Zigbrieth had a long memory. It served him well, but Farnath help you if you did anything wrong. In this case he was considering solutions. He had a problem, and a long list of people who he could possibly call on to repay debts. As he considered solutions, he came back to a singular event, which matched the sort of solution he wanted. Perfect.
Mine. Why don’t we have someone check on K’rad for us? How about Kh’sol? Zigbrieth just stopped short of adding the words ‘he owes us’. Cyanee was still troubled enough to not notice.
Oh, that would be nice. Do you think he would be okay with that? She could not go back down there. Especially not now, she was still dealing with the courier incident.
I will ask. Zigbrieth was going to ask anyway. It was clearly the solution he was looking for. Ornoth. Would you ask yours-
Wait, I can ask. Zigbrieth doubted it. But he was willing to let her try. If only because then he might not have to use the ‘you owe her’ line. He rather save it if he could help it.
-to come and see mine? She has something to ask him.
Three hundred and seventy nine. Kh'sol sighed and flopped down against one of three hundred seventy nine sacks of flour. Time for a break then. How had he gotten saddled with this job today?
Kh'sol, there is a Blue who's Rider is asking for you, Ornoth chimed in. He hadn't said anything back to Zigbrieth yet, it was Kh'sol's decision to make.
Any idea what they want?
Not in the slightest.
But it'll get me out of here for a while?
Most likely. You should probably find a way to be excused. How are you planning to report the tally? You can't write.
Point taken. Kh'sol slipped out of the back rooms and into the kitchen. He handed the board of unintelligible records to the first person out the door. "Very sorry," he said, "Something's come up, I'll be back," he said. "Jot down three hundred sixty nine bags of flour would you? Thanks." And off he went.
Who was it, again?
Oh, you mean Cyan's dragon, probably. I think he's the only one we're decently acquainted with. I'll head that way, would you check?
To see Cyan, you mean? Ornoth finally clarified. Where might she be found?
Of course. She’s in her quarters. Zigbrieth neatly gave the appropriate directions for the Brown, then remained quiet for a moment. Cyan was relatively stable right now, in so far that she wasn’t actually crying. The Blue wasn’t the best at touchy feely, but he did know there were some times to keep his mouth shut. But now he figured a status report would be most agreeable. Kh’sol is coming.
Cyan seemed to cheer up from that. Since she was expecting someone, she went and preemptively kept the door open. Might as well, since her room was clean and it wasn’t exactly private conversation. Well, sort of. They weren’t friends, she just cared. She sat down on her bed, trying to reason out why she had done that again. It had been so clear a while ago. Dawn and Breaker found their way onto her lap, and she stroked them while thinking about what she was going to say. Hopefully that made things better.
Directions and excuse to leave the storage rooms given, Kh'sol made his way to Cyan's quarters. He noticed the door was open, he stopped and knocked on the open door, leaning in. "Cyan? Did you ask for me?"
“Kh’sol! Yes I did, come in.” Cyan didn’t have the same pep in her voice as usual, but she put effort into trying to smile. She waited for him to come in, perhaps take a seat in the chair she had. Still she wanted him to be settled.
“I was wondering if you could help me. I have someone I…can’t really visit. I was hoping you would be able to check up on them for me.” It was awkward trying to figure out how to say this. Especially because she didn’t really know how to explain why she cared so much and her particular weaknesses that prevented doing it herself. She did have to explain some of the problems though, since this wasn’t really about going down the street to say hello to a neighbor.
“Their name is… K’rad of Midnight Belegurth. He’s, um, in a cell in the lower caverns. I’ve been sending him letters, but I really don’t know how he’d doing.” Concern made a lump in her throat and she waited for it to calm. It took a while. Hopefully he was okay with silence. “I just want to know that he’s okay.” That was all. Yes.
Kh'sol came in, sat, and made himself comfortable. It was nice to sit. Better than counting things in dark rooms. Whatever Cyan wanted it'd be fine. Right?
Well, maybe not fine by standard definitions. But Kh'sol wasn't standard.
"So you need a favor?" Kh'sol stated after she finished explaining. He could go look, see that the man was okay, for whatever it was worth to Cyan. It seemed an easy enough job to stay in her good graces, and he would probably be relieving some other sap who didn't want to lug food (supposing this K'rad was being fed) down all those steps.
"Looks like you asked the right man for the job," Kh'sol reassured. "He's not...ah, dangerous, is he?" He wanted to know just what he could get away with down there. A look? Or could he get closer? "Maybe you could tell him I'm coming, if he's a friend of yours? Set things up to go well for me, as you can? What's the guard like? How much of a brute? Do you know?" He'd do it, but he wanted all the information he could get. It would go smoother, he supposed, and well, Cyan was a kind soul, if not a little too ready to accept things without question.
