(no subject)
From outside The Brig: Eric moves around a bit restlessly, looking for something. He checks his bunk, other corners around the barracks until he finds what he's looking for. Stooping to pick up the scrap of leather hide he, in turn, eyes the brig. "You the murderer?" Now's as good as any time to be frank.
Krummolt lays back on his cot, his head pillowed by one hand. His sausage fingers drum idly on his shaven scalp, restless with the enforced inactivity. He doesn't seem to be paying attention until the word 'murderer.' Since he is really the only recent resident to merit the title, it is enough to get the old captain's attention, and he lifts his head to look around at Eric. "New kid in the barracks, huh?" After all, he's been sitting around watching things in the headquarters. "Yeah. That's me," he replies in a flat tone.
From outside The Brig: Eric nods his head slowly, eyeing Krummolt as he turns the piece of hide over and over in his hands. "What are they going to do to you? Exile you? Hang you?" He leans against the opposite wall, safely out of range of the imprisoned, though by his body language he doesn't appear to be too threatened by the older man. "Did you do it?" he asks curiously.
"Don't know," Krummolt replies to the first question, letting his head fall back so that he's looking at the brig's ceiling rather than Eric. "If you're a gambling man, I'd tell you to put your marks on exile. And yeah. I did it." There is a bitter bite there at the end of the admission.
From outside The Brig: "Hum." Eric leans a little closer, scrutinizing the older man. "Why?" Such a simple question, really, and clearly the recruit is curious as to the answer to this question by the way he lifts his eyebrows and edges a bit closer. He tucks away the scrap of leather and folds his arms across his chest.
Krummolt looks around at Eric again, his eyebrows drawing together in a bushy V as he contemplates the younger man. "Because I'm a vicious old bastard who solves problems by hitting them," he snaps out. "Why do /you/ want to know, boy?"
From outside The Brig: Eric shrugs, leaning back again. "Because it's rather creepy in here with just you and me when the others are out. And why not? It's not like you have any thing to lose by telling me why. Was the weyrwoman that crazy? Did she mistreat you? Was it an act of passion?" The last is said rather dubiously as younger man eyes the older. "Because it amuses me to ask you. It's not like /you/ can get out from there. Besides, talking to me aught to relieve some boredom. Can't be all that exciting in there."
Krummolt glares at Eric for a moment, then lets out a bark that might be a laugh, but is rather bitter to express actual humor. "Well, it is that," he admits. "You really want the story? I'll give it to ya if ya really want it. You from around here, or you just into High Reaches to join up?"
From outside The Brig: "Old man, would I be asking you if I didn't want to know?" Eric slides down, folding his tall frame into a sitting position, still keeping his eyes on the older man. He's scooted forward a little bit, but not much. "Nah, I'm from the Hold. Had some relatives a while back that lived and worked up here. So I came to see what it was like. Then I was recruited. Seemed interesting at the time. Something to amuse me and keep the ennui away."
Krummolt considers Eric for a moment. "You say you wouldn't ask, but it ain't true of everyone. Any case, if you really want more /fun/ outta being a guard, you should go to Crom; lot more fights to break up. 'Course," he notes thoughtfully, "there's a lot more easy rider women in the Weyr." He rolls onto his side to look around at the recruit. "Any case, it's simple enough, really. I caught that little holdless whore," a fairly unjust description of the dead Merisol, by most accounts, "stealing and took her off to .../question/ her. I probably -- nah, I /definitely/ went too far, but I was pissed and I don't calm well. So when the Weyrwoman comes in and tries to pull me off, I went and threw her off before I'd even realized who it was." He gives a shrug. "Then I spent the next few months in a constant panic."
From outside The Brig: Eric grins, "Yes, I have heard about these easy weyr women. Though," he pauses, unsure how to continue, "all I've seemed to come across is easy weyr men." Well, maybe not easy, exactly. "Sounds almost like your actions were nearly accidental." He narrows his eyes in thought, "But didn't I hear the drama-mamas commenting on how you then tried to actually finish the job of killing the weyrwoman? Doesn't seem all that sensible, considering these same gossip mongers also said she was in a coma that didn't seem like it was reversing anytime soon."
