Who

W'rin Cha'el

What

Weyrleader and Weyrsecond plot and plan

When

It is before dawn of the tenth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen, Oasis Inn

OOC Date

 

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Oasis Inn

Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn’t much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The décor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn’t one of a dive; it’s cozier and cleaner than that, though there is just a touch of harmless “shady” to be found - particularly in the evenings.


It is one of those brief moments in Igen where the weather is delightful. At least the weather outside, inside, anyone entering the general orbit of the weyrleader meets an air of chill. With a grunt at the boy who delivers his drink the man shoves his nose back into his charts. It is one of the few places that people give him space, where this the weyr proper they'd swarm him with problems and complaints. But here, the man kicks back with his one true love, formations and whiskey, in peace.

Clearly, the brownrider that’s just meandered his way in is either thick-skinned or simply used to the Weyrleader’s general demeanor. Or, as a third option, he’s a little slow in the head. Stopping at the bar, a murmur given to the woman behind it, he boldly mosies his way over to where W’rin is ensconced and comes to a halt, head canted to one side so as to study the formations spread out before him. “I’d set M’zir back one and maybe put Bryska in his place. Her green has a wider wingspan, it’ll allow his to slipstream when needed.”

W'rin's eyes roll up slowly, meeting the brownrider's face in a 'Here's the Weyrleader!' sort of way, a few moments before his face lifts to meet his gaze and mostly soothing out the, purely accidental, homicidal look. With a rather disappointed sigh he sets the charts on the table beside him, folding them as he does. Everything in order. "Just having some fucking fun." The man snorts at his weyrsecond, before drawing a long sip of whiskey, slowly falling into a grin and waving a hand at a nearby chair. "What brings you out to the Inn? Escaping?" The 'like me' implied at the end.

Where others might run for cover, there is instead a crooked twitch of lips that greets W’rin’s comment. There’s also a perfunctory salute and then Cha’el folds himself into the offered chair and tilts his head against the back, eyes closed for a few moments before he tilts himself forward and utters a wry snort. “Busted.” He remarks with a dry edge of humor. “Escaping all the fresh meat.” Is admitted next a pause taken when the drink he’d ordered is delivered. It stretches out a little longer and then another comment is added, this in lower tone. “Everywhere I look its fucking threadbait. K’vvan even dropped one on my ledge. Stupid fucker thought she was someone I knew.”

His lack of fear may be one of the reasons W'rin hired him for the job. "Welcome to my hide-a-way. Try not get followed." They'll tack up the 'No Girl's Allowed' sign on their clubhouse later. The heaving sigh from somewhere deep within is more relaxed than the last. "Yah. Not a bad bunch so far though, by most accounts. Like to see some more kids from outside though, those dirty refugees are trying to pile in like they are weyrbrats. They live here, but they ain't us." Apparently, the weyrleader also has some feelings about the latest residents, "If we're taking outsiders, I'd rather they have some connections. Holders are a lot less likely to hold back tithes if they're kids are eating it."

A grunt of amusement greets W’rin’s remark. Taking up his rum, the pale brew glinting gold in the light of glows, the Weyrsecond considers the matter of those bright-eyed hopefuls roaming the Weyr wearing candidate knots. “You want I should go scoop a couple from Keroon? Figure they owe us. The Lord’s got a girl that looks to be about the right age for that gold egg. Might even let slip where they got that firestone from if his precious is astride a dragon.” The smirk that forms disappears behind the glass yet continues to linger even once its set back down again.

The idea is met with an odd, contemplative silence. The weyrleader's small eyes, widening just slightly as he studies the weyrsecond. Assessing, turning the question over in his mind, calculating. Finally the muscles of his jaw bone unclench, and he throws back the rest of his whiskey. The glass shoved rudely in the air so that the bartender might see he needs another. It is only after the empty glass is set on the table next to him, that he breaks eye contact with the brownrider. "Aye. Bring her, if he'll give her up." Gaze settling back on other he lifts a heavy shoulder in a shrug. "If not, she has an uglier younger sister who might not be so valuable for political marriage." W'rin makes his fingers into snaggly teeth in front of his mouth, and then finally lets his shrug go.

Cunning sits in keen blue eyes, W’rin’s gaze held steadily. Only once the Weyrleader breaks eye contact, does the brownrider savor another drink of his pale-hued rum. “He’s not going to care much for Snaggle-tooth.” Cha’el notes, brows pulling toward one another in thought. “What about a niece? We could spin the angle that having one of them on gold puts the Hold on closer footing with the Weyr. Lend suggestion that such a thing might avail them of closer protection perhaps even an in on decisions made.” Which is a lot of tripe but its all about the illusion spun now isn’t it?

