====October 12, 2013
====Corelle (played by W'rin), Ladivos
====Ladivos brings information to the Weyrwoman and receives a promotion in return.

Who Corelle (played by W'rin), Ladivos
What Ladivos brings information to the Weyrwoman and receives a promotion in return.
When There is 1 turn 0 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Council Chamber, Igen Weyr



Council Chamber
However disheveled the corridor outside might lie, THIS room - the sole dominion of the Weyr's upper elite - is always sparkling, ever swept, ever dusted, its walls scrubbed free of the grime of ages. A certain spartan grandeur fills the Council Chamber, with its foreboding stonework and heavy wooden door. A round table fills the bulk of the space, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood, carved with the three dune'd symbol of Igen Weyr. Chairs surround: hard-backed things (with thin cushions) for the most part, but two grandiose chairs, on opposite sides of the table, that seat Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.

-- On Pern --
It is midmorning
It is 10:08 AM where you are.
There is 1 turn 0 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
It is Winter and 45 degrees. It is very hot for the season.

Corelle rarely sits still, she's a woman of perpetual action constantly finding new things to do, or have cleaned, or little improvements for the weyr as her bigger plans start ferment in the area. And so even now as she waits for her next meeting, one set up by formal invitation from the bazaar. A proper invitation, the kind that one does not see often from Igen citizens, and so almost as a way to promote such future properity she accepted right away, and rearranged to schedule to fit in. But even now, as she awaits the arrival of the guard in question, rather than settle into a seat she is busy rearranging things, straightening the odd parchment, or neatly stacking glasses near W'rin's never empty whiskey. Why waste valuable time?

Some people just don't belong in well-kept rooms, purely through having never spent enough time in them to acclimatize to them. These also often tend to be the kind of people who don't understand the importance of keeping doorways open, and such appears to be the case with Ladivos — who appears in the entrance to the room without much regard for anyone who may want to use it after. Lingering, brow low despite his face showing no other signs of dismay. A slow curl of his fingers inward may hint sooner at impatience or discomfort. Existing neither in or out of the room, he stands waiting just between, though a visual sweep of the area results in a dip of his head as soon as Corelle is found. No words, as is - he hopes - to be expected.

A dip of the head is all that Corelle needs from the bazaar, she has grown quickly use to their different ways of showing obligated respect, and she returns it in kind, slender fingers clasping infront of her and bowing slightly in the back, before offering a chair with the slow turning of a wrist in its direction. "Water?" There may be whiskey but ever the proper lady she wouldn't offer it at a meeting, "Or klah?" She lingers waiting for both an answer, the seat to be taken, and news on whatever it is this requested meeting shall entail. "Ladivos, correct? Your the one W'rin recommended for the guard." A softened smile for the man she shares power with, the leadership, at least in public, has been nothing but one of accord.

No sooner has the chair been offered up than Ladivos moves forward. His expression remains hard, mouth opening only just far enough for a sliver of teeth before it closes again, without a sound having been produced. It wasn't a smile. Though the first two questions are answered with a nod and a shake of his head head, in that order, the third is left open. A lack of denial will have to do, as he takes a seat. There appears to be something of a struggle in his mind as soon as he sits - lowering himself into bad posture as though purely out of habit, then immediately straightening somewhat, back at attention. A little awkwardly, but trying. Thinking nothing of it, at that. His tired expression is still nothing bust business, even as he motions a calloused hand to his own throat and throws Corelle a questioning glance. Who knows what anyone's been told about who around here. It's not like it's his job to know these things. Or is it.

Corelle is well educated enough in the ways of diplomacy to deal with any personality with hospitality. And despite the shake of the head, glass of water is produced and set gently before Ladivos, as the woman floats back across to the other side of the woman, "Oh, that's right, dear." As if it were nothing at all that the man has motioned his inability to speak much. "W'rin did mention, now lets see…I have scrap bits around here somewhere. I swear that man can't keep anything in one place. Not sure how he…" The mild musing of a woman's whose brain never quiets down, "Oh! There they are." And waggled in the air with a soft laughter are a stylus and a piece of parchment. "Now then…" Her honey voice fills enough of the air for the both of them, and she settles into a seat, not one at the head of the table, but just next to his. "Here, dear. Perhaps you can tell me why you are here this way?" It is more of a question than a requirement, will this help bridge the communcation issues?

The visitor's mood does not appear to lighten with the reveal of the parchment. Ladivos' eyes stay on Corelle during the search, and even afterwards he seems to have more regard for her than for the items he is provided with. It's not a warm regard, but a sluggish (and puzzled?) rub of fingertips at his jaw imply it's not overly hostile either. A guard he may be, now, but he's not on guard. There's a slow, raw sort of rattle of a 'mmnh' that leaves his throat, with a craning of his neck, before he leans forward and reaches for the stylus.
Written, in the top left corner and in slow and careful lettering that much lacks the grace of someone who's more used to holding these sorts of things, is 'Captain's records - I found this'. He's hardly finished the S or he's already reaching for one of his pockets, retrieving a folded piece of paper he then smacks, opened, onto the table right next to the parchment. Chalk has been rubbed on it, to bring up the faint ghosts of words written on a different sheet. There are two amounts, one a "fine" that matches official records for the charge laid against the Handsome Harper. The other matches no records. At the top of the page is written simply "Peaston" and at the bottom "silence".