Krummolt hesitates for a moment, then admits: "Yeah. That...was dumb. I think it comes from not sleeping and being in a panic the whole time. There was this girl, see, who said she'd woken up, and remembered who'd pushed her. Only...she said someone else." He shakes his head and flops back in his hard bench. "Bah. She was totally lying, too, only I was afraid she /would/ wake up, and if she didn't, well, then, I'd be off the hook." He pauses again, considering the ceiling. "It was really sharding stupid."
From outside The Brig: Eric doesn't say anything for a moment, thinking. "Just where did you find this, " his eyes flash up to stare at Krummolt, "thief doing her purloining? Didn't you throw the weyrwoman off a ledge? Or was that just rumor?" His tone implies Krummolt might be over-simplifying his story. "I'd say it was pretty stupid, because here you are. In there."
"I found her down past the kitchen stores, and I pulled her up to the council chambers. There's a ledge there. I figured it'd be quiet, but then Chey came up from the sands..." Krummolt trails off and hitches his shoulders. "If I hadn't gone into a panic, I'd probably still be captain. Funny, though, I'm actually a lot better rested since I been sitting on my butt in here."
From outside The Brig: "Interesting. Certainly different from what I expected." Eric leans back, palms open flat on the ground. "What are you going to do, if they don't hang you that is. Your story, while disturbing that you could spin out of control like that, sounds a touch accidental. Maybe they'll let you live."
Krummolt rubs at his jaw. "Eh. If I hadn't gone back in...But I figure they gotta put me in exile at least." He stares up at the ceiling. "If I were still captain, I'd be pushing for execution, and about go off my rocker -- again -- at anything less than exile."
From outside The Brig: Eric stands and moves closer to peer in at Krummolt, each hand grasping a bar. "Since you're not Captain and you're not deciding your own fate, should you be exiled, what will you do?" He pulls back a bit, still holding onto the bars. "By the by, what was the thief stealing?"
Krummolt swings his legs around to put his feet flat on the ground and his hands on his knees, coming upright for the first time in the conversation, though still sitting. "Well, if they put me on the Western continent, I figure I'll be stuck trying to stay alive. If they leave me free and holdless, well...no Thread now. Prob'ly head south 'til I find somewhere I can manage a little easier than up 'round here. As for the girl, she was getting into the old wines, the ones that're actually worth something. Then she tried to /charm/," he drawls out, making the word into a smarmy condemnation, "her way out of it, and I suppose that's what really set me off."
From outside The Brig: "Hum." Eric stares off at a spot behind Krummolt's head for a moment, lost in thought. "Yeah," he starts to say, slowly, "I wouldn't want to be stuck out there in the Western Continent. Heard it's rough." Gaze turns back to the older guard, and he blurts out in near disbelief. "Seriously? All of this," left hand releases the bar and sweeps out to indicate Krummolt and his circumstances, "for a few skins of wine? You went off your sharding rocker because she tried to seduce her way free? Seriously?"
Krummolt considers Eric for a moment, eyes narrowing and darkening and his ham hands flex on his knees as if he'd rather be using them. Of course he would, but the bars are in place, and Krummolt settles his back against the far side of the brig, forcing calm back across his features and his demeanor. "You ever see an avalanche start?"
From outside The Brig: Eric clasps the bar again, turning slightly to lean his left hip -- though not the side with the knife and stick attached -- against the bars and eyes his fingers. "Avalanche? Me? No. Why?" He turns to look at Krummolt, surprise at the turn of the conversation evident.
Krummolt lifts one hand, curled as if around a ball. "One sharding snowball falls. And it hits something, picks up more snow, and before you realize, the whole mountain is sliding down. Just 'cause of one snowball." He relaxes, looking up from his hand to Eric. "'S how this sorta thing happens, kid. One bad decision and the whole mountain goes crashin' down into the sea." An unusually poetic attempt at metaphor for the grizzled guard, but he has apparently had a long time to sit and think about these things.
From outside The Brig: Eric watches and listens and then, "Ahhs. Maybe. Maybe I could see that." He shakes his head, "Then again, the people who you snuffed out with your avalanche are no longer around." He holds up a hand, forestalling any interruptions and adds, "Even if this girl was a thief, her crime shouldn't have been death." Narrow-eyed gaze is given to Krummolt and then shrugs, "But you know all this. Interesting story, old man. Maybe you were great in your time. Hopefully, wherever you go, you can have better luck."
