Testosterone poisoning
It is a winter afternoon, 12:56 of day 2, month 1, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Workroom Resident Quarters Candidate Barracks Nursery
If one wasn't looking, one may overlook Atreyan-- the young man is seated at a table in a nook near the exits to living cavern and kitchen, a hide in front of him and a slight frown on his face. He's apparently attempting to finish a letter- the hide in front of him is halfway filled with neat rows of handwriting. Writer's block? Something of the sort. He chews on the end of his writing utensil and stares pensively downwards.
"Gar!" comes the bellow through the commons, and heads turn to look: B'kaiv's on a mission, head down and fists at his sides as he plows across the room to end up in front of the Candidate. "You got a lot of nerve, sittin' here neat as you please, aincha?" He's agitated enough that his accent's slipped again, the words running into each other. Heedless of those few people who are still watching curiously, Kai continues to glare down at the taller man like he might just knock that letter out of his hands.
Atreyan sends a blank look upwards to B'kaiv. Er. "A lot of nerve?" Atreyan questions after a moment, carefully settling the letter to the side and leaning back in his chair to better look up at the greenrider. "Excuse me?" His tone is rather baffled. /Rather/ baffled.
B'kaiv says, "Woulda thought you an' your sister," and manages to -almost- twist the word to something filthy, "woulda took yourself off. Don't want your kind here, sharding liars an' cheats an' thieves." There's a rise in the watchers' murmuring at the accusation, but no one comes to intercede. Yet. "You think as ain't no one noticed? No one /cares/?"
"What?" Atreyan's now pushing to his feet, gaining height on the greenrider. "What the hell are you talking about?" There's a warning note in Trey's otherwise quiet tone, a bristling of expression-- mostly due to the fact that his sister was mentioned, likely enough. "I don't lie, cheat, or steal, and Isobel sure's shards doesn't." He repeats himself: "What are you talking about?"
"Shells," Kai grunts, like Trey is the stupidest thing to ever crawl out from under a rock, and doesn't back up one tiny little bit when he's stood at. "You stupid, or what? Go back t' /Gar/. You ain't gonna try an' say as your whole shardin' /family/ ain't in it up t' your shardin' /necks/? Thought as it were real funny, comin' here t' stand for th' clutch? Plannin' on stealin' a egg or two too, huh?"
Atreyan's face turns colder and colder as B'kaiv goes on and on. "Sir," he sarcastically replies, "If I wasn't respectful of rank, I'd probably call you an illiterate backwards hick who has no sharding clue what he's talking about. But. Since I am, I won't." His jaw clenches. "Perhaps you should speak to your weyrleader before running wildly off the handle with accusations, hmm?" There's hardly a pause before he cracks, "And try not to get grounded this time, while you're at it, eh?" Heat flares up Atreyan's neck, the red rush of anger showing visibly in his face. "Until you have a chance to get your head straightened out, /sir/, I'd advise you not to make any ill-tempered remarks about me, my family, or my home."
Of all the insults being flung about, it's 'illiterate' that crawls under the greenrider's skin, jerks his chin up like a roundhouse and steps him a few inches closer into rapidly diminishing personal space. "Gonna hide behind /his/ skirts now, huh? I ain't afraid of him; I ain't afraid of -you-. Broke his shardin' ribs 'cause I were bein' /nice/. You wanna come outside, or are you too afraid of that pretty nose gettin' broke?"
To Mecaith, Chielyth wouldn't bother him usually, she wouldn't, not for this, but this is a special case. << Mecaith? >> Uncertain twitters and scattered sunshine accompany her query. << Where is *stick-figure, curly hair, laughing*? >> T'rev.
Atreyan's lips twist as B'kaiv enters his personal space, but it's not a scowl or a grimace. It's a smile-- a predator's smile. By the time B'kaiv's talking about his pretty nose, he's laughing in the greenrider's face. "Son, you couldn't handle me," the guard-turned-candidate drawls sarcastically, weight shifting in a manner that is certainly aggressive to the trained eye. "But if you want to try, you damned sure can," Trey continues, the tone of his light baritone dropping dangerously.
The slow lift of sandgrains filters back to the little green. << Yes, Chielyth? >> he answers patiently, a sense of sunshine-on-ledge in the background and of his rider pacing back and forth in the council room again. << Here. >> (Mecaith to Chielyth)
To Mecaith, Chielyth projects, << /B'kaiv/, >> exasperated and fond (but more of the former than the latter) all at once. << He isn't listening. He would listen to yours? >> Maybe? Probably? She sketches out Kai and grey-eyes stick figure, all up in each others' business and growlysnarly. << Can he come? >>
To Chielyth, Mecaith considers this. Considers Kai. Considers the growling and the snarling and quietly constructs an explanation for his rider. << Yes. He will come. Please tell us where he is? >> Intense focus from the bronze, touched with hot sunlight.
To Mecaith, Chielyth can spare a brief, unspoken YAY of thanks, and quickly marks out Kai's path through the tunnels (yay tunnels) to a busy common area with lots of stick figure people. Then, after a moment, she erases about half of the stick-figures and sends them quietly out of the area.
To Chielyth, Mecaith follows those instructions carefully. << T'rev will be there in just a few minutes. All will be well, Chielyth. >> Reassurance clusters close, sands supportive and warm.
B'kaiv might not be as tall as the guard but his shoulders are broader, and seem to swell further at Trey's posturing. He matches aggression with agression, with wrist and knuckle pops, all preparing to bring it. "Ain't got t' /try/. Gonna make you wish you ain't never /heard/ of Gar. Get your shardin' face outside before I got t' drag it." The other residents of the area have been whispering among themselves, and more than a few of them sidle away, out of the commons. Presumably some of them are going to fetch some sort of help, whatever form that takes.
A commotion in the corner: Atreyan's lean form against B'kaiv's bulk, voices raised and a small crowd beginning to cluster. Could this end well? Not at all. It's just a bit past lunch.
A few moments later, moving steadily rather than running, T'rev appears, a little pink-cheeked from the chill outside and strides into the commons, scanning the room and quickly finding the two tense figures within it. He doesn't shout, just walks right up to B'kaiv, hands in pockets, aligning things so that he's seen by the greenrider before he ever speaks and when he does it's just one word: "Kai." Again, an almost conversational tone.
"Ha! You /wish/," Trey states, shrugging out of his jacket before even going outside-- it's meticulously folded and settled on the table next to the letter he was working on prior to this... interruption. His hands are balling together into fists, the redness creeping up his neck just starting to flush his cheeks-- and then, oh hai, there's a T'rev. The lean guard from Gar stands straight-backed, jaw set: he's silent, but from the look on his face there's quite a bit he'd like to say.
Vanissa enters the commons with broom and dustpan in hand, heading towards the Barracks, intent on getting her chores done. T'rev passes her and since her cheerful greeting to him is unheeded, she pauses to watch where his focus is. Tensions seem common enough to her by now that she's not surprised when amber eyes spot B'kaiv, but Trey is another matter. The exchange is overheard as she steps nearer, quietly speaking up, "Trey's helping, Kai." So it's a guess what the issue is. Caution has never been her strength.
B'kaiv looks like he's about half a breath from 'helping' Trey with that coat of his, with the fussy folding and all, his own fists pretty firmly set. He spies the Weyrleader a second or two before the Candidate does; his chin goes up again and there's a flicker of some emotion - guilt? - in his eyes. "Sharding /Gar/," is his explanation to T'rev with a glance toward the Candidate; when Nissa puts in her thirty-second his eyes flick to her but never truly leave Atreyan, watching and wary. "Helpin' /steal/, y'mean."
