Fort Weyr - Roc Wing Lounge
As soon as one enters the Roc Lounge, the sight of the broad banner of Roc Wing draws the eye, a talon above Fort Weyr's crest, in striking black and browns. It hangs above an enormous hearth, which provides warmth and light, even in the coldest months, keeping the room cozy and adding a faint woodsy scent to the air. The walls are decorated with various tapestries and keepsakes from all across Pern, with a large, detailed map of the planet dominating one wall. Opposite it is a painted mural depicting Roc dragons, laden with cargo, flying in formation above a picturesque landscape. Another wall is taken up entirely by shelving, containing books, hides, and various trinkets.
Behind a tapestry of the weyr bowl is a dumbwaiter with a bell that rings whenever a tray is delivered. A sturdy desk is tucked nearby in a corner, with a computer for those who chose to work, while various nooks with newly-installed electric bulbs provide steady light. There are glowbaskets as well, hanging from hooks on the ceiling, iluminating the rugs in Fort's colors that have been set out on the stone floor. The furniture in the room consists of comfortable chairs and couches, arranged in several small groupings, with low tables placed conveniently for drinks and plates of food.
Mid-afternoon finds the Weyr drenched by a steady outpouring of rain, which slickens the slopes and muddies the bowl. Faranth has surely taken pity on the dreary inhabitants, however, as it falls gently, heavy clouds content to release their contents without much fanfare or lightning. Traffic continues much as normal for the Weyr, and it would seem a that most of Roc wing is also out and about in their duties, though their fearless (temporary) leader is staring at a computer screen with a small frown as she reviews some data there. More papers — letters, shipment manifest, and other things — are piled beside her in two piles and it would seem that the Journeyman is doing their best to import the data into the system and make sense of it. Klah rests on the other side, long since having gone cold, but that doesn't prevent the young woman from sipping on it now and then, her focus clearly excluding the unpleasantness of the temperature.
G'val is on time, promptly stepping into the lounge with a nervous twist to his hand. The man is in his late teens, a brownrider of some promise but soft spoken among the wing. He steps up to the desk and salutes smartly, eyes level ahead and not looking at his Wingleader. "You asked to see me, ma'am?"
Well, at least something is happening on time. Yhri looks up as the brownrider arrives but doesn't answer him just yet. Instead, her work is saved with an almost deliberately delayed precision, the windows of her work closed. She takes a final sip of the tepid klah and sets the mug down, pushing the chair away and rising. She turns toward him, forced to gaze up due to the height difference, but her features set in no less stern a cast. "Sit," she pronounces with an air of finality, pointing to a nearby chair. He's lucky, as it's one of the reasonably comfortable ones, though it is low to the ground. Intentional? Perhaps. She waits for him to obey, hands clasped behind her back as she paces a slow, small circuit before him and then turns to stare him down. Words come, coiled and concise: "I am dearly interested in your side of the story, G'val. Why don't you share it with me?"
G'val stands rigidly as he waits, not moving, not twitching, just standing and staring into the distance. He's trembling slightly, but he tries to hide that. Sitting when his Wingleader directs him to sit, he awkwardly folds his long legs to settle down with a thump, but doesn't protest. Eyes continue to stare ahead as she paces. "I'm so sorry," are his first words, hands clutching his knees. "My orders were to leave the runners in that clearing. So I did. And I went on to my next job. I should have followed through, I should have checked up on them, I know I should have. I feel awful. I feel so horrible that those runners died, died in their crates, because I didn't make sure they were picked up again. I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry."
"Sorry doesn't undo the tarnish to Roc's reputation, G'val." Yhri's words come through only slightly gritted teeth. She sighs, tongue flicking over the enamel as she regards him thoughtfully. "Nor do all your would haves and should haves." Anger boils in her belly and stiffens her shoulders. "By the First Egg, even as quiet as you are even you can't have been oblivious to the importance of that shipment!" Her voice raises but slightly, still lashing out like a verbal slap. She seethes for a moment and seems to rein it in, glaring down at him coldly — though down is more of levelly, given her short height — and purses her lips. "On whose authority were you bid to leave the runners in that field?"
G'val shakes his head firmly. "They chose me for it 'cuz I'm good with runners, was raised in Keroon, and Havelth doesn't seem to spook 'em as much as other dragons." Then he blinks. "Ma'am?" He doesn't quite understand the question. "It was on the orders. Leave them there for another Roc rider to pick them up and take them the rest of the way. I still have the orders," and he fumbles in his jacket with shaking fingers.
Eyes narrow slightly as Yhri looks at the young brownrider, trying to determine how truthful he is being. « Ciki, could you please ask Havelth what he recalls of the incident? » No doubt that she'll get something of an answer that way, she turns her focus back to G'val with a small, thin frown. "I see." As he fumbles around in his jacket she takes a somewhat at ease stance, waiting and trying to back off a little bit from driving the brownrider into a total emotional frenzy. Palm does extend out, flat in askance. "Whatever you're ready, wingrider." Her tone somehow seems to imply the threat of demotion.
