On the Dotted Line
Location: Weyrleader's Office
Time: Afternoon on Day 11, Month 7, Turn 2
Players: J'cor and Roa
Scene: Roa makes it official. J'cor has an added request.
Weyrleaders' Office
Much of the formal and informal business that concerns the weyrleaders is conducted here. As such, an effort has been made to keep this chamber comfortable out of respect for the long hours of work required to keep the Weyr running. The walls are bright with tapestries and the floors warm with thick rugs. A large sandtable holds pride of place in the center of the room, one half covered with a sheet of glass to serve as a writing surface. A second, smaller table holds whatever writing implements and record hides are needed by the staff. The chairs that ring this area are thickly cushioned but otherwise undecorated.
The stairs that led into the complex from the bowl continue up to the right, taking one into the Weyrleader's weyr. A large tunnel to the left curves down to the senior Weyrwoman's weyr, broken only by the smaller tunnel that leads to one of the junior's weyrs. The last tunnel, opposite the entrance, leads to the second junior's weyr.
Summoned by a relayed message from Karth, J'cor comes tromping up the stairs from the bowl to his office. Tromping loudly through the passageways has always been a habit of this Weyrleaders, but in recent weeks the sound of his footsteps has noticeably less energetic. Nor has he spent much time in the office; the weyr staff's efforts to keep everything clean and dusted makes it look well-used, but the customary scent of J'cor's body odor has dissipated to almost nothingness, leaving only the smell of old hides and cleaning agents.
Roa is already waiting. She stands quietly near the desk, currently wearing no knot at all, redwort-stained fingertips clasped together as she awaits J'cor's arrival. Her stance shifts now and again, but at the tromping she calms and looks towards the doorway. At the Weyrleader's arrival, he is offered a nod and a quiet, "Sir."
The last stair is always the most rewarding. J'cor thuds his boot down on it, pausing just an extra half-second before pushing up and stepping the rest of the way into the room, his eyes finding Roa at her quiet greeting. "Roa," he returns. "You have decided." He does not really await a response to this, going past her to his side of the desk and dropping to a squat before a small locked drawer. His hand dives into his riding jacket for the key.
"Yes, sir. I have." There doesn't seem to be a need of any more answer. J'cor is already getting the necessary things so Roa simply waits quietly.
J'cor acknowledges her simple response with a low "hmm," fiddling the key into the lock and opening the drawer. Roa's papers are not on top, but it doesn't take him long to shift through and find them. Pushing the drawer closed, he relocks it and gets to his feet, slapping the papers down on the desk and sliding them across to Roa. There are plenty of quills for the borrowing; J'cor leaves it to her to read and sign while he settles back in his chair and quietly watches her face.
Another step, closer to the desk, as the papers appear. They are drawn fully over to her side and Roa takes a moment to simply read over them. Page by page. Start to finish. It is only after she has done so that small fingers pick up a quill and dip it in ink. The tip is held over the inkwell until it stops dripping, and then is carried over to the papers, and signs. Her name is short. It doesn't take long. Wordlessly, the papers are turned around and nudged back to J'cor. "Such a tiny thing," she muses quietly. "changes so much." Her expression, throughout all of it, is carefully neutral.
J'cor sets the flat of his hand down on the papers, pinning them to the desk. His other hand reaches under to flip through the very bottom edges of the papers, allowing him a brief look at her signature before he lets the papers fall back down. "Indeed it does." He pulls both hands off the papers now, folding them in his lap. He considers her for a moment before summing up a thin smile, too tired to be sincere. "Welcome to High Reaches, weyrwoman."
Roa doesn't smile back, although there is something in her face that softens a little. She nods once. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be here." She is quiet a moment, and perhaps that will be all except, very softly, "is there...anything I can do?"
J'cor's lips draw down in a faint grimace at the softened expression, his gaze shifting away from her face to a tapestry on the wall of the room. His eyebrow arches in response to her question, but he glances back only for a second. "I should be asking you that question, Roa. You are not new to this weyr, but to this -" he unfolds his hands just long enough to tap the papers, shrugging as he settles back again - "here. Is there anything I can do to help you adjust."
"I...don't think so," she murmurs, looking down, again, at those papers. "I suppose it will be a bit awkward at first, but I cannot believe a transfer is so unexpected. *My* transfer, perhaps, may be. I'll keep an eye out and alert you if..." and here Roa quiets, picking her words carefully, "if trouble seems inclined to follow me again," is what she settles on.