Cyan waited on baited breath as Kh’sol said simply that she was asking him for a favor. She nodded, while Zigbrieth seemed cross for some reason. Still, she waited, until his positive answer was given. A smile spread across her face, a genuine one. She was glad. Kh’sol was generally so confident that she had no problem putting her trust in that confidence. He did have some questions about the situation though. Well, she supposed that made sense if he didn’t know anything about Kel.
“No, he’s not. I doubt he could do anything even if he wanted to while he is down there…” She shuddered at the thought, the memory was unpleasant. Kh’sol continued to ask things, but Cyan didn’t know how useful her answers were being. “I haven’t gotten a letter back yet, I could send another one with you. By way of introduction. If you tell him that you came instead of me he’ll understand why.” Kel knew, about her phobia. He’d reason it out. Going once was already hard enough, she didn’t know if she could make it a second time, even with Zigbrieth’s help seeing open sky.
“I don’t know about the guards. He never mentioned anything about them, and I didn’t notice them. I only went once and I wasn’t in the mood to pay attention to much.” That was putting it lightly. She didn’t want to say that the last time she had cried like crazy and almost had an attack. No, she didn’t need to say that.
"Guess I'll have to see for myself then," Kh'sol said. He pressed his lips together and to the side in thought. Not as convenient as he'd hoped, but still doable, and from the sound of it not that risky. "Well, if that's all you know, let's get to it then. Do you have it written out yet? Is there a time they expect deliveries, for meals? I could go that way, probably less out of place like that." He paused.
"So, today? I don't have much to go on, I'd rather get it over," Kh'sol admitted. He'd get down there, food tray probably - whoever took it normally would be glad not to make the trip. And he was used to taking other peoples' jobs.
Wait just a moment.” Cyan jumped up to grab her writing materials and quickly pen a letter. It didn’t have to be fancy, just something to let Kel know what was going on here. She wrote it up as she gave more answers to Kh’sol.
“That sounds right to me. If someone has to go in anyway, it should be alright. And today will be just perfect. Here…” It really wasn’t much of a letter, but Kel knew her handwriting and a simple message like this would be fine.
This is my friend Kh’sol, he’s here to check on you for me.
Cyan handed the letter to Kh’sol, and gave a smile. “Thanks so much for doing this. I really appreciate it."
"No problem," Kh'sol took the letter and folded it again. He smiled back, though his nervousness peaked through. "You can appreciate me later. I'll be off then," Kh'sol supposed. First stop, kitchens, to figure out who did this job and how he could take it off their hands. And so without further fanfare, Kh'sol strode out and towards the kitchens. His expression changed to relief.
You and your eavesdropping are no help!
Psh. I should know what you're up to. Plus you aren't working this angle well enough.
No Ornoth. I do not want your advice.
But she's pretty and-
NO! Kh'sol frowned. I will be presentable for this job and...no. Later.
Ornoth rearranged his tail with a smug expression. Of course Kh'sol didn't want to be back on that subject that plagued the Brown, but he had stalled until later. So he left it at that.
About fifteen minutes longer than it should have taken a body to arrive at the kitchens, Kh'sol did. And he began his easy conversations and loose questions to determine who was dealing with this Kel person.
Great Faranth, I hope she doesn't have feelings for him... Ornoth butted in.
I told you to shut it.
With only a few interruptions from Ornoth, he was successful in gathering more information than he had set out to get. He chalked it up to improving skills. So after another wait, it was an appropriately slow time in the kitchens for a tray to be sent. Kh'sol started on his way and found that this Weyr, though mostly nice and colorful up top, had a dark underbelly. It sat wrong with him, that this place was here, but if what he had heard from the kitchens staff was even half true, maybe it was a necessary place to have.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Aug 29, 2015 14:22:22 GMT -8
K’rad hadn’t heard anything since the guard had stormed out. He’d eventually managed to scramble back into a more tolerable position, sitting on the stone half-bench that was built into the wall for no purpose he could think of. He wished he could tell himself that the guards were likely to believe him if he told them that it was nothing he’d done, that Cyan’s brother just objected to them writing messages, but… not likely. They might believe the part about Cr’wean not liking the letters, but that wouldn’t help much. They’d just take away the privilege of writing and then precede to convince him to tell them what he’d written that had made Cyan upset. It was with no small amount of trepidation then, that he heard the sound of approaching footsteps once more.
He heard voices, outside the cell, but the words weren’t distinguishable. The door was shoved open then, and one of the guards stalked in. Before K’rad could do more than start to stand — confinement and bruises really didn’t help fast movement — the guard caught his shoulder and jerked him up, slamming him into the wall in the process.
“Look sharp threadbait, food time,” the guard snapped, placing a sword level with K’rad’s blackened eyes. “Clear!” he called.
Outside, another guard gestured Kh’sol to enter. “Guess we might as well let you get a look at the threadbait,” he’d commented, when the new tray guy came down. The guy hadn’t seemed disturbed by this notion, so the guards had decided to go ahead with it, though they weren’t going to reduce security enough to just send the guy in unescorted.
