[Log] Nice Day, Innit?
Who: Aida, Donavon (NPC), Katric (NPC), Luskian (NPC)
When: Day 24, Month 4, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: Outside High Reaches Weyr
What: Aida runs into two men outside the Weyr and gets far more than she bargained for.
Aida
Blue, blue eyes are a shock of vibrancy against the cool backdrop of this young woman's complexion. Be they sparkling with cheer or flashing with temper, they are almost always as bright with life as they are with color. Loose black curls have been left free and hang just past her shoulders, occasionally tumbling into her face. Those rebellious curls temper her sharp jawline, fine features disguised by cheeks still touched with the roundness of youth. The last touches of still-growing awkward are just starting to fade away, leaving her just above average in height for a woman. She's not quite all elbows and knees any longer, having filled out enough that she looks more adult than child. Still, a good guess at her age would place her in her seventeenth or eighteenth turn, so she's still got a few more years to go until she's done with it all.
Chosen to suit her coloring, Aida's clothing fits her well. Stark white and made of silky cloth, her blouse is laced up the front, tight at her wrists and cut wide out on her shoulders. At her neckline and her wrists is a hint of pale blue embroidery, the touch of color done in a fairly simple swirl design. The black skirt it's tucked into falls loose around her to her ankles, light but sturdy all the same. Keeping it tight at her waist to both accent her form and lend a splash more color to the outfit is a brilliant blue sash. It's tied at her right side, the tail of it hanging down along her leg to her knee. On her feet are a very solid pair of black boots, just a bit out of place with the rest of it. When she wears them, both jacket and gloves are black hide and new looking, far sturdier material than the rest of her clothes. Faint but present in the air around her is the scent of lavender, some sort of light perfume. At her shoulder is the knot that marks her as a resident.
On toward the afternoon, while most of the Weyr is busy working, a couple of the Weyr's residents are instead lounging out in the territory surrounding the Weyr. While the track from the Weyr to this location is no road, it's a reasonably well-made path, traveled by the occasional visitor or resident who needs a couple of hours to escape the lower caverns. The two men in question, a couple of thirty-ish long-time residents not particularly remarkable, are seated on rocks at the path's edge, occasionally passing the time with a few words, a choppy conversation of no real interest to either.
A few moments away from work is a few moments needed away from people, as well. Aida, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket and said jacket pulled closely around her, winds her way down along said pathway, her expression distant, attentiveness lost to thoughts and matters internal, rather than external. Still, she can't entirely miss the sight of other people daring to be out here and intruding upon her solitude. Not that she glares or any such nonsense as that; she swings her steps wide as if to go around them, giving a nod in acknowledgement and not slowing her pace. No apparent interest in conversation.
"Afternoon," one of the men, a dark-headed fellow with a sparse beard, greets Aida, lifting a hand as well. The other, blonde and stocky, pays little mind except a grunt that might be his own version of 'hello'. His feet are stuck out into the path, and he doesn't move them even as Aida tries to get around. "Afternoon," repeats the first man, Donavon. "Nice day, innit? That's what I was just telling Luskian here now, it's a nice day." He gestures to his companion, who nods once and manages a broad smile. "Better'n bein' stuck in the caverns all day--can't work down there, too crowded. Too hot--never think about High Reaches bein' like that, but it gets downright stuffy in there sometimes, y'know?" He takes up an easy, friendly chatter, seemingly oblivious to any desire to be alone on Aida's part.
Politeness wins out over any desire to be alone; Aida draws up and takes a few steps back, snapping a polite smile into place as a hand comes up to ruffle through her hair. "Afternoon," she replies lightly, glancing first to one man, then to the other; her attention promptly focusing in on the one that's actually speaking to her. "It is a nice day, yes," she agrees. "Now that it's not raining, at least. It's good to be able to escape sometimes, take a nice walk."
"Rained a lot lately," agrees Donavon, nodding thoughtfully and glancing skyward at the talk of the weather. "Maybe the lady'd like a seat...?" prompts the second man after a moment of this study--apparently, he's the more thoughtful of the two. However, Donavon hops up quickly, gesturing grandly to his rock. "Oh, right. I was just about to. Here, have a seat for a few minutes. Can be quite a hike up here if you're not used to it. I'm Donavon by the way--this here's my good friend Luskian." Luskian inclines his head again, flashing that smile for Aida. "You... do something special? You look familiar, like the high-ups--the leadership, I mean," that man remarks slowly. "Caucus, right?" guesses Donavon, looking between the other two curiously.