Krummolt gives a little snort and swings his legs back to stretch out again on his bench. "Yeah, well. Good luck amounting to more than a puddle of spit, kid. Least you got the size for it." Whether that's an insult or a backhanded complement is difficult to properly decipher, though it seems to be delivered with a certain light skepticism.
From outside The Brig: Eric snorts, "I'll amount to more than you, I suspect. At least /I/ have not committed a heinous crime." Again, a pause. "You were Captain, eh? That must chafe a little." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a block of wood and his whittling knife, before saying, "The other recruit I met was on the little side, but a likeable fellow. Though I'm sure you've been sitting in here watching and listening. Again with the creepy. No telling what you overhear when everyone treats you like you aren't there."
"And what'm I supposed to do about what I hear?" Krummolt replies, closing his eyes. "Ah, well. Best get used to the creepy, though I expect I'm about as creepy as it gets for a criminal 'round here."
From outside The Brig: "I imagine you're crafty, in your own way." Eric snickers, "But, if what you say is true you regret your avalanche, so maybe the creepy's overrated." He glances around the cell, "At least you're alone in there."
Krummolt smiles up, eyes still closed. "Creepy's what /you/ feel. So if you can think of something creepier than an ex-captain murderer of the Weyrwoman lookin' over your shoulder, maybe you'll run into something creepier. But probably not."
From outside The Brig: Eric says quietly, "And of a caverns girl." He shrugs, "Eh. Creepy is mostly that you're just in here, lying there. Not saying anything while the world around you continues as normal."
"Beats me yelling all day. Though they might have shipped me quicker if I had." Fortunately, however, Krummolt elects to fall silent rather than take up his own new thought.
From outside The Brig: "Quite possibly." Eric puts away his whittling knife and block of wood, and dusts his hands off against his pants. He taps the bars, "Well old man, you've an interesting tale and a sad ending. At least you have your health." Behind bars, Krummolt is quite toothless and with his story, not quite as much of a threat. "Enjoy your remaining days here."
Krummolt lays back on his cot, his head pillowed by one hand. His sausage fingers drum idly on his shaven scalp, restless with the enforced inactivity. He doesn't seem to be paying attention until the word 'murderer.' Since he is really the only recent resident to merit the title, it is enough to get the old captain's attention, and he lifts his head to look around at Eric. "New kid in the barracks, huh?" After all, he's been sitting around watching things in the headquarters. "Yeah. That's me," he replies in a flat tone.
From outside The Brig: Eric nods his head slowly, eyeing Krummolt as he turns the piece of hide over and over in his hands. "What are they going to do to you? Exile you? Hang you?" He leans against the opposite wall, safely out of range of the imprisoned, though by his body language he doesn't appear to be too threatened by the older man. "Did you do it?" he asks curiously.
"Don't know," Krummolt replies to the first question, letting his head fall back so that he's looking at the brig's ceiling rather than Eric. "If you're a gambling man, I'd tell you to put your marks on exile. And yeah. I did it." There is a bitter bite there at the end of the admission.
From outside The Brig: "Hum." Eric leans a little closer, scrutinizing the older man. "Why?" Such a simple question, really, and clearly the recruit is curious as to the answer to this question by the way he lifts his eyebrows and edges a bit closer. He tucks away the scrap of leather and folds his arms across his chest.
Krummolt looks around at Eric again, his eyebrows drawing together in a bushy V as he contemplates the younger man. "Because I'm a vicious old bastard who solves problems by hitting them," he snaps out. "Why do /you/ want to know, boy?"
From outside The Brig: Eric shrugs, leaning back again. "Because it's rather creepy in here with just you and me when the others are out. And why not? It's not like you have any thing to lose by telling me why. Was the weyrwoman that crazy? Did she mistreat you? Was it an act of passion?" The last is said rather dubiously as younger man eyes the older. "Because it amuses me to ask you. It's not like /you/ can get out from there. Besides, talking to me aught to relieve some boredom. Can't be all that exciting in there."
