(no subject)
Guards' Headquarters
Set aside from the main caverns of the Weyr, this room is rarely silent. It's dominated by the public area near the wide arch of a doorway, where there are chairs and tables set in little groups, available as work desks and chatting spots. Further back into the mountain are several curtained alcoves, used for such things as a private office for the Captain, storage for paperwork, records and miscellanea. Continuing into the rock, the last section is shielded by heavy curtains that, when pushed aside to let someone pass, show the cots for the Guards to sleep.
When the Weyrwoman comes into guard headquarters, it is usually not a good thing. It is considerably less good when she looks ready to chew firestone herself, and that is the look Chey has today. Her steps are long, and she turns a demanding gaze on the first person she sees, that being the unfortunate Feilan. "You," she says, her tone sharp. "Where is the captain?" It is barely a question; suppressed anger infuses her voice with a tightly held tension.
Really, it's unfortunate enough that Feilan's been singled out. Sadly for him, he's also in the process of changing out of his uniform and into something a bit more casual. Being off duty is wonderful. Still, he has his head half-in a tunic when the call comes in, managing after a moment to worm himself into being fully clothed once again. "Huh? You who? Oh. ../Oh./" The recruit straitens himself a little bit at that, tugging down on his tunic to even it out. "I haven't seen him, ma'am. Not in a few candlemarks anyway. I saw him pass by when I was on duty, and everything, but...well not since then. Could be anywhere. ..Sorry?"
Krummolt comes striding into the sanctum of the guard at a quick march. His breathing is just enough hurried to suggest that he picked up his pace at some distance, perhaps spying the form of the Weyrwoman headed for the headquarters from across the bowl and anticipating some degree of coming storm. In any case, he makes a bee line for her. "Anything I can help with, ma'am?" he asks as he enters. His dark, bushy brows draw together at Feilan in silent reprimand, however grossly and blatantly unfair, for him not having been perfectly prepared to answer the Weyrwoman the second she needed him.
Chey's eyes rest on Feilan, and for a moment, it seems she might accuse him of lying. Instead, the word she finally grinds out is, "Useless." Her jaw is tight, moving slightly as if to grate away the tension. Alas, it will find no resolution there. Before she can say anything more, however (anything worse), Krummolt is there, and she turns her anger to him instead. "There are two boys who will be brought here in the next few minutes," she informs him, her voice curt. "I want them, and any family they brought here with them, out of this weyr at /dawn/. If I can see the road, I want them /on/ it. And if Captain Il'ad returns here, I want to talk to him. Immediately."
Feilan just looks all the more uncomfortable as Krummolt comes in, tensing for a swift salute. "Sir." Really, there's a mild drawing of his brows at the attitude, but at least he knows better than to try and defend against anything at the moment. He simply stands at attention, looking mildly interested when the Weyrwoman speaks of ousting boys and their families.
Krummolt straightens up. "Yes ma'am." At the moment, appeasing Chey seems to be all he's really too concerned with. Kicking out families? Better than angry Chey! Luckily for Feilan, this seems to have totally diverted his focus from whatever unfair blame he might have been inclined to level in the recruit's direction, at least temporarily.
"Good," Chey says. "I will be in the living caverns, eating something." She wavers, as if about to add something, but decides, probably wisely, to refrain. Instead, she just turns and moves out, her steps still long.
Chey walks to the Bowl.
Krummolt stares after Chey for a long minute, making sure that she is clear of the guard headquarters. Then he glances around at Feilan and when his brows draw together, it does not appear to represent any annoyance with the recruit. "What in Faranth's name d'you suppose /that/ was all about?" he asks. Whether the question was rhetorical is difficult to tell.
Feilan reaches up finally, rubbing at the back of his neck for a bit before his head finally shakes. "I have /no/ idea." Though he does visibly relax with Chey having departed. "..Sir? We're really throwing entire families out of the Weyr?" Really, what'd they /do/, anyway?
Krummolt shrugs his shoulders without obvious sympathy. "Sure. Weyrwoman says jump our feet are in the air before we ask how high." Or at least, this is Krummolt's view of the world. "Threadfall's over. Not like they're going to be turned in acidic soup if they get caught on the road. I expect we'll find out why she ordered that soon enough."
