Who

Diem, K'vre

What

Diem uses K'vre's office to hide from Cremla. She may or may not try to kill him.

Backscened to the day after the clutchings.

When
Where

Weyrleader's Office

OOC Date 30 May 2019 04:00

 

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"I will feed you to Lukoith so help me Faranth if you attract more attention to this little tunnelsnake hole that you call an office, you nogooddirtyrottenfilthyscruffyloudmouth…"


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Weyrleader's Office

It is a small space — smaller than perhaps the one a weyrleader would naturally be allowed. Off the council room, it has been designed with thin veneers of slate on the wall, enabling a man of a lifetime of paperwork to have neat notes all around him at any given time. Currently, the wings of Igen are listed in a virtual flight, each wing broken down into wingrider and dragon, with mysterious symbols underneath each: no doubt some kind of shorthand, but good luck breaking the code. In the middle of the room is a desk — it appears to have been liberated from the guards' headquarters — and a battered chair with two un-matching citizens of the same class in front of said desk. It is a cozy place for a man to do his thinking; it does not appear to be place where a weyrleader would entertain.


It's creeping up on the dinner hour in the living cavern and Diem is no where near any of the mouth watering post-clutching party food. In fact, she hasn't eaten anything all afternoon and she should be finding a plateful of something. But. There is no time for that. She has work to do and she's able to slip away from the sands to seek out some hidework while Zsaviranth naps amongst her precious eggs. When the senior weyrwoman arrives at her office, she's met by a handful of weyrstaff that are currently deep cleaning said office as they think the goldrider is otherwise occupied on the sands. Wrong! Diem is flustered! In fact, she steps into her office to grab some essentials to then move into someone else's office in the meantime. It's not long until the door to K'vre's office creeeaaks open and there stands Diem with an armful of… things. Important office things. Shuffle. Hopefully it's vacant because in she goes!

It is vacant, when Diem enters it. It's tidy and closet-sized (literally used as a broom closet before he cleaned it out), and all of the slate walls have been updated with names and those indecypherable scripting to determine… some kind of qualitative measurements for each of the wingriders. She might even have a minute or two to get settled: to sit down, make herself comfortable, adjust K'vre's chair and move all of the stuff on his desk. Not that he has much; a big sketchbook marked with a longer hide as a placeholder, several wingleader reports, a dry glass that might have held water before. But give it a minute — or ten — for her to get comfortable, and then in sweeps K'vre without even considering someone might be in his office. It is by the nature of the room that he's hovering half over the desk and half over Diem by the time he realizes this place is occupied. "Oh, I'm — sorry?" It looks like K'vre hasn't made it to delicious clutching food, either. Damn responsibilities.

"Shut the door!" Diem pleads when K'vre is right very there in the broom closet sized office. "It is imperative that Cremla doesn't find me. If she sees you and asks? I'm not here!" She might flail a little bit for K'vre to shut. the. door. Inside the hole in the wall office, she's set up shop. Meaning, she brought a cheery green plant, a decorative glass weight to keep her parchments in one spot, a kitty figurine, a waterskin, writing utensils in different colors, purple scarf, and her pile of hidework of course. She currently sports a sundress fit for the sweltering sands and not so much for a cold office in the middle of winter — which explains why she's wearing that purple scarf.

When K'vre's eyes belatedly catch on … the plant, and… the figurine, and… finally he catches up to her words and backtracks the precise single step to be within range to softly close the door. "My apologies," he says, his voice turning amused in a heartbeat's moment. "I did not mean to intrude." There's a laugh in his tenor-edged baritone as he shifts to sit down in one of the chairs across from the goldrider. He too wears thin clothes under his heavy flight jacket - concession for the Sands he's not used to yet. "Why are we hiding from Cremla again?" he questions, as if he's forgotten a point and is just asking for, you know, clarity. His eyes bore down on that purple scarf, his eyebrows slowly drawing together and lowering in incremental movement.

"K'vre." Diem sets down her writing utensil to cup her hands over her face and then rubs her eyes, appearing exhausted. "You must learn something about our dear Headwoman." Her voice is muffled at the moment as her hands remain over her eyes. However, they soon drop to the desk and she looks across the way at the now seated Weyrleader — a whole two feet away. "Cremla does not stop working. The woman eats, sleeps, breathes work and if she catches you in sight, she has a way of making you work. Me? Right now? I don't wanna work!" She then leans back in the chair and almost bumps her head on the wall behind her. "I've got enough stuff to deal with, okay? So if you-" Diem abruptly falls silent when she thinks she hears movement outside the door. "Did you hear something?" Stage-whispered, that!