"Oh, no thank you," Aida replies promptly to the offer of the seat, shaking her head lightly and putting on her warmest smile. "I really intended on simply taking a brief walk -- I have to be back to work fairly soon, honestly. But thank you." She gives a little gesture back to the rock, a 'have at' sort of thing. "And yes, that would be right -- I'm Aida, and I do work with the Caucus. I'm the Headmaster's assistant, actually. It's good to meet you, Donavon, Luskian."
"The headmaster's assistant," repeats Donavon, dark eyes widening. Luskian's reaction is a low whistle and, "Don't mean to waylay you, then." Donavon doesn't retake his seat, instead lingering beside it, gesturing temptingly one more time. "So what do you do for him?" the talkative man asks. "Sounds like a pretty interesting job, y'know? Getting to talk to all of those Caucus-types? What's he like, the headmaster? We've never met him--don't think he associates much with the likes of /us/. /You're/ not too good to, though, are you? Or, we're not too /bad/ for /you/?" As though her anxiousness to depart were some reflection on them. Donavon looks genuinely worried by the prospect, though his companion takes it rather in stride, simply grinning again at his friend's fears.
Lifting one foot to tap the toe of her boot against the dirt of the pathway behind her, Aida continues to glance between them. Her hair ruffled one more time for good measure, her hands shove back in her pocket, and she gives a quick little shake of her head. No. "Of course not," she promises. "I think it should be fairly well known that I'm quite the social creature. I...there's no 'too good for' involved, at all. Please, don't even be concerned about such." Again, that smile of hers is flashed, this time touched with a reassuring note. "And the headmaster is...well, he's /busy/, really, is what he's like. I, ah -- I take notes." Yes. Because that's the easiest bit to describe. "And I sort his mail."
"Bet he gets a lot of mail," Donavon notes sympathetically, sharing a look with Luskian. "Popular man, seems like. We see 'im every once in a while, but that's about it. Bet he couldn't do a thing without you, though--what's a man like him without his faithful assistant at his side?" Luskian agrees, nodding easily. "Got that right," he voices. "Ol' Ganathon's got him one, and Diya, and even Weyrleader Igen's gone and got one, I hear. 'Course, all the wingleaders got their seconds--there's R'hal and L'ret and Im'iel and--" Donavon interrupts this listing (Luskian ticks every individual off on his thick fingers) to add, "Hey, you wouldn't be that one with the one--that new wingleader, now would you? Heard it was /somebody's/ assistant."
Tension winding its way into her shoulders, Aida's hands both come out of her pockets to lift up and shove through her hair, her eyes flicking back and forth between the pair. Another half-step backwards is taken, and for all that her posture shifts, her lips retain that sunny smile. "I would be," she agrees. "Br'ce and I are involved. Happily." The topic of the headmaster is not pursued by the young woman, be it distraction by the second line of talk or simply a lack of desire to talk about any of that any further. "What do the two of you do?"
Donavon shifts his weight idly, observing Aida expressionlessly. Even Luskian isn't grinning any more. "Now see, that's just too bad," Donavon announces after a moment, offering a small, incongruously sad little smile. Luskian is already moving--for a big man he's quick--one arm reaching out to grab Aida's and drag her over to him as he stands. The other reaches to cover her mouth and silences any cries. Donavon, standing well out of the way of any flailing limbs, smirks slightly.
Wait, what? This was not expected. Grabbing her? Still, she's not one to be shocked into inaction, and so Aida reacts, all coiled tension as she already was. The young woman jumps when that arm grabs hold of her, and she's already inhaling deeply to start shrieking when her mouth is covered by the hand. Rather than pursuing that, she brings a foot up and back to deliver a sharp kick against Luskian's shin, bringing it down to stomp on his foot a beat later as she does her best to sink her teeth into the hand on her mouth.
