Logs:Cheers!
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| RL Date: 2 February, 2016 |
| Who: A'sran, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov has an important job for A'sran. |
| Where: Waystation, Southern Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dahlia/Mentions, Tavish/Mentions, Mabry/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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| Ordinarily, a sweep's well-punctuated by a stop at a waystation, like this one is; with weather as dreary and dismal as Fort's had of late, though, a waystation down South is looking better and better. This one doesn't seem too unused to random riders showing up, and it serves a fine savory pie to boot; N'rov's tipped back in his chair, coat and sweater and scarf all off, as he speculates A'sran's way. "That ovine, I really think it climbed up his," beer. There's the beer, and smiles for both bronzeriders from the young man who serves it. Leczuth has given up his rigorous watch over the eggs to enjoy the everyday mundaneness of sweeps and the resulting perks. He watches the sky from his perch, and his rider, from his, studies N'rov, with a half-smile. "Up his," A'sran mimics, quietly, but his eyes light up at sight of the drinks; his he handles with care, between his two hands. "To.. finding the lucky lads, and lasses, for Taeliyth's eggs," he says, lifting his glass then -- and managing not to slosh the beer either. "Not 'Leczuth's'?" N'rov asks, amused, brow up and beer... down, shortly, a swallow's worth down his throat and the glass itself set down onto that table. Vhaeryth's high in that same sky, but gliding, copper-dark wingspan wide to soak up that sun. "Leczuth is proud enough that I need not mention him every time I mention them." Amusement shines in A'sran's eyes behind the frothy rim of his glass. "I think every dragon on the continent knows, by now," is dryer, less amused, but sufficiently good-natured. "I see." N'rov's gaze pauses on his wingmate; he sits up a fraction then, enough to twist for a better look at that back room where their server had scuttled away. A long moment later, he drops back. "Not that much longer before the hatching, though I'm sure it'll feel like forever. Especially to those who already tried last time... Have they been hunting you down, yet? Did you," there's a grin, "when you were the one who Stood?" "Some days feel longer than others," is A'sran's cryptic answer, and he does not appear immune to his own dry answers, his mouth breaking into a lazy grin. "I have encountered a few, but not many. They may get more desperate to find me the closer they get to hatching. Me?" He takes a swig from his glass and contemplates, blonde brows surging together. "I do not think I hunted down N'muir at any point then. I might have after. Commonalities and that." N'rov tips him a nod: 'and that.' "Easier to hunt a man down if he's already hunted you for his wing," he supposes, the layered undertones obscure. He doesn't seek to pin A'sran down for more of an answer; perhaps he has his own secret decoder ring, or thinks he does. "At least they're unlikely to climb up to your weyr to find you," has more humor to it. "Let's just say I check on mine every now and again, to make sure it's still there... But, looking further afield: what are your thoughts on our new-made Lord Boll?" N'rov's candidness has A'sran laughing lightly and setting aside his drink. "The big weyr is supposed to be a step up, not down," he replies. "I will keep my sky level weyr. Thank you." And it might be that he set aside his glass to keep himself from toasting his own fortunes, in the face of the weyrleader's. "Lord Boll? I have not heard much about him, not enough to form a solid opinion on his rule. His lady, Mabry, is more memorable from what I hear. What of you?" "Working with him on those fields he wanted cleared went well. He seemed reliable, both in his scheduling and summations," though N'rov waits to clarify until after another swallow. "What he said reflected what we found, you know? We both benefit." He considers A'sran. "He also respected what we and our lifemates won't do." One blonde brow arches in response to weyrleader's words, and without the actual words, A'sran seems to encourage -- it could be the slight lean forward and the earnestness of his gaze -- N'rov to continue. "'Appreciative'; that was the other thing. Regardless," N'rov spreads his hand wide, the one that's not holding his drink. "It's an association we'd do well to foster. I visit; we've been breaking bread," so to speak, "every month or so. But there's more that can be done. And it strikes me that the two of you have... compatible temperaments." "Lord Tavish? And me?" That thought tickles A'sran, and simultaneously embarrasses him a little. Head slightly down, he levels a grin at the weyrleader. "Appreciative and understanding?" The smirk N'rov gives him is appreciative in its own way. "Something like that," he says. "I wouldn't lend you to Baliol, A'sran. As it is: I'd like someone trustworthy to... not be at a Lord's beck and call, certainly, but available now and again for transportation; lending more... consequence than even our watchrider might. Or, perhaps, more flexibility. Someone who can get along, who can form but not force a connection that will mean we're more than strangers on the mount... but whose dragon might remind him that we're not to be taken over, either. Someone who can pass the odd message, like you've been doing. Think you're up for that?" By slow degrees A'sran regains his easy demeanor, as the task becomes more evident. "I can do that. I can be at his.." His smile stretches so his dimples show. "..not beck and call. Do you have particular plans for South Boll?" It not being Fort or Ruatha, or either of the Halls, even. "Stability," said at the end of N'rov's own slow smile, his forward lean. "'Positive relations.' More of that 'drink every time I say flexibility.' Keeping a discreet eye on him, and contrariwise what might imperil his Holding, won't hurt. I'd like a better idea of what he'd like to see; something to talk about when the weather warms and people's spirits rise. If you wind up with ideas? I'm all ears." The blonde-haired bronzerider tries to keep his expression level for the weyrleader's benefit. "I will keep my eyes, ears, and thoughts.. open," A'sran responds, not curbing the half-smile that settles as he sits back and resettles in his chair. "I am honored you would think of me," comes with a nod of head, a reach and lift of his drink not long ago forgotten. Cheers to new alliances? N'rov's is a swift grin. "For good reasons," he says. All sorts of reasons. He raises his own mug, preparatory to digging back into that savory pie, Southern sun instead of Fort's chill slanting in through the waystation's wide window. Cheers, indeed. |
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