Again: "Kai," T'rev says with an edge of warning in his voice. And then, quietly and calmly: "That's not the deal, Kai. It's just like Fort Sea. Can't be anymore every Gar person's fault than it was every Fort Sea person's about the tithe," the Weyrleader reminds and his gaze is seeking to catch the greenrider's again, like he's willing him to dial down.
To Chielyth, Mecaith reassures again and steadily requests: << Please let yours know that T'rev is happy to speak with him elsewhere if he would like to know more. >>
Anger flares to rage in Atreyan's eyes, and so help him, the weyrleader may be there, but he's rolling a step in B'kaiv's direction, gaze glittering with the promise of extreme prejudice. "I haven't stolen /anything/ from Fort," he states, his words sounding like a yell, strangled: they manage, somehow, to emerge somewhat comprehensible from between clenched teeth. His eyes don't leave B'kaiv's, his expression just this side of murderous.
To Mecaith, Chielyth projects, << I'll tell him when he listens. >> She retreats for a little bit, distracted, before returning with an exasperatedly cheerful, << He is being -stubborn-. >> Silly Kai! << Thank him for coming, Mecaith? >>
Vanissa shakes her head at Kai, lips firming. "I don't believe it!" Ignorant and uninformed she may be, but she isn't backing down. She doesn't insert herself into the confrontation however, but backs a step away, disappointment in the glance she sends Kai's way. Her brother is handling it and she's just not the pushy sort. A brief look towards Trey questioningly. "You promised," she reminds him softly before a giggle escapes her with the advent of a certain thought, "Why'd he need to steal? He's already got plenty of marks bein' he's a holders-" The comment is left hanging as Trey grinds out his assertion and she backs further, flickering a glance at T'rev.
To Chielyth, Mecaith curls gently while she's near. << Thank you, Chielyth. I understand. >> And his presence lingers 'near' but not encroaching on her space.
B'kaiv's got too many places to look now, though as soon as Atreyan so much as shifts his eyes snap back to him and the greenrider's hands, which had begun to loosen, curl back into fists. "Shardin' greedy," he growls, eyes narrowing and head dropping to display his own threat. The two men can't be but inches apart at this point, neither one willing to back away. "There was all them marks. /Gar/ marks. His whole /family's/ rotten."
T'rev reaches out to stay Atreyan, being that he's slightly to one side and a half-step back from the former Gar guard, where he can still try to maintain eye contact with B'kaiv. "That's not proven, Kai. Anyone who works at Gar, could have a lot of Gar marks," T'rev says a bit more firmly. "Back. Down." That's for both of them. "We can take this over to the council room and talk it over. But if either of you lays a hand on the other, you know there'll be a shardin' price." Pause. "Stand. Down." Yes, that's got the edge of command to it, though again, T'rev doesn't raise his voice.
Atreyan is certainly locked in this rather-- passionate-- staredown. "Oh, I see," he cracks, sarcastically. "You have marks from Gar, you're of /course/ from Gar, then, eh? So you only ever carry Fort marks, B'kaiv? How the hell do you know that they weren't /planted/ there?" He seems fully ready to carry on his argument, when T'rev issues that command in that tone of voice. He doesn't break eye contact from B'kaiv, but tucks his chin in closer to his chest and takes a step back, albeit reluctantly. His gaze flickers, entirely belatedly, to Nissa, then back to the greenrider-- it would seem as if he's unwilling to back down completely.
Vanissa looks towards her brother with renewed respect for that tone of his. "You promised me," she whispers to Trey as he backs away, "You promised to help him." Her eyes linger on Kai, widening at the greenrider's words, a glitter of tears in them. She doesn't want to see anymore. She turns quickly and nearly runs from the room into the Barracks where the floors will be sure to get a very very thorough sweeping.
One of Kai's eyes twitches at the command but he doesn't take his eyes from Atreyan's grey until the Candidate moves that half step back. Only then does he meet T'rev's gaze, and after a second, drop his eyes to the floor. "Yessir." When Vanissa's feet pound he takes his own small step away from the altercation to half-turn and look; another second and the greenrider huffs and folds his arms, pointedly studying one of the chairs well away from the other two men. "I know what I seen."
The look on his sister's face gives T'rev a momentary pang, but he's much too focused on the stare-down to break away just now. It's not until Kai backs away that the Weyrleader relaxes fractionally himself. "Yeah, I know what you saw, Kai. But it ain't the whole picture," T'rev says, voice still kept quiet. "Atreyan, if you don't mind, could you go see to my sister, please? We still have an appointment tomorrow. Kai, let's talk, hm?" Suggestions laid out there and yet there's something about the Weyrleader's voice that brooks no arguments.
Atreyan watches B'kaiv turn away before he looks elsewhere-- to T'rev. The suggestion slash command may meet a moment of rebellion, but it lasts only a heartbeat. After that point, Trey's turning to gather his coat and his letter, picking up his writing stylus and moving, stiffly, away from the two. He doesn't offer a goodbye. "Nissa--" he calls after the girl, his voice rough, following her into the barracks.
"I know what I seen," B'kaiv repeats stubbornly, shoulders hunching defensively. Still, he doesn't try and prevent Atreyan's flight, not any part of it. "He's from shardin' /Gar/," floats after the guard, like somehow everyone forgot this important piece of evidence save him. But a few seconds later, still sullen but reluctantly acquiescing, "Yes sir." He jerks his head at one of the tunnels that leads out, but waits for T'rev to take the lead before following after.
A nod follows Atreyan out and T'rev waits a moment while Kai goes all sulky-hunchy, then sticks his hands in his pockets, tilts his head. "C'mon. Buy you a shardin' drink?" he suggests to the greenrider, while he offers reassuring nods around to the few onlookers.
B'kaiv immediately scowls at the bronzerider for the offer - but after a second he shrugs. "Guess." Now that the threat of a pounding seems to be gone people return his nod, though Kai is still looked at askance, like they're not quite sure if he'll manage to slip his collar or not. The greenrider does send a thoughtful look to the barrack's door, refolds his arms and heads off for the sharding Glass Fountain.
[Travel deleted]
The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns
Falling into step just behind Kai, T'rev ambles on towards the Fountain, not crowding the greenrider, but keeping up with him. In the bar, he raps on the counter twice with his knuckles. "Pitcher of dark," he requests from Al, and tilts his head towards one of the booths at the back, then heads that way. "C'mon," he tells Kai simply and goes in that direction with the expectation of being followed. He flops down on one side of the booth's table, sheds his jacket and scarf onto the bench beside himself. Waits.
B'kaiv could be a herded bull, both of them pretending that it's only coincidence that they're moving the same direction. He ducks his head when they enter the bar and stays quiet, trying to keep his expression neutral in the face of all the Fountain's glitz; when T'rev heads for the back this time Kai falls in behind him, slides into the opposite booth with a last glower for the door lest Atreyan try and bring it. "What." After a second, prodded, "--Sir."
The look that T'rev shoots Kai is just one of those 'what do you /think/?' type of looks. "You were going to hit a candidate," the Weyrleader says simply. "Because you found Gar marks." He leaves it at that for now, because Sasha's arrived all swishy-hipped and chipper to drop off the pitcher of beer and the mugs and is making eyes at both of them, even reaching over to touslethe weyrleader's hair. He shoots her a quick smile, does T'rev and slips a good tip into her palm with a little 'wander off for a bit, sweetie,' look. Which she does.
