Who

W'rin, Threvobek

What

Secrets aren't so secret but it's not so bad.

When

It is midmorning of the fourth day of the third month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

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 decor 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 than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found particularly in the evenings.


Tucked not to far from the Weyr, but far enough that few without dragons search him out, there is an desert inn which Igen's Weyrleader uses as an escape. There are few times since he's donned the knot that the opportunity has presented itself, but still today a bright spring day, the man his holed up near the low burning hearth a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a flight chart in the other. But even in this relaxed state, the man's leathers are errorlessly pressed, even when no one is looking an air of formality encircles him.

Threvobek has been riding hard. Not ridden hard, that would have made the expedition worth it. Since the sweep schedule's leak and subsequent cotholds assaulted, some of their livestock escaped into the desert. Tragedy coupled with more tragedy for animals used to human care. Enter Threvobek and a few other opportunists game to track and 'rescue' the beasts. Having caught two runners and four caprines, this Weyr stablehand has been boarding them at the inn for a couple sevendays, waiting for the right time to blend them with the Weyr stock. Last night's pursuit was bogged with little problems, but nothing dangerous. Either way there's nothing to show for it and the teenager, late waking, decides to fill his veins with strong klah. He isn't expecting too many patrons at this hour, but the Weyrleader easily stands out, giant that he is. Rev, small headache at home in his forehead, flings his eyebrows up in silent surprise.

Isn't intimately involved in what happens in the lower caverns (and at Igen other parts) of the Weyr as the goldriders, but he knew of last night's expedition. The sweep riders having been told to make sure nothing happened to the rag-tag team of Pernese cowboys. Caprine-boys? In any event, he's found out now, and almost as surprised the Weyrleader's own bushy eyebrows sweep upward, and he offers a 'you caught me hiding' shrug. Whiskey lifted in a toast and then to point a seat near by, should the lad be staying for a moment. Be amazed, the Weyrleader actually remembered a non-rider he met. "Afternoon." Is offered across the small bar.

Threvobek's mild dehydration can wait. He pours himself klah from the brazier, adds butter in an old Igen precedent and drinks. The fat from the butter, an oily layer on top, sticks to his lip and right away is licked off. Mmmm. "I won't tell if you won't." Rev's morning voice is groggy but finding an easygoing rhythm. He won't rat the Weyrleader out, one reason being he'd rather not be banished or something drastic. "Afternoon, Weyrleader." Not identifying as a rider, a salute is eschewed for a hand to chest tribute. "Wait, afternoon? Sweet summer sandstorms…" A wince reacts to various pains he'll assume later in the day, headache being only the first. "Not a bad place, is it?"

The substitution is both accepted and appreciated as the man settles back into his seat, "Aye. Afternoon, but you guys had a late night of it didn't you?" A grin creeps along his thin lip line. "Sit, sit." His hand sweeps back at the chair, before he tastes his whiskey. "No, not bad at all. Comfortable. And they don't turn me in." He flickers an appreciate nod of his head to the bartender, before turning back to the stablehand. "Been hiding here since I was a wingleader. Can actually get some work done." But he rolls up the chart just the same, "You're making yourself quite an asset to the Weyr. Aye?"

"Thankyousir," Threvobek bridges a few words, not worried about enunciating, and kindly takes the offered seat. He has on yesterday's linens and a riding vest dull with repeated exposure to desert elements. Should he smell badly it was at least earned. The first instinct at being called out is to make quick movements but Threvobek is a creature of cards and this 'tell' is overruled with a slow sprawl of his forearms and general detachment. Who, me? "Unsuccessful though." Not taking the man for a fool. W'rin can look for a lie but won't find one. "They're either dead under the dunes or in someone elses stable." At the 'asset' part, Rev just rollllls with it. "If anyone could use extras it's the Weyr, sir." Nevermind the two runners he sold already for personal gain. AHEM. "Are the attacks decreasing?"