Feilan nods slowly, giving his neck one last scratch before he finally turns back to his things once again. After all, he had been in the process of putting his uniform away. "Guess so. You need me back in uniform, sir? Can be dressed again in a jiff if you need an extra set of hands for 'em all."
Krummolt frowns for a moment at the question, lifting a hand to rub at his chin, starting to show the day's stubble. "Mmm. Should be all right. Two kids? Just gotta figure out how much family they've got. Stay here for just a minute, though, if you would, until we know what we're dealing with, but I expect we'll be okay."
Feilan gives a quick nod, folding his uniform, although for the time being, he leaves it sitting neatly on his cot. No sense in putting it all away if he might have to hop into it again. He does sit down though, pulling on a set of boots, and giving each a stomp to make sure his foot is firmly in place. "Sure thing, sir. Bit curious myself, anyway. See how much trouble they really are."
"Enough to get the Weyrwoman's skivvies all tied in knots," Krummolt replies, deciding to rest on the edge of the duty desk near the entrance to the headquarters. He glances at the door and doesn't see them instantly, so he glances back at Feilan. "Oh, by the way, just a reminder: Captain Il'ad changed the rules on addressing superiors. Supposed to use the whole title." With no captain or weyrwoman around, the reminder is clearly intended as gentle.
Feilan does look a tad embarrassed, even if the reminder is a kind one. "Er..yeah. Sorry 'bout that, Sergeant." Then again, suddenly having a weyrwoman bearing down on him might've sent that bit of knowledge flitting off into the oblivion edges of his mind. A look toward the entrance is given, brows faintly raised. "..For all the fuss, sure is taking a while."
Krummolt seems inclined to agree when there is a little scuffling from the entryway and Krummolt straightens up. A pair of riders come in leading a pair of young adolescents, looking about thirteen or fourteen. "Here we go," he mutters aside to Feilan. "Here," he says, waving the recruit over to the table. "Grab a pen and get down the names and stuff," he instructs as he pulls himself up to his full height.
(At this point Feilan had to go.)
Set aside from the main caverns of the Weyr, this room is rarely silent. It's dominated by the public area near the wide arch of a doorway, where there are chairs and tables set in little groups, available as work desks and chatting spots. Further back into the mountain are several curtained alcoves, used for such things as a private office for the Captain, storage for paperwork, records and miscellanea. Continuing into the rock, the last section is shielded by heavy curtains that, when pushed aside to let someone pass, show the cots for the Guards to sleep.
When the Weyrwoman comes into guard headquarters, it is usually not a good thing. It is considerably less good when she looks ready to chew firestone herself, and that is the look Chey has today. Her steps are long, and she turns a demanding gaze on the first person she sees, that being the unfortunate Feilan. "You," she says, her tone sharp. "Where is the captain?" It is barely a question; suppressed anger infuses her voice with a tightly held tension.
Really, it's unfortunate enough that Feilan's been singled out. Sadly for him, he's also in the process of changing out of his uniform and into something a bit more casual. Being off duty is wonderful. Still, he has his head half-in a tunic when the call comes in, managing after a moment to worm himself into being fully clothed once again. "Huh? You who? Oh. ../Oh./" The recruit straitens himself a little bit at that, tugging down on his tunic to even it out. "I haven't seen him, ma'am. Not in a few candlemarks anyway. I saw him pass by when I was on duty, and everything, but...well not since then. Could be anywhere. ..Sorry?"
Krummolt comes striding into the sanctum of the guard at a quick march. His breathing is just enough hurried to suggest that he picked up his pace at some distance, perhaps spying the form of the Weyrwoman headed for the headquarters from across the bowl and anticipating some degree of coming storm. In any case, he makes a bee line for her. "Anything I can help with, ma'am?" he asks as he enters. His dark, bushy brows draw together at Feilan in silent reprimand, however grossly and blatantly unfair, for him not having been perfectly prepared to answer the Weyrwoman the second she needed him.