"I was gonna hit a shardin' /thief/," Kai corrects, still too worked up to remember his gs. "Him an'," he stops when Sasha arrives, arms folded and looking pointedly away until the waitress has moved out of earshot. Only then does he continue, "Him an' his shardin' sister, laughin' at us - think it's real funny t' try an' steal /dragons/ on top of what-all else they already done. It's shardin' /Gar/," sir," leaning over the table to try and emphasize this point.
"No, you were goin' to hit an innocent man who hasn't been proven to be involved atall," T'rev insists with that same firmness as earlier in his voice. His nostrils actually flare slightly at mention of Isobel. "For Faranth's sake, Kai, use your head to think instead of your anger. Think about Isobel. Think she's got any kind of brains to have anything to do with it? Did /Sulisah/ have anything to do with Fort Sea takin' our tithe?" Low blow maybe. "Or should your brother up at Othana have been disciplined just 'cos /you/ were part of droppin' cowflops on a hold? It's not as simple as Gar, not-Gar, or Fort Sea, not-Fort Sea. You can't tar n' feather a whole family just because you found marks from their hold, their very big port-based, /trading/ hold, in a thieves' den." And yet, T'rev is pouring out the beer, pushing a mug towards B'kaiv for him to take or not as he chooses. His hands close around his own mug and he squints across the way at Kai. "Now. Atreyan is comin' with me to Fort tomorrow to question the fellows down there, so's we can figure out exactly what /his brother/, Vinsley, the harbormaster's assistant had to do with this all. And if those thieves seem to recognize Atreyan, then /that/ might be somethin' worth goin' on. Otherwise, we got /nothin'/ on him.
B'kaiv glares sullenly at the back wall when the Weyrleader lays into him, only little twitches of his shoulders and jaw marking that he's even listening. Dragging Su into it yanks his chin up and his eyes straight back to the older man, but T'rev's going on before he can do much more than take an outraged breath. The same breath snorts out for his beer but he takes it, pulling the mug to him with both hands that remain fastened around the clay. "Brother's th' /harbormaster's assistant/," he mutters into his beer before wincing at nothing, more of his fight leaching away. "--Shells." And another point against Atreyan: "Said as I can't read."
"Right and your brother's a waystation-keeper. Does that mean we should go after you if we find thieves hidin' out at Othana?" T'rev flips things around again and holds his palm up, like, c'mon, make the connection here. "Just because his brother is doin' something doesn't mean he is," the Weyrleader insists and sighs, rests an elbow down atop the table, scrubbing his hand through his hair, forehead turning into his palm. More quietly: "Please ... Kai. Just try not to lose it? Please?" Brown eyes lift to the greenrider's face and the plea is echoed there. "I could just order you, but I'm askin' you instead. And y'know, people say dumbass things when they get mad and him insultin' you doesn't have anything to do with the whole thing. That's personal between you."
B'kaiv merely grunts at the firm application of logic and has - finally - some beer. "He turns out t' be neck deep in it - him -or- his sister - an' I'm going after him," he warns eventually, once a good quarter of the beer is downed in just a few swallows. "S'just... shells, sir. After all I done, an' it turns out t' be /Gar/, an' we got two of th' sharding /Bloods/ here?" The leap of logic should be obvious, yes? He sighs anyway and nods, looks away to acquiesce. "A'right. I ain't gonna do nothing t' him. Unless you got proof. Sir."
"If they do turn out to be part of it, then you'll help bring 'em down to Fort Hold for questioning and if it's called for, trial," T'rev says evenly, then his voice drops: "Though I wouldn't y'know, look hard if you wanted to deck him one. Just once. If it did turn out that way," the Weyrleader murmurs. Kai goes on and T'rev listens, quaffing some of his own ale. "We don't know that it's /Gar/," T'rev repeats. "Just that it's probably /one/ of the Gar family and one who was havin' a disagreement with his Da, no less," the Weyrleader adds on the nods one. "Thanks. 'Preciate that, Kai."
B'kaiv protests silently: only /one/ punch?! before settling back with a mutinous grunt. "/All/ them sharding marks?" Stamped with Gar's sigil: who else could it be? He blows out his breath anyway and nods again, letting T'rev take that as agreement for whatever he wants. "You got pen an' hide on you or nothing?" And another thought, one that pulls him from his sulk to face the other man straight on. "What were she thinking, tryin' t' get in th' middle of that?" Subext: is your sister dumb, or what?
"Could've been harper marks. Could've been Boll marks," T'rev replies with a shake of his head. "They were makin' fake marks from all sorts of places. Could've been marks from anywhere." The weyrleader takes another drink from his mug and fishes around in his pocket. "Pencil bit and some scraps. How come?" And then that last just lifts his shoulders. "She cares," T'rev says quietly. "And it's hard for her. She likes to /do/ things. Hard for her to stand by." Subtext: Kai should understand that feeling.
B'kaiv only snorts for the marks' provenance and extends a hand for the writing supplies. "Gonna write him a 'pology." Take -that-, accusation of being an illiterate backwoods hick! In the same breath, though, head shaking, "Ain't nothing good as can come outta here getting int' that. You need t' tell her that, sir. This ain't - I know as she don't know nothing about it, but she coulda got hurt." By accident, unlike Atreyan.
T'rev passes over both scrap and pencil and smiles a little. Again: "Thank you," the weyrleader says quietly. "Tryin' to keep things here smooth will help to get this all sorted out. Find the right people and make sure they get their due," T'rev adds, serious this time. Eyes seeking out Kai's for a moment. That last though draws a shake of his head and something that might be almost a warning: "You wouldn't have. Either of you." Again with the serious eyes. "Not that I'd want to get her into a fight, but we did both learn how to duck on the docks at Nerat." And there there's some amusement at least as he drinks more of his ale.
B'kaiv only snorts at T'rev's rose-colored glasses and bends to the difficult task of penning a letter. 'Dear At' - how d'you spell his sharding /name/? - 'Atreyan. I'm sorry I said you was a theif and a cheat and a liar. And your sister.' He pauses there to frown across the table and spin the letter for T'rev to read. "You think I ought t' say nothing else? Thinks as he could take me," he adds with a derisive snort. "He might be a guard but I bet I could show him a thing or two. Like I shown you."
The name is spelled out, one letter at a time and T'rev looks down at the letter, shakes his head. "Nah, keep it short and sweet so you don't have to take it back later," he notes with a lopsided quirk of his mouth that isn't really a grin. "Never know. Size isn't everything," the weyrleader points out with a little grin. "We should go at it for real sometime, y'know. Without any holdin' back."
B'kaiv nods for short and sweet, spins the letter back to scribe 'B'kaiv' on the bottom and push the pencil across the table. "Thanks." A second later he claims the pencil again to write an 'A' on the folded outside, then shoves the note into a pocket and finishes the whole thing with a nod. Right, then. "I still got that note you gave me from last Turnover. Ain't never had nothing t' use it on." He retrieves his mug and adds wryly, "Think as if people seen us going at it now, they'd pile on me like dragons on a wherry."
"Sure," for the loan of pencil which is picked up and slipped back into his pocket. "Good reason to take it out of the Weyr," T'rev answers mildly, about going at it, clearly not afraid that either of them is going to wind up in trouble from doing such a thing. "Because yeah, they would, likely. Heh." He grins across the way though. "Could go at the end of the seven. After some of the ... stuff I've got to do," he offers.
