Her Games
Location: Weyrleader's Weyr
Time: Late Evening on Day 24, Month 7, Turn 2
Players: J'cor and Roa
Scene: Roa reports to the Weyrleader on her visit with Aivey
Bright light suffuses the Weyrleader's Weyr, fresh glows having been hung up around the wall, but J'cor is nowhere near enough to use them. Instead, the Weyrleader has retreated to his dragon's unused ledge, where his silhouette - backlighted by the glows - is just barely visible, and more clearly located by the visible tendrils of smoke drifting up from his pipe.
Ah. The pipe. It is, admittedly, a particular trait that the newest Reachian goldrider does not much appreciate. Still, as she steps into the Weyrleader's weyr, the only indication of her displeasure is a very faint wrinkling of her nose as she looks about for its source. Finding that silhouette, the diminutive figure begins to move towards it on quiet feet. "Sir?" It is the only open announcement of her presence.
J'cor does not have much concern for others, where his pipe is involved, but at least he's standing outside where less of the odor gets trapped indoors. A quick puff follows the invocation of his title, J'cor turning sharply to the side so he can see who used it - one word is not enough to identify Roa by voice. Vision does much better, as he nods upon seeing her and offers a small, "Weyrwoman." He scans her for a moment, silent, before he asks, "Your meeting?"
Small weyrwoman indeed. Roa makes her way over to Karth's ledge, hovering on the border between indoor and out, before she speaks. "It was informative. She said a great many things. I have no idea how many of them were true...although I am inclined to believe most of them were." There is a pause as arms raise and cross in front of her chest. She is still knotless. "They were the right eyes, sir."
"Ahh." J'cor's eyes have followed her progress towards the ledge, but they flick away from her here, moving up to the starry sky. It's comfortable weather outside, as even Reaches can be warmed by some summer heat; a little muggy, though, despite the occasional breeze. "Well, she is talking," he murmurs. "That helps. I should think." Mild, his gaze returns to her as he takes another puff of his pipe, one that is - fortunately for her - swept away by one of those rare breezes.
The girl at least has the courtesy, this close to J'cor, to refrain from nose-wrinklage. Plus, the smoke drifted outwards and away. That helps as well. "She talks," Roa confirms. "And she wields her words like knives." Her throat is cleared and the weyrwoman turns her head to follow the drifting mist of pipe smoke. "I think you'd better speak with her, sir."
J'cor's eyebrows raise slowly, though his vision retreats when hers does - in his case, not to the pipe's smoke but to the thing itself, clutched in his hand. "Indeed?" he queries, still mild, as fingers draw the pipe inward so the warm bowl rests in his palm.
There is quiet now as Roa stares out into the darkened sky. She doesn't move or even blink for near a minute. Then she speaks again. "I asked her about Yevide, sir. She told me she'd speak only to you."
J'cor is silent for much longer than that. It's stretching on towards three full minutes before he has to stir back to life again, spurred by the dying of his pipe. "None of the evidence," he remarks - words straining around the pipe as he restores it to his lips for a short puff - "connected them to Yevide." Roa is less likely with the pipe smoke this time, as there are no handy breezes to wash it away. "None of it." He draws the pipe back down from his lips, attempting to meet the eyes of the newest weyrwoman. "What did you think, when she said that?"
"I thought, sir," and Roa's head turns again towards the sky, lips parting just a bit in an attempt to suck in some smoke-free air. In the end she must discreetly inch a pace forward to creep away from the haze and closer to outside. "That if it was a game she was playing, it might be wise to hear what she has to say. She told me many things. She claims E'sere was a victim and not an ally. She says he came across her while she had that particular tunic in her hands and demanded it off of her. So. Is she speaking true, or is she protecting him? Her next move might offer a clue."
J'cor gives the pipe a little knock against his palm, which serves to distract him while she's taking that discreet inch forward. "So might his," he muses - then adds drily, "once his harper comes. Very well." The shift is abrupt, J'cor pulling back into Weyrleader mode while the pipe rests dormant, cradled by his side. "I will speak to her. Thank you, weyrwoman, for conveying the message."
"Of course, sir. She is..." Roa hesitates before noting quietly, "She looks for wounds, sir. She rips them open. I'd prepare yourself for it, before you visit."
J'cor draws in a slow, long breath while she's speaking, and lets it out quietly when she's done. Slipping out with it comes his short answer, repetetive though it is: "Very well." He breaks for another glance up at the sky, as though he needed to be reminded of what time it was. "Tomorrow morning, I will speak with her." And he looks back to Roa, offering nothing else - unless it's an implied dismissal tucked into his silence.
"Tomorrow morning," Roa repeats quietly. "Karth can bespeak Tialith after. Should you wish it." She is turning away from him and towards the inner weyr, so the dismissal must have been registered, but she adds one final thing before she leaves. "We should speak on his injuries again soon, sir. Or, rather, the amount of time left before others will begin to suspect." But the weyrwoman isn't expecting (or even waiting) for a reply just now. She is, instead, moving away from the man and his pipe and towards the exit.
