Divale, Nasrin, R'xim


Divale is "working", R'xim is grumpy and Nasrin has got herself into a challenge…



Guardhouse, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 29 Dec 2017 05:00





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.

Dawn has just begun to set in, with the autumn sun just peeking over the horizon. There’s a promise of clear skies and decent weather, a welcomed respite from summer’s crushing heat. The Guardhouse is largely unpopulated at this time, save for the few posted on duty and the unfortunate souls in the cells; including their often-resident drunks. It’s probably chilly in there too (and serves them right). In the main room, Divale has settled herself at one of the desks and is currently reclined in one of the chairs, legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles. Reports are neatly stacked to the farthest right hand corner and currently ignored, as her gaze settles, unfocused and distant, on the fire in the hearth while she idly nibbles on what looks to be one of the various cookies that keep showing up in the caverns. The brownrider, despite her calm exterior, has a look to her as though she’s two days overdue for a good night of sleep. And despite the warmth and light case by the fire mere feet away, she appears to be cloaked in shadow. Most folk tend not to bug her when she’s in a mood — barring a few exceptions.

And here comes one particular exception in all of his pissed off glory: “Is it too much to ask to get someone to sweep these damn floors?” R'xim hollers from somewhere near the guard captain’s office. And just who is he hollering at? Some poor rookie, no doubt. “Tell the junior weyrwoman that her damn cleaning crew failed YET AGAIN to clean the floors!” A beat, “Am I asking for too much? Should I pick up a damn broom and sweep up this shit myself? Because damn it all to shells and back it’d be faster than Nasrin’s STAFF!” Slam. The wooden door is shut behind Parhelion's wingleader as he makes his way toward Divale and the desk where she's currently seated. A few folders that he was holding in hand are slapped down upon the desk's surface right before he makes his way toward the klah pot. Just another day in the office~

Divale barely glances up from staring ahead at the fire. She’s accustomed to R’xim’s outbursts and while her mood may be just as prickly, there’s just something about watching the bronzerider lose his mind over unswept floors that makes observing ALL the more enjoyable. It might be why she also tempts dragging his ire towards her by blatantly sweeping a few of the crumbs off her lap… right onto that very floor. You’re welcome~ Blame the kitchen staff for making crumbly versions of citrus cookies, okay? “Might get a better response with sweetner, you know.” Catch more flies with honey and all that nonsense. Divale’s delivery is as dry as ever, as is the smirk that follows as she sits up and reaches for one of those new reports. What’s new in the world of Igen today!

Hey, R'xim like cleans floors. That and he's a type-A personality who has worked extremely hard to turn the guardhouse into something that commands respect. And things have come a long way around here (probably with some help from Eala, too, since she's the one who organized the admin work while Rix just bashed skulls together). "Speaking of sweetner," he grumbles, "Where did Eala put it?" Klah is poured into his favorite mug as he glances around for the small container that's usually near the klah pot. Still, he takes a swig and zeroes in on Divale over the rim of his mug. Squint. "Slow morning?"

“Might be out of sweetner. Pretty sure I saw the rookies with it last — or maybe it was Morss or Darr…” Divale remarks dryly, briefly meeting R’xim’s squinted gaze before looking down again at the reports. New blood rookies must go through klah like crazy, the first time they’re put through overnights. “Mhm, you could say that. I’m only here because we had to drag the usual regular in for his usual infractions,” she mutters. Good ‘ol Whekel! Always there to perk up a ‘slow morning’. “He was extra handsy again too. Still tempted to make good on my threat of ridding him of a few fingers… maybe his entire hand — how bad would the paperwork be, anyhow?” Her humor is as dark as the hint of a wolfish grin barely tugging the corners of her mouth upwards.

A rare half smirk makes itself known as R’xim considers the idea of using an alternative method of ‘discipline’ on good ‘ol Whekel. Unfortunately, the thought doesn’t last very long. The wingleader’s expression turns grim when he shifts those musings to the dumbass rookies drinking all of the klah in the guardhouse. “Remind me to make an announcement about klah usage at our next PT in the Pit.” That way he can use PT as an excuse to kick their asses. Some klah is swigged as he peers toward the doorway leading to the brig. “Things have been quiet in the Bazaar lately.” Aside from their regulars, of course.

