==== February 17, 2014
==== Veresch, Cha'el
==== Veresch tracks Cha'el down and what she further reveals, sets off several alarm bells, distracting him enough to agree to wearing tights and prowling the Bazaar in search of The Fat Man.

ADMINISTRATIVE CORRIDOR
This hall must once had a glory about it, surely: there is a grand geometry to its graceful archways, and a grave beauty to its even stonework. Yet this hallway bears the veneer of disinterest as plain as the rest of the Weyr. The floors go unswept, the walls unwashed: a thin layer of green growth coats many a corner. (Moss, feeding off the light of the glows. Well - let's hope it's moss.) Grime clings to grout lines, spinner webs dangle from the glorious archways. Only the occasional footstep stirs the dusty floors, for most of the Weyrfolk have little occasion to venture here.

Most of their meetings have been in the bowl, or on the run, and most involved them disastrously connecting, with poor Cha'el being the fall-guy. This time, not in the mood because she knew the questions she would face would be difficult, she chose instead to approach him in one of the deeper corridors of the Weyr itself, one of the warrens of interconnected tunnels between the administrative section and the living section. There's a bit of a woebegone expression on her face - Cha'el has taken to staring - and so there's very much the kind of attention that comes from someone knowing that something's going to get yelled at.

Is Cha’el one to yell? Very much so. Bellow. Rant. Rave. You name it; he’s capable of it. However, not before he’s gotten all the facts. Pulling out of the tight look he’d arrowed onto Veresch, the Weyrsecond draws to his full height. “Lets start again. First of all, what were you doing in a gambling den? And second, please refresh my memory as to what you’d said that fat schmuck had said to you.” Clipped.

See, this is what Veresch very much didn't want to happen. "I wasn't in a gambling den," she protests. "Not precisely. I was heading through the Bazaar for a delivery, and a man came out of one to give me the message. It was kind of … outside a gambling den. And it wasn't him that said it; if he said anything beyond 'Take it to the wingsecond, and be quick about it' it would have been a lot. It's just … general opinion in that area of the bazaar, you know? Oldtimer girls are whores, because they walk around showing it off, and whores are just good for one thing. It doesn't really scare me anymore. It hurts, but it's not scary. That man that I'm telling you about is scary."

Arms fold across his chest and Cha’el listens in silence at the explanation being provided and then questions are once again being asked. “Which wingsecond?” Is the first one. “The one who gave you the message is the scary one?” Is the second question. And there they end, for now, and the brownrider once again fits Veresch with one of those long and probably unnerving looks of his. “You might be Oldtimer, but you’re no whore, Vee.” Reassurance given first. “Perhaps take your cue from the Nowtimer girls in the Bazaar and cover up when you’re in it.” When in Rome, or Igen as it would be and all that.

Veresch's brows lower a little as anger starts sparking, but Cha'el is a Weyrsecond; she's got no right to speak to him like she would any other resident. "The one that gave me the message was scary. The one that received it was frightening as well, but just because he seemed totally pissed off by the message. The fat guy in the bazaar is what really scared me. The wingsecond that received it was … um. I think his name is K'vvan? I spoke to him for maybe ten seconds, and nine of them he ignored me. The tenth he used to warn me off." Her mouth snaps shut. "I'm to wear one of those fat, cover-all dresses, a face-veil and so on? Do you know how hard it is to run in one of them if something bad happens?"

Although he does his best to disguise it, there’s a spark of approval that glints in brilliant blue eyes when anger starts to register across the messenger’s features. Feisty. Good. She was going to need it. “K’vvan?” Immediately his focus sharpens. “You ran a message to him? Did you see from where it was sent?’ Catching himself, Cha’el switches focus. “This fat guy. You think you can point him out to me?” Her last however, draws a sly smirk into place. “Do you know easy it is to conceal a knife under one of those robes?”