Time: Late Evening on Day 24, Month 7, Turn 2
Players: J'cor and Roa
Scene: Roa reports to the Weyrleader on her visit with Aivey
Bright light suffuses the Weyrleader's Weyr, fresh glows having been hung up around the wall, but J'cor is nowhere near enough to use them. Instead, the Weyrleader has retreated to his dragon's unused ledge, where his silhouette - backlighted by the glows - is just barely visible, and more clearly located by the visible tendrils of smoke drifting up from his pipe.
Ah. The pipe. It is, admittedly, a particular trait that the newest Reachian goldrider does not much appreciate. Still, as she steps into the Weyrleader's weyr, the only indication of her displeasure is a very faint wrinkling of her nose as she looks about for its source. Finding that silhouette, the diminutive figure begins to move towards it on quiet feet. "Sir?" It is the only open announcement of her presence.
J'cor does not have much concern for others, where his pipe is involved, but at least he's standing outside where less of the odor gets trapped indoors. A quick puff follows the invocation of his title, J'cor turning sharply to the side so he can see who used it - one word is not enough to identify Roa by voice. Vision does much better, as he nods upon seeing her and offers a small, "Weyrwoman." He scans her for a moment, silent, before he asks, "Your meeting?"
Small weyrwoman indeed. Roa makes her way over to Karth's ledge, hovering on the border between indoor and out, before she speaks. "It was informative. She said a great many things. I have no idea how many of them were true...although I am inclined to believe most of them were." There is a pause as arms raise and cross in front of her chest. She is still knotless. "They were the right eyes, sir."
"Ahh." J'cor's eyes have followed her progress towards the ledge, but they flick away from her here, moving up to the starry sky. It's comfortable weather outside, as even Reaches can be warmed by some summer heat; a little muggy, though, despite the occasional breeze. "Well, she is talking," he murmurs. "That helps. I should think." Mild, his gaze returns to her as he takes another puff of his pipe, one that is - fortunately for her - swept away by one of those rare breezes.
The girl at least has the courtesy, this close to J'cor, to refrain from nose-wrinklage. Plus, the smoke drifted outwards and away. That helps as well. "She talks," Roa confirms. "And she wields her words like knives." Her throat is cleared and the weyrwoman turns her head to follow the drifting mist of pipe smoke. "I think you'd better speak with her, sir."
J'cor's eyebrows raise slowly, though his vision retreats when hers does - in his case, not to the pipe's smoke but to the thing itself, clutched in his hand. "Indeed?" he queries, still mild, as fingers draw the pipe inward so the warm bowl rests in his palm.
There is quiet now as Roa stares out into the darkened sky. She doesn't move or even blink for near a minute. Then she speaks again. "I asked her about Yevide, sir. She told me she'd speak only to you."
J'cor is silent for much longer than that. It's stretching on towards three full minutes before he has to stir back to life again, spurred by the dying of his pipe. "None of the evidence," he remarks - words straining around the pipe as he restores it to his lips for a short puff - "connected them to Yevide." Roa is less likely with the pipe smoke this time, as there are no handy breezes to wash it away. "None of it." He draws the pipe back down from his lips, attempting to meet the eyes of the newest weyrwoman. "What did you think, when she said that?"
"I thought, sir," and Roa's head turns again towards the sky, lips parting just a bit in an attempt to suck in some smoke-free air. In the end she must discreetly inch a pace forward to creep away from the haze and closer to outside. "That if it was a game she was playing, it might be wise to hear what she has to say. She told me many things. She claims E'sere was a victim and not an ally. She says he came across her while she had that particular tunic in her hands and demanded it off of her. So. Is she speaking true, or is she protecting him? Her next move might offer a clue."
J'cor gives the pipe a little knock against his palm, which serves to distract him while she's taking that discreet inch forward. "So might his," he muses - then adds drily, "once his harper comes. Very well." The shift is abrupt, J'cor pulling back into Weyrleader mode while the pipe rests dormant, cradled by his side. "I will speak to her. Thank you, weyrwoman, for conveying the message."
"Of course, sir. She is..." Roa hesitates before noting quietly, "She looks for wounds, sir. She rips them open. I'd prepare yourself for it, before you visit."
J'cor draws in a slow, long breath while she's speaking, and lets it out quietly when she's done. Slipping out with it comes his short answer, repetetive though it is: "Very well." He breaks for another glance up at the sky, as though he needed to be reminded of what time it was. "Tomorrow morning, I will speak with her." And he looks back to Roa, offering nothing else - unless it's an implied dismissal tucked into his silence.
"Tomorrow morning," Roa repeats quietly. "Karth can bespeak Tialith after. Should you wish it." She is turning away from him and towards the inner weyr, so the dismissal must have been registered, but she adds one final thing before she leaves. "We should speak on his injuries again soon, sir. Or, rather, the amount of time left before others will begin to suspect." But the weyrwoman isn't expecting (or even waiting) for a reply just now. She is, instead, moving away from the man and his pipe and towards the exit.