The moral high ground is sweet
It is a winter afternoon, 13:32 of day 11, month 2, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Records Room, Fort Weyr
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by free-standing shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink, paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Weyrleaders' Complex
Y'nolek slides in and look arounds briefly, then heads for one of the records shelves. Hm, that's not the one he wants. He slides over a few more shelves, and then smiles as he leans down to squint at one of the lower shelves. He runs his finger down the spine of one record before drawing it out carefully, holding it in both hands.
Down comes a hand onto his shoulder, and it's not the scrawny hand of the Chief Archivist. No, this is a strong hand with stubby fingers, and it's got quite a hold on Y'nolek's shoulder. "You been avoidin' me," comes B'kaiv's voice, whispered lowly into bronzerider ear. "You got some explainin' t' do, Nolek."
A tall young man with a tendency to slouch, Y'nolek is nearly six feet in height, with long, thin arms and legs. His wavy hair is blond with a reddish glint, and he wears it loose, cut with rough ends that fall just past his chin. His eyes are a smoky grey, wide and serious under dark brows. He has a wide mouth and thin lips which smile only rarely, and his voice - when he uses it - comes as a surprise; on the high end of the tenor range, he could be mistaken for a woman by the sound of his voice alone. Y'nolek carries himself aloof, reserved, though always attentive to his surroundings.
Y'nolek is wearing a peach-colored button-down flannel shirt, old and soft with sleeves that are threadbare in places, and dark smoky grey trousers of a sturdy weave. There's a knot on his shoulder that marks him as a weyrling at Fort Weyr.
Y'nolek looks to be about 18 turns old.
"Hey!" Nolek objects to the hand on his shoulder, and turns around and pulls loose with one motion, holding the record between himself and B'kaiv like a shield. "What, /me/? /I've/ got explaining to do?" Clearly, he thinks it's the other way around.
B'kaiv's jaw is set and his eyes narrow, but he lets Nolek eel free - of course, he's between the bronzerider and the door, so he may have some confidence that the scrawnier man won't be able to escape. Voice still low, he continues, "Yeah, -you-. You know what we done? You /know/ what we done? An' now you got -me- takin' all th' blame for it! I -said- it was a stupid ass thing t' do, but you didn't listen."
"You're the idiot who decided to go blabbing about it," Nolek retorts angrily. "How is it my fault if you're getting punished? If you would have kept your dumbfool mouth shut, they'd never have known who did it." He crosses his arms defensively around the record he's holding.
Kai places a hand on the shelves beside Nolek's head and leans in, all nice and casual. If anyone steals a peek at them, maybe they'll think the greenrider's coming on to him. "-We-," he almost growls, "Got th' whole sharding /Weyr/ in trouble. An' it coulda spilled t' the /rest/ of th' coverage area too. Th' Weyrleader had t' /apologize/ for what we done. It was /stupid/, Nolek, an' it were /your/ idea. I been coverin' for you, but I'm tired of doin' that."
"The Weyrleader should've done something about those Fort Sea people in the first place, then /we/ wouldn't have had to," Nolek argues. "So what, now you're going to rat me out?" He glares at him with narrowed eyes.
B'kaiv's got a thin little smile for the question, a smile that doesn't relieve the tension in his eyes. "No. /You're/ gonna rat you out. I'm stuck in th' shardin' barracks /two more months/ 'cause of you. Grounded. In flamin' /harper lessons/. It ain't right you're flittin' around, gonna be /tapped/ because you're too much a coward t' own up t' what you done."
"How am /I/ the coward?" Nolek demands angrily. "You're the one who wussed out and blabbed everything. That was stupid. They /didn't know/. How the shell was it going to help anything for you to tell, and get all that crap dumped on you?" he huffs.
Here's Kai's other arm fencing the bronzerider in, and the greenrider leaning only inches from the huffy one's face. "Because /I/ take responsibility for what I done. You sleep real good in your weyr, knowin' it's your fault I'm back in th' barracks? You was -drunk-, Nolek. I went along with it so you wouldn't get in no trouble, an' whadda I get for it? You been /avoidin'/ me. You're a -coward-. Nothin' but a -coward-, an' a wherry."
Y'nolek mutters, "I wasn't /that/ drunk. Shells. You've just got it all justified in your head now, haven't you, how it was my fault and not yours? Well, whatever. If you hadn't /told/, none of this would /matter/. I don't get you at all."
B'kaiv slams a hand into the wood beside Y'nolek's ear. "You are -gonna-," he says implacably, and without waiting for the dust to settle, "Tell the Weyrleader what you done. /And/ whose idea it was. You're gonna tell him /everythin'/. You hear me? You got a sevenday - that's plenty of time. /More'n/ plenty." Clearly, he thinks his generosity is beyond measure.
"Fine," Nolek says, sulky. "Whatever. You gonna get out of my face before the staff comes over here?" A pause, and he adds, "This doesn't make you any less the rat, you know."
"I'm a greenrider," B'kaiv says with that strange not-smile back in place. "Prob'ly think I'm just comin' on t' you." Isn't that a comforting thought. This is how Kai flirts with people. He leans there a moment longer to make his point, then pushes casually away, folding one arm while leaving the other planted on the shelves. "You just remember who it was coverin' your ass all this time before you go throwin' around no accusations."
"Whatever," Nolek repeats, an oh-so-eloquent rejoinder. When Kai finally moves out of the way, he stalks off, and slams the book down on a table before heading out of the room.
And he tries to weasel outta it this time, I'm sharding well gonna drag him there by the collar. Tell the whole sharding weyr at /supper/. Making it out it's my fault, avoiding me... R'uen got any sense he'll give him to -me-. See if he's so smug after -that-.