W'rin rubs his index finger over his lower lip thoughtfully, "Aye. And it'd make the other holds less nervous, less like we are playing favorites." Favorites. The man's contains his scoff to a throaty noise, as he takes his new whiskey from the boy who brings it. Barely acknowleding it didn't show up of its own free will, the man simply glances at the child in a look of dismissal. "But at the same time provides us some … connection with Keroon. Man wouldn't want to be accused by his brother of having left his niece in danger. Eh?" The glass is tipped appreciatively toward Cha'el. "What other ideas are lurking in that brain of yours?" A smirk curls up one side of his lips as he chuckles.

A sly grin greets W’rin’s observations. “Aye, and it’s the less important ones,” the air quotes audible in his tone, “that will have the biggest chips on their shoulders and will be more likely to spill their guts when they realize its them or where Uncle gets the firestone from.” The rum is drained and the glass set back down. Another not yet ordered. “There’s this kid from out of the Bazaar. Works for the Sersangs. Pretty. Looks like a female. Could pull it off too. I’m figuring we can get in even closer with the Hold if we can get him properly trained in espionage and send him in. But he’s young. Fourteen.” There Cha’el allows a lick of concern to appear. “I know a harper trained in the more clandestine ways of gathering intelligence that could work with him but I’m waiting on the kid’s final answer. Gave him a seven to think it over.”

"I don't give a fuck about his age, if he can handle it. Send in a seven turn old if they wouldn't just spout the truth, though could just go over as a 'wild story'." What is one kid for the greater good? To W'rin, nothing. "Sides, bout time he had a job, who is this kid, who at 14 doesn't have a craft or a job in the weyr? He's practically a man. Wasting my resources…" The quiet tirade trails off into mumbling, before the man pulls himself back to the moment at hand. "Anyway, just be careful recruiting people, no need for shit to get out before we've got someone planted. Faranth tits, we'd have a lot of explaining to do. And I'm not so good at 'calming things down'." It is the weyrleader's turn to make little air quotations.

“Reckon the kid might have what it takes. From what I’ve seen he can hold his own even against a mutt like Thierry. ‘Sides, whether we have him in somewhere sniffing out potential stashes of firestone or just keeping his ear to the ground whether in Hold or even down at the Bazaar, a kid like that could come in handy.” That having been said, Cha’el lifts a hand and snaps his fingers – More rum. A smirk then fits into place on the matter of calming things down. “That’s why we have Sadie, isn’t it?”

"Aye. Thierry?" W'rin lifts an eyebrow just a little, "Who is that?" Even if he had time to know every resident, one would doubt he would, his head is always in the sky. And as if to prove the point his eyes slowly refocus, as he sips at the whiskey, "Sometimes. She's good with the oldtimers." He lifts a shoulder, "And the lorders don't always want to talk to the women folk, but she's got her ways of getting what she wants. I suppose." A fondness might lurk beneath the exasperation of his tone. "Yah, if you trust this kid. Lets keep him around. I'd like to meet him if he's going to be doing our dirty work."

“Some little snothead,” so appropriate just now, “recruited by Tuli and shoved into the guards. Decent kid, bad attitude. But he’s coming around slowly. Been training with him at lunch time.” Cha’el explains and then shrugs. “Seen his kind before. Just needs a bit of work.” And then onto the topic of Sadaiya and her winsome ways with a short chuckle and tip of refreshed drink, “C’mon, the Lorders don’t like you? Can’t understand why not. Such a paragon of warmth and sunshine.” Grin. “Kid’s name is Reilan. I’ll send out word that you want to meet with him. Unless you’d prefer it to be a less….expected meeting.” In other words, W’rin gets to play his favorite game and scare the bejeezus out of the slender blonde lad.

The idea of a Thierry being a 'snothead' causes only a snort from the man. Who moves on, "Do they want fucking hugs and cuddles, or someone who's going to keep 'em fucking safe. Blasted holders. They'd rather you'd give 'em the reach around then worry about the thread falling out of the air. Until it is. But somehow they seem to forget between falls." The weyrleader makes a rude gesture with his hand and crotch air to illustrate his point. "Politics is a fucking circle jerk." And one he isn't inclined to join in on. Unless Sadie makes him. Clearing his throat man shakes his giant head, "Either way. Would be nice to, uh, not let him prepare. He is going to have to be good on his feet after all." This draws a conspiratorial grin for Cha'el. "We could have some fun with him."