Kai's eyebrows go up at 'stuff', but what he says is, "You know as G'dri had a weyrmate were a brawler? Woulda loved t' learn some stuff from him. Feel like I'm losing my edge. Maybe that puffed... Maybe Atreyan could'a got in a hit or two." He has more beer, settles back against the padded back to consider the man across. "Can I ask you a favor? Weyrleader favor?"
"Huh. He did? Innerestin'. The things you learn about people," T'rev says with a little grin, nods. "Yeah. Happens, don't use it, lose it," he says about certain skills and talents. "So. We should definitely practice," the weyrleader says, takes a swig from his mug and winds up with his brows arched above the rim. Down goes the mug. He swallows. "Can ask ..."
B'kaiv says, "Yeah," with a note of finality to hopefully prevent any further questioning down that particular trace, thank you. "I'll explain it t' her as practice, yeah." A firm nod for that, eyes flicking up to T'rev's face and back to his beer. "Yeah. So. Chielyth really wants t' see th' eggs. Up close like. She's been asking Elaruth since... shells. Since they been laid, I guess. Only she keeps saying no. I were wondering as if -you'd- ask. It don't got t' be for long or nothing, just a couple minutes. An' she ain't gonna touch them or nothing. Just - she's real excited."
"Ahh, well, I can try. Mecaith and Elaruth are good friends, so maybe. But in the end Kai, that really is up to Elaruth and Hattie. If it's going to upset Elaruth she just ... won't go for it," T'rev says sympathetically. "Queens you know, a lot of them are really fussy mamas."
B'kaiv shrugs, resigned. "Yeah. An' I figure as she ain't gonna say yes, but Chielyth -really- wants t' see 'em. There's days she sits on them ledges for hours, 'stead of going flying. Thought I could ask Hattie, maybe, only I ain't seen her in forever, an' there ain't no point in asking th' Weyrwoman. No offense meant," he adds hastily.
"Hours? Really?" Even T'rev looks a little taken aback about that. "Mm. Hattie's had a lot goin' on lately," the weyrleader says truthfully, while glossing over a lot of that. That last though, quirks his brows upward. "How do you mean?"
Another shrug means 'yes, really' without Kai actually saying it out loud. "What? You mean with th' Weyrwoman? Or Hattie?"
"With Cirse," T'rev elaborates and he's still looking surprised about this desire of Chielyth's. "Does she -- Chielyth, I mean, is it just that she wants to see them, or does she want eggs?"
The Weyrwoman, right, and B'kaiv grimaces before taking another swig of beer. His last, for he pours a refill and offers the same before trying to explain. "I dunno as how t' say it. No offense, like I said, but you try an' talk t' her, ask her somethin' simple, an' next thing you know you're trying t' explain how come it is you talk th' way you do an' you don't never get your question answered. Or you think you do an' it ain't 'til later you figure out she ain't. She's... I dunno. She don't never talk straight. Sir." Like that add-on will deflect any emnity. "Shells, sir, /I/ dunno. Don't think as she knows neither. Wants t' see 'em, that's all I know."
T'rev pushes his mug over for that refill, nodding thanks. "Mm. Yeah, Cirse's got an interestin' way of lookin' at the world," is what the weyrleader says after a moment. "She ever drawn you?" is his next question, post-refill, but pre-picking up his mug to drink again. "Ah, well you know, just always curious about reasons. Because y'know, if she wants eggs, that could be a bit of a -- well a bigger problem for you."
"Drawn me?" the greenrider echoes and shakes his head. "Don't think so. She draws? Pictures an' things? Like Maitrey? An' shells, don't I know it. Be in... shells. More trouble'n I can think of. She still ain't even -rose-. She wants eggs, she can just keep on wanting 'em, s'all I got t' say."
"Yeah. Portraits mostly so far as I know. Some doodles," T'rev explains about the Weyrwoman. "When I -- well after Peirith's flight, comin' to. They were all around the walls, pictures. She's pretty good," the Weyrleader continues. Not mentioned: the freakout factor of waking up to portraits of almost every bronzerider in the Weyr 'looking down' on you after. "She'll get there when she's ready and yeah ... well, wouldn't envy you that conversation."
Portraits Kai knows, sort of: he nods, anyway, whether or not he truly understands. "Pictures ain't so bad." Because sketching is an appropriate hobby for Weyrwoman? Something like that. "All you got t' do is ask. Don't expect neither of them t' say yeah, only..." Another shrug. Only this is /Chielyth/, and everyone adores her, and maybe that will give her leeway? "I'm still thinking about opening that other bar. Got th' marks for it now, I think - just got t' run th' numbers again. Only there ain't no point if you say no t' it."
"Lots of artists in this Weyr," is T'rev's thoughtful remark then he re-focuses. "Sure, like I said I'll ask. Just don't guarantee a yes," the Weyrleader continues, waves a hand back and forth. "Sure. It's your weyr."
B'kaiv has another swig of beer, licks the dregs of foam from his upper lip, and frowns across the table. "Ain't my Weyr. S'yours an' the Weyrwoman's. Sir. S'why you got t' say yes t' it."
T'rev shakes his head. "Your weyr, not the Weyr," the weyleader says with a little laugh. "And ... yes. Cirse's mostly. I get to help take care of it for a while," is apparently T'rev's take on being leader. "Anyway, you've got my permission and if you'd rather not you know, get a bunch of questions back instead of an answer, I can put it to Cirse as a Weyr matter."
B'kaiv ohs for the clarification. "Yeah. Not me an' Chielyth's weyr. Wanted t' have it in one of th' empty ones. S'why I got t' ask. An' yeah, sir, if you'd ask her, I'd appreciate it." He sounds faintly abashed at having to ask T'rev to liase with the senior queenrider. "I figure as you say yeah, go ahead, I can look at empty weyrs an' try t' find one as'll work. I run th' numbers before, but that was." He cuts off and looks off to where Sasha's lingering at the bar.
"Ohhhh. So you're lookin' for a different space? Not the plan you were talkin' about before," T'rev says and scratches at the back of his neck. "Yeah," T'rev says quietly. "That was before," he adds on and his own gaze gets all abstract and lost in the distance. There's a Su-sized hole in a lot of their lives. "Sure, go ahead and look around. There's some close to the ground even, but none on the ground. Those tend to get taken pretty quick."
"I weren't never gonna have it in my place," B'kaiv says, glancing back in confusion. "Don't want it on th' ground neither. But that's a whole lotta planning as can't be done yet. Can't make th' straps before th' dragon is hatched." He grimaces a not-quite smile and tosses back the rest of his beer, makes to slide out of the booth. "Thanks for th' beer, an' asking Hattie an' th' Weyrwoman, sir."
"Oh ..." T'rev's turn to look confused. "Mm. Drunkards do better on the ground is all," the weyrleader notes with a little grin, then nods. "Yeah. I'll let you know, Kai." And he nods, maybe looking a little ... not uncomfortable, but just ... resigned about the sir that's always used. "You're welcome. Catch up with you soon."
B'kaiv says simply, "That's what th' dragons is for," and pushes off the bench and up. Patting his pocket he adds, "Thanks. Got t' go deliver this. Say hey t' Mecaith for me." He nods to the bronzerider's resignation, doesn't salute (though one arm twitches), and heads past Sasha without a second look, away from the frou-frou Fountain.
Still say a pop in the jaw woulda done him good. Bet the whole lot of them is in it up to their eyeballs. But shells. Think I can get the bar started if my numbers is right. Should maybe get a Harper to give them a look, make sure I didn't mess nothing up. Wonder if G'dri's any good with numbers?