Divale’s disappointment is short lived and too fleeting on her expression to be pinpointed. At least she got a rare half-smirk? That’d be akin of R’xim making her laugh. A brow quirks for his suggestion reminder and she gradually sits up in her chair — but not before stretching canine-like. Now a little more presentable, she’ll nudge the plate of cookies towards the edge of the desk. It seems like a dismissive gesture, but it could be a subtle ‘have some’ nod to the Wingleader too. “Is that really necessary?” About the klah and coming from the one who looks like she’s not slept at all. Mention of the Bazaar brings an agreeing sound from her throat and a furrowed brow. “Almost too quiet. I don’t like it.”

The look on R'xim's face is probably all the response Divale needs after she asks if the announcement at PT is necessary. He was kidding, but rarely does he get questioned for his decision making processes. Maybe that's why he gets away with so much shit — no one ever really challenges him. He clears his throat and moves on, "I wonder if the Akzhan are keeping themselves out of our sight because they're about to pull some shit." A well orchestrated murder, perhaps. They're one sketchy Family. "Or maybe they've already done something and we just haven't caught on." A beat, "Yet." Rix looks suspicious as he considers the possibility. "Stay alert the next time you're on patrol."

Is R'xim regretting his decision yet of making her one of his Wingseconds? Because Divale may feel that she IS a little more evenly open to challenge him — to a degree. That he was kidding went right over her head and caught too late in that look. A slight shrug of her shoulders and she will grimace darkly for the mention of the Akzhan family. "I'll admit I've not caught up as much in their history as I'd prefer," she murmurs, idly pushing one record forwards on the desk. His warning to be alert has her quirking a brow, "I always am." Jumped once and stabbed because of it? You bet she's not going to tread around the Bazaar blindly. "Are they known for being good at covering their tracks? They own that racetrack, don't they?"

R'xim sips his klah slowly while considering how best to describe the Akzhan family to his wingsecond. "They know their way around what's acceptable behavior and what's not." Let's start there and build on that. "Very, very rarely are their people arrested. And, yes, they own the race track and The Merry Marksman in the Bazaar. They're…" How to phrase this delicately? "Ruthless bastards with a long history of making people 'disappear'. Don't fuck with them." Unfortunately, there's nothing delicate about Rix. More klah is sipped as he walks over toward the archway to casually peer at the folk inside the brig. He leans a shoulder against the stone while considering the notorious Family in silence.

Though weyrwomen are the commandants of the Weyr guard, in much of the male-oriented regions, it's something of a fascimile. Somehow, Nasrin got challenged by one of the veteran guards in a contest of crossbow shooting. Just now. Though profficient from a young age with a sling, the junior hasn't operated a crossbow in her life. Entering the barracks to post a short barrage of questions (okay, tips), Nasrin enters with an open expression and sand in her hair. A storm is on the horizon. "Sirsss." Nasrin edits to make it a plural, spotting R'xim, Divale, and a guard in the back.

"That's expected of most families," Divale quips dryly. Tell her something she doesn't know? Which he goes on to elaborate and enough that she's reasonably satisfied. Of course, now that her interest is perked, R'xim should know better — of course she'll (very cautiously) meddle with them. She kind of started with the Steens before Midra left for Southern, after all! "So they've ties to a gambling establishment… Somehow I'm not surprised the rest follows. Goes hand in hand, usually." She makes a weighing gesture with those very hands of hers, from where she is still seated behind the desk. The current residents in the brig are in no shape to hurl insults at the Wingleader, so there is peace there at least. Nasrin's entrance is marked by Divale's slow, but straightening posture and a brief salute. "Ma'am." Almost said with a smile.

A familiar voice draws R'xim's attention over his shoulder only to recognize Little Ma'am standing in the entryway. Turns and Turns of experience ensure that he doesn't roll his eyes or groan at the sight of the junior weyrwoman — AKA: His Boss. He will, however, mutter a curse word under his breath while pushing off from the stone archway to properly greet the goldrider. "Nasrin." grumped, that. It's just his normal gritty attitude. "I was just talking about you." Uh oh. The floor tirade just might surface again~

Ambushed, it felt like. The goldrider visiting 'her' shared charges with Diem, bringing up pleasantries and non-essentials. Three recruits were practicing beyond with targets, the conversation shifted, and the guard, rightly christened 'Judas', outright invited Nasrin out to a contest at a time of her choosing. Though it still looks like, in her eyes, she wants to hang a crossbow around the man's neck, she is all business in the guardhouse. This is always strange territory. Made now even stranger by the fact she was being discussed? "Oh? That… can be flattering." She closer aligns herself to Divale, standing with the flexible straightness of oak. "I come at a bad time?" Oh well!

