Logs:A Loss of Rank Between Friends
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| RL Date: 23 January, 2015 |
| Who: G'laer, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer gets quietly fired after Reisoth catches Teisyth a second time. |
| Where: Flight Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 11, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, M'raz/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, Rone/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language, adult-themes, G'laer and H'vier both behaving like friends (which surely warrants a disclaimer). |
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| It's late. Late enough that sensible wingleader and their wingseconds are in bed. Usually not together. But tonight, Teisyth's rising and Reisoth's chasing has ensured that G'laer and H'vier are, in fact, in bed together, both sweaty, satisfied and probably sore from the post-catch activities. G'laer is usually alert, lest someone try to do him in at this juncture as dragon influence begins to wane and sense starts snaking it's way back into sex-addled brains. It speaks volumes for the relationship of mutually assured destruction that H'vier and G'laer have built that he's on the verge of dozing, still half under the larger man. It would probably surprise no one to know that H'vier would be the roll over and fall asleep sort of guy in a more typical post flight experience. In this case, he hasn't even bothered to roll over. Then again, he's not exactly asleep, either, just close to it. Close enough that he only rolls onto his back with a satisfied groan when he feels the need to stretch out his limbs rather than because he's realized he's in bed with a man. G'laer's words come out as an unintelligible mumble first, then he tries again. It's still a mumble but the words are clearer, "We don't need to beat each other up this time, do we?" He doesn't seem particularly ready to do such a thing, not even having lifted his head, or done more than shift his hips to a more comfortable angle. "Think we've grown past that," says H'vier in a lazy, albeit wry, rumble. There are definitely not any quick or defensive movements coming from him. It probably even helps that he knows damned well he's not G'laer's type, despite the greenrider's proclivities toward other men. It probably also helps that he hasn't gotten laid recently, but he'll just keep that to himself. "Can wait till morning, if we do." "Good." G'laer answers, finally shifting, if slowly, onto his knees, and then shifting to slide off the bed to make use of the necessary and pick up a part-full wine skin that was left by someone or another. "Wine?" He offers the bronzerider after sniffing it and taking a swallow himself before returning to the bed, not presently bothering to find his trousers, because why. It's not like G'laer has much shame, and certainly none of the traditional holder variety. H'vier accepts the skin to take a swallow before capping it and setting it on the bed between them. He settles back, tucking an arm behind his head, evidently in no real hurry to get out of here. It's late, though, and his own bed is entirely too far away just now. His eyes close and he might just intend on leaving it at that and drifting back off. G'laer doesn't seem in much of a hurry himself, climbing back into the bed and reaching for one of the blankets, pulling it free of its tucked state so he can have it for himself. "If I stay, my weyrmate will worry you've become my type." But he's so tired, his eyes are flickering closed again. There's a chuckle, of all things, from H'vier in response to that comment. Like he actually finds it an amusing prospect and not a horrible offense. Either he's getting soft in his old age or he's just that sleepy. Whatever the case, it's not until some time later that H'vier is awake and shifting out of the bed to pull on his pants. He's trying to be quiet so as not to wake the greenrider, but men like them aren't often the heaviest of sleepers, are they? No, not so much. G'laer proves it when he says, "Need to talk to you." And here's probably one of the best places to not to be overheard. The greenrider pushes himself so he can roll onto his back and start to sit up. He looks grim when he says, "If I get knocked up, will you do right by me, H'vier?" H'vier's impulsive answer comes with G'laer's shirt tossed harmlessly toward the greenrider's head. But then, rather seriously, "I'd have to be more certain it was mine." Because G'laer is clearly getting plenty. "But I'm sure your weyrmate would be happy to raise our child as his own to make up for my shortcomings." "Nah. I've had my two, done on that score." The two he doesn't like. G'laer answers matter-of-factly, but still amused. He shifts now to get out of the bed and find his own pants. "I have to turn in my knot." This is much more serious, no joking now. "I'm involved with something that needs me to keep a lower profile in case I need to do something unsavory." It's still matter-of-fact. "I was hoping you might be willing to help me contrive a believable, easily forgotten reason to lose it so there wasn't suspicion cast my way." It's the 'turning in his knot' part that gives H'vier enough pause to turn and actually look at G'laer, brows furrowed. "Well," he begins, once the initial hit of the words has passed. "I imagine just about anything would be believed. Coming from me." It's not as though he has a reputation for being the most reasonable of men. "This," he suggests, for instance, with an absent gesture at the weyr they're in. "What, exactly, are you involved with?" is asked as his attention drops to tucking in his shirt and re-threading part of his belt. "How much do you give a shit about the world you live in?" is the question-answer for H'vier. It's not so much really an answer, but more has the sound of G'laer asking him for a secret password as he pulls up his trousers and tugs on the laces. The question makes H'vier attention refocus on G'laer. It's the sort that makes a man curious. "I like to think I give a pretty big shit," he says, no secret password, just honesty. "Enough to do something about it when the world starts looking more fucked up than a six-legged runner?" G'laer asks the question without looking back at the bronzerider, pulling his shirt on over his head and tucking it in neatly. "Say, for example, when Holds continually short the Weyr its due and raise armies?" Not that that kind of thing ever happens in High Reaches. Even if trust isn't entirely the word for what H'vier and G'laer have built up, it's close enough that the bronzerider allows, "I was always disappointed that I didn't get to break Rone's neck myself." That probably shouldn't sound a little wistful, but. It sort of does. If only for a moment. "Was it you who beat me to him?" "No," G'laer glances over, "I was collecting bounties he put out while I was a candidate. I