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Workroom Resident Quarters Candidate Barracks Nursery
If one wasn't looking, one may overlook Atreyan-- the young man is seated at a table in a nook near the exits to living cavern and kitchen, a hide in front of him and a slight frown on his face. He's apparently attempting to finish a letter- the hide in front of him is halfway filled with neat rows of handwriting. Writer's block? Something of the sort. He chews on the end of his writing utensil and stares pensively downwards.
"Gar!" comes the bellow through the commons, and heads turn to look: B'kaiv's on a mission, head down and fists at his sides as he plows across the room to end up in front of the Candidate. "You got a lot of nerve, sittin' here neat as you please, aincha?" He's agitated enough that his accent's slipped again, the words running into each other. Heedless of those few people who are still watching curiously, Kai continues to glare down at the taller man like he might just knock that letter out of his hands.
Atreyan sends a blank look upwards to B'kaiv. Er. "A lot of nerve?" Atreyan questions after a moment, carefully settling the letter to the side and leaning back in his chair to better look up at the greenrider. "Excuse me?" His tone is rather baffled. /Rather/ baffled.
B'kaiv says, "Woulda thought you an' your sister," and manages to -almost- twist the word to something filthy, "woulda took yourself off. Don't want your kind here, sharding liars an' cheats an' thieves." There's a rise in the watchers' murmuring at the accusation, but no one comes to intercede. Yet. "You think as ain't no one noticed? No one /cares/?"
"What?" Atreyan's now pushing to his feet, gaining height on the greenrider. "What the hell are you talking about?" There's a warning note in Trey's otherwise quiet tone, a bristling of expression-- mostly due to the fact that his sister was mentioned, likely enough. "I don't lie, cheat, or steal, and Isobel sure's shards doesn't." He repeats himself: "What are you talking about?"
"Shells," Kai grunts, like Trey is the stupidest thing to ever crawl out from under a rock, and doesn't back up one tiny little bit when he's stood at. "You stupid, or what? Go back t' /Gar/. You ain't gonna try an' say as your whole shardin' /family/ ain't in it up t' your shardin' /necks/? Thought as it were real funny, comin' here t' stand for th' clutch? Plannin' on stealin' a egg or two too, huh?"
Atreyan's face turns colder and colder as B'kaiv goes on and on. "Sir," he sarcastically replies, "If I wasn't respectful of rank, I'd probably call you an illiterate backwards hick who has no sharding clue what he's talking about. But. Since I am, I won't." His jaw clenches. "Perhaps you should speak to your weyrleader before running wildly off the handle with accusations, hmm?" There's hardly a pause before he cracks, "And try not to get grounded this time, while you're at it, eh?" Heat flares up Atreyan's neck, the red rush of anger showing visibly in his face. "Until you have a chance to get your head straightened out, /sir/, I'd advise you not to make any ill-tempered remarks about me, my family, or my home."
Of all the insults being flung about, it's 'illiterate' that crawls under the greenrider's skin, jerks his chin up like a roundhouse and steps him a few inches closer into rapidly diminishing personal space. "Gonna hide behind /his/ skirts now, huh? I ain't afraid of him; I ain't afraid of -you-. Broke his shardin' ribs 'cause I were bein' /nice/. You wanna come outside, or are you too afraid of that pretty nose gettin' broke?"
To Mecaith, Chielyth wouldn't bother him usually, she wouldn't, not for this, but this is a special case. << Mecaith? >> Uncertain twitters and scattered sunshine accompany her query. << Where is *stick-figure, curly hair, laughing*? >> T'rev.
Atreyan's lips twist as B'kaiv enters his personal space, but it's not a scowl or a grimace. It's a smile-- a predator's smile. By the time B'kaiv's talking about his pretty nose, he's laughing in the greenrider's face. "Son, you couldn't handle me," the guard-turned-candidate drawls sarcastically, weight shifting in a manner that is certainly aggressive to the trained eye. "But if you want to try, you damned sure can," Trey continues, the tone of his light baritone dropping dangerously.
The slow lift of sandgrains filters back to the little green. << Yes, Chielyth? >> he answers patiently, a sense of sunshine-on-ledge in the background and of his rider pacing back and forth in the council room again. << Here. >> (Mecaith to Chielyth)
To Mecaith, Chielyth projects, << /B'kaiv/, >> exasperated and fond (but more of the former than the latter) all at once. << He isn't listening. He would listen to yours? >> Maybe? Probably? She sketches out Kai and grey-eyes stick figure, all up in each others' business and growlysnarly. << Can he come? >>
To Chielyth, Mecaith considers this. Considers Kai. Considers the growling and the snarling and quietly constructs an explanation for his rider. << Yes. He will come. Please tell us where he is? >> Intense focus from the bronze, touched with hot sunlight.
To Mecaith, Chielyth can spare a brief, unspoken YAY of thanks, and quickly marks out Kai's path through the tunnels (yay tunnels) to a busy common area with lots of stick figure people. Then, after a moment, she erases about half of the stick-figures and sends them quietly out of the area.
To Chielyth, Mecaith follows those instructions carefully. << T'rev will be there in just a few minutes. All will be well, Chielyth. >> Reassurance clusters close, sands supportive and warm.
B'kaiv might not be as tall as the guard but his shoulders are broader, and seem to swell further at Trey's posturing. He matches aggression with agression, with wrist and knuckle pops, all preparing to bring it. "Ain't got t' /try/. Gonna make you wish you ain't never /heard/ of Gar. Get your shardin' face outside before I got t' drag it." The other residents of the area have been whispering among themselves, and more than a few of them sidle away, out of the commons. Presumably some of them are going to fetch some sort of help, whatever form that takes.
A commotion in the corner: Atreyan's lean form against B'kaiv's bulk, voices raised and a small crowd beginning to cluster. Could this end well? Not at all. It's just a bit past lunch.
A few moments later, moving steadily rather than running, T'rev appears, a little pink-cheeked from the chill outside and strides into the commons, scanning the room and quickly finding the two tense figures within it. He doesn't shout, just walks right up to B'kaiv, hands in pockets, aligning things so that he's seen by the greenrider before he ever speaks and when he does it's just one word: "Kai." Again, an almost conversational tone.
"Ha! You /wish/," Trey states, shrugging out of his jacket before even going outside-- it's meticulously folded and settled on the table next to the letter he was working on prior to this... interruption. His hands are balling together into fists, the redness creeping up his neck just starting to flush his cheeks-- and then, oh hai, there's a T'rev. The lean guard from Gar stands straight-backed, jaw set: he's silent, but from the look on his face there's quite a bit he'd like to say.
Vanissa enters the commons with broom and dustpan in hand, heading towards the Barracks, intent on getting her chores done. T'rev passes her and since her cheerful greeting to him is unheeded, she pauses to watch where his focus is. Tensions seem common enough to her by now that she's not surprised when amber eyes spot B'kaiv, but Trey is another matter. The exchange is overheard as she steps nearer, quietly speaking up, "Trey's helping, Kai." So it's a guess what the issue is. Caution has never been her strength.
B'kaiv looks like he's about half a breath from 'helping' Trey with that coat of his, with the fussy folding and all, his own fists pretty firmly set. He spies the Weyrleader a second or two before the Candidate does; his chin goes up again and there's a flicker of some emotion - guilt? - in his eyes. "Sharding /Gar/," is his explanation to T'rev with a glance toward the Candidate; when Nissa puts in her thirty-second his eyes flick to her but never truly leave Atreyan, watching and wary. "Helpin' /steal/, y'mean."