First he lifts his feet to the front of the desk, wedging boots against the surface, and then K'vre leans back until his chair balances only on its back legs. From that vantage spot he listens attentively to his weyrwoman. "You're her boss," he points out in response. "You can tell her no." He looks up to the ceiling as if checking, and then nods. "Rhovvth says you can tell her… well, I can't really repeat what he said, it's not very much fit for a lady's ears." He grins like the ruffian he is before glancing to the door and lifting his voice 'cause he's an ASSHOLE at times: "Oh, Diem, I had a question for you in particular regarding the appointing of administrative personnel to assist with the weyrlingmaster staff for the double clutch, if you were keen for your staff to help the weyrlingmaster with keeping her sanity over the next couple turns?" His teeth are very white against the bristle. He's shaved and then started to let it grow out again, but it's nowhere near like the mountain-man visage he had when they first were chased through the bazaar.

Diem immediately goes into fight-or-die-trying-to-get-away-from-Cremla mode and cannot help what happens next. "Shhhhh!" It's practically hissed at the brownrider as she scrambles out of the chair and over the desk to get at him. In fact, she's perched on the desk's surface now and unravelling her purple scarf to bunch up and press against that scruffy mouth of his. "Are you trying to give me heart failure!" Still angrily stage-whispered, that. The purple scarf remains in place over his mouth if he hasn't swatted it away yet — its secret use is for shutting big mouth Weyrleaders up, apparently. "I will feed you to Lukoith so help me Faranth if you attract more attention to this little tunnelsnake hole that you call an office, you nogooddirtyrottenfilthyscruffyloudmouth…"

Muffled-muffled-muffled, K'vre is protesting something against the purple scarf held up to his mouth, but he doesn't really seem to be doing much to protest the involvement, either. Much to the opposite: he seems to rather enjoy the interaction, given his gleaming, laughing eyes above where she's forced his silence. Rather than pull back as expected, he allows his chair to drop back to all fours, righting himself — and then reaches forward in clear aim to grab Diem by the arms and pull her bodily into his lap. The better to whisper to her, or just because he feels comfortable enough with this wild-woman weyrwoman to be unfettered with a personality that is so frequently tied up in caution and propriety. She could escape backwards, of course: he's not even roaring out a challenge, so she's won, regardless.

With the office being as small and cramped as it is, it's not difficult to scoop the weyrwoman from atop the desk and into a lap at all. And it just so happens that it's in K'vre's lap where she's settled, but not without consequence. "What are you doing?" She removes the scarf from over his mouth so he can actually answer her this time. Proprietary seems to have gone out the window given the amount of privacy they have in this broom closet — which is all the more reason NOT to alert Cremla to their whereabouts. That wild-woman? No. It's the Igen born Bazaar woman that's feisty and very much in the Weyrleader's face (mostly because she can't help the close proximity, but). "If you think I'm going to have her follow me back to the sands, you've got another thing coming…" Mostly whispered this time.

"Shh," K'vre says once he's manuevered this one, lifting one of his fingers to her lips and lifting his brows a tich to impress quietude to the dark-haired woman. "I'm trying to save you, you wretched woman," he mutter-murmurs. "I think I hear her." He can't help but grin despite himself, shifting his arm to loop 'round her waist. With the tilt of an ear he narrows his eyes as if to better aid his hearing. And then he ruins it by talking again. "If she finds us in here it's all your fault for being so loud." He keeps up the act of whispering. "But I meant it about the administrative assistants for Vosji. She will need them, if you can spare them."

"Don't you—" Shush me. But, Diem doesn't get to say it much less hiss it at the Weyrleader after he puts a finger upon her lips. Her tawny colored eyes narrow at him and she is a breath away from gagging him with her scarf again. Her Turns and Turns of experience dealing with ornery Holders should come in handy right about now, but there's something about being about to cut loose and really say what's on her mind in the moment. The privacy of the cramped office, the close proximity of the brownrider, and about three Turns of pent up senior weyrwoman aggression is about to boil over if he keeps doing what he's doing. Those arms of his go around her waist and she draws in a breath that she exhales only after he mentions Vosji. "I will provide Vosji with whatever she needs and will tell her so myself. You needn't trouble yourself."

If Diem throttles him with a scarf, nobody would really mind, or even be surprised. K'vre is always talking when he should be shutting the fuck up. Considering he's not a chatty man by nature, when left alone and outside of responsibilities, well, it's very interesting. He starts to say something and then — then he draws upright even more, looking almost offended. "Vosji is my rider," he objects, "I absolutely should trouble myself upon her behalf." His brow furrows. Now is the time to beat him, Diem! Nobody would even bat an eyelash.

When K'vre straightens, it causes Diem to inadvertantly straighten as well given her current location. "Well, she's my friend and not yours." she states that fact with an air of pride. "I think she would like to hear the news from me more than she would from you." The purple scarf in her hands is then lifted a little and shook free of its wrinkles before she loops it around the brownrider's neck. Loosely, of course. It's soft and delicate, and he might actually recognize it as one of the coveted scarves from the battle royale in the Bazaar a while back.

"Is everyone who has been here longer than two minutes," READ: HIMSELF, "suddenly accounted for on your side of the ledger and not mine?" K'vre leans back to better peer at Diem's face; he's a little nearsighted at this distance otherwise. "And I asked her if she would be interested in the help already, so," and here K'vre shows himself the most mature of all brownriders to ever be elevated to Igen's leadership, because he sticks his tongue out at her. Take that. He's already suspicious of the origins of the scarf now looped around his neck, but… he knew that thing would be the end of him regardless.