Kh'sol nodded at the guards as he arrived. He stood there still and silent as they heckled the man inside. Brutes then. Without eye contact and keeping his posture small and unimportant, he walked inside. It wasn't a nice place. Stale air, unpleasant smelling, though it deadened the nose after a while. Kh'sol embraced the dim room, feeling hidden in its dinginess. He didn't look back at the guards, he kept his expression steady.
He made it to Kel's bench. He set the tray down and turned to look at the man. His face turned from the guards, Kh'sol smiled, lips closed one side turned up, one eyebrow lifted high above the other. An analyzing smile.
Well shells! You're tiny! Ornoth butt in. Again. Definitely not proper competition. Cyan'd be nuts to be in with you. I mean, you're shorter than her, looks like. That matters you know.
Like you'd know. Kh'sol's eyes had long ago rolled up unseeing towards the ceiling. This Brown. Supposed to be checking on this guy, and all he wants to know is if Kel even had a shot.
Anyhow, now that we've established you're probably not nor ever were-
-involved with Cyan: How're you fairing down here?
You know I know worse.
Not the point.
Kh'sol took up the damp cloth and dabbed at Kel's hands. He saw the bruises, multiple, different colors. That meant old ones mixed in with new. But not bloody. Kid could have it worse. And there was really nothing he could do about Ornoth - he was going through a stubborn phase. He said nothing and cleaned, as best he could, Kel's hands.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Aug 30, 2015 14:22:46 GMT -8
No sooner had the young man set the tray down then Kel knew something was up. Something was… off. He returned the young man’s analyzing look with practiced indifference. It was a look he’d had lots of practice with, even before coming to the Weyr, though he’d been re-honing it again recently.
A voice in his head, one that didn’t belong to Belegurth, caused him to flinch slightly. The voice was way over-stating the degree of his involvement with Cyan, and how…
No he’s not.
Yes, he is, she was a friend, nothing more! She couldn’t have been more, not with his knowing she’d just find herself in trouble alongside him, torn between loyalties as he was.
K’rad’s gaze flicked back to the shoulders of the other young man. Not that he expected to see anything. Anyone clever enough to sink himself in as the tray-carrier would be clever enough to remove the knots that would defeat the entire purpose. Sure enough, there was no sign of the betraying knots on the young man’s shoulder. Maybe, in better lighting, there might have been something, but not in the half-light of the cell.
“Hey, this ain’t social hour, man,” the guard snapped, as the tray-carrier started cleaning the murderer’s hands.
Kel tensed, looked up at the other youth, trying to warn him silently. I’m doing fine, he thought, though a thousand aches and the pain when he breathed gave the statement the lie. Tell your rider to get out of here, before they realize.
Hey, what’s he ever done for you? Why are you warning him?
“What’s wrong with you tray-man?” the guard demanded.
Kh'sol gave K'rad's face a brief wipe with the cloth when the guard first started to challenge him. One pass and he set the rag down, head still tilted to the floor. He stood and backed away from the prisoner, not looking up at the guards. Meek and unnoticeable, like ages ago at the Hold. He hadn't forgotten. He'd gained inches, but submissive postures like this to bullies could make you seem small.
"Was told ta. I'stop." Kh'sol shuffled backwards through the cell. He didn't want to be hit, but if it'd made the guard forget his annoyances then he'd take it. He saw the warning in Kel's face. He had no other choice in this moment. He'd chosen to come here, now he had to see himself out. He kept moving towards the exit, waiting to be let go, booted out or hit. All ways out. Any would do, really. He kept his body language at 'going' and left it at that.
Well. Don't die or whatever. It'd upset Cyan or something. Ornoth suggested. Her note's with the tray. I'd suggest not letting them see it.
Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Sept 1, 2015 12:57:44 GMT -8
The guard seemed appeased by the submissiveness of the tray-man’s departure. At least, other than the second demand, instigated by the young man’s having raised the rag to give the prisoner’s face a brief wipe. Even then though, he didn’t take his eyes off the retreating figure.
I won’t, K’rad assured the dragon, watching the retreat of the tray-bearing rider with much the same intensity as the guard, if for other reasons. K’rad hoped the man would have the sense not to try coming back. He didn’t dare relay it to the other dragon though. He’d delivered enough warnings, more than enough warnings, to say more would just guarantee trouble.
K’rad reached for the tray, only to earn a casual fist to face. He used the time while the guard was slamming him into the wall and snarling at him to knock the tray ‘accidently’ with a foot. They’d make him clean it up, and he’d be able to hide the letter while doing so. He hated to do it still though. He wouldn’t be seeing food for another day at least, and the loss of this meal nearly made him cry just from shear frustration. He knew Cyan couldn’t have picked a different way to get a message to him without the guards knowing, but to earn both a beating and to lose his meal just because of letters from her, of thiings going wrong on her end of things…
Told you: she doesn’t care.
Still trues Belegurth’s voice held no victory, no pride. Indeed, it might have been closest to sympathy.