Records Room, Fort Weyr
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by free-standing shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink, paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Weyrleaders' Complex
Y'nolek slides in and look arounds briefly, then heads for one of the records shelves. Hm, that's not the one he wants. He slides over a few more shelves, and then smiles as he leans down to squint at one of the lower shelves. He runs his finger down the spine of one record before drawing it out carefully, holding it in both hands.
Down comes a hand onto his shoulder, and it's not the scrawny hand of the Chief Archivist. No, this is a strong hand with stubby fingers, and it's got quite a hold on Y'nolek's shoulder. "You been avoidin' me," comes B'kaiv's voice, whispered lowly into bronzerider ear. "You got some explainin' t' do, Nolek."
A tall young man with a tendency to slouch, Y'nolek is nearly six feet in height, with long, thin arms and legs. His wavy hair is blond with a reddish glint, and he wears it loose, cut with rough ends that fall just past his chin. His eyes are a smoky grey, wide and serious under dark brows. He has a wide mouth and thin lips which smile only rarely, and his voice - when he uses it - comes as a surprise; on the high end of the tenor range, he could be mistaken for a woman by the sound of his voice alone. Y'nolek carries himself aloof, reserved, though always attentive to his surroundings.
Y'nolek is wearing a peach-colored button-down flannel shirt, old and soft with sleeves that are threadbare in places, and dark smoky grey trousers of a sturdy weave. There's a knot on his shoulder that marks him as a weyrling at Fort Weyr.
Y'nolek looks to be about 18 turns old.
"Hey!" Nolek objects to the hand on his shoulder, and turns around and pulls loose with one motion, holding the record between himself and B'kaiv like a shield. "What, /me/? /I've/ got explaining to do?" Clearly, he thinks it's the other way around.
B'kaiv's jaw is set and his eyes narrow, but he lets Nolek eel free - of course, he's between the bronzerider and the door, so he may have some confidence that the scrawnier man won't be able to escape. Voice still low, he continues, "Yeah, -you-. You know what we done? You /know/ what we done? An' now you got -me- takin' all th' blame for it! I -said- it was a stupid ass thing t' do, but you didn't listen."
"You're the idiot who decided to go blabbing about it," Nolek retorts angrily. "How is it my fault if you're getting punished? If you would have kept your dumbfool mouth shut, they'd never have known who did it." He crosses his arms defensively around the record he's holding.
Kai places a hand on the shelves beside Nolek's head and leans in, all nice and casual. If anyone steals a peek at them, maybe they'll think the greenrider's coming on to him. "-We-," he almost growls, "Got th' whole sharding /Weyr/ in trouble. An' it coulda spilled t' the /rest/ of th' coverage area too. Th' Weyrleader had t' /apologize/ for what we done. It was /stupid/, Nolek, an' it were /your/ idea. I been coverin' for you, but I'm tired of doin' that."
"The Weyrleader should've done something about those Fort Sea people in the first place, then /we/ wouldn't have had to," Nolek argues. "So what, now you're going to rat me out?" He glares at him with narrowed eyes.
B'kaiv's got a thin little smile for the question, a smile that doesn't relieve the tension in his eyes. "No. /You're/ gonna rat you out. I'm stuck in th' shardin' barracks /two more months/ 'cause of you. Grounded. In flamin' /harper lessons/. It ain't right you're flittin' around, gonna be /tapped/ because you're too much a coward t' own up t' what you done."
"How am /I/ the coward?" Nolek demands angrily. "You're the one who wussed out and blabbed everything. That was stupid. They /didn't know/. How the shell was it going to help anything for you to tell, and get all that crap dumped on you?" he huffs.
Here's Kai's other arm fencing the bronzerider in, and the greenrider leaning only inches from the huffy one's face. "Because /I/ take responsibility for what I done. You sleep real good in your weyr, knowin' it's your fault I'm back in th' barracks? You was -drunk-, Nolek. I went along with it so you wouldn't get in no trouble, an' whadda I get for it? You been /avoidin'/ me. You're a -coward-. Nothin' but a -coward-, an' a wherry."
Y'nolek mutters, "I wasn't /that/ drunk. Shells. You've just got it all justified in your head now, haven't you, how it was my fault and not yours? Well, whatever. If you hadn't /told/, none of this would /matter/. I don't get you at all."
B'kaiv slams a hand into the wood beside Y'nolek's ear. "You are -gonna-," he says implacably, and without waiting for the dust to settle, "Tell the Weyrleader what you done. /And/ whose idea it was. You're gonna tell him /everythin'/. You hear me? You got a sevenday - that's plenty of time. /More'n/ plenty." Clearly, he thinks his generosity is beyond measure.
"Fine," Nolek says, sulky. "Whatever. You gonna get out of my face before the staff comes over here?" A pause, and he adds, "This doesn't make you any less the rat, you know."
"I'm a greenrider," B'kaiv says with that strange not-smile back in place. "Prob'ly think I'm just comin' on t' you." Isn't that a comforting thought. This is how Kai flirts with people. He leans there a moment longer to make his point, then pushes casually away, folding one arm while leaving the other planted on the shelves. "You just remember who it was coverin' your ass all this time before you go throwin' around no accusations."
"Whatever," Nolek repeats, an oh-so-eloquent rejoinder. When Kai finally moves out of the way, he stalks off, and slams the book down on a table before heading out of the room.
And he tries to weasel outta it this time, I'm sharding well gonna drag him there by the collar. Tell the whole sharding weyr at /supper/. Making it out it's my fault, avoiding me... R'uen got any sense he'll give him to -me-. See if he's so smug after -that-.