Luskian oofs, understandably so, as those struggles connect, but he very carefully doesn't let go, tightening his grip to pinion those pesky limbs despite several winces. "Please don't be doing that," he grunts out. "Not in this to--hurt you." Donavon, patience worn thin by the earlier charade, is already stepping closer, pulling out the knife he's hidden beneath his spring coat. "Y'ought to listen to 'im," he threatens as he lifts the thin-bladed knife to make sure she sees it. "He's the nice, /reasonable/ one."
Eyes going wide when she sees that knife, Aida stills for just an instant, like she's going to stop resisting. And then she doesn't, pushing her head as far forward as she can manage to bring it back and attempt to slam the back of her head into the front of Luskian's face. While this is being attempted, she does her level best to wiggle one of her arms free of the grasp, probably to attempt to grab for that knife if it comes too close. Chomp. It does not appear that she intends to go without a fight, no.
"I hate women," Donavon notes, almost boredly, when Aida predictably resumes her fighting. Luskian, hands full, can't manage a reply this time, stumbling backward a step as her head connects with his nose. Donavon is quick to close the remaining distance, reaching to grab Aida's wrist when one hand does come free, raising knife to her throat. "All right, enough," he says flatly, pressing the blade closer. "The orders were 'unhurt' which I interpret as anything short of dead."
Starting to coil to try and bolt when her wrist is grabbed and the knife goes to her throat, Aida freezes again, locking angry eyes up on Donavon's face. The tension does not fade; she does not relax in the slightest. There's no sense of giving in to the girl -- she's waiting. No fear, there. Just anger, maybe a little bit of new hatred.
"That's better," concludes Donavon smugly. "Good girl--smart girl. Luskian." Apparently, that's the other man's cue, for during the brief interlude he's adjusted his grips to better position, and at the sound of his name, he lifts a fist to strike a sound blow to the girl's head, intended to knock her out now lest she resume being troublesome. It's a practiced move, as though he's used to ending tussles this way.
Uh uh. Aida was waiting for that, and knife or not, she promptly does her best to jerk her head away from the coming blow, bringing a foot up again to strike out with it. Kick. Her wrist that's held is twisted around so she can try and get a grip on Donavon's arm in turn, to try and wrench him around some. Still, all of it falters when that blow connects; though there's no immediate wilting and going limp, her eyes do roll back and she wobbles. Stunned, struck silly, certainly. Which means that the actual going out like a light is sure to follow just a beat later. She's going to be so embarrassed later.
Though Donavon falters, eyes narrowing at the grip on his own arm, he's shortly back to looking smug and composed when Aida wobbles. Satisfied, resheathing his knife, he regards the stunned girl a moment before turning, drifting off the path to where, a short distance away under a tight cluster of bushes, several lengths of rope have been stored. Luskian, meanwhile, moves to lower the stunned girl to the ground. Donavon returns shortly with the rope, unlooping it and kneeling to begin the task of thoroughly and properly restraining Aida.
Groggy. Why are her limbs not responding like they ought to? This is a frustrating thing. The kick ends up being a wiggle of a toe, and that's about it. Aida closes her eyes and does her best to pull herself into focus, at least managing to avoid the whimper that wants to escape. A great deal of progress in restraining her is likely to be made before she recovers enough to point out, quietly, "I'm going to kill you." It's a mumble more than a calm statement, but hey. It's only then that she starts trying to wiggle away again, though it's not the most effective escape attempt.
"Uh-huh, I'll mark it on my calendar," Donavon answers absently, giving the rope he's fastening about her legs a sharp tug to finish off the knots. Luskian, at least, has the grace to look sheepish, big fingers fumbling to tighten a second set of rops on her arms and bring a halt to the latest escape attempt. "Sorry, miss," he tells her. "Nothing personal, you see--we just have business with your friend, that wingleader, and we need to make sure he's gonna listen. But don't worry, we got people to take good care of you, and we're going to let you go. Right, Don?" He gives the other man a pointed look. Donavon, dusting his hands off and standing, his work through, blinks, then nods. "Right. Nothing to worry about," he agrees, sounding disappointed enough for the statement to actually be truthful.