"He was enlightening me somewhat on the Akzhan family," Divale adds in a near quiet murmuring to Nasrin, almost as an aside. Wrong time? "Not at all. I, for one, love the break in monotony." Fingers tap idly against the edge of one report, before moving to the edge of a plate that still contains a few of the fresh cookies the kitchen is now slowly churning out. A tilt of her head implies a silent 'help yourself'. That should put her in someone's good graces, right?

R'xim clears his throat and tries not to look directly at the unswept floor, but rather at Nasrin instead. "Weyrstaff failed to make the guardhouse part of their rounds today." And the day before that. "Now as much as I'd love to pick up a broom and give this place a thorough cleaning myself, I've enough packed into my already full schedule. Which reminds me," A thin folder housing a few hides is picked up from the desk and promptly handed to the weyrwoman. "I've another guard training coming up at High Reaches. I need your and H'rik's signature on these document before the end of the sevenday, if it's not too much trouble." Oh, and this is news to Divale. Siiiip.

Nasrin's eyes are drawn further open when Divale indicates the Akzhan. "I've heard the rumor mill about Nineveh's disappearance. Is the guard doing anything to pursue that?" And it could very possibly be Divale and R'xim JUST discussed that, but for Nasrin it's an entirely new beast and she needs details. She keeps the sand resting on her hair and shoulders as a sort of ward. Maybe she's the one that's been tracking it into the barracks… "I'll inform the staff." Easily agreeing to something negligible. But it's Rix's latter request that'll demand further scrutiny. "Duration?"

Divale avoids temptation to roll her eyes when R'xim brings up the floor again but she has the perfect distraction. High Reaches? There's a narrowed look, near-to a glare, shot his way. Just WHEN was he going to inform her and Eala? Her expression shifts with a small twist of her lips from grimace to a neutral grim look cast to Nasrin. "There's plenty of gossip drifting about. Murmurings." No doubt more in the shadows, than the light. "But as we were saying before, the Bazaar is usually quiet regardless."

Don't think that Rix hasn't noticed all the sand in Nasrin's mane (she's now been ranked Parhelion Nuisance #1 because of this). He tries not to seem too irritated while discussing on the guard training up north. "Three days, I believe. The agenda is on a hide in the folder as is the High Reaches guard captain's signature for verification." Looks like someone has his ducks in a row for this trip. Oh, and the answer is… he wasn't planning on telling his wingseconds about the trip just yet. But, they should know the drill whenever he's away from Igen~ "The Akzhan girl has been missing for quite some time, but the family hasn't come to us for any aid." They rarely do, but that goes unsaid. "H'rik hasn't ordered Parhelion to sweep the surrounding territory, although some of my riders have been keeping an eye out when they're stationed at Kurkar."

Nasrin hasn't been eyeballing the cookies only but a little. Sweets are her Achilles' heel so she pretends they're made with clay. Ugh, but they look soft. Nasrin redoubles the efforts to pay attention to the wingleader, accepting his script and tucking it within a sleeve for a more close perusal later. It is not an immediate surprise the Azkhan's have no beseeched the Weyr for aid, but still, Nasrin thinks of the young woman. "I take it your 'seconds will be handling your responsibilities," shuffling a grey-blue gaze to Divale as she finds out the news just as freshly.

Three days! Another narrowed look shot at R'xim, but Divale merely works her jaw silently and keeps her comments to herself. "Could be the family is too prideful?" she suggests, with enough dryness to content with the desert they live in. She'd never believe that to be so simple. "I'll keep an ear open, regardless, when I am on patrol." Perhaps plant a little seed in a few other trustworthy ears among Parhelion's ranks and the Guards too. Those cookies may subtly be nudged closer to Nasrin. Go on, just one won't hurt! They're lemon and savoury~ "Of course," she replies, without skipping a beat, as she glances sidelong and up to the weyrwoman.