never actually figured I'd Impress." It's all said quite candidly. "Only turns out his bounties were trumped up. Rhey was on his shit list for something. He sorted I was hunting him, and that was the first reason he hated me." There are others now. "But I wasn't part of the Weyr then. My motives are different now. Deeper. I think the Interval is going to threaten our way of life. Make the Holders cocky and the dragonmen dysfunctional. Already people don't remember what it is to live with a clear and present danger that unites us." He shakes his head and looks genuinely sad for an exhale. "Anyway, there are some likeminded individuals who have hopes of safeguarding tradition by doing what's necessary to ensure it." One hand shoves through his hair. "My role is as you'd expect. But I can't have the eyes of a wing on me and perform my role, so I've got to give up the knot, much as I'm loathed to do it." There's a slight pause before the greenrider delivers wryly, "I've enjoyed being under you." "You're telling me that bringing that boy to the Weyr is what brought you back to the Weyr?" That makes H'vier frown for several moments while he considers the idea that G'laer being here is, in a way, totally his fault. But then maybe he's frowning for the rest of what the greenrider says, too. "An Interval is a less than ideal time to be a dragonrider," the bronzerider agrees as though this isn't the first time he's thought as much. "What do you and your like-minded individuals think is necessary?" The concept is agreeable to H'vier, but perhaps the methods aren't. And then, without his usual disgust of the innuendo, "I suppose that's where a good greenrider belongs." Good being the keyword there. "You've been a better 'second than I'd expected you to be, G'laer." "Did you bring him?" G'laer raises his brows, but then has to dampen the good spirits by saying, "Not him, precisely. The Nabol refugees in general. There were a handful of bounties that together made it worth it. I only collected on one." The greenrider considers the next question carefully before giving answer and when he does, his tone is earnest enough. "I think that remains to be seen. They won't do anything until the time is right and it isn't while things are peaceable enough. Some are more fanatical than others. Things are still delicately balanced even within." There's some amusement then when the greenrider says, "I'm sure you'd prefer it to being at your back," and all that implies, "but I think we might've ended up friends through all this, so you might find me there," without that which was implied, "when you need it." H'vier, all dressed except for his boots, studies G'laer while the greenrider talks. "Who?" is the most obvious question he could be asking now. And not just because he's curious. Information is always a good thing to have, though he probably doesn't expect to get an answer. Not a specific one, anyway. "Of all the people I could become friends with," it would be someone like G'laer he'd find some shared ground to stand on. The greenrider smiles enigmatically, call the smile consequence of it still being relatively close to the end of the effects of proddiness. "I'll introduce you to my boss, if you like. But if he says I have to break your arm for you being a disrespectful snot about male greenriders, I'm going to have to do it." It's fair warning, but there's a wry edge to it that suggests his boss probably wouldn't require such a thing. Probably. "So will it be the flight then? Can't have a faggy 'second that your dragon keeps making you fuck?" Sounds plausible to him, and easily forgotten sure enough. "He'll probably catch her again someday." It's resigned, but at least there aren't injuries and death threats this time, so it's probably progress from the last time. "You could try, anyway," returns H'vier, sounding more amused than maybe he ought to considering they've both proven themselves rather capable of hurting the other. "I would like to meet him, though, I think." He's intrigued. Of course he'd like to meet G'laer's boss. Who isn't him. "The flight is convenient and it's no secret that Reisoth is fond of Teisyth." If not in this particular manner. "K'del may frown at me. But Fayla will be happy to have 'second to herself for now." For now. "Try not to look too forward to it," he adds, dead pan, for Reisoth catching G'laer's lifemate again. G'laer lifts a single hand to place it over his heart. It's not in a wounded manner, but rather in a "be still my beating heart~" gesture that is accompanied by an amused smirk. This is obviously in answer to the last. He holds the pose until it's observed and then turns to shove his feet into his boots. "K'del'll probably feel smug that your taking a risk on me didn't work out and now you're out a 'second who might have your back. Do watch yours, with Fayla." Just advice. He finishes tucking the laces into the boots rather than pulling them tight. He doesn't have to go far, just onto his dragon and up to his weyr. "I'll set up the meeting. Might be a time yet. Best not to have too many things happening in apparent coincidence." Nothing's a coincidence, right? "I'll have to act like I'm put out for a time. But then I'm sure we can get a drink without raising too many eyebrows, and without everyone finding out you liked fucking me after all." Now he's actively provoking the bronzerider, but in a friendly manner, of course, since they're friends. The idea of K'del being smug doesn't sit well with H'vier even in the wake of nice flight feelings. But he doesn't linger on that. Or on Fayla. "Keep it up, greenrider, and I'll get to thinking it's you who likes me fucking you." There's only a moment before H'vier proposes, "Are you sure you don't want a black eye or anything?" You know, to make it more plausible. H'vier would be happy to give him one. He's a good guy like that. "Sorry," G'laer grins at the bronzerider. "Fights are more memorable and I need to be forgotten," as much as possible anyway. "If I ever need an injury to sell something though, I promise you'll be the first I call." If he's not the second. He moves to pick up his jacket. "Want to have fired me after the flight? I can ask K'del for a wing transfer tomorrow." There's only a rumble for the assurance of making use of H'vier's generous offer should the need arise. "Aye," is all the bronzerider says for the rest, moving now to slide his feet into his boots. Maybe he's slipping into character so he looks pissed off when he leaves just in case anyone is out there to see him. Look, G'laer can help! "I'll let you go first so you can hurry home to no one." He smiles, but it's a sympathetic smile. Still, he's pushing the button, on purpose. Yeah, H'vier doesn't really need a character to look pissed off. He's just an angry man. Fortunately he just leaves instead of trying to give G'laer that black eye. |
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