Diem, Th'bek


The Weyrsecond has a message of interest to provide the Weyrleaders.


It is afternoon of the tenth day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Council Chamber

OOC Date 27 Dec 2018 05:00


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"Tell me why, Th'bek."


Council Chamber

Once disproportionately grandiose, the recent regimes have scaled the gaudy aura of Igen's council rooms down to better match the fit of the work executed within these walls. Spartan still, with foreboding stonework and a heavy wooden door, the innards of the room are swallowed by a giant round table, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood carved with the three dunes of Igen. Comfortable chairs surround that monolith to authority, all similar but two, grandiose things left as memories of a past mentality. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.

« A word, Weyrwoman, some moments of your time… » the request comes from Tavuqth's peaks and blade edges on behalf of Th'bek. « Council chamber, he sits. » A very curt appeal.

Th'bek has ridden much of the day between leading Whirlwind's exercises, checking up on reported burrows, and the briefest of calls to Benden that hardly had him touching ground. Tavuqth is accurate is rider is sitting, but not resting, his pose on the end of the chair. Despite some leftover refreshments and what he thinks was juice reserved from an earlier parley with the Weyrharper, the Weyrsecond hasn't made any moves to capitalize on them. He awaits Diem while gentle drumming the first joints of his knuckles on the underside of the lavish table.

Diem received Tavuqth's message through Zsaviranth while on the sands and actually hesitated with her affirmative response for a lingering moment. The sandstorm outside of the hatching cavern was no joke and when she finally decided to start making preparations to go, Zsaviranth made sure to convey to Tavuqth that it'd take the Weyrwoman a few minutes to get there. Diem put on her leathers and wrapped her face to protect it from the pelting sand and dashed to the inner caverns through the dust and grit. And as the heavy door to the council chamber opened, she made her way inside while unwrapping her face from a few layers of protective scarves. "Pardon me while I cough up the sand from my lungs." Dry is her humor as she makes her way toward her chair at the grand table.

When Diem does enter Th'bek is on his feet and apologetic. "I'm sorry Weyrwoman, my intentions were not to see you chafed. I have something that might be a soft topic, but first I wanted- if I could- to have a thought of silence for T'pani and Sarheth," one of Igen's past Weyrlingmasters who recently passed from a combination of old age and lung sickness. His brown followed him after their convalescence on Ista Island.

Chafed to say the very least. Diem has dust in her hair despite it being done up into a braided chignon and being covered by two scarves. Sandstorms have a way of getting dirt and grime everywhere. She pauses for a moment at her chair and bows her head in memory of T'pani and Sargeth, exhaling a centering breath as she does in the moment. "What's on your mind, Th'bek? Other than the passing of our former Weyrlingmaster." The scarves are placed upon the table and she's almost scared to see how much dust poofs from her jacket as she unbuttons it.

Th'bek, usually one for pleasantries and even ribbing before engaging in conversation, doesn't usually reach for the silent eulogy option. After ceremoniously touching his chin to his chest, the brownrider lapses enough pauses so that Diem can take off her outerwear while his remains intact. His flight jacket is allowed to hang freely. Sitting back down in his chair he leans back until one of the chair knobs is pushed into his back. He works it over a muscle back and forth for a brief feeling of 'good'. "Well, for starters, how familiar are you with the Flats?" AKA Salt Flats Hold.

Once her jacket is shed, Diem drapes it over the back of H'rik's chair (sorry for the dust and grime!) and then sits down in hers with a soft creak of her leathers. "I know that Igen receives the majority of our salt from that location." Which now has her a teensie bit wary of where this conversation is going. "Why? Has something happened?" Tawny colored eyes fix upon the Weyrsecond seated a few chairs down from her and now she, too, leans back in her seat to get a little more comfortable. Something tells her she should attempt to relax.

Th'bek's toes tap out Morse code on the ground, left first. It's idle behavior. "Good and true," the Weyrsecond confirms, smudges of sweat and silt following his hairline. "They've been refusing girls and young women to be Searched for oh, a while now, since before W'rin's tenure, and really they aren't the old Hold to do it, and there hasn't been a candidate shortage yet, so the practice stays. Not really my point, but I'm getting to that," now he feels a thirst and gets partially on his feet to pull a pitcher in closer. He smells the lid. "Ryoma and D'chern have told me they've each been refused candidates though the Search announcement was posted as usual and still stands in the square." He drinks and settles in for this revelation.