If Corelle is aware of the awkward way in which she is being sized up, she shows no appearance of it, her hands folding in her lap as she awaits the verdict of their meeting. Her legs pressed together, crossed at the ankle and curled just slightly in between the legs of the chair, as a properly trained woman would. Her polite smile does not fade, or even falter, as her poised posture leans forward to read the charges are laid against Peaston, and so by default to her guard captain. There is even a soft little laugh, her gaze upward to Ladivos, she leans back, hands and legs have not moved, it is almost as if there has been no accusation at all laid on the table. Despite the warmth there is a sickle to her honey voice. "Ladivos, dear." Her eyes draw closed for a moment, centering, before opening again, "Bribery?" Slender brow arches upward just so, "Tell me then, dear." Oh so dangerous does her ribboned voice twirl around the room. A beautiful noose for the mute to hang himself, "Then why would Peaston still be in jail? Was it not the other one let go?" So it's not the bribe she disputes, as she takes a moment to reach out for the records brought and pull them toward herself if they are reliquinshed.

If her voice is a noose, then Ladivos is all too glad to stick his neck through it. He'll even grab onto it, hoist it nice and tight. All this comes in the shape of a thin smile of his own as he meets her gaze. Hard and unimpressed, as though he were looking at a child, or an animal. Or a painting. Or a rock. Dear. He sighs, promptly forgetting about good posture as he leans forward once more and writes, a little more messily now, 'pocketed. Hard thing to ask for your marks back on a bribe'. He leans back, his eyes back on Corelle in idle observation.

The hard smile, the unimpressed look, all met with Corelle's impossible to move ever inviting smile. It is only after his response, and a few beats that she finally allows her face to slip from ever slightly clueless to the thin line of business, naivity slips away to be replaced with a cool and assessing look of age. "I see." Sugar now only the undertone, as she regards the man before her, finally allowing the cool measurement of his character that has been happening all along to be seen by him. "I do not like you, and I do not trust you, at least completely, but I do believe Segam is taking bribes. And so he must go." She waves the now, though not told yet, x-captain off with her hand. "You will replace him. But know I have my eye on you. Should I feel that something underhanded is going on, your fate will be far worse than his." Folded hands are lifted from lap to grace the table as she leans towards the man with steely gaze to match his own. "You will also pick another guard, one you trust, to be your voice. Really, you have to be able to give commands." There is no room for him to deny the request, to go back to whatever it was he did before, or even if he's been threatened if he does it badly. "I expect to see a leaner, meaner, more effecient guard within a month. Is that understood?" Apparently he'll be starting immediately.

What, now? That steely gaze from Ladivos lasts no longer than it takes for the words 'replace' to register properly. His head tilts in an 'excuse me' sort of way, and the humour leaves his face entirely. Only by the time his potential fate is brought up does he snap out of it, swallowing dryly. You know what, now he'll take that water, reaching for it to gulp some down due haste. Maybe to hide the fact expression was on its way to something that might have eventually become reminiscent of panic. Nope. Not allowed. By the time he sets the glass back onto the table he appears to have wrangled his face back into control, and there's even the hint of an entertained, half-formed grin on his lips. Confident and, if a prompt shake of his shoulders in completely silent chuckle is to be believed, not ungrateful. With a side of baffled still showing in his eyes, he leans back and nods. Once, and firmly. Understood. Worry will have to wait for later, if it exists in his mind, and none of it shows as he starts to rise from his seat, already. Maybe he half belongs in these kind of rooms after all.

The rising man receives a rising eyebrow from the weyrwoman. "Are you going somewhere?" Her mask has returned with a soft, but scolding smile. And she too stands, "Please send Segam to see me right away. I don't care if he doesn't believe you, I'll see him within a candlemark." Even the guard captain, after all, has a boss. Ladivos may have more than one. "Also, now that you are ranked a guard, I would see you salute, instead of bow. It is only proper, dear." Flutter lashes, accompanied by soft laugh for her newest ranker. "You are dismissed now. Don't forget what I said. One month." A feminine enough salute and the man is allowed to leave.

Or maybe he doesn't. Already doing things wrong. At least Ladivos, rather than embarrassment, seems to suffer more of a… bitter amusement at this. It's not dismissive by far, which a furrowing of his brow may indicate. Making mental notes, no doubt. So many things to remember when you're around people who do things like talk about one's fate. But he's trying - this much shows in the way he tries one of those salutes out right away, even if it's a little stiff and unpractised. He seems to know as much, and it doesn't take him long to smack a hand onto his face in something that would likely translate roughly to 'what have I gotten myself into now'. He'll have a month to practise, and there's only one thing he thinks to do before he leaves; The parchment and stylus are semi-clumsily handled once more, this time for three scrawled words only - 'At your service'.

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