J'cor lets out a small breath, even at her careful phrasing, and returns his gaze to her. "Indeed. If - if anything strikes you amiss, even slightly so, please do not hesitate to inform me." He shifts in his chair, crossing the ankle of one leg over his knee as he adopts a posture that's just a touch less formal. "Can I importune you a moment for your medical opinion, Roa."
A small nod, but crisp, meets J'cor's request for notification. And then, at his second question, Roa swallows once and nods again. "Of course, sir. What is it that you'd like to know?" So formal. So careful, here.
J'cor tilts his chin up, suddenly struck by the inequality of their posture. After a moment he gives in to the temptation to stand, one hand finding its way to the desk and flatting down on the papers again. "You know as well as I Karth's current condition. Supposing, however, that he were not -" his free hand tilts over, gesturing helplessly to indicate words he cannot say - "were that the case, what sort of treatment might he be receiving now." Aware that his questions this afternoon have lacked a certain inflection, he tacks a small "Mm?" onto the end of his speech, eyebrows raising.
Roa's brows draw down in perplexity and her head cants to the side. "Sir?" she queries. "I don't...understand the question."
J'cor raises a hand to his brow, pulling it down over his eyes like a kind of visor. "Ah, forgive me," he murmurs. The fingers of his table-braced hand arch up, creating a kind of cage over the papers. "I am not being clear." The visor drops away, but the cage remains. "It is my wish that Karth not appear crippled." His mouth purses at the word, but his voice stays level. "I ask you for a kind of deception. Some kind of rehabilitating regimen which would give the appearance that he was healing on schedule. Treatment you would have prescribed for a dragon who was not permanently injured. Is that more clear?"
"Yessir. It is. I..." Roa's lips press together. "When the bandages come off, it will be apparent how severely he is hurt. You haven't a great deal of time with which to propagate your ruse. But. I'll write up some exercises into his recovery plan and show you how to have him practice." A pause, and then, carefully, "What is it you hope to accomplish with this extra time?"
J'cor gives a sharp nod, acknowledging the severity of Karth's injury, then raises his hand from off the paper. Her question draws careful consideration in its turn, before he answers slowly, looking her directly in the eye, "What hold I have on High Reaches would not, I feel, be best accented by the knowledge that I will soon be gone. I doubt I can propagate my ruse, as you put it, so long as till the next Weyrleader comes to power, but what time I can win would be more productive and more stable without this information going public."
"I see," Roa murmurs. "All right, then. I'll help as best I can. We can, perhaps, leave the bandages on a bit longer than is strictly necessary. Does, forgive me, but does Karth...understand? How is he faring? Could Tialith or myself help either of you in any way?"
J'cor dredges up another thin smile for her agreement, though it doesn't last long. "He understands," the Weyrleader answers quietly, allowing his gaze to drift away from hers now that his point has been conveyed. "He was not pleased, of course, but he adjusts." He looks back at her, expression wry. "Mostly, at the moment, he complains that he cannot hunt for himself."
"He should be able to," The newest Reachian offers, "once the stitches are out and the wounds have fully healed. Perhaps I'll ask Tialith to bring him something. It might smooth his ego if the one who's hunting for him is a queen." A tiny smirk, though it, too, is more forced than genuine.
J'cor recalls that flicker of a smile in answer to her smirk. "It might at that. If it is not an inconvenience to you and Tialith, I would appreciate it."
The little weyrwoman shakes her head. "It wouldn't be. Tia enjoys hunting, she'll be happy to oblige."
J'cor gives a swift nod, the air of formality suddenly setting down on him again. "Very well. Thank you, Roa." A half-step forward brings him up against the desk, his hand outstretched to add a handshake to the apparent dismissal in his tone.
Roa's small hand slips into the Weyrleader's larger one, finishing off the handshake. "You're welcome, sir." Formality on her end as well. "I'll get the instructions on wing exercises to you shortly."
J'cor, as he withdraws his hand, puts it back into the jacket pocket where the key to his locked drawer awaits. For now, however, the official papers of Roa's transfer remain in sight on the table. "That would be very much appreciated. I am, as we have discussed, always available."
"Thank you sir." Roa's hand falls back to her side and then, with a small nod, she accepts her dismissal and turns to go.
