Eala, Divale


Eala and Divale go over a few reports and talk of a few things and… blatantly avoid another subject.


It is afternoon of the seventh day of the first month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Guardhouse, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 20 Jan 2018 05:00



“Are you saying I should continue to keep an ear open on Kurkar’s ah… eccentricities for the time being?”



What was once nigh-obsolete has been wrought anew in understated radiance: Igen Weyr's guardhouse has always been a weathered thing, but now the two-storied building shines with a little more gloss than the dilapidation of yore. Gutted and refit with a brighter interior, new wood lends itself to a staircase upward to the guard quarters and to long, functionally-assertive desks that sweep behind the main focus of the room. Determinedly upright, the entrance desk allows the one on shift full sight of the room, and requires all comers to submit in lowered-height submission against the glory of the rough-shined skybroom.

Evening has settled upon the Weyr and it’s proving to be a mild one, by Igen’s winter standards. The rising winds carry enough of a bite, however, to deter most from wandering now that the sun has lowered past the horizon and night sky claims dominion. All but the few who are scheduled to be out and about are on the move (and those who aren’t and business demands they be). Divale has stolen the best spot of the Guardhouse — the desk and workspace closest to the hearth to keep the place warm. She should be writing reports and sifting through notes and other reports, but currently is lost deep in her own thoughts, her stylus idly balanced between her fingers while the pages before her remain unseen and unread. It’s undoubtedly been a long series of days, if not weeks, given all the events that transpired. R’xim gone to High Reaches, the whole mess with the blue glow discovery in Kurkar Hold and the rise in counterfeits and other mischief in the Bazaar, Threadfall and to cap it all off… Rajakhelath’s flight — and the aftermath which saw Divale brawl Ko’an, of all riders. Only a small healing scab over one brow is visible testament to that; the rest of the bruising from the fall being hidden by her layers of clothing. At least she’s not as stiff and sore as she was the day after… but it could have been worse.

The tried and true methods of dealing with stress and strain are often the best, and Eala doesn't lack for ways to keep from thinking too deeply about her circumstances. Her freshly split lip speaks to the first method, still new enough to require the greenrider to dab at it with a cloth as she makes her way into the guardhouse. Her clothes aren't quite warm enough for the weather, but it's clear that she's fresh out of the Pit and still riding the warming adrenaline high of a good fight. It's only now that her skin is beginning to cool, and the enclosed space of the guardhouse offers both the promise of warmer temperatures and endless work — the next step to dealing with stress and strain. "Oh." It's a quiet sound of surprise uttered when she steps through the door and spies Divale already 'working'. It likely shouldn't be so unexpected, but her thoughts are heavy with distractions and the hour has escaped her. She dabs once more at her lip before moving toward another empty workspace, checking the desk to see that it's adequately supplied before she begins her own reports. "Got anything I can take off your hands?" she asks after a moment, when everything seems to her satisfaction.

Dark gaze shifts, as Divale’s eyes blink and refocus on the present evening, at the sound of Eala’s voice and her obvious presence. Hard not to notice the split in her lip and that earns a quirked brow and an expression of mixed curiosity and disappointment. “I had no idea you’d planned to spar in the Pit tonight.” she murmurs in her usual quiet, dry manner. Lips curve into a vague smirk, “I’d have considered joining.” It’s never been any secret, even between them, just how much the young brownrider enjoys the sport. Whether or not she’s participating in it! When Eala cuts right to business, there’s almost another note of disappointment in her exhaled sigh of breath. “Unless you want much of the same from the last few days? Have at it.” She flicks her fingers, almost in boredom fuelled disgust, at the hides closest to the edge of the desk she’s claimed. “Nothing we don’t already know. Nothing that already hasn’t been done.”

"The opportunity arose unexpectedly," Eala answers in an emotionless tone, one which makes it difficult to tell just how true that statement may be. Or perhaps it's merely flat because she's attempting to avoid stretching her lip and worsening that split. Cloth grasped firmly in her palm, she presses one finger gingerly to the wound, testing to see if it's yet clotted enough for dabbing to be unnecessary. Deeming this to be the case, the cloth is carefully folded and tucked into a pocket — still close by, just in case. "But next time, I'll try to give you some warning." She makes her way over, not waiting for any invitation before she begins flipping through a few things on Divale's desk which aren't directly in front of the brownrider. "Maybe we need to do something different, then. If this isn't working for us."