Again: "Kai," T'rev says with an edge of warning in his voice. And then, quietly and calmly: "That's not the deal, Kai. It's just like Fort Sea. Can't be anymore every Gar person's fault than it was every Fort Sea person's about the tithe," the Weyrleader reminds and his gaze is seeking to catch the greenrider's again, like he's willing him to dial down.
To Chielyth, Mecaith reassures again and steadily requests: << Please let yours know that T'rev is happy to speak with him elsewhere if he would like to know more. >>
Anger flares to rage in Atreyan's eyes, and so help him, the weyrleader may be there, but he's rolling a step in B'kaiv's direction, gaze glittering with the promise of extreme prejudice. "I haven't stolen /anything/ from Fort," he states, his words sounding like a yell, strangled: they manage, somehow, to emerge somewhat comprehensible from between clenched teeth. His eyes don't leave B'kaiv's, his expression just this side of murderous.
To Mecaith, Chielyth projects, << I'll tell him when he listens. >> She retreats for a little bit, distracted, before returning with an exasperatedly cheerful, << He is being -stubborn-. >> Silly Kai! << Thank him for coming, Mecaith? >>
Vanissa shakes her head at Kai, lips firming. "I don't believe it!" Ignorant and uninformed she may be, but she isn't backing down. She doesn't insert herself into the confrontation however, but backs a step away, disappointment in the glance she sends Kai's way. Her brother is handling it and she's just not the pushy sort. A brief look towards Trey questioningly. "You promised," she reminds him softly before a giggle escapes her with the advent of a certain thought, "Why'd he need to steal? He's already got plenty of marks bein' he's a holders-" The comment is left hanging as Trey grinds out his assertion and she backs further, flickering a glance at T'rev.
To Chielyth, Mecaith curls gently while she's near. << Thank you, Chielyth. I understand. >> And his presence lingers 'near' but not encroaching on her space.
B'kaiv's got too many places to look now, though as soon as Atreyan so much as shifts his eyes snap back to him and the greenrider's hands, which had begun to loosen, curl back into fists. "Shardin' greedy," he growls, eyes narrowing and head dropping to display his own threat. The two men can't be but inches apart at this point, neither one willing to back away. "There was all them marks. /Gar/ marks. His whole /family's/ rotten."
T'rev reaches out to stay Atreyan, being that he's slightly to one side and a half-step back from the former Gar guard, where he can still try to maintain eye contact with B'kaiv. "That's not proven, Kai. Anyone who works at Gar, could have a lot of Gar marks," T'rev says a bit more firmly. "Back. Down." That's for both of them. "We can take this over to the council room and talk it over. But if either of you lays a hand on the other, you know there'll be a shardin' price." Pause. "Stand. Down." Yes, that's got the edge of command to it, though again, T'rev doesn't raise his voice.
Atreyan is certainly locked in this rather-- passionate-- staredown. "Oh, I see," he cracks, sarcastically. "You have marks from Gar, you're of /course/ from Gar, then, eh? So you only ever carry Fort marks, B'kaiv? How the hell do you know that they weren't /planted/ there?" He seems fully ready to carry on his argument, when T'rev issues that command in that tone of voice. He doesn't break eye contact from B'kaiv, but tucks his chin in closer to his chest and takes a step back, albeit reluctantly. His gaze flickers, entirely belatedly, to Nissa, then back to the greenrider-- it would seem as if he's unwilling to back down completely.
Vanissa looks towards her brother with renewed respect for that tone of his. "You promised me," she whispers to Trey as he backs away, "You promised to help him." Her eyes linger on Kai, widening at the greenrider's words, a glitter of tears in them. She doesn't want to see anymore. She turns quickly and nearly runs from the room into the Barracks where the floors will be sure to get a very very thorough sweeping.
One of Kai's eyes twitches at the command but he doesn't take his eyes from Atreyan's grey until the Candidate moves that half step back. Only then does he meet T'rev's gaze, and after a second, drop his eyes to the floor. "Yessir." When Vanissa's feet pound he takes his own small step away from the altercation to half-turn and look; another second and the greenrider huffs and folds his arms, pointedly studying one of the chairs well away from the other two men. "I know what I seen."
The look on his sister's face gives T'rev a momentary pang, but he's much too focused on the stare-down to break away just now. It's not until Kai backs away that the Weyrleader relaxes fractionally himself. "Yeah, I know what you saw, Kai. But it ain't the whole picture," T'rev says, voice still kept quiet. "Atreyan, if you don't mind, could you go see to my sister, please? We still have an appointment tomorrow. Kai, let's talk, hm?" Suggestions laid out there and yet there's something about the Weyrleader's voice that brooks no arguments.
Atreyan watches B'kaiv turn away before he looks elsewhere-- to T'rev. The suggestion slash command may meet a moment of rebellion, but it lasts only a heartbeat. After that point, Trey's turning to gather his coat and his letter, picking up his writing stylus and moving, stiffly, away from the two. He doesn't offer a goodbye. "Nissa--" he calls after the girl, his voice rough, following her into the barracks.
"I know what I seen," B'kaiv repeats stubbornly, shoulders hunching defensively. Still, he doesn't try and prevent Atreyan's flight, not any part of it. "He's from shardin' /Gar/," floats after the guard, like somehow everyone forgot this important piece of evidence save him. But a few seconds later, still sullen but reluctantly acquiescing, "Yes sir." He jerks his head at one of the tunnels that leads out, but waits for T'rev to take the lead before following after.
A nod follows Atreyan out and T'rev waits a moment while Kai goes all sulky-hunchy, then sticks his hands in his pockets, tilts his head. "C'mon. Buy you a shardin' drink?" he suggests to the greenrider, while he offers reassuring nods around to the few onlookers.
B'kaiv immediately scowls at the bronzerider for the offer - but after a second he shrugs. "Guess." Now that the threat of a pounding seems to be gone people return his nod, though Kai is still looked at askance, like they're not quite sure if he'll manage to slip his collar or not. The greenrider does send a thoughtful look to the barrack's door, refolds his arms and heads off for the sharding Glass Fountain.
[Travel deleted]
The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns
Falling into step just behind Kai, T'rev ambles on towards the Fountain, not crowding the greenrider, but keeping up with him. In the bar, he raps on the counter twice with his knuckles. "Pitcher of dark," he requests from Al, and tilts his head towards one of the booths at the back, then heads that way. "C'mon," he tells Kai simply and goes in that direction with the expectation of being followed. He flops down on one side of the booth's table, sheds his jacket and scarf onto the bench beside himself. Waits.
B'kaiv could be a herded bull, both of them pretending that it's only coincidence that they're moving the same direction. He ducks his head when they enter the bar and stays quiet, trying to keep his expression neutral in the face of all the Fountain's glitz; when T'rev heads for the back this time Kai falls in behind him, slides into the opposite booth with a last glower for the door lest Atreyan try and bring it. "What." After a second, prodded, "--Sir."
The look that T'rev shoots Kai is just one of those 'what do you /think/?' type of looks. "You were going to hit a candidate," the Weyrleader says simply. "Because you found Gar marks." He leaves it at that for now, because Sasha's arrived all swishy-hipped and chipper to drop off the pitcher of beer and the mugs and is making eyes at both of them, even reaching over to touslethe weyrleader's hair. He shoots her a quick smile, does T'rev and slips a good tip into her palm with a little 'wander off for a bit, sweetie,' look. Which she does.
