Tatia confirms some suspicions

March 18th 2004
Logged by Donis

Northern Bowl
Seasonal winds lash up against the wall of the bowl, whipping the already hard-packed dirt into tiny dervishes of dust and debris: grit catches in the narrow clefts that crack upwards, branching out around ornate arch of the Council chambers to the north and higher about Weyrleaders' ledges and Riders' more distant niches and nooks. Westward, the junior queens' weyrs slant to the bowl floor, while to the northwest, wind roars through the tunnels that lead into the Hatching Sands. Off to the east lie the equally well-tended Weyrling grounds.
It is an autumn afternoon.
Clinging, wind-blasted, to the council chamber arch are seven firelizards.
Brown Piccath is here.

A round face is eternally (and embarrassingly) youthful, bordering on cherubic with proud-appled cheeks that are quick to smile and bright mud-brown eyes. His narrow pink lips are a splash of color on skin that refuses to tan, as are the beetle-black eyebrows; his matching black hair is close-cropped now, all his ringlets shorn away - revealing a narrow scar situated just below the hairline above his left eye. He's got taller and leaner, but still he's still shorter than average (if wiry with muscle): blame to genetics and age.
Plain black trousers and an equally plain (if over-large and somewhat scruffy) jumper of High Reaches blue make up Donis's outfit, with the addition of big black boots.
He is a teenager of about 18.

Tatia wanders in from across the bowl.

Donis is knife-sparring with his shadow in a sheltered (and fairly private) corner of the bowl. Dressed in his uniform, he's moving with slow concentration in a rhythm of thrust and parry.

Deep green is lit with a fire that smolders in the depths of Tatia's eyes, flaring now and then into flames. The intesity of her gaze is eased by the faint fleck of gold that mars the iris of her right eye, catching the light at odd moments. Further paradoxes twine themselves through the 'rider's appearance as a pale complexion smooths over a heart-shaped face, offering a stark contrast to the deep, nearly auburn red of hair that hangs straight and smooth to a spot just above the small of her back. On good days, that is. On bad, it flies in unmanageable tangles, and the 'rider has taken to forcing it into a thick plait in the effort to keep it under control. Both her nose and lips tend to be a little on the thin side - she'd call them 'delicate' - but she manages to hide this fact most of the time with either a bright smile or a withering glare. Her stature forces her to look up to most, refusing to give her the height she might want at times, but her frame is smoothly muscled, testimony to the constant activity life with Vespurath demands.
Midnight sky slides down Tatia's frame in deepest indigo to coat her in the warmth of a summer evening. The leathers creep across legs, fitting well to provide ease of movement. Riding jacket is of the same purple-tinged blue, fitting loosely over her arms and fastening with a row of polished silver buttons. Soft fur edges the cuffs and lines the inside, warmth against the biting chill of ::between::. The midnight of jacket is disturbed by the dance of starbursts, stitched at random along neckline and button line before winding around the hem. The shirt under the jacket is simple, of a softer sky blue that speaks of midsummer's day rather than evening. A dipping 'v' neckline leads into cap sleeves, and the hem ends just low enough to slide over hips . Gloves to match the lightness of the shirt fit snugly and tightly, keeping her grip firm. Boots of a shade even deeper than indigo wind their way up her calves, laced up the side for a tight fit.
She is an adult of about 32.

Tatia is a woman on a mission, and for the first time in some time now, she looks confident and a bit angry as she strides across the bowl. "Donis!" she calls in fair warning as she approaches.

Donis needed the warning: he has enough time to safely stop his movements without cutting himself in surprise, and the knife's sheathed by the time Tatia reaches him. "Greenrider Tatia," he acknowledges her with a polite nod. "Can I help"?

Funny how Tatia can take even the most respectful things in the wrong way. She flinches slightly at her title - the lack of 'wingleader' still stings, after all this time - but then straightens her shoulders pointedly. "If I could have a moment of your time?" she questions quite politely. "I'd like to talk to you about someone. Officially."

"Of course." Donis tucks his hands in his trouser pockets and slouches a bit - not in disrespect, more just to get comfy. "Has someone been bothering you at all?"

Tatia stands with her arms crossed over her chest and shakes her head. "Not.. bothering, persay, but the weyr's been having a lot of trouble with theft lately, hasn't it?" She really ought to know this - such is the price of self-absorbtion.

Donis opens his mouth, possibly tempted towards sarcasm, then closes it again and glances off into the wide blue yonder before answering. "Quite a lot of trouble, yes. I've found a few stashes of things and put up notices asking for information. Some people have been quite helpful, but I haven't pegged a particular culprit yet."

Smart boy. What a surprise, given his parentage. Tatia shifts, frown increasing. "Any reports of things going missing from the cellars?" she questions, prying without offering any actual information, just yet.

Donis nods to that, straightening his shoulders a little. "Michel's spoken to me about some wine going missing," he confirms. "He says he's going to start locking it up."