Has it been mentioned that this broom closet office is cramped? It doesn't help that Diem brought with her a few extra office accessories to take up even more space, making her current seat upon the Weyrleader's lap the best spot available. When he draws back a little, so does she to help with the nearsightedness. "Well. I've worked with Vosji and Th'bek and Nasrin and Ione and Cremla and H'rik and pretty much everyone at Igen for several Turns now, which means that, yes! They are on my side of the ledger." She practically twinkles at the very idea and then lifts that pretty scarf a little to waggle along K'vre's tongue that's sticking out at her. Sorry not sorry about the fuzz! "And I'm quite certain that if you do that to Vosji?" Stick his tongue out at her, of course. "She'll attempt to cut it off." Professional advice from Weyrwoman to Weyrleader.

Thbbth, tbbth, bttbbth — a soundtrack to K'vre's screwed-up face and mouthing gestures at the scarf-to-tongue action he's dealing with now. There's some fuzz on his tongue. He rolls his eyes amongst all the names she offers, and says only, "Well, I'll take Divale and Eala over all of those anyhow," sorry everyone, your weyrleader's straight-up Parhelion bias is SHOWING. He's grinning lightly for it all, though, in a great mood all-things-considered. Beat. "And you can keep Cremla." As a matter of fact… he clears his throat and calls out, "Can I get…" in a louder voice, though Diem's likely to fucking strangle him with that SCARF before he can get much more out to summon the headwoman who is doubtlessly just outside that door.

"Heeear's the deal, bubblie." That seems to be the pet name Diem has given K'vre in the moment. "You see, Parhelion is the guard wing, which means that they fall under the supervision of the junior weyrwomen who also oversee Igen's guard force. They work closely with the Captain." Now she leeeaans a teensie bit closer to K'vre given their already close proximity and whispers, "Divale and Eala report to Nasrin and Ione who then report to me, sooo they're kinda on my side of the ledger already." Win! "So, I-" GASPING at his raised voice, she doesn't instinctively strangle the Weyrleader, but rather stuffs the scarf into his mouth in an attempt to gag him. "Will you be quiet for Faranth's sharding sake! I swear to-" There's yet another gasp after she leans forward to see if the door can lock since that is when a menacing crack is heard coming from their chair.

K'vre is definitely not as sweet as a bubbly-pie. Just ask Khulan! "So what you're saying is that I'm not needed at all, and you will handle all of my job? Excellent. I'm planning on going to Ista tomorrow morning for a six month vacation," he tells her with just a little edge to that smile he leverages. Whatever he might say however is MUTED by her shoving her scarf INTO HIS MOUTH, and then a vast and awful collaboration of forces all construing to come about at the same time. K'vre leaning back to try to splutter the scarf out of his mouth causes undue stress to HIS POOR CHAIR and the back-section cracks sheer away simultaneous to the door opening. Is that Cremla, standing there watching as Kev convulsively grabs Diem as he goes sprawling backward? (… oh my.)

"That's not—" It happens in a matter of seconds and Diem doesn't even have time to react or fully respond before she's collapsing into a heap upon the brownrider beneath her. The door does, in fact, open and the chair does, in fact, crack as they fall backward and into the council chamber. It's a good thing K'vre's arms go around her to keep her close as it softens her impact and not so much his — poor guy! So, there they are. In a heap on the floor. Weyrwoman on top of Weyrleader (with a purple scarf around his neck and quite possibly still in his mouth). "Are you okay!? Did you hit your head? Are you being stabbed by a shard of wood?" It doesn't help that she's not moving to look him over, mostly because he still has an iron grip on her. And when she finally looks up? It's not Cremla that she sees staring at them, but two of the inner caverns weyrstaff that are prepping the council chamber for the next meeting.

The breath gets knocked out of K'vre by the movement, his pained oof coming out of him in a sharp breath. The brownrider, despite being more lanky than bulky, is not without a measure of strength (as his goldrider companion will find out, being locked in his arms momentarily through the reflex action of it all), but he will be sure to release her as soon as he's figured out what just happened. But seriously, what just happened? He spits out the purple scarf and springs his hands free; they hover next to Diem's shoulders but he gives her the freedom to disentangle herself. Their two gawkers, though, K'vre looks over to them almost after-the-fact. With the greatest aplomb he asks, "Can we help you?" as if they are the ones intruding and he's not the one that just called out for help JUST a second ago. (Diem is going to fucking kill him, isn't she?)

"K'VRE!" At the Senior Weyrwoman's bellow, the two gawking weyrstaff drop everything and flee the council chamber like the damn room is on fire. The large, heavy doors are slow to shut behind them, which means that they can probably hear some muffled thuds and colorful language as they hurry down the administrative corridor. What actually happens inside Igen's sacred room is a mystery, but there is much speculation when all seems to go veryyy quiet after a while. It has yet to be confirmed if Diem killed K'vre~

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