Cha'el, Trek


Cha'el and Trek conspire to make K'vvan do something he might not want to do.


It is midmorning of the thirteenth day of the fifth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Council Chamber, Igen Weyr

OOC Date


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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.

It is the forty-third day of Spring and 69 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles.

With drills having been conducted earlier in the morning, the wingleaders meeting had been deferred and is now breaking up with the usual hum of voices and a few laughs as they file out of the Council Chamber. Cha'el appears to be in no rush to leave, suffering the congratulatory claps on the back for Sikorth's recent win with a wry sort of tolerance. One wingleader in particular captures his attention, twice his lips part for speech but both times they clamp shut until eventually, he mutters something under his breath. "Trek, a moment if you will?"

By habit, Trek remains seated at the table until most of the other wingleaders have already passed through the doors. She finally stands and begins neatly gathering her things when she hears Cha'el's question. She's able to mask most of her surprise, though her gaze does flit toward the exit briefly before she straightens, her parchments and hides now safely stashed in her leather folder. "Of course, Weyrsecond," she replies, then motions toward the end of the room opposite the exiting riders. She makes her way over, then glances up at him, lifting her eyes more than tilting her head. She's had practice.

Settling documents and reports back into the folder to his left, the Weyrsecond extracts another and turns it face down so as to keep its identity hidden for the time being. A gap of silence stretches and draws out, blue eyes meeting hazel and then quickly dropping and Cha'el clears his throat in the manner of someone not sure where or how to begin. But finally: "K'vvan. Does he have any days off due to him?"

Whatever might have been bouncing around Trek's head as possible reasons for the Weyrsecond to call her over, this was not it. "K'vvan," she repeats, surprise evident. She sets her own folder down on the table and rests an arm on the back of one of the empty chairs. "He has them, sure. Whether or not he takes them…" She trails off, lips curving into a smile that barely avoids turning into a grimace. "Mind if I ask why?"

Cha'el should have followed his first instinct to remain seated and appearing to be working on something when he'd called the Arroyo wingleader over. Not having done so and with nothing to provide adequate cover or distraction, he's suddenly feeling rather oddly exposed. And so he latches onto evasion and maintains his businesslike Weyrsecond-in-meeting tone. "I need him for," just the very tiniest hesitation causes a blip in the smooth delivery of reply, "something." A definite pause this time, possibly a tad suspicious before he adds, "Out of Weyr." Blue regard holds steady.

Trek, ever on uncertain ground in this room, regards Cha'el for a long moment as if trying to decipher just what might be going on here. Briefly, she eyes the door just as the last departing wingleader passes through, perhaps with a curious glance back at them. She takes a slow breath and straightens from the chair though her hand remains resting on its back. "You need him," she repeats, pausing for a second. "On a rest day?" the bluerider asks, mildly skeptical as she prompts for clarification. Again, silence sits for a second before she gives Cha'el a small smile. "Look, just spit it out, all right? Sir. I don't judge." No, she just blackmails. That one time.

Bugger it! Of course the rest day bit was going to sound suspicious! The mental chastising he gives himself showing in a brief tightening of eyes and twitch of brows as Cha'el tracks the departure of the last wingleader. Within the neat frame of beard lips press together and then release to exhale a sigh. "I'm worried about him, okay?" He's so not about to make full confession. "He's been through a lot lately so I figured maybe some time away might help." Because Trek absolutely won't be able to parse anything from that. Mmhm. "But I know him. He won't go if he thinks it'll impact on his duties so…" The Weyrsecond leans sideways and flips over the document he'd taken out revealing it to be a leave form. "If its an official day's leave…" A hand lifts and the brownrider rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck before dropping his hand with a shrug.

Trek watches Cha'el closely as he explains. Any tightness around her eyes slowly relaxes. "I'm glad I'm not the only one worried about him, then," she says quietly. She turns toward the back of the chair and drapes both forearms over it, hands loosely folded together. Her gaze gathers in that document, but the sight of it makes her lips twitch before she glances over at Cha'el again. "An official day's leave just means he'll hide away somewhere with hidework when he thinks we're not watching," she says quietly, letting some of her amusement show in her voice. "If we were at Ista or Southern, the old Southern, I would force feed him to a spa for the day," she adds in a lightly teasing drawl, but we're not, and he's still K'vvan." Who would have thought she could sound fond when saying his name?