“They’re used to being coddled from birth and having a drudge to wipe their arses for them when they take a shit,” Cha’el drawls dryly on the heels of the Weyrleader’s disgruntled retort. “Stands to reason they’d have a drudge to do that for them too,” referencing the gesture made by W’rin with a tight smirk. “Wouldn’t want to get those soft little hands of theirs dirty now would they?” Snort. A low laugh, filled with evil intent greets the big man’s last. “Aye, you’re not wrong there. You wanna send him on a wild goose chase that sends him through Rosie’s and then through the Weyrwoman? Ah.” The brownrider jacks out of the easy sprawl he’d slumped into. “A treasure hunt of information! He’ll have to find the answers to a list of questions set out for him. See how he manages to navigate his way around getting ‘em.”

"Eh." W'rin's monosyllabic agreement with the weyrseconds assessment of the situation. "But they seem to think I should hold the drudges position." If Cha'el gets his drift. "And I ain't so likely to play. Let 'em burn up a few of their people, then we'll see who's holding who." Only the man never would his monomanic puprose ever before him. With rumbled laughter the man nods, "Aye. And with a nice little meeting with me as the treasure to be found." He makes an 'X' symbol over his keg shaped chest. "If he can get information out of the likes of Rosie he'd be well on his way with the holders. Though, if he could get half the information we asked for out of Rosie he's probably get everything out of a holder."

“After Keroon you’d think they’d be gagging to be the ones doing the holding.” Agreement is given in a low growl. The souring of mood soon lifted when W’rin paints himself a target. “Its decided then. A list of questions to be answered, with proof where applicable, delivered to yourself in…the council chambers?” Cha'el sketches out warming to the subject with a brow lifting in query.

W'rin his brows together as he studies Cha'el, "I wouldn't put anything past that man." It is a solemnly declaration, but he too has moved on to more agreeable conversation topics, "Yes. This is must happen. Can I trust you to set it up? Would you like to be there for the..interrogation?" Bro bonding, it happens over torturing the young.

A grim nod of head puts the first to bed in favor of plans to test the potential of a youngling. “Damn straight!” Cha’el declares on wanting to be in on the interrogation. “Shall we say midnight in the council chambers three sevens from now?” Digging a hand into the breast pocket of the jacket he’s wearing a small square of hide is extracted. Gesturing to the bits and bobs W’rin has with him, the brownrider indicates the stylus and inkpot. “D’you mind?” If given the go ahead, he’ll draw them nearer. “So what do we want to test? The ability to blend in, obviously.” This is quickly scratched out. “He’s gotta be able to lie with a straight face too.” A glance at the Weyrleader a brow cocked in prompt for him to add anything that might come to mind.

"Yes, lie with a straight face. And in some way be able to recover if someone knows more than he thought they would." The man scratches at his beard, "And get some information out of someone they don't want out?" He squinty eyes across the table. "And perhaps most importantly," At least for their fun, "Be able to act nonchanately when in an extremely compromising and embarassing situation."

Wicked the grin that curls within the neat frame of beard at the suggestions W’rin makes. Taking them down, Cha’el lifts his head, gaze a-blaze with evil intent, “Perhaps that,” the last bit where they get to have their fun with poor Reilan, “should entail impersonating one of Rosie’s girls.”

Finally W'rin breaks down into unpracticed laughter, the heaving of his shoulders and the sound of a drowning feline emiting from the general area of his face. "Aye, garter and all. Perhaps instead of meeting him in the chambers we should be present for that last bit. That'd really up the stakes. Eh?"

Laughing, a rich and rumbly sound at W’rin’s suggestion, Cha’el taps the stylus to the side of his temple. “Great minds, man. Great minds!” Leaning back in his chair his drink is taken up. “Sweet little Reilan’y will be directed to one of the rooms to meet her ‘client’ for the evening.”

Liquid oozes from the sides of the weyrleader's face as he is reduced to sobbing in laughter, slouching down into the chair, and pressing his temple between his fingers, "Only to find us. I suppose if he survives that, he's our man." Good thing Pern doesn't have anti-hazing rules, well good for these two, kinda sucky for Reilan.

Still trying to get a cap on his mirth, Cha’el swipe at his eyes with a sleeved forearm. “Aye. I almost feel sorry for the kid. Uh….No. No I really don’t.” Bastard. Throwing the rest of his rum down his throat, still chuckling between the hiss of the burn, the Weyrsecond carefully folds the slip of hide, pockets it and stands. “I’d best be getting back before they send out a search party for us. I’ll hold ‘em off for as long as I can.” He tells W’rin. “Thanks for the laugh. I needed that. I’ll go get things set up.”

"Yah. Me too." W'rin offers amiacable agreement about the need for laughter, and lifting his glass of whiskey in a salute he nods, "I'd appreciate it, but I'll be back before too long. We have that meeting after lunch. Eh? Three sevens, then, and we'll have some fun."

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