Divale fixes a lingering look on Eala for that emotionless delivery and it’s clear that she’s weighing the possibility of the greenrider lying to her. No challenge is voiced, however and she will smile in a mock satisfied manner when offered that small, tiny not-quite promise to be warned the next time. “Appreciated.” Is all she murmurs in turn and since her arrival, Divale has hardly moved. She barely blinks an eye when she starts to flipping through things until something catches her eye. Quick a as a snake, her hand darts out to snare that out of place letter and with a less than delicate slap to the top of the desk, it’s promptly slid off to the side and out of (immediate) view. Casually, as if nothing amiss had happened, Divale asks, “Different in what way? We can’t just go storming the Bazaar. The families would be in an uproar and you already know how the Akzhan are behaving.” she mutters under her breath. They may be alone here but that doesn’t mean sound doesn’t travel.

Eala shrugs one shoulder, non-committal at best. Despite her focus upon the hides before her, it's impossible to miss that darting hand, given that Divale isn't exactly a superhuman. She lifts her gaze just enough to eye the brownrider with an arched brow, not willing to let her get away with the motion without any kind of acknowledgment. But that knowing look is all she has to offer on the matter, and after a few beats her gaze drops back to shifting through things. "The families would be in less of an uproar if it got results," she states absently, but there's very little conviction behind it. They'd probably be in an uproar no matter what, after all, and storming the Bazaar isn't really feasible. "But at the end of the day, we can only worry so much about how the families are behaving if it's going to get in the way of maintaining some kind of order out there."

Eala’s knowing look is met by Divale’s own gaze in a sort of challenging stare as she waits for the greenrider to say something on the matter. While they currently hold the same rank, she’s always treated her with higher respect; she’s been Wingsecond longer, after all and a rider longer than she as well. Thus in the strange placement of ‘hierarchy’ in Divale’s mind, Eala’s up a notch (or three). So nothing HAS to be said, because the look is enough to remind her that it’ll eventually come around, in some way or another. “It’s a letter,” she mutters in an exasperated sigh. “Concerning the loss of a draft runner that Lukoith caught and blooded.” The brown has moved on from devouring pet goats, folks! She’ll listen to Eala’s assessment and merely nod, grimly, for what is likely very true. “Balance in Kurkar Hold is shifting,” she notes in a hushed manner. That’s not really their jurisdiction or problem, but that doesn’t keep her from keeping a finger on the pulse of the underground hold. “Not in a good way. All those folks poking about are staring up the wrong people.”

There's a faint smile touching the greenrider's lips when Divale capitulates and reveals the contents of that mysterious letter. Whether or not she's aware of this unofficial (or just faintly official) hierarchy or not, Eala certainly knows the power of an arched eyebrow followed by silence. It's a strategy that works on friends and foes alike, although the latter is more often accompanied by a bit of rough handling as well. "During the flight?" There's a faint bitterness to those words, and a touch of disapproval to go with it. "I can't imagine a runner makes for a good meal, but I suppose it has as much blood as anything else." Which seems to be all she has to say on the subject, although the tight purse of her lips suggests there's more which remains unspoken. There's no question that the greenrider has slightly more… unusual opinions on how to deal with troublesome elements than R'xim, but until now those plans have been largely kept in check. "All we can do is keep an eye on that and try to ensure that it doesn't spread to here somehow. If they ask for our help, that's a different story."

“Yes.” Simple and curt is her answer as most of Divale’s attention focuses on that faint note of bitterness to Eala’s words. Plenty of assumption to go there too, but she keeps to the current vein of discussion with a neutral, flat approach. “Rajakhelath rose outside of the Weyr, far enough from the pens. There were only wild caprines… and one foolish boy’s draft animal. When it spooked and broke free, Lukoith took the gelding down.” She spreads her hands helplessly. “I’ll deal with it.” As she did with the goat. As she’ll have to do again in the future when Lukoith’s tastes run to the forbidden (and always toeing the line of downright unacceptable). “Like they did when the child was first lost in the tunnels?” Divale almost scoffs at that as she looks back at the remaining hides on her desk. Brows furrow for a moment in shadowed thought and there is a small lapse in silence before she speaks again. “It’s difficult to say what will happen. There is certainly tension and the whole crazed interest in this… blue glow is not helping things.” Dark gaze lifts again and there is a hint of a wry smirk on her lips. “Are you saying I should continue to keep an ear open on Kurkar’s ah… eccentricities for the time being?”