"They always do." R'xim says right before downing the rest of his klah. The now empty mug is set down upon the desk as he gathers up his keys to hook onto his belt. The classic jingle-jangle is a chilling sound as it lets everyone know he's nearby. This obviously gives him great joy~ "Unless they come with me and then we discuss who should lead the wing in our absence." But, that's a conversation for a different time. Right now he has rounds in the inner caverns. "Always a pleasure, weyrwoman." he says in a flat tone while walking toward the doorway. He does pause a moment to steal a few lemon cookies before making his exit.

"The time-honored bazaar families are… complex." Speaking from a fount of first-hand knowledge. But if the two guards honor their duty to at least be cognizant of Nineveh's situation, well, what more can be done. Some people do become scarce by their own accord. "Likewise, Wingleader R'xim," following the bronzerider out with her eyes. Her tone is as neutral in pH as rainwater. "We will address your authorization promptly." A three-day absence? Too little time for a victory dance? A glance dipping toward the cookies, "perhaps later when I'm less full," a lie, but a tender one. "What can you tell me about crossbows? Are they difficult?"

Divale chances luck and chases R’xim’s retreating form with one last glare directed right at his back. There better not be any further discussions of that vein, though part of her mind likely always keeps that gem tucked away. At least the lure of cookies felled one victim, aside from herself. “And I thought my family had… complex issues.” she muses in her usual strange, gruff voice as her attention now falls solely on Nasrin. Brows lift for the topic change to weaponry, but she merely smiles that strange, vague smile of hers. “Depends. If the crossbow is tailored to you, it would be less difficult. I found them unwieldy. I prefer blades.” No startling revelation there and it is likely assumed that patrolling means she needs a weapon of some sort on her; one that is not so obvious.

Nasrin rubs a tender spot on her chin, a relic from a prior sunburn while completing a visit to Igen Sea Hold. "I don't know how long it would take to be tailored to me," could she commission her own or would it merely be a matter of practice? "One of your guards, I won't name him because he needn't have any sort of retribution," other than from her when she wipes the floor with him, "claimed a contest with me about target-shooting. Albeit being unfamiliar with the device, I thought it better to honor the challenge— provided I win." She looks to Divale for affirmation. A representative from the Head of the Guard shouldn't be inferior.

“It’s a matter of how it’s set,” Divale tries to explain. “If it’s too high, you won’t have trouble firing it, but best of luck rearming it! Which… defeats the purpose of having it. Unless you intend to end your target in one single shot?” A gentle tease to the weyrwoman and a no-so subtle hint towards an unspoken query. Why does she want to learn how to wield a crossbow? Not that Divale is in any way against it! Her head tilts, as Nasrin gives the backstory to how this all came about and she scoffs. “I can think of at least five who’d be so brazen as to challenge a weyrwoman and expect not to be answered. I’ll admit,” and she smirks here. “I’m sorely tempted to bare witness to this. Supporting you, of course! Just to see their disappointment. I cannot, however, give you much in the way of training. Crossbows and I do not agree.”

Nasrin at least has the upper hand when it comes to the timing of this casual contest of ability. For now, to preserve Judas's good(?) name, she doesn't inquire about how talented he actually is. But that research will come in due time. "How it's set, I understand." Listening to the wingsecond while observing some far speck on a wall. "I… may need to reload. It's possible these targets may even move." Strung on ropes, set on hinges… Nasrin's imagination wanders. "I would love to see a cheering section," steadfast. More people to watch Judas FAIL. "Someday I will have to ask you more about your family, if that topic is not so tender a thing. But for now, I'll leave you to your real duties. Good to see you, wingsecond," almost slipping up by just using 'Divale'. "And have a cookie for me." She pauses before opening the door to judge how vicious the storm outside is. It's not terrible, but she makes a quick exit.

Divale quirks a brow again in an openly quizzical manner. “Just what kind of contest is this?” It’s mostly rhetorical, but Nasrin has definitely secured one Wingsecond’s interest. Her expression soon falls neutral, if not closed and that is answer plenty enough for the weyrwoman concerning the brownrider’s family. “Perhaps, someday.” In whatever crytpic form Divale may choose. Question remains, could she fool Nasrin so easily? The temptation of that kind of challenge and dangerous game is a fleeting thought, before farewells are being given and Divale refocuses on returning them. “And same to you, weyrwoman. Clear skies!” Once that door is closed again and she is left alone, Divale will merely return to her hidework and, perhaps, nibble on one last cookie before leaving the rest for whoever else drifts in; her exit will be a silent and unnoticed thing.

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