th'Weyrwoman. You were always goin' t'be someplace's weyrwoman, but now you're High Reaches'. If there's no price, it's because he figures you're a valuable friend t'have." A beat. "You know he came up here, few days after, t'offer me advice on th'Weyr council? On how t'handle 'em. Each of 'em. Which of 'em I could /have./"
The weyrwoman blinks slowly, studying R'vain for an instant before her gaze flicks down to the table, to stare at her knuckles or the glass or the writing sand beneath it. "Oh," she says very softly. "Suppose so." But then she glances up, brows hitching upwards a little. "Well? Which ones -could- you have?"
R'vain lets out a little snort of air from flared nostrils when Roa 'supposes.' But her question drains him of all possibility of superiority or satisfaction in his supposed clarity of vision-- he looks away, at the table's blank and unhelpful surface. The muscles beneath one eye twitch. "K'ver and M'lik, he figured."
"Do you know how?" is her next question. "Do you think he's right?" Roa draws in another careful breath and lifts her head. "Sefton's not a fool. He knows how to play the game and he's not going to ask for anything that would keep important people from seeking him out again. Think of him what you will, but the man's advice is sound. Anyhow. Not saying you have to do anything. Might just...be a good thing to know. Who and how."
"Why would I /want them/?" R'vain raises a splayed paw from the arm of his chair, his back unbending from the upholstery with a sudden lunge forward. "I don't say he's a fool. I say he's exactly what you say he is: a player of the game. I am /not/ here," and his nostrils flare emphasis on 'not,' "to play a game with lives, with men, with Weyrs!" The palm comes down with a heavy slap on the table's surface.
"Well, fuck, R'vain. Then tell you what," Roa lifts her head, blue eyes flashing, "When five weyrs come roaring into the bowl demanding to know what we plan to do about fifty seven unaffiliated dragons living with a deposed lord in our coverage area, and when they're forming agreements and shaking hands deciding what's to be done about -us-, you go on and tell them that. I'm sure they'll understand."
"Five Weyrs are not going t'come here t'blame us for allowing a handful of pairs t'take up residence at a little hold," snaps back R'vain, suddenly rouged, freckles vanishing into the burn. "They're goin' t'come here, or t'Harper Hall if we're lucky, along with th'whole slew of Holders and, F'ranth's nipples, Craftmasters-- t'blame us for allowing th'Instigators t'set up fucking housekeeping. That's th'fact, Weyrwoman. They ain't 'unaffiliated dragons.'" Snort.
The weyrwoman tips her head a little to the side, one brow still lifted. "I rather fail to see how that makes my point any less valid."
"It makes your point a drop in a bucket, Roa," replies R'vain, more pleading than angry now, though the shade of his face fails to improve. "There ain't nothing wrong with it except that if we don't address th'whole slop we're goin' t'drown in it."
One hand lifts to rub at her eyes, a bit of weariness peeking though Roa's own expression. "Right," she says with a soft sigh. "Thoughts, then. You said you had some, even if they weren't practical. Let's start there. Figure out what we aim to do. Then worry about how to get there."
The weariness does not go unnoticed; it's what finally causes the freckles to reappear against paling skin. "Sorry," he rumbles, very softly, voice rasping and ragged. He clears his throat and gets up, stalking around to the end of the table so he can take up the klah-pot for a shake. Of course there's liquid in it, probably cold. "What we /should/ do," R'vain says to the pot, "is inform the Masterharper and Derien, make a quiet suggestion that a greater authority than us should be responsible f'handling it since a greater authority than us /supposedly/ handled it before, and keep /your/ head kinda down. But I can't help th'feeling that ain't how it's goin' t'go."
"You'd send them back then," Roa says quietly, making an intent study of her own fingers. "if you could. Maybe get Diya and Nenuith to stay behind. Or make them. No more threat." She steals a quick glance towards R'vain and then back down again. "They're all in one place, this time. Easier to round up."
R'vain slumps back into his chair's welcome embrace, flattened hand dragging off of the table's edge to his knee. "No. That's just it. F'I had my druthers, we'd split 'em out thin and sort 'em. Take back th'kids and families and the weyrlings they kidnapped th'rider parts of, and maybe retry some of th'questionable folk. It'd take turns. Be messy. But th'right thing t'do." A grumpy frown tangles over his broad mouth, and he folds his arms after that.
"Turns," Roa agrees with a small nod, "and another weyr that would take them in. And what do we do with the other ones? They wouldn't...it's not...have to assume, until we know otherwise, that they're all on the mainland. Non-riders included. That's a lot of people, and some are genuinely dangerous. Not to mention, if Odern's allowed them in, he plans to do something with them. Almost would've been easier...they'd just shown up at -our- door." She heaves another slow sigh. "Sorry. I'm being useless."
"We're both being useless," admits R'vain, growlishly. "Have t'assume they're all trouble. Trap 'em, keep 'em where they are, harmless, until we can sort 'em out. Try t'get th'innocents out as fast as we can-- " He lifts a hand and reiterates his top priorities for salvation into proper society with fingers, counting. "Children, families, th'stolen weyrlings. Get that done and have Harpers investigate th'rest. Turns just t'handle th'trials alone. D'you think we can sell th'rest of Pern on this?" A beat. "You could sound it out with th'headmaster. Right now. And I could see M'lik. Right now, maybe, morning if not. Send out word that there's... renegade riders at Five Mines, keep an eye on, f'now. And in a day, send out what we /really/ know and what we plan t'do."
"I think we're better off going to Sorel first. Headmaster and M'lik afterwards. If Sorel wants us out of it, that's a whole other mess to deal with. He'd...be sort of an idiot, he wants us out of it but. His lands. We talk to him first." Roa continues to watch her fingers, drawing in a careful and steadying breath. "Trials," she repeats quietly. "Oh, Faranth. I can't...I think I need a couple minutes. Before we go."
"Get a couple minutes. Sorel's going t'appreciate every second we give him." But R'vain's mind is somewhere else even as he's pushing himself up out of the chair; his gaze goes distant and his mouth is twisting around a shape that's nothing to do with pleasure or grins. "You can between? Think I might like y't'leave Tialith here t'keep th'Weyr calm."
"Yeah," Roa says simply, pushing her chair back. "I can. I'll have her stay. She says she'll keep around the barracks for now. A few of the younger ones are pretty shaken. No surprise. Ten minutes. Back here. We'll go then." She stands and turns, moving towards her own weyr not quite as fast as she might, but not exactly slow.