The news of the Hold refusing searchriders isn't news to Diem and she's overheard various members of Leadership discussing the issue in the past. It's never bothered her until this moment when she learns that they're still refusing girls to be Searched. "Why would they do that?" It's a simple question, but a loaded one just the same. "Don't they realize that they should be helping to bolster our numbers since we're the ones that protect them from death? While some of us die in the process." The Weyrwoman clears her throat a bit and then grits her teeth a little without realizing it. "I suppose the three of us need to make a diplomatic visit?"

A traditionalist at heart, Th'bek pours himself a drink of whatever was satisfactory enough to be in the pitcher, and doesn't say much about some Holds being overprotective of their girls. "Probably several reasons. Allowed during Interval when clutches were small and it stuck that way? I've never gotten that intellectual about it. But that they're refusing even young men for a Hold who isn't hurting for a population…" Well, now the clutch mother knows. And he drinks readily.

Diem squints over at Th'bek and then leans forward a bit like she didn't exactly hear that just right. "I'm sorry?" She blinks tawny eyes at the brownrider, looking directly at him. "They're refusing men to be Searched now, too?" Her mind is already ablaze with reasons why a Hold would choose to do such a thing. Refusing women and men sends up a red flag to her that doesn't make the tightening in her gut ease up at all. "Tell me why, Th'bek." She says this like he knows all the answers to this dilemma. "And tell me what we should do about it."

Sitting for so long this day makes the brownrider lift up a leg and reset his body at a slightly different angle. The glass is set down on the table and neglected for the time being. "So a Whirlwind rider told me, and corroborated by an Oasis rider this afternoon." Th'bek clicks his teeth together and looks afar trying to put his mind in the Lord Holder's. "If a Hold doesn't have a lot of young men to spare, the repeated loss of their youth could sour them and harm their labor force. I don't think the Flats are that hard pressed. Either they're reacting to a perceived slight or could be eliciting one, poking the wher so to speak. I don't know much about Lord Ebwaur other than he's one shell of a man for numbers. But I can talk with H'rik and find out."

"Huh." Diem still seems perplexed by this situation. It could be that her mood was already sour when she entered the council chamber after having endured a sandstorm to get to this meeting. Or the fact that she's slightly stir crazy from sands sitting with a broody senior queen. Either way, she's not quite her patient self for this meeting. "H'rik will probably come up with a better solution than what's going through my head right now." Not really grumbled, but close to it. A hand lifts to tuck stray wisps behind her ear as she leans back against her chair again, eyeing Th'bek's drink as she does. "Any chance we can get come whiskey in here?"

"Letting Thread chew on 'em a little bit is a sure-fire way to improve relations…" Taking a page from the Tavuqth playbook. Th'bek drags his feet back under his center of gravity to stand up and down the flavored water (tea? Something tasteless). He rubs the back of his head where a helmet is again soon to rest. "Your wish is my desire, Weyrwoman. I'll get on that." The whiskey. "Oh, and the Flats. May as well nip it in the bud."

"Actually." Diem rises to her feet shortly after Th'bek does and then snags her jacket from the table. "Perhaps you'll join me at the Cantina for whiskey and a little diplomatic problem solving, Weyrsecond." She's then striding toward the door like she expects him to follow. "If H'rik is available, I'll have Zsaviranth inform Wendryth to have him meet us there. Shall we?" The door is pushed open and the goldrider steps through with purpose. "Oh, and I'm buying!" In case Th'bek was wavering~

Th'bek considers the time and his current state, a face wash would improve him. "That's not even worth bargaining, I'll be there." Thank Faranth Diem's got this one, he still owes the bartender 2.25 marks from the last round of Whirlwind's 'problem solving'. "Though it's really me who should be buying." After dragging Diem out into inclement weather. "But I'll think of more problems to cure in the meantime." He follows the Weyrwoman out!

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