Who

W'lin, Veena

What

Something strange is happening at Black Rock.

Profanity.

When

It is the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Damaged Black Rock

OOC Date 14 Mar 2018 05:00

 

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"Not all of them are agains the Weyr. Just those who've lost the most."



Damaged Black Rock

A series of sprawling, stone-brick buildings lining the waterfront, Black Rock Seahold is typical of the types of dwellings found along the river between here and the Weyr - larger, true, but architecturally similar. Located just where the Black Rock River spills into the Southern Sea, this is the largest harbor between the Northern Continent and Southern Weyr, and it shows in the business done here. The waterfront is huge, with a long stone pier reaching out into the sea, providing anchorage for dozens of smaller vessels.

The hold's buildings are built up and along a series of slow ramps that overlook the harbor. The main hold is built partially into the hillside facing the sea, with stone facings and wide windows. A large warehouse and dockhouse sits front-and-center over the harbor, with bunks rentable on its basement level for those just passing through the seahold. Most of the residents of the seahold are itinerant, renting rooms from one of the cotholds that dot the headland surrounding the hold.
Right now, the whole place is showing signs of damage from the floods and storm. The wooden docks built off the stone pier are undergoing repair. Cleaning operations are underway in the seahold proper, whenre many of the hold's few hundred permanent residents live. Close by are separate family dwellings; many of these were too close to the flood tide and have been badly damaged. Some of these are undergoing repair, but many are beyond saving, and overall, little seems to be happening to clear and rebuild them.


Wet, dreary and rainy is the staple descriptors for a typical Southern winter and Black Rock Hold is not spared from the misery. Added to it is the still damaged dwellings and the overall uneasy atmosphere settled over it like some invisible fog. The few that are here are attempting to pick up the pieces of their lives and livelihoods, be they of noble sources or not. The rains have slackened, mercifully, for the last half candlemark but winds rise instead in their place. Clouds drift by, parting just enough at times to glimpse a tiny pocket of fading light as the sun sets. It's to this sky that Veena is currently staring, where she stands on the broad precipice meant for the lone watchriders stationed here. Black Rock stretches out below, easily visible even in the diminishing light. Young for a rider and very young by watchrider standards, Veena looks outwardly whole and healthy bundled up as she is against the cold, which makes her position here all the more unusual to those not knowing her background. Most in Black Rock know her, but tonight she's lingering by her post, while Czrygheth 'sleeps' in sentinel position on a nearby ledge.

Into the dreary winter weather soars a fire-lit bronze dragon, high about the seahold. It is the gritty, earthen mind voice of Khasvith that heralds his approach, as he reaches out to Czrygheth with a grimness born of his mission - to land in his 'territory', in this terrible place. They take their time with it, spiraling in the sky and buffeting against the winds, but eventually, W'lin alights on that broad precipice nearby Veena, and the bronze takes back to the sky, to find his own bit of ledge to coil around. "Has it been like this all day?" is the man's greeting, after he's taken off his helmet and gloves, and given his head a toss to resettle his sweat-and-rain dampened hair. "W'lin and Khasvith." It's a terse greeting, less to do with her and more to do with exhaustion, that he gives with a weary smile.

Czrygheth doesn't move an inch, not even to open his eyes when Khasvith appears overhead but the blue is aware of the bronze's presence all the same. The greeting is met by a literal mental stonewall and the scent of marsh, highlands and time. He is welcomed here, him and his rider. They pose no immediate threat, so they may intrude on his 'territory' as it were. Veena turns away from the vista of Black Rock Hold below, offering a grim smile in return for W'lin's greeting. A salute finds its way in there too. "Veena and Czrygheth. Unfortunately. Like this damned hold needs more rainfall to add insult to injury…" she tosses out, her accent still notably Tillek in origin but tempered a little from her Turns here in the South. "What brings you out this way?" Already, she is visibly preparing for further ill omen or news. Why else would the Southern rider be here?

"Well met," accompanies the bronzerider's salute in return. "It looks like it might hold off a while longer." W'lin squints up at the cloud-covered sky as his hands simultaneously work to hook his helmet on his belt, his gloves having already been tucked into his back pocket. "I'm coming home from sweeps," to Southern, undeniably, "thought I'd stop in. I've been wanting to see the place since I heard about it." Everything he says is soft-spoken, his eyes roving the desolate landscape. "Have any of the holder folk tried to come back and rebuild yet? I heard talk there's a few bunking down at Southern in the meantime, but it's been.. since before I came out to Southern." Clearly, he has thoughts about that, but rather than voice those concerns, his blue eyes trail back to the watchrider.