Krummolt glares at Eric for a moment, then lets out a bark that might be a laugh, but is rather bitter to express actual humor. "Well, it is that," he admits. "You really want the story? I'll give it to ya if ya really want it. You from around here, or you just into High Reaches to join up?"
From outside The Brig: "Old man, would I be asking you if I didn't want to know?" Eric slides down, folding his tall frame into a sitting position, still keeping his eyes on the older man. He's scooted forward a little bit, but not much. "Nah, I'm from the Hold. Had some relatives a while back that lived and worked up here. So I came to see what it was like. Then I was recruited. Seemed interesting at the time. Something to amuse me and keep the ennui away."
Krummolt considers Eric for a moment. "You say you wouldn't ask, but it ain't true of everyone. Any case, if you really want more /fun/ outta being a guard, you should go to Crom; lot more fights to break up. 'Course," he notes thoughtfully, "there's a lot more easy rider women in the Weyr." He rolls onto his side to look around at the recruit. "Any case, it's simple enough, really. I caught that little holdless whore," a fairly unjust description of the dead Merisol, by most accounts, "stealing and took her off to .../question/ her. I probably -- nah, I /definitely/ went too far, but I was pissed and I don't calm well. So when the Weyrwoman comes in and tries to pull me off, I went and threw her off before I'd even realized who it was." He gives a shrug. "Then I spent the next few months in a constant panic."
From outside The Brig: Eric grins, "Yes, I have heard about these easy weyr women. Though," he pauses, unsure how to continue, "all I've seemed to come across is easy weyr men." Well, maybe not easy, exactly. "Sounds almost like your actions were nearly accidental." He narrows his eyes in thought, "But didn't I hear the drama-mamas commenting on how you then tried to actually finish the job of killing the weyrwoman? Doesn't seem all that sensible, considering these same gossip mongers also said she was in a coma that didn't seem like it was reversing anytime soon."
Krummolt hesitates for a moment, then admits: "Yeah. That...was dumb. I think it comes from not sleeping and being in a panic the whole time. There was this girl, see, who said she'd woken up, and remembered who'd pushed her. Only...she said someone else." He shakes his head and flops back in his hard bench. "Bah. She was totally lying, too, only I was afraid she /would/ wake up, and if she didn't, well, then, I'd be off the hook." He pauses again, considering the ceiling. "It was really sharding stupid."
From outside The Brig: Eric doesn't say anything for a moment, thinking. "Just where did you find this, " his eyes flash up to stare at Krummolt, "thief doing her purloining? Didn't you throw the weyrwoman off a ledge? Or was that just rumor?" His tone implies Krummolt might be over-simplifying his story. "I'd say it was pretty stupid, because here you are. In there."
"I found her down past the kitchen stores, and I pulled her up to the council chambers. There's a ledge there. I figured it'd be quiet, but then Chey came up from the sands..." Krummolt trails off and hitches his shoulders. "If I hadn't gone into a panic, I'd probably still be captain. Funny, though, I'm actually a lot better rested since I been sitting on my butt in here."
From outside The Brig: "Interesting. Certainly different from what I expected." Eric leans back, palms open flat on the ground. "What are you going to do, if they don't hang you that is. Your story, while disturbing that you could spin out of control like that, sounds a touch accidental. Maybe they'll let you live."
Krummolt rubs at his jaw. "Eh. If I hadn't gone back in...But I figure they gotta put me in exile at least." He stares up at the ceiling. "If I were still captain, I'd be pushing for execution, and about go off my rocker -- again -- at anything less than exile."
From outside The Brig: Eric stands and moves closer to peer in at Krummolt, each hand grasping a bar. "Since you're not Captain and you're not deciding your own fate, should you be exiled, what will you do?" He pulls back a bit, still holding onto the bars. "By the by, what was the thief stealing?"
Krummolt swings his legs around to put his feet flat on the ground and his hands on his knees, coming upright for the first time in the conversation, though still sitting. "Well, if they put me on the Western continent, I figure I'll be stuck trying to stay alive. If they leave me free and holdless, well...no Thread now. Prob'ly head south 'til I find somewhere I can manage a little easier than up 'round here. As for the girl, she was getting into the old wines, the ones that're actually worth something. Then she tried to /charm/," he drawls out, making the word into a smarmy condemnation, "her way out of it, and I suppose that's what really set me off."