"I was gonna hit a shardin' /thief/," Kai corrects, still too worked up to remember his gs. "Him an'," he stops when Sasha arrives, arms folded and looking pointedly away until the waitress has moved out of earshot. Only then does he continue, "Him an' his shardin' sister, laughin' at us - think it's real funny t' try an' steal /dragons/ on top of what-all else they already done. It's shardin' /Gar/," sir," leaning over the table to try and emphasize this point.
"No, you were goin' to hit an innocent man who hasn't been proven to be involved atall," T'rev insists with that same firmness as earlier in his voice. His nostrils actually flare slightly at mention of Isobel. "For Faranth's sake, Kai, use your head to think instead of your anger. Think about Isobel. Think she's got any kind of brains to have anything to do with it? Did /Sulisah/ have anything to do with Fort Sea takin' our tithe?" Low blow maybe. "Or should your brother up at Othana have been disciplined just 'cos /you/ were part of droppin' cowflops on a hold? It's not as simple as Gar, not-Gar, or Fort Sea, not-Fort Sea. You can't tar n' feather a whole family just because you found marks from their hold, their very big port-based, /trading/ hold, in a thieves' den." And yet, T'rev is pouring out the beer, pushing a mug towards B'kaiv for him to take or not as he chooses. His hands close around his own mug and he squints across the way at Kai. "Now. Atreyan is comin' with me to Fort tomorrow to question the fellows down there, so's we can figure out exactly what /his brother/, Vinsley, the harbormaster's assistant had to do with this all. And if those thieves seem to recognize Atreyan, then /that/ might be somethin' worth goin' on. Otherwise, we got /nothin'/ on him.
B'kaiv glares sullenly at the back wall when the Weyrleader lays into him, only little twitches of his shoulders and jaw marking that he's even listening. Dragging Su into it yanks his chin up and his eyes straight back to the older man, but T'rev's going on before he can do much more than take an outraged breath. The same breath snorts out for his beer but he takes it, pulling the mug to him with both hands that remain fastened around the clay. "Brother's th' /harbormaster's assistant/," he mutters into his beer before wincing at nothing, more of his fight leaching away. "--Shells." And another point against Atreyan: "Said as I can't read."
"Right and your brother's a waystation-keeper. Does that mean we should go after you if we find thieves hidin' out at Othana?" T'rev flips things around again and holds his palm up, like, c'mon, make the connection here. "Just because his brother is doin' something doesn't mean he is," the Weyrleader insists and sighs, rests an elbow down atop the table, scrubbing his hand through his hair, forehead turning into his palm. More quietly: "Please ... Kai. Just try not to lose it? Please?" Brown eyes lift to the greenrider's face and the plea is echoed there. "I could just order you, but I'm askin' you instead. And y'know, people say dumbass things when they get mad and him insultin' you doesn't have anything to do with the whole thing. That's personal between you."
B'kaiv merely grunts at the firm application of logic and has - finally - some beer. "He turns out t' be neck deep in it - him -or- his sister - an' I'm going after him," he warns eventually, once a good quarter of the beer is downed in just a few swallows. "S'just... shells, sir. After all I done, an' it turns out t' be /Gar/, an' we got two of th' sharding /Bloods/ here?" The leap of logic should be obvious, yes? He sighs anyway and nods, looks away to acquiesce. "A'right. I ain't gonna do nothing t' him. Unless you got proof. Sir."
"If they do turn out to be part of it, then you'll help bring 'em down to Fort Hold for questioning and if it's called for, trial," T'rev says evenly, then his voice drops: "Though I wouldn't y'know, look hard if you wanted to deck him one. Just once. If it did turn out that way," the Weyrleader murmurs. Kai goes on and T'rev listens, quaffing some of his own ale. "We don't know that it's /Gar/," T'rev repeats. "Just that it's probably /one/ of the Gar family and one who was havin' a disagreement with his Da, no less," the Weyrleader adds on the nods one. "Thanks. 'Preciate that, Kai."
B'kaiv protests silently: only /one/ punch?! before settling back with a mutinous grunt. "/All/ them sharding marks?" Stamped with Gar's sigil: who else could it be? He blows out his breath anyway and nods again, letting T'rev take that as agreement for whatever he wants. "You got pen an' hide on you or nothing?" And another thought, one that pulls him from his sulk to face the other man straight on. "What were she thinking, tryin' t' get in th' middle of that?" Subext: is your sister dumb, or what?
"Could've been harper marks. Could've been Boll marks," T'rev replies with a shake of his head. "They were makin' fake marks from all sorts of places. Could've been marks from anywhere." The weyrleader takes another drink from his mug and fishes around in his pocket. "Pencil bit and some scraps. How come?" And then that last just lifts his shoulders. "She cares," T'rev says quietly. "And it's hard for her. She likes to /do/ things. Hard for her to stand by." Subtext: Kai should understand that feeling.
B'kaiv only snorts for the marks' provenance and extends a hand for the writing supplies. "Gonna write him a 'pology." Take -that-, accusation of being an illiterate backwoods hick! In the same breath, though, head shaking, "Ain't nothing good as can come outta here getting int' that. You need t' tell her that, sir. This ain't - I know as she don't know nothing about it, but she coulda got hurt." By accident, unlike Atreyan.
T'rev passes over both scrap and pencil and smiles a little. Again: "Thank you," the weyrleader says quietly. "Tryin' to keep things here smooth will help to get this all sorted out. Find the right people and make sure they get their due," T'rev adds, serious this time. Eyes seeking out Kai's for a moment. That last though draws a shake of his head and something that might be almost a warning: "You wouldn't have. Either of you." Again with the serious eyes. "Not that I'd want to get her into a fight, but we did both learn how to duck on the docks at Nerat." And there there's some amusement at least as he drinks more of his ale.
B'kaiv only snorts at T'rev's rose-colored glasses and bends to the difficult task of penning a letter. 'Dear At' - how d'you spell his sharding /name/? - 'Atreyan. I'm sorry I said you was a theif and a cheat and a liar. And your sister.' He pauses there to frown across the table and spin the letter for T'rev to read. "You think I ought t' say nothing else? Thinks as he could take me," he adds with a derisive snort. "He might be a guard but I bet I could show him a thing or two. Like I shown you."
The name is spelled out, one letter at a time and T'rev looks down at the letter, shakes his head. "Nah, keep it short and sweet so you don't have to take it back later," he notes with a lopsided quirk of his mouth that isn't really a grin. "Never know. Size isn't everything," the weyrleader points out with a little grin. "We should go at it for real sometime, y'know. Without any holdin' back."
B'kaiv nods for short and sweet, spins the letter back to scribe 'B'kaiv' on the bottom and push the pencil across the table. "Thanks." A second later he claims the pencil again to write an 'A' on the folded outside, then shoves the note into a pocket and finishes the whole thing with a nod. Right, then. "I still got that note you gave me from last Turnover. Ain't never had nothing t' use it on." He retrieves his mug and adds wryly, "Think as if people seen us going at it now, they'd pile on me like dragons on a wherry."
"Sure," for the loan of pencil which is picked up and slipped back into his pocket. "Good reason to take it out of the Weyr," T'rev answers mildly, about going at it, clearly not afraid that either of them is going to wind up in trouble from doing such a thing. "Because yeah, they would, likely. Heh." He grins across the way though. "Could go at the end of the seven. After some of the ... stuff I've got to do," he offers.