Ista. Aheh. Aheh heh heh. Sharditall! With his attention slipping sideways to the leave form then over the three dune'd symbol of Igen Weyr carved into the table's top, Cha'el is looking anywhere but at the bluerider. Finally his gaze draws back. "Aye, I know." He agrees on how Trek's prickly wingsecond would be likely to spend a day off. "Its why I'm planning on taking him sailing in…Ista." Cue the faintly sheepish look. "But if I tell him beforehand, he'll come up with some excuse why he can't go. So he can't know about this, aye?" Because if you can't trust your wingleaders, then who can you trust?

That draws out a slowly growing grin that makes Trek's eyes twinkle. "Well. Out on the ocean is about as different from Igen as you can get," she replies quietly, turning away to stare just over her folded hands while thinking. "You'd have to make sure it's kept from Nadeeth, too," she adds a moment later, musing. Apparently, she's in. Hazel eyes cut toward Cha'el's face a moment later. "You have a boat somewhere, then? Or borrowing one?"

That knowing grin that Trek begins to sport sees the Weyrsecond looking evermore sheepish despite how he does his best to hide it behind a light scowl broken when she notes that Nadeeth will have to be kept in the dark. "Sikorth will keep his yap shut." Cha'el confirms with a nod, a flicker of relief swiping of the awkwardness from his posture. "Used to have," he goes on to reply on the matter of a boat, taking the document up and handing it over to Trek to fill in. "A former 'mate took it over when I left Ista on the understanding that its available when and if I want to use it." Blue eyes meet hazel and the very smallest shape of a smile appears lopsided to a corner of his mouth. "Thanks for…you know…"

"Well, if you ever want to go sailing with someone who isn't a big ol' stubborn grump, let me know," Trek informs Cha'el as she moves around the chair to take the form. "I even know how." It takes a little time to set up the pen and ink, but then it's a simple matter of signing her name. She waves the form back and forth to help it dry, then regards the weyrsecond again. "Where's it docked? I'm thinking we tell K'vvan he's being sent on… an errand or something. Meet a captain. Taste-test some rum for the Weyr's supplies." She grins crookedly. "Okay, maybe not that. But get him on board, I'd bet you a full Mark Nadeeth does the rest for you. The prospect of flying over the ocean? Some deep sea dragon-diving? Seems her kind of thing, and with her indisposed to taking him away from the water, K'vvan would have to stay on the boat, right?"

Amusement, warmed at the edges for the 'big ol' stubborn grump' bit, is sent Trek's, colored by surprise. "You sail?" Hands slide into his pockets while the wingleader signs her name to the form. Rocking back on his heels, humor deepens as Cha'el begins to relax a little more and fashions into a crooked grin. "I like the way you think, wingleader. Perhaps it would sound best coming from you. Tell him, whatever you like, so long as it gets him to the Seasprite which will be anchored in Emerald Cove. I'll have Sikorth track Nadeeth once they get into Istan airspace to just make sure" A thought suddenly occurs to him. "He can swim, aye?" Because drowning K'vvan is not quite what he has on the agenda for the day out.

"My family's all seacrafters and fishers," Trek answers with a bright smile, though it fades just as quickly. "Were, I mean. Southern Weyr. Left when I was fifteen or so. I surf, too," she adds, some of that smile returning as she straightens, leaving the signed document on Cha'el's folder as she goes to work cleaning her metal-nibbed pen and recapping her ink. "Not much of that around these parts, though, is there." Her writing implements are safely stashed, so she turns back to the Weyrsecond and nods to him. "Seasprite. Emerald Cove. And… I have no idea," she adds, regarding the swimming, though she doesn't seem overly concerned. "Not like Nadeeth will let him. Even if he tied the anchor to his waist, she'd probably still save the sour wherry." She picks up her leather folder again and tucks it under her arm. "Just let me or Kanyith know the date, and I'll send K'vvan. If there's fallout, though, you'll owe me," she adds with an easy but crooked grin, adding a beat later, "Sir."

"You surf too?" Cha'el's smile widens and then he utters a chuckle and shakes his head. "Not unless you count swimming through a sea of sand." Wry as he tucks the signed document into his leather binder. "Do you miss…" it, but the sentence isn't completed for the brownrider quickly jumps to the prickly wingsecond's defense. "He's not that bad," the Weyrsecond tells her. A pause bracketed by a slight frown. "He just seems to think he is." But hey, day out, on the sea! And his smile quickly returns. "I've got a day off coming up soon." Trek's grin is meet with a dryly amused snort. "If there's fallout I might not live to pay the debt." A risk he's apparently willing to take. A smart salute is given and then less formally. "You're good people, Trek. Perhaps we can catch a few waves sometime." And then he's taking up his folder and falling into step with her until their paths divert and carry them on to their separate duties for the day.

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