G'val blanches, finally getting the paper out and pressing it into her palm. But he doesn't stay cowed for long, bristling at her tone. "If you want to kick me out fine," he snaps, "but you can't do anything worse than what I've done to myself these last sevens. Ma'am." Havelth, for his part, is a mellow brown and he responds swiftly. « It is as my rider said. »
Yhri takes the paper from him with a sharp, precise flick of fingers and arm, both hands coming into play to spread it apart and smooth the wrinkles, hazel eyes scanning the contents. Her frown deepens at the name on the parchment, then after a moment more folds it neatly and tucks it into her own pockets. « Thank you, Ciki. » Eyes flash as he finally loses his temper with her, and it doesn't take more than a second or two before she is in his face, surprising strength in her small frame as she shoves him back into the short chair, kneeling on his thighs and her belt knife suddenly at his throat. "I don't know what you've heard about me, G'val," she snarls softly in his ear as her free hand pulls at his hair to hold him, her lips brushing against his ear. "Nor what you came to expect from N'hon in all his lenience." Her breath is hot with fury, yet barely a whisper. "But I can assure you that what I can do to you will be worse than anything you have done to yourself, last sevens or no."
To say G'val is shocked is an understatement. To say he just wet himself a little wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration as she's suddenly on him and /threatening/ him with a knife. "You're insane," he whispers, not moving an inch. "Get off me. I want out of this room and off this wing right now."
Damage done, Yhri finds herself regretting the loss of control and lets out a low sigh, letting the man's hair go and sheathing her dagger. She backs out of his lap and puts her palms up in a mollifying gesture. "No, but I am tired of all the excuses and lies being fed to me," she counters. She swallows and manages to meet his gaze despite her self-directed anger. "Look, G'val, you're a good wingrider from everything I've seen and heard. I shouldn't have done that, but I have to get to the bottom of this before the whole Weyr loses its supply train." Her lips flatten into a thin line. "Do you understand?"
G'val stands up abruptly when she lets him go, eying her warily. Fearfully. He was just assaulted! "I didn't /lie/ to you!" he snaps, pointing at the manifest. "It says RIGHT THERE that I was to get the runners from Keroon and deliver them to THAT clearing, so that another rider could take them the rest of the way!" And he edges towards the door.
"You're right, and I was excessive." Yhri watches him and casually steps in his way, hoping that perhaps her open admission will earn some of the trust back. "But we cannot afford any further losses, otherwise Roc and Fort's reputation may be irrevocably damaged. Shells, they might be already for all we know!" She points to her desk where the papers lie in stacks. "Do you have any idea how many deliveries are being canceled after that fiasco, G'val? We're hemorrhaging marks and goods like a gutted yellowtail. I have asked very little of most of you throughout this, but that is going to have to end. I can't be some nebulous presence in the back of your minds. You don't even take me seriously." She looks up at him with a frown. "If I am extreme it is because I feel the need to be. Because my trust is abused. Because I want Roc to be the best again."
G'val freezes when he blocks his exit, eyes going from her to the door. "Please let me go," he says, voice soft but tense. Anything else he wants to say, he doesn't.
Yhri frowns at him thoughtfully, feeling truly terrible for her earlier outburst. Really blew that one, didn't you? "I will," she assures him with hands raised in a mollifying gesture. "And I promise not to bring out my knife again." She sighs. "But I really do value your input, though I hope perhaps we can both keep our tempers in check in the future." She offers her hand in trust. "At least give me a chance to make amends?"
G'val frowns at her. "I didn't lose my temper." He didn't draw his /knife/ either. "I don't know what to tell you, ma'am. I did what I was told to do. I didn't follow up and make sure they were picked up as scheduled. That part is my fault. But making me drop them off, and the other rider not getting them, those things are not my fault."
"All right." Yhri lowers the hand since it doesn't seem G'val is biting. Black eggs and crackdust! She does her best to keep her expression kind and thoughtful, though she's feeling like a total heel right now. "I will speak with V'drez about his part." And probably see a mindhealer…. "I genuinely appreciate your candor, G'val, despite my reaction. I hope that we can continue to be candid, despite my attempts to put the fear of Faranth into you."
G'val frowns at her. "You succeeded. I'll have my transfer request to you by morning." And he turns to go, hand on the door, and hesitates. Turning to look back at her, he frowns. "If you want our trust you have to earn it. That knot gives you nothing." Then he's gone.
Her first failure. If Yhri is inwardly chewing herself a new one, she doesn't let it show on the outside. "I understand, G'val." She moves out of his way, conceding the fight and letting the brownrider depart. As he stops and speaks again, she turns to face him. Anything she might have said it cut off by his departure, but the words weigh heavy as she shuffles over to her chair, sinking down into it and covering her face with her hands. Way to lose the best rider you had, Yhri! A heavy sigh escapes her and she's up again, this time heading out of the lounge to find something constructive to do with her stress.