Kai's eyebrows go up at 'stuff', but what he says is, "You know as G'dri had a weyrmate were a brawler? Woulda loved t' learn some stuff from him. Feel like I'm losing my edge. Maybe that puffed... Maybe Atreyan could'a got in a hit or two." He has more beer, settles back against the padded back to consider the man across. "Can I ask you a favor? Weyrleader favor?"
"Huh. He did? Innerestin'. The things you learn about people," T'rev says with a little grin, nods. "Yeah. Happens, don't use it, lose it," he says about certain skills and talents. "So. We should definitely practice," the weyrleader says, takes a swig from his mug and winds up with his brows arched above the rim. Down goes the mug. He swallows. "Can ask ..."
B'kaiv says, "Yeah," with a note of finality to hopefully prevent any further questioning down that particular trace, thank you. "I'll explain it t' her as practice, yeah." A firm nod for that, eyes flicking up to T'rev's face and back to his beer. "Yeah. So. Chielyth really wants t' see th' eggs. Up close like. She's been asking Elaruth since... shells. Since they been laid, I guess. Only she keeps saying no. I were wondering as if -you'd- ask. It don't got t' be for long or nothing, just a couple minutes. An' she ain't gonna touch them or nothing. Just - she's real excited."
"Ahh, well, I can try. Mecaith and Elaruth are good friends, so maybe. But in the end Kai, that really is up to Elaruth and Hattie. If it's going to upset Elaruth she just ... won't go for it," T'rev says sympathetically. "Queens you know, a lot of them are really fussy mamas."
B'kaiv shrugs, resigned. "Yeah. An' I figure as she ain't gonna say yes, but Chielyth -really- wants t' see 'em. There's days she sits on them ledges for hours, 'stead of going flying. Thought I could ask Hattie, maybe, only I ain't seen her in forever, an' there ain't no point in asking th' Weyrwoman. No offense meant," he adds hastily.
"Hours? Really?" Even T'rev looks a little taken aback about that. "Mm. Hattie's had a lot goin' on lately," the weyrleader says truthfully, while glossing over a lot of that. That last though, quirks his brows upward. "How do you mean?"
Another shrug means 'yes, really' without Kai actually saying it out loud. "What? You mean with th' Weyrwoman? Or Hattie?"
"With Cirse," T'rev elaborates and he's still looking surprised about this desire of Chielyth's. "Does she -- Chielyth, I mean, is it just that she wants to see them, or does she want eggs?"
The Weyrwoman, right, and B'kaiv grimaces before taking another swig of beer. His last, for he pours a refill and offers the same before trying to explain. "I dunno as how t' say it. No offense, like I said, but you try an' talk t' her, ask her somethin' simple, an' next thing you know you're trying t' explain how come it is you talk th' way you do an' you don't never get your question answered. Or you think you do an' it ain't 'til later you figure out she ain't. She's... I dunno. She don't never talk straight. Sir." Like that add-on will deflect any emnity. "Shells, sir, /I/ dunno. Don't think as she knows neither. Wants t' see 'em, that's all I know."
T'rev pushes his mug over for that refill, nodding thanks. "Mm. Yeah, Cirse's got an interestin' way of lookin' at the world," is what the weyrleader says after a moment. "She ever drawn you?" is his next question, post-refill, but pre-picking up his mug to drink again. "Ah, well you know, just always curious about reasons. Because y'know, if she wants eggs, that could be a bit of a -- well a bigger problem for you."
"Drawn me?" the greenrider echoes and shakes his head. "Don't think so. She draws? Pictures an' things? Like Maitrey? An' shells, don't I know it. Be in... shells. More trouble'n I can think of. She still ain't even -rose-. She wants eggs, she can just keep on wanting 'em, s'all I got t' say."
"Yeah. Portraits mostly so far as I know. Some doodles," T'rev explains about the Weyrwoman. "When I -- well after Peirith's flight, comin' to. They were all around the walls, pictures. She's pretty good," the Weyrleader continues. Not mentioned: the freakout factor of waking up to portraits of almost every bronzerider in the Weyr 'looking down' on you after. "She'll get there when she's ready and yeah ... well, wouldn't envy you that conversation."
Portraits Kai knows, sort of: he nods, anyway, whether or not he truly understands. "Pictures ain't so bad." Because sketching is an appropriate hobby for Weyrwoman? Something like that. "All you got t' do is ask. Don't expect neither of them t' say yeah, only..." Another shrug. Only this is /Chielyth/, and everyone adores her, and maybe that will give her leeway? "I'm still thinking about opening that other bar. Got th' marks for it now, I think - just got t' run th' numbers again. Only there ain't no point if you say no t' it."
"Lots of artists in this Weyr," is T'rev's thoughtful remark then he re-focuses. "Sure, like I said I'll ask. Just don't guarantee a yes," the Weyrleader continues, waves a hand back and forth. "Sure. It's your weyr."
B'kaiv has another swig of beer, licks the dregs of foam from his upper lip, and frowns across the table. "Ain't my Weyr. S'yours an' the Weyrwoman's. Sir. S'why you got t' say yes t' it."
T'rev shakes his head. "Your weyr, not the Weyr," the weyleader says with a little laugh. "And ... yes. Cirse's mostly. I get to help take care of it for a while," is apparently T'rev's take on being leader. "Anyway, you've got my permission and if you'd rather not you know, get a bunch of questions back instead of an answer, I can put it to Cirse as a Weyr matter."
B'kaiv ohs for the clarification. "Yeah. Not me an' Chielyth's weyr. Wanted t' have it in one of th' empty ones. S'why I got t' ask. An' yeah, sir, if you'd ask her, I'd appreciate it." He sounds faintly abashed at having to ask T'rev to liase with the senior queenrider. "I figure as you say yeah, go ahead, I can look at empty weyrs an' try t' find one as'll work. I run th' numbers before, but that was." He cuts off and looks off to where Sasha's lingering at the bar.
"Ohhhh. So you're lookin' for a different space? Not the plan you were talkin' about before," T'rev says and scratches at the back of his neck. "Yeah," T'rev says quietly. "That was before," he adds on and his own gaze gets all abstract and lost in the distance. There's a Su-sized hole in a lot of their lives. "Sure, go ahead and look around. There's some close to the ground even, but none on the ground. Those tend to get taken pretty quick."
"I weren't never gonna have it in my place," B'kaiv says, glancing back in confusion. "Don't want it on th' ground neither. But that's a whole lotta planning as can't be done yet. Can't make th' straps before th' dragon is hatched." He grimaces a not-quite smile and tosses back the rest of his beer, makes to slide out of the booth. "Thanks for th' beer, an' asking Hattie an' th' Weyrwoman, sir."
"Oh ..." T'rev's turn to look confused. "Mm. Drunkards do better on the ground is all," the weyrleader notes with a little grin, then nods. "Yeah. I'll let you know, Kai." And he nods, maybe looking a little ... not uncomfortable, but just ... resigned about the sir that's always used. "You're welcome. Catch up with you soon."
B'kaiv says simply, "That's what th' dragons is for," and pushes off the bench and up. Patting his pocket he adds, "Thanks. Got t' go deliver this. Say hey t' Mecaith for me." He nods to the bronzerider's resignation, doesn't salute (though one arm twitches), and heads past Sasha without a second look, away from the frou-frou Fountain.
Still say a pop in the jaw woulda done him good. Bet the whole lot of them is in it up to their eyeballs. But shells. Think I can get the bar started if my numbers is right. Should maybe get a Harper to give them a look, make sure I didn't mess nothing up. Wonder if G'dri's any good with numbers?