Time: Afternoon on Day 11, Month 7, Turn 2
Players: J'cor and Roa
Scene: Roa makes it official. J'cor has an added request.
Weyrleaders' Office
Much of the formal and informal business that concerns the weyrleaders is conducted here. As such, an effort has been made to keep this chamber comfortable out of respect for the long hours of work required to keep the Weyr running. The walls are bright with tapestries and the floors warm with thick rugs. A large sandtable holds pride of place in the center of the room, one half covered with a sheet of glass to serve as a writing surface. A second, smaller table holds whatever writing implements and record hides are needed by the staff. The chairs that ring this area are thickly cushioned but otherwise undecorated.
The stairs that led into the complex from the bowl continue up to the right, taking one into the Weyrleader's weyr. A large tunnel to the left curves down to the senior Weyrwoman's weyr, broken only by the smaller tunnel that leads to one of the junior's weyrs. The last tunnel, opposite the entrance, leads to the second junior's weyr.
Summoned by a relayed message from Karth, J'cor comes tromping up the stairs from the bowl to his office. Tromping loudly through the passageways has always been a habit of this Weyrleaders, but in recent weeks the sound of his footsteps has noticeably less energetic. Nor has he spent much time in the office; the weyr staff's efforts to keep everything clean and dusted makes it look well-used, but the customary scent of J'cor's body odor has dissipated to almost nothingness, leaving only the smell of old hides and cleaning agents.
Roa is already waiting. She stands quietly near the desk, currently wearing no knot at all, redwort-stained fingertips clasped together as she awaits J'cor's arrival. Her stance shifts now and again, but at the tromping she calms and looks towards the doorway. At the Weyrleader's arrival, he is offered a nod and a quiet, "Sir."
The last stair is always the most rewarding. J'cor thuds his boot down on it, pausing just an extra half-second before pushing up and stepping the rest of the way into the room, his eyes finding Roa at her quiet greeting. "Roa," he returns. "You have decided." He does not really await a response to this, going past her to his side of the desk and dropping to a squat before a small locked drawer. His hand dives into his riding jacket for the key.
"Yes, sir. I have." There doesn't seem to be a need of any more answer. J'cor is already getting the necessary things so Roa simply waits quietly.
J'cor acknowledges her simple response with a low "hmm," fiddling the key into the lock and opening the drawer. Roa's papers are not on top, but it doesn't take him long to shift through and find them. Pushing the drawer closed, he relocks it and gets to his feet, slapping the papers down on the desk and sliding them across to Roa. There are plenty of quills for the borrowing; J'cor leaves it to her to read and sign while he settles back in his chair and quietly watches her face.
Another step, closer to the desk, as the papers appear. They are drawn fully over to her side and Roa takes a moment to simply read over them. Page by page. Start to finish. It is only after she has done so that small fingers pick up a quill and dip it in ink. The tip is held over the inkwell until it stops dripping, and then is carried over to the papers, and signs. Her name is short. It doesn't take long. Wordlessly, the papers are turned around and nudged back to J'cor. "Such a tiny thing," she muses quietly. "changes so much." Her expression, throughout all of it, is carefully neutral.
J'cor sets the flat of his hand down on the papers, pinning them to the desk. His other hand reaches under to flip through the very bottom edges of the papers, allowing him a brief look at her signature before he lets the papers fall back down. "Indeed it does." He pulls both hands off the papers now, folding them in his lap. He considers her for a moment before summing up a thin smile, too tired to be sincere. "Welcome to High Reaches, weyrwoman."
Roa doesn't smile back, although there is something in her face that softens a little. She nods once. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be here." She is quiet a moment, and perhaps that will be all except, very softly, "is there...anything I can do?"
J'cor's lips draw down in a faint grimace at the softened expression, his gaze shifting away from her face to a tapestry on the wall of the room. His eyebrow arches in response to her question, but he glances back only for a second. "I should be asking you that question, Roa. You are not new to this weyr, but to this -" he unfolds his hands just long enough to tap the papers, shrugging as he settles back again - "here. Is there anything I can do to help you adjust."
"I...don't think so," she murmurs, looking down, again, at those papers. "I suppose it will be a bit awkward at first, but I cannot believe a transfer is so unexpected. *My* transfer, perhaps, may be. I'll keep an eye out and alert you if..." and here Roa quiets, picking her words carefully, "if trouble seems inclined to follow me again," is what she settles on.