There's a whole lot more spunkiness hidden there, judging from the way her mouth furls into flatter lines. "I'll make you a deal," she says flatly. Typical teens, always looking for outs. "I'll acknowledge your point and do my best in dressing up like some of the people in the bazaar if you dress exactly the same as I do at least once. Well, not that we'll get female apparel big enough for your … feet." That was sassy. "And then you and I will walk through the streets there together and I'd be happy to show you who the man is if I see him again. I know where it was, at least."

A deal? This little scrap of a female is offering him, Igen’s Weyrsecond, a deal? Amusement deepens in those watchful eyes. Oh this he has got to hear. But when he does both brow shoot up almost into his hairline and Cha’el quite simply, boggles. “What the fuck for!? I’m not the one being ogled and leered at.” Well, maybe he is, but he’s big enough not to give a wherry’s arse. Back to you, Veresch.

Now her brows do dance down, and her hands go out to balance on her hips much as any woman's would have. "Of course you get stared at. Every time I stare at you…." Ahem, that one gets stopped right there. "The point IS; if you walk with me through the bazaar like a woman, you'll get to experience what it's like to be a woman in odd, awkward clothes, and you'd realise how uncomfortable it is. And we'll see how you are after a few rounds of offers to be fucked and filled with a baby like you're some kind of kennel-bitch in heat the whole time!" She has the temerity to lean closer, going to tiptoes, and there's a devil in her eyes. No kid now, but pure lurking, emerging woman. "Come on, Cha'el," she says sweetly, mouth curving into a pretty devious smile. "You don't like being challenged? Just once, I promise, and I'll never challenge you again." Well, that's a lie. She'd do it in a heartbeat, but he doesn't need to know that.

Again, brows beetle upwards and hang suspended up there for not only the terms being used but also the gauntlet this snip of a girl so boldly lays down. Silence drags out, the Weyrsecond’s expression closing toward a thunderous line as he stares Veresch down. And then…SNORT!! “You’ve got more chance of getting me into a pair of tights like W’rin wears, kid. And I do happen to be all too painfully aware of the verbal abuse often leveled at women in the Bazaar. It’s the whole reason Maryam and the women of clan wear veils and cover themselves!” Uh oh. Name drop.

Wait, Maryam? Mmmmmh. Clearly some intelligence gathering will need to be done. For now… "Deal!" She claps her hands together happily, and bestows upon him a smile of sly munificence. "I'll go and make the arrangements. Shall we say tomorrow? we don't want the man to get away after all." She's pretty pleased with herself right now, accounted for by the way eyes sparkle and she seems jittery. She even reaches out to him to take his hands and squeeze them gently, hennaed left making an unexpectedly pretty picture.

Such intelligence gathering won’t take very long for all Veresch will have to do is drop the name anywhere in the Bazaar and she’ll immediately be clued in about the Steen clan’s standing and the Battleaxe of a matriarch that rules them. Deal! Wait. What? “Huh? I didn’t agree to anything!” Cha’el immediately blusters temporarily side-blinded so that Veresch is able to capture his hands. But only briefly for the moment he has his wits about him again, he jerks them free and glares down at her. “Listen up, girlie. And listen good. I am Igen’s Weyrsecond. Second in command to the Weyrleader. Not a ragdoll you can dress up and parade around to prove a point. Now,” there’s a pause to gather breath, “if there’s someone in the Bazaar that could be a problem, I’ll go with you. But I’ll go as the Weyrsecond, you got it?”

It mgiht be fascinating to watch the teenager's reactions as her mind tries to calculate to and fro. He snarled. Men snarl when they're out on a ledge and don't see any way off… right? Right. "My apologies, Weyrsecond," she says as she takes a few steps back and dips into a bow. "I'll go and ask about in the bazaar about Maryam and the clan, and see how they do it. You're right, of course. I'm sorry that I insulted you. I'll let you know when I spot the man again."

Men snarl for a whole wealth of reasons, dear Veresch. But none will readily admit to any of them - Least of all a man that has the reputation and responsibilities of a big fancy knot to uphold. Cha’el isn’t at all fooled by the sudden turn of attitude though and narrows a suspicious look onto the teen but he’s not about to start an argument either. “Very well. And if you should see Maryam herself would you tell her I’m out of tea again?”