Veena immediately chuckles to his predictions. "That's what they all say," she notes, earlier smile now a little crooked in jest before fading to soberness. "Ahh, that so? We don't get visitors often." So he won't mind if she gives him a cursory look over? No doubt to suss out which Wing he belongs to. Should it be evident he's Ocelot, there'll be a quiet sound in the back of her throat ? that'd make a little more sense to her. "Some," she replies, only to frown. "But many haven't. It's a right mess down there… You don't even need to see it up close to get it." Her arm goes to sweep out, gloved hand aiming to flick towards the hold below but the movement is off somehow, as though her range of motion is hampered despite her efforts for natural gestures. He's welcomed to take a good hard look from closer to the edge, though she'll notably be observing him more than the scene below. "Rather unusual time to be transferred." It almost sounds sympathetic.

"No? I couldn't imagine why." Wryness tinges his voice, but W'lin is smiling all the same, which stretches at the sound she makes for the Ocelot patch on his flight jacket. It doesn't take long for his smile to start to wane again, replaced by solemnity. He doesn't take her advice though, as he steps closer to the edge, to allow a better view of the decimation felt in the storm's wake. Arms folded behind his back, hair ruffled by the wind, he still has enough good-humor to retort: "Unusual, or.. timely." Whatever that means. Whatever she might infer. "What happened to the warder? Is he still around?" And on the heels of that, he turns, squinting back at Veena.

W'lin knows how to ask the right questions! Or is the wrong ones? Because Veena's expression has cooled and she is staring back at him with uncertainty flashing in her gaze. Something must tip her towards a favourable decision, but he's not going to get an immediate answer. "It might be better if we continue this inside," she suggests, with darted look upwards and a smirk that says her excuse is merely that: a cover. "Before it rains again and soaks us both to the bone. Dunno about you but I can't feel my damned toes." Turning, she motions for him to follow her the short distance to what is, logically, her residence here. Modest, if not tiny but it serves for what it is. She's made it as comfortable as possible, despite the slightly cramped quarters ? Czrygheth's wallow occupies the largest chunk of what's afforded to them. There's a small hearth offering adequate heat to the space, a low table and some comfortable chairs, at least! Of which she gestures again for him to make himself comfortable. "It's Steward Peroc who's been doing much of the work, on behalf of the Warder." she explains quietly. "He does what he can to assist, since few of the people have resources to rebuild."

No words need to be spoken. No gestures need to be mad. Understanding sinks in, and W'lin is quietly following the watchrider into her seaside abode, his eyes set directly ahead until they're safely within. He takes a few moments to let it all sink in, before he sinks into one of those chairs she offers. "Steward Peroc? What of the warder? Did he disappear?" It's a strange conclusion to jump to, but then, holders are odd creatures in and of themselves, so who knows. Nothing could make this situation - a mystery unraveling - on such a dreary day, other than a glass of liquor, preferably whiskey. He stretches out his lean legs and looks at Veena expectantly.

"Depends on what line of gossip you're tapping into," Veena sounds like she's joking but she's not. She really meant it. "He disappeared, he's here but preoccupied. He's dead and Peroc is lying and covering it up…" A hand lifts to roll in a 'so on, so forth' manner while she gives her own bemused, exasperated look and a sigh to match it. What host wouldn't half something to serve? And W'lin is either very lucky or they share a similar taste (or maybe it was a gift she just never bothered touching until now). He'll get his whiskey and it's a damn fine one too. How'd a watchrider score that? Flopping into the other chair, she'll grimace. "It's not the Warder you need to be worrying about. There's a lot of grumbling going on about the Weyr. Complaints that nothings being done to help rebuild or to bring back those evacuated or gone inland. Some mutterings about the tithe negotiations with Ardstelle. Y'know, the usual." Some of that whiskey will be sampled, before she adds. "I've got it from some trusted sources though, that it's dear 'ol Peroc himself seeding the dissent. No proof, though."

Touche! A very grateful-looking W'lin accepts the whiskey and quickly does a taste-test, to which his eyebrows hike and he offers the bluerider a knowing smile. "Nice tastes, there," he says, and then it's back to the somber business at hand once he's set the whiskey glass aside. "But no one has seen the warder or his ward since the storm? That's odd." He folds his hands on his stomach and leans back, making himself at home in Veena's place of residence. "What's your take? Think it's something to be concerned about or it'll blow over in a sevenday? They can't honestly expect us to fight Thread and rebuild their homes for them at the same time," he replies, giving the other rider a sideways look.