J'cor lets out a small breath, even at her careful phrasing, and returns his gaze to her. "Indeed. If - if anything strikes you amiss, even slightly so, please do not hesitate to inform me." He shifts in his chair, crossing the ankle of one leg over his knee as he adopts a posture that's just a touch less formal. "Can I importune you a moment for your medical opinion, Roa."
A small nod, but crisp, meets J'cor's request for notification. And then, at his second question, Roa swallows once and nods again. "Of course, sir. What is it that you'd like to know?" So formal. So careful, here.
J'cor tilts his chin up, suddenly struck by the inequality of their posture. After a moment he gives in to the temptation to stand, one hand finding its way to the desk and flatting down on the papers again. "You know as well as I Karth's current condition. Supposing, however, that he were not -" his free hand tilts over, gesturing helplessly to indicate words he cannot say - "were that the case, what sort of treatment might he be receiving now." Aware that his questions this afternoon have lacked a certain inflection, he tacks a small "Mm?" onto the end of his speech, eyebrows raising.
Roa's brows draw down in perplexity and her head cants to the side. "Sir?" she queries. "I don't...understand the question."
J'cor raises a hand to his brow, pulling it down over his eyes like a kind of visor. "Ah, forgive me," he murmurs. The fingers of his table-braced hand arch up, creating a kind of cage over the papers. "I am not being clear." The visor drops away, but the cage remains. "It is my wish that Karth not appear crippled." His mouth purses at the word, but his voice stays level. "I ask you for a kind of deception. Some kind of rehabilitating regimen which would give the appearance that he was healing on schedule. Treatment you would have prescribed for a dragon who was not permanently injured. Is that more clear?"
"Yessir. It is. I..." Roa's lips press together. "When the bandages come off, it will be apparent how severely he is hurt. You haven't a great deal of time with which to propagate your ruse. But. I'll write up some exercises into his recovery plan and show you how to have him practice." A pause, and then, carefully, "What is it you hope to accomplish with this extra time?"
J'cor gives a sharp nod, acknowledging the severity of Karth's injury, then raises his hand from off the paper. Her question draws careful consideration in its turn, before he answers slowly, looking her directly in the eye, "What hold I have on High Reaches would not, I feel, be best accented by the knowledge that I will soon be gone. I doubt I can propagate my ruse, as you put it, so long as till the next Weyrleader comes to power, but what time I can win would be more productive and more stable without this information going public."
"I see," Roa murmurs. "All right, then. I'll help as best I can. We can, perhaps, leave the bandages on a bit longer than is strictly necessary. Does, forgive me, but does Karth...understand? How is he faring? Could Tialith or myself help either of you in any way?"
J'cor dredges up another thin smile for her agreement, though it doesn't last long. "He understands," the Weyrleader answers quietly, allowing his gaze to drift away from hers now that his point has been conveyed. "He was not pleased, of course, but he adjusts." He looks back at her, expression wry. "Mostly, at the moment, he complains that he cannot hunt for himself."
"He should be able to," The newest Reachian offers, "once the stitches are out and the wounds have fully healed. Perhaps I'll ask Tialith to bring him something. It might smooth his ego if the one who's hunting for him is a queen." A tiny smirk, though it, too, is more forced than genuine.
J'cor recalls that flicker of a smile in answer to her smirk. "It might at that. If it is not an inconvenience to you and Tialith, I would appreciate it."
The little weyrwoman shakes her head. "It wouldn't be. Tia enjoys hunting, she'll be happy to oblige."
J'cor gives a swift nod, the air of formality suddenly setting down on him again. "Very well. Thank you, Roa." A half-step forward brings him up against the desk, his hand outstretched to add a handshake to the apparent dismissal in his tone.
Roa's small hand slips into the Weyrleader's larger one, finishing off the handshake. "You're welcome, sir." Formality on her end as well. "I'll get the instructions on wing exercises to you shortly."
J'cor, as he withdraws his hand, puts it back into the jacket pocket where the key to his locked drawer awaits. For now, however, the official papers of Roa's transfer remain in sight on the table. "That would be very much appreciated. I am, as we have discussed, always available."
"Thank you sir." Roa's hand falls back to her side and then, with a small nod, she accepts her dismissal and turns to go.