"I cannot believe you're apologizing to me," Aida opens her eyes back up and turns her head as much as she can to set her eyes back up on Luskian. There's a flex of her muscles here and there, a nudge against the ropes; she's testing her bonds very, very carefully. It's not an outright fight any more, at least not for the moment. "My head hurts," she eventually complains, once she goes still again. Eyes even close. "A lot. And I think you broke my wrist." Beat. "/Don/."
"Donavon," corrects the man absently, not particularly sounding concerned. Luskian, however, only shrugs. "We told you not to fight," he remarks, reaching to pick the bound woman up. "Don't worry, we got a healer--well, he /was/ a healer, anyway--back at camp. Just in case." He grins again, as though this were so thoughtful of them, while Donavon starts off through the woods at an angle from the path. Luskian follows carefully, consigned to mere muscle at the moment in hauling Aida to the hide-out.
"This is horribly undignified," Aida manages to squeak, once she's recovered from the ouch of being picked up and the previous struggle. Adrenaline wearing off as it tends to do, and all. At least she's not fighting any more. "You're both going to be in a *great deal* of trouble, you know. I hope whatever it is is worth it."
Donavon doesn't answer, concentrating on finding his way. Even Luskian falls silent at the girl's latter words, content to haul her along with him back to their camp. It's a pretty good distance away, in the lee of a overhang of rock, the entrance blocked by bushes--almost unfindable to the unfamiliar. It's here that Donavon finally stops, pausing to let his companion catch up by now--even the strong Luskian is breathing heavily after the climb to the hilltop hideout. A shout hails the people within; then, they enter. At once, the trio of men there hustle over to inspect the prize, various exclamations ensuing. Aida's almost forgotten in the excitement, placed on a spot furthin in the semi-cave. While Donavon and company hold a hushed conference, the youngest man, a pimply-faced man not more than his early twenties, is left standing over the captive, curiousity plain in his expression. "Hey," he offers, as though this were any common encounter in the Weyr's living cavern.
The silence causes her to make faces; without conversation she's forced into awareness of the ouch. Aida lifts her head and turns it just so to instead watch the surroundings, marking the path as it's walked, keeping an eye on it. Oh yes, she intends to stay aware of where it is she is -- and how she can get back down, eventually. Into the cave, there's more faces -- and so the new folks are studied intently, silently. It's not until she's deposited in her spot and the youngest man is looking down at her that she stops with her intent study of anything and everything, and instead shifts to an intent study of him. "Hi," she replies, tone threaded with dryness. "I need a healer. The gentleman -- and I use this term very loosely -- who escorted me up here...did a bit of damage, I think, and I'm really terribly uncomfortable." Cue the big-eyed pleading look for the man. Ow, she hurts. Take pity.
"I'm a healer!" the youth says cheerfully, kneeling down and prodding--not gently--at Aida. He glances over her briefly, then, making no move to untie her or perform a better examination. "Or I was, anyway. I was a journeyman--on my way to the Caucus before they decided they ought to send me home instead," he adds after a moment, frowning. Then, happily--apparently, he's the talkative sort: "Aida, right? What hurts? I have stuff around here somewhere for the little stuff, although if it's bad, well. You'll just have to suffer, I guess, until we let you go. They wouldn't let me put you out of your misery, I don't think, even if you wanted it." He gestures vaguely at the talking foursome several feet away.
"Ow," Aida protests when she's prodded at, leaning away as best she can from the poking. "Not a very good one, if you're poking at me like that." She crosses her eyes at him, then casts a glance towards the four having their quiet conference. There's a soft sigh exhaled, and her eyes swing back up to the guy in front of her. "Yes. My name is Aida. Yours? And my head hurts, mostly; I've probably got a concussion, and I'm sure it's going to start swelling up very badly if it hasn't already. I also expect that the outer bone just below my wrist is splintered, if not broken entirely. And the rope around my right foot is too tight to allow for proper circulation. I'm also bruised up pretty heavily, I expect. I will need something for swelling, and if you have it, something for pain would be highly appreciated."