Veena has no comment on her 'tastes' and merely tips her glass in silent toast to W'lin, along with a fleeting grin. Only a single nod to confirm her own thoughts. "If they have, their voices are being drowned out by the rest. No one can seem to confirm it without doubt and I'm not of rank or position to go knocking on Peroc's door and demand answers." Was that bitterness there? Maybe just a little bit! "Normally I'd say it'd blow over. But if Peroc really is stirring the pot? That could be bad. Hard to say!" Her shoulders lift, or at least one does, in a small shrug. Nursing her drink, she'll idly twirl what is left while her gaze focuses on the amber liquid. She doesn't seem upset at all by him making himself comfortable. "I was going to report in on that, as well as another issue… but since you're here." And now her gaze lifts to meet his. "Bring it up to whoever you think, but the rumours get worse. Some are whispering that the Weyr is taking folk in ? if you can sneak a way around. I can't get too involved," For obvious reasons. "But last I heard, there may be captains involved who'll do it for a good sum." Her expression has settled to a grimace of distaste; she's no stranger to smuggling or shadier dealings here.

Amusement lies in the lines of the bronzerider's face for all that fanciful gossip; gossip being just that.. gossip. It's what fuels both Weyr and Hold, and he's not overtly concerned about their stirring up of ill feelings. HOWEVER, it's that last part that has his face stiffening. "More than giving them a place to stay in the meantime?" he'll murmur, focusing in on Veena's face. "I can't believe that can't be true, and if it is.." He gets tight lipped as he sits up in his chair. "I'll take care of it," must be about telling those who must know. "..fuck." W'lin doesn't just go around cursing, so it sounds a little unnatural when it rolls off his tongue. "I appreciate it, all the same." And without even FINISHING *GASP* his whiskey, he eases out of the chair and gets to his feet with a restless sigh. "Holders." HOLDERS, MAN. Ruining a perfectly good Pass with their BS and NEEDS, ugh.

Cursing isn't something to upset Veena; she's known to half a mouth to her to make a sea crafter proud. So there's only a grim, crooked smirk for him but an agreeable nod. "Holders." Her return is more of a long suffering sigh, despite being holderbred herself. "Not all of them are agains the Weyr. Just those who've lost the most." BUT? "Tides change, W'lin. I'm just hoping it won't catch us all off guard if it goes to shit in the worst of ways." Such happy parting words! Pushing up from her chair, she'll try to end on a bit of a brighter note. "Don't be a stranger?" In case that's met with a scoff or disbelief, she'll quickly tack on: "Seriously! You ever want to explore Black Rock." And maybe she's just BORED AF out here, okay? Even if it's an important duty, it's nothing compared to being in a Wing and in a Weyr. Veena just wants to go home, okay? "Might do some good to have an Ocelot rider in favour with some of the folk down there. While most of their ire is directed to the Big Knots."

Khasvith has been out there exploring the leftover structures of Black Rock, wandering only where a dragon can wander, and he seems put out when he finally returns to collect his rider from the watchwoman's post. "Storms aren't caused by dragonmen," W'lin says, shaking his head as he paces towards the exit of her lodgings. "They would be stupid to withhold resources or what they have left anyway, even if it's in the form of trade or warm bodies to fill empty spots on the sands." He doesn't sound pleased, but he angles a smile towards the bluerider and raises a hand in farewell. "You might have something there. I doubt anyone would objection to me helping transport the supplies they send out to Black Rock. It might help to have another set of ears and eyes around, if things," his tone bland, "go south." But that's all in the future, which is not the now. "Save me some of that whiskey for next time. Clear skies, Veena." That's his cue to duck his head and exit, striding purposefully out towards the dragon who awaits him.

Czrygheth begins to stir as Khasvith returns, now that the sun has set and night descends. His whole frame moves, as he stretches and flares his wings, growling deep in his chest while he shakes off his stone-like composure. How does he not get sore or stiff from staying still for so long? Who knows. "Didn't you hear, W'lin? We're the source of ALL that ails people. Weather included!" Veena's sarcasm is biting, but only out of long born frustration of hearing the same things repeated over and over; or muttered in not so quiet voices. She'll return the farewell, along with another nod and a light smile of her own. "I'll be sure to have some to spare. Clear skies, W'lin!" Hovering by the entrance to Czrygheth's wallow, she'll see the bronzerider off before casting a glance to the waiting blue. "Well, big guy? What do you think?" They've their own duties to perform, now that it's night. Rain or no!

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