Chey's eyes rest on Feilan, and for a moment, it seems she might accuse him of lying. Instead, the word she finally grinds out is, "Useless." Her jaw is tight, moving slightly as if to grate away the tension. Alas, it will find no resolution there. Before she can say anything more, however (anything worse), Krummolt is there, and she turns her anger to him instead. "There are two boys who will be brought here in the next few minutes," she informs him, her voice curt. "I want them, and any family they brought here with them, out of this weyr at /dawn/. If I can see the road, I want them /on/ it. And if Captain Il'ad returns here, I want to talk to him. Immediately."
Feilan just looks all the more uncomfortable as Krummolt comes in, tensing for a swift salute. "Sir." Really, there's a mild drawing of his brows at the attitude, but at least he knows better than to try and defend against anything at the moment. He simply stands at attention, looking mildly interested when the Weyrwoman speaks of ousting boys and their families.
Krummolt straightens up. "Yes ma'am." At the moment, appeasing Chey seems to be all he's really too concerned with. Kicking out families? Better than angry Chey! Luckily for Feilan, this seems to have totally diverted his focus from whatever unfair blame he might have been inclined to level in the recruit's direction, at least temporarily.
"Good," Chey says. "I will be in the living caverns, eating something." She wavers, as if about to add something, but decides, probably wisely, to refrain. Instead, she just turns and moves out, her steps still long.
Chey walks to the Bowl.
Krummolt stares after Chey for a long minute, making sure that she is clear of the guard headquarters. Then he glances around at Feilan and when his brows draw together, it does not appear to represent any annoyance with the recruit. "What in Faranth's name d'you suppose /that/ was all about?" he asks. Whether the question was rhetorical is difficult to tell.
Feilan reaches up finally, rubbing at the back of his neck for a bit before his head finally shakes. "I have /no/ idea." Though he does visibly relax with Chey having departed. "..Sir? We're really throwing entire families out of the Weyr?" Really, what'd they /do/, anyway?
Krummolt shrugs his shoulders without obvious sympathy. "Sure. Weyrwoman says jump our feet are in the air before we ask how high." Or at least, this is Krummolt's view of the world. "Threadfall's over. Not like they're going to be turned in acidic soup if they get caught on the road. I expect we'll find out why she ordered that soon enough."
Feilan nods slowly, giving his neck one last scratch before he finally turns back to his things once again. After all, he had been in the process of putting his uniform away. "Guess so. You need me back in uniform, sir? Can be dressed again in a jiff if you need an extra set of hands for 'em all."
Krummolt frowns for a moment at the question, lifting a hand to rub at his chin, starting to show the day's stubble. "Mmm. Should be all right. Two kids? Just gotta figure out how much family they've got. Stay here for just a minute, though, if you would, until we know what we're dealing with, but I expect we'll be okay."
Feilan gives a quick nod, folding his uniform, although for the time being, he leaves it sitting neatly on his cot. No sense in putting it all away if he might have to hop into it again. He does sit down though, pulling on a set of boots, and giving each a stomp to make sure his foot is firmly in place. "Sure thing, sir. Bit curious myself, anyway. See how much trouble they really are."
"Enough to get the Weyrwoman's skivvies all tied in knots," Krummolt replies, deciding to rest on the edge of the duty desk near the entrance to the headquarters. He glances at the door and doesn't see them instantly, so he glances back at Feilan. "Oh, by the way, just a reminder: Captain Il'ad changed the rules on addressing superiors. Supposed to use the whole title." With no captain or weyrwoman around, the reminder is clearly intended as gentle.
Feilan does look a tad embarrassed, even if the reminder is a kind one. "Er..yeah. Sorry 'bout that, Sergeant." Then again, suddenly having a weyrwoman bearing down on him might've sent that bit of knowledge flitting off into the oblivion edges of his mind. A look toward the entrance is given, brows faintly raised. "..For all the fuss, sure is taking a while."
Krummolt seems inclined to agree when there is a little scuffling from the entryway and Krummolt straightens up. A pair of riders come in leading a pair of young adolescents, looking about thirteen or fourteen. "Here we go," he mutters aside to Feilan. "Here," he says, waving the recruit over to the table. "Grab a pen and get down the names and stuff," he instructs as he pulls himself up to his full height.
(At this point Feilan had to go.)