From outside The Brig: "Hum." Eric stares off at a spot behind Krummolt's head for a moment, lost in thought. "Yeah," he starts to say, slowly, "I wouldn't want to be stuck out there in the Western Continent. Heard it's rough." Gaze turns back to the older guard, and he blurts out in near disbelief. "Seriously? All of this," left hand releases the bar and sweeps out to indicate Krummolt and his circumstances, "for a few skins of wine? You went off your sharding rocker because she tried to seduce her way free? Seriously?"
Krummolt considers Eric for a moment, eyes narrowing and darkening and his ham hands flex on his knees as if he'd rather be using them. Of course he would, but the bars are in place, and Krummolt settles his back against the far side of the brig, forcing calm back across his features and his demeanor. "You ever see an avalanche start?"
From outside The Brig: Eric clasps the bar again, turning slightly to lean his left hip -- though not the side with the knife and stick attached -- against the bars and eyes his fingers. "Avalanche? Me? No. Why?" He turns to look at Krummolt, surprise at the turn of the conversation evident.
Krummolt lifts one hand, curled as if around a ball. "One sharding snowball falls. And it hits something, picks up more snow, and before you realize, the whole mountain is sliding down. Just 'cause of one snowball." He relaxes, looking up from his hand to Eric. "'S how this sorta thing happens, kid. One bad decision and the whole mountain goes crashin' down into the sea." An unusually poetic attempt at metaphor for the grizzled guard, but he has apparently had a long time to sit and think about these things.
From outside The Brig: Eric watches and listens and then, "Ahhs. Maybe. Maybe I could see that." He shakes his head, "Then again, the people who you snuffed out with your avalanche are no longer around." He holds up a hand, forestalling any interruptions and adds, "Even if this girl was a thief, her crime shouldn't have been death." Narrow-eyed gaze is given to Krummolt and then shrugs, "But you know all this. Interesting story, old man. Maybe you were great in your time. Hopefully, wherever you go, you can have better luck."
Krummolt gives a little snort and swings his legs back to stretch out again on his bench. "Yeah, well. Good luck amounting to more than a puddle of spit, kid. Least you got the size for it." Whether that's an insult or a backhanded complement is difficult to properly decipher, though it seems to be delivered with a certain light skepticism.
From outside The Brig: Eric snorts, "I'll amount to more than you, I suspect. At least /I/ have not committed a heinous crime." Again, a pause. "You were Captain, eh? That must chafe a little." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a block of wood and his whittling knife, before saying, "The other recruit I met was on the little side, but a likeable fellow. Though I'm sure you've been sitting in here watching and listening. Again with the creepy. No telling what you overhear when everyone treats you like you aren't there."
"And what'm I supposed to do about what I hear?" Krummolt replies, closing his eyes. "Ah, well. Best get used to the creepy, though I expect I'm about as creepy as it gets for a criminal 'round here."
From outside The Brig: "I imagine you're crafty, in your own way." Eric snickers, "But, if what you say is true you regret your avalanche, so maybe the creepy's overrated." He glances around the cell, "At least you're alone in there."
Krummolt smiles up, eyes still closed. "Creepy's what /you/ feel. So if you can think of something creepier than an ex-captain murderer of the Weyrwoman lookin' over your shoulder, maybe you'll run into something creepier. But probably not."
From outside The Brig: Eric says quietly, "And of a caverns girl." He shrugs, "Eh. Creepy is mostly that you're just in here, lying there. Not saying anything while the world around you continues as normal."
"Beats me yelling all day. Though they might have shipped me quicker if I had." Fortunately, however, Krummolt elects to fall silent rather than take up his own new thought.
From outside The Brig: "Quite possibly." Eric puts away his whittling knife and block of wood, and dusts his hands off against his pants. He taps the bars, "Well old man, you've an interesting tale and a sad ending. At least you have your health." Behind bars, Krummolt is quite toothless and with his story, not quite as much of a threat. "Enjoy your remaining days here."