"You're bossy," the young man concludes. "I'm not sure you're in any position to be that way. Katric, by the way. You've heard of me, of course. I'm brilliant." This, apparently, he considers his claim to fame; most familiar with the healer hall would better remember him for being kicked out for crimes never satisfactorily explained. "Concussion, I can believe that. Don't worry, I'll just make sure you don't go to sleep for a while. As for that other stuff... Bruises aren't anything to worry about, and, Well, can't touch the rope, sorry--oldest trick in the book, you understand, of course--but lemme have a look at that wrist."
"I'm also a healer," Aida points out, tone taking on a peevish note. It may not be entirely honest, but somehow, she's feeling no guilt for the dishonesty just this once. "I'm not *bossy*, I'm just telling you what's wrong with me and how to treat it so that you don't have to do something like /touch/ me to figure it out. To look at my wrist and actually do anything for it -- if you /are/, you'll have to splint it -- requires untying me, so don't bother. I need something for my head, mostly."
At having his methodology further questioned, Katric recoils. "Well, maybe you can just heal yourself then, since you know so much," he sniffs. "No skin off my nose." Pause. He calls over to the group, "Are you sure I can't just--" Apparently, the question is anticipated, because two of them at once answer sharply, "No." Katric seems more peevish himself at the answer, snorting. "I think I have some lavender tea somewhere that ought to help," he finally grudgingly admits, drifting over to a pack nearby and rummaging through it. "Best I can do out here." Finally, he emerges with the packet, moving to prepare the tea carefully on the small fire kept going out in the clearing. It takes him several minutes to return, the steaming tea in a cup of questionable cleanliness. Still, kneeling back down, he moves to lift it to Aida's lips carefully--he's serious about not touching those ropes.
Hostility bristling, Aida glares at the man's back when he's turned away from her; by the time he's looking again though, her expression has smoothed out to simple calmness. She doesn't say anything when the tea is brought to her lips, just leaning forward to sip from it carefully. As much taken as she can drink with relative dignity, she settles back again and offers up a smile that's fairly apologetic. "I'm sorry to be cranky," she points out, voice ever so quiet, pitched to not carry to the other four. "It's just, a bad situation, you know? Don't tell me you'd be happy if you were the one tied up."
"S'why I'm careful not to be that one," Katric answers easily, slowly helping her drink. He falls silent, brows furrowed, and glances a couple of times toward the group, their own quiet conference breaking up. Donavon and Luskian are on their way over, and Katric regards both warily, edging back with tea in hand. "Well, we're off to the Weyr," Donavon remarks cheerfully. "We'll think of you often, though. If you're lucky, though, that wingleader of yours will see the light fast, and we'll have you back in no time. If not, well." He shrugs idly, turning to go. Luskian offers another of his incongruously friendly smiles. "They'll take good care of you," he asserts. "And I'm sure you'll be home--and fine--soon. Katric's a good..." Here he pauses, shooting a look to the younger man. "Well, as long as you don't look like you're about to die anyway, you're fine," Luskian remarks then, in an undertone. "Good night." Then, turning, he follows Donavon out, leaving Aida alone with the three other men. Katric waits until then to note, "Hmph. Like he knows what he's talking about. I'm a great healer."
Exhaling a soft sigh, Aida sends a wan look after those leaving, then looks back to fix it up on Katric. She's quiet for a long few moments, then drops her lashes to obscure her eyes, lower lip trembling a little bit. There's not exactly crying, but it's certainly close to such. "You don't have anything stronger than that tea?" She asks, lending something both pitiful and hopeful to her tone. "Maybe alcohol, or something?" Oh, the waver in that voice.
Katric, cold-hearted youth that he is, only shrugs slightly in answer. "Alcohol. Maybe," he notes distantly. "I prefer fellis, but I ran out just the other day. Hard to come by now--I keep meaning to restock, but it's so hard to get it without going through a healer. Donavon has a friend who's supposed to--oh." He breaks off his chatter and his rustling through the pack again as one of the two other men, a gruff older man greying around the edges, stops beside him. "My turn to watch," the new man says. Katric nods at once, carefully reassembling his things and standing. "Sorry, Aida, girl. Have a good night. I'll just leave this, um. Here." He sets the remainder of the tea beside her before hustling off to join the third man, leaving the stern-faced man to stare silently at Aida, not saying a word. He seems possibly even less inclined to offer her tea than to speak.