"Any clue who's been taking that?" Tatia questions vaguely, with a firm nod for the confirmation.

"I have my suspicions." It's Donis's turn to be cagey.

And round and round it goes. Tatia's gaze flickers, annoyed, but even she has to admit that it's probably in Donis's best interest to be vague, for now. "Well, is Axle one of them?" she finally questions. "Because I have it from his own mouth that he's been stealing wine from the cellars. I doubt it's the only thing."

Donis's shoulders slump. "Axle. I can't say I'm surprised - I've had my eye on him for quite a while, and a few people have mentioned him. But to have the gall to /tell/ you…" The lad frowns angrily. "Oh, he's in trouble…"

Tatia looks a bit smug at Donis's reaction. "Indeed. And then to argue that he wouldn't get caught. Apparently he thought I wouldn't care when he mentioned that Michel had been finding his wine gone missing, and replaced with vinegar. The boy practically mocked me when I called him on it." And if there's one thing Tat doesn't take well, it's mocking.

"Mocked you? That's just his style, isn't it?" Donis is righteously disgusted. "Well, he can't be allowed to get away with it, can he?" Does Donis sound vindictive? Very possibly.

Tatia shakes her head firmly. "He absolutely cannot. I even warned him I would be having a word with you." Her arms drop to her side and ball, faintly, into fists. "I may not have the rank anymore, but I think my word is still good for something - and I'll swear to hearing it from him, if you need me to."

"Did he say what he's done with the wine?" Donis asks with faint hope. "I suppose he drank it, so there's no evidence… Your sworn word is obviously good enough of course though."

That last sounds a bit like a patronizing adendum to Tatia - of course, just about everything is heard wrong by her these days - and a fierce frown crosses her face. "He didn't," she states shortly. "He did, however, indicate that the guards would be unable to catch him."

"Perhaps he's leaving the Weyr then," Donis suggests, again with faint hope. "I don't know why he thinks we can't catch him - lack of evidence doesn't apply when he's made a full confession to someone such as you." He dips a nod towards Tatia - perhaps a sop to her ego, but probably genuine.

Tatia is willing to accept just about any sop, lately. Ruffled feathers smoothed, she nods vaguely. "I think it's more that he's too sharding cocky for his own good. He seems to think that if he's not /the/ theif, the gaurds won't care." She pauses for a moment, then adds, "And that I wouldn't care if he hadn't taken something directly from me."

Donis blinks at Axle's reasoning. "Well, he is a thief, and he's said so. He might not be the one stealing jewelry and children's toys, but if he's a thief at all, he needs to be punished. I suppose I should get the sergeant to speak to… well, M'nty, I suppose." Donis looks less than happy at the idea of passing this to the young Weyrleader.

Tatia can sympathize with that. She scowls, annoyed. "Isn't there a way to get around that? If you leave it up to him, Axle /will/ get away with it. It takes the boy sharding /months/ to get anything done."

Donis was a Candidate with M'nty, after all, and knows the Weyrleader pretty well. "Hmmm. Could go to Pyrene, I suppose, though technically it wouldn't be her remit - Weyr safety and what-not is the Weyrleader's job." Donis gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I can't confront Axle myself, you know." With a scowl, he admits, "He doesn't take me seriously."

Tatia blinks in annoyance at that. "Don't you have a knot or something to back you up? I mean, surely the guards don't have to take every tiny detail to the Weyrleader? Honestly! Isn't that what you /do/?"

Donis actually goes rather pink. "I do have a knot," he answers calmly, through gritted teeth. "Unfortunately, Axle doesn't respect your knot - so what makes you think he'll respect mine?"

"I'd imagine a few of your friends, some sharp pointy things, and a few days locked up, at the very least, would be a good start," Tatia suggests. Her expression darkens at the mention of her own knot, and her lips set themselves together, tight and thin.

Donis develops a rather feral grin at Tatia's suggestion. "That would possibly do it. And if the thefts stop, then we know it was him. And we don't need to get the Weyrleader involved at all just to slap someone in the lockup."

Tatia lifts her brows. "Then get to it," she suggests. "If anything, his attitude is sharding annoying. And it doesn't seem uncalled for at all, given his reputation and the current situation."

Donis nods smartly. "I'll speak to the sergeant now, ma'am. I can think of quite a few people who'll be glad to see Axle locked up for a few days." Pulling his hands from his pockets, he swings his arms back and for reflectively.

Tatia nods, and for a moment she looks a bit uncertain. "Ok. Well. You do that, then. Thanks. That's… er.. that's all I wanted."

Donis nods politely again. "Well, thank you for bringing this to me, Wi… Greenrider Tatia. Very good of you. And rest assured that we'll deal with the matter promptly." In fact, so promptly, that Donis is already several steps away, heading back to the barracks.

Tatia refuses to react. She really does. Just a slip, and nothing to - oh, shards. Tatia really must get hold of her emotions. She nods, stiffly, and then turns on her heels, exiting in the opposite direction.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License