"I'm not entirely sure that's your bill to pay." The comment is thrown out almost offhandedly, easily thrown away or ignored if not for the lingering bitterness. She pulls something out of the small stack, lifting the hide to better inspect its contents. There's a moment of silence as she skims over it, before setting it in a new pile to eventually take back with her. Evidently Divale's word that she'll take care of it is good enough for the greenrider, because she's back to her absentminded search and on to the next topic without another comment. "Yes, like that." She rolls her eyes, making no attempt to disguise the motion from the brownrider's gaze. "It's certainly something of interest to people in the Bazaar, but that's not particularly… out of character. We've dealt with similar behavior here, at least." Even if the events in Kurkar are something new and different, there's always something questionable on the market. Eala echos Divale's smile, glancing at the other woman with a hint of conspiracy in her expression. "Something like that."

Divale grimaces, “They seem to think otherwise.” Eala’s comment is not wholly ignored, but answered partially as she leaves it back in her hands whether or not to pursue it. The young brownrider has no interest in skirting any of the other details of the flight; one assumption that she assumes is the source of that bitterness. No complaints are issued over whatever it is that is pulled from the stack of records and notes. A vague smile tugs one corner of her mouth upwards in a subtle look of understanding. Slowly but surely, Divale’s learning of the quirkiness of the Bazaar (among the dangers). Surprise is lacking, it’s more of a neutral interest and curiosity in discovering just how foolish people can be. “I’ve given up what thin hope I had that folk will stop with personal experimentation with the fake materials. Be thankful you never saw the first case of that in person. I can’t unsee it…” There’s a shake of her head, along with a quiet low chuckle. As no immediate reprimand or order otherwise comes from the previous hint, Divale feels brash enough to allow her features to settle into a ghost of a grin. “Something like that, then.” she echoes in turn. And, because Eala isn’t seeking to chain her down (for the time being), she murmurs after a beat. “… I will report anything of interested immediately.” To her.

"Have a word with Nasrin." At least that clears up who she believes should be paying for the lost beast, if it isn't Divale. Eala is of a similar mind when it comes to the flight, although that bitterness has far less to do with the aftermath and far more to do with the fact that any of it happened in the first place. But that's certainly not Divale's fault, nor is it Nasrin's. That bitterness is just waiting for the right moment to lash out at the proper victim — which is why she's throwing herself into work and training in the hopes of burning it all off. With far less inspection this time, she pulls another couple of hides from the stack, before lifting her pile and clasping it to her chest. "I can imagine," the greenrider states with a faintly disgusted twist of her lips. "People always want a quick solution to their problems, and they're willing to overlook a price that's too good to be true or any other signs that what they're getting isn't legitimate merchandise." It's like finding designer goods on sale in a shady alleyway — you have to know it isn't the real deal. There's a brief, approving nod at Divale takes her approval and runs with it, the promise met with a quiet, "Thank you." She turns as if to return to her own desk, but pauses, glancing back toward the other woman. "I do intend to have that Wingleader's knot. And if R'xim ever decides to come back, he'll have to pry it from my hands." There's a brief, privately amused smile at the thought of that altercation. "But just so you know, it was always in my plans to have you as a Wingsecond." In other words, if things go her way, that at least won't change.

Oh, like that won’t be a mildly awkward conversation! Not that Divale cares, really, but the suggestion is met with a grimmer look and a nod. Whether or not she follows through with it? Who knows. Maybe that letter will just be ignored. She does have more pressing concerns, after all! “That’s what makes this craze a touch dangerous. Someone’s going to start dabbling in something they shouldn’t. Some rumour will spur some half-baked plan and then we have dead bodies.” Leave it to her to bring the darkest of topics to light. Eala’s probably used to it by now — it’s not like Divale ever spouts sunshine and rainbows! There is some relief that their discussion doesn’t seem to tread down dangerous routes on this evening… or that she’ll suffer a lecture about Lukoith eating personal property. Glancing up again as Eala states her desire, now Divale does smile but it’s a wry, shadowed thing. This is no shock to her! “I am no threat you in that regard!” she mutters, almost scoffing. “You have my support… regardless if I am your Wingsecond.” And she means it too. If there’s at least ONE rider she respects in all of Parhelion, it’s Eala. For various and obvious (and not so obvious) reasons! “Though I still think you and R’xim both are a touch mad to keep me in rank…“ But she’s not really complaining. Not now, with the though of Eala as Wingleader and the chance to have some ‘freedoms’ again. “Thank you.” Oh-so quietly murmured, for her own vote of confidence in her capabilities as a rider. Without so much as a word, Divale will actually go back to working… earlier daydreaming aside, there ARE actual reports to complete. If Eala didn’t steal all the good ones!

Oh, she definitely stole the good ones.

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