"If you could 'prove' they were ours, I'd make sure we backed you up if you took them 'back'." W'rin's duty is always to the Weyr, whatever it takes. "If that becomes a necessity we can deal with it later." Apparently the stablehand has been roped into something without his consent, or perhaps it was a joke. Either way the Weyrleader is studying the younger male over the edge of his whiskey glass. "Aye, perhaps, but you showed initiative. That's more than can be said for most…" He trails off, Sadie has been working with him on tact, but he decides against it for now, "At the bottom of the ladder. Perhaps you'd be more useful not just mucking stalls. Hmm? Are you happy where you're at." The question of the attacks gets only a lifted eyebrow, his assessment taking a visibly less approving note. "I've never wished harder for the summer sands to come early. That'll at least stop them…" And the passing of major goods, but every silver lining has some grey.

Threvobek continues drawing off the klah sip by sip though all it seems to do once it reaches its destination is make his stomach growl. He allows the reaction a couple times before deciding, "guess I'd better take care of that. Can I get you anything? Sometimes their ricemeal doesn't have too many hulls in it." He usually splits that breakfast with his mount. The porridge, hours old, has congealed but is still warm. Doctored with copious amounts of spices, Threvobek sets it on the table for himself but remains standing to see if the dragonrider has a request. Seeing how he has the Weyrleader's support for the round-up, "Appreciate that, sir." Having a few spare seconds Rev reaches into his firelizard's mind to see where the brown holed up for the night. Valmai is apparently still sound asleep. The bum. "Happy as anyone else, someone's gotta do the work though I do more than ferry dung." No rancor. The Weyrleader has more to worry about than the full range of a stablehand's duties. "I have recently agreed to give Veresch a hand as an operative, or whatever it is she… does." That liberal girl a package of mystery he's trying very hard to overlook.

"I'm fine." The Weyrleader waves off the request with a hand, especially after getting a good look at the offering, and adds on a "But thank you." With an almost repressed look of disgust. "Just keep me updated on what you're doing and who you're taking from." His eyes unfocus in that dragon-rider characteristic way, for a moment, and when they refocus Threvobek has mentioned Veresch. His lips pull away from his teeth in the smallest of sneers. "Be careful with that one." Jaws set as his crosses arms over his barreled chest, a clear look of distrust for the woman settles on his face. "I have no time for people who are knot grabbers and not looking for the best interest of the weyr." Whether that is a warning for the male, or about the woman is left unsaid. "Who will you be offering to her?"

Good because Rev's famished. The young man sinks back in into the chair, hikes it closer to the table and stirs vigorously for less time than necessary. The cinnamon-and-whatever-else smells good but strong. Maybe it counteracts the copious amounts of butter he just drank. Nodding at keeping W'rin abreast, Threvobek eats a giant mouthful but graciously keeps his mouth closed. "Oh I'll be careful," Rev vows with some power. "In fact I'm very tempted to design a harness just to keep her under control." Marketing scheme? He'll give it more thought later. "I'm supposed to offer cover when we're 'afield' especially those places a woman can't go." Eating more. "I'm still thinking on that harness."

[Desert Discourse] Threvobek: I am, Threv is, thinking harnesses for women.
[Desert Discourse] Linny might like that.
[Desert Discourse] Threvobek: I hoped you could be in my ad campaign :D
[Desert Discourse] Linny is on board.

W'rin snorts appreciative laughter at the idea of Veresch in a constricting harness. "Aye, well if you manage to find a way to get it on her, I'd pay you." Grasping at the sides of his chair the man hoists himself with a grunt into the air, "Cover? Are you working with the guards?" Useless creatures, though not as incompetent as before, that really doesn't say much. "When you have made, more concrete plans with her. Let me know. If you would." He'd like to know what that woman was up to. "And if you'd ever like to put the shovel down..I'll see where else the Weyrwoman might like a trusted worker. Hmm?" And with a brief nod of farewell the man stalks out of the Inn.

Threvobek's humor falls on a diminished scale— he's going to be the one working closely with Veresch. But the stablehand does have a droll eyeshine. And the guards? Legally? Not per se. "In a sense. At least one of them knows," Threvobek openly confirms but not which one. His bosom buddy Segany has furnished a few 'off the cuff' pointers. As Rev's spoon rings clockwise around the empty bowl's interior, the Weyrleader's bearded face is carefully watched. "I'll see what I can do for you, sir." Perhaps taking up the cloak of a double agent. Threvobek cryptically watches W'rin leave, eyes backtracking to the freshly vacated seat. "Darling Faranth, what'm I getting myself into." Shit was so much easier when it could fit in a shovel.

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