Logs:Credit
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| RL Date: 13 January, 2016 |
| Who: E'dre, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: E'dre and N'rov jaw over drinks. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, C'stian/Mentions, D'vro/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions, Ebeny/Mentions, Eden/Mentions, Elayne/Mentions, Eryn/Mentions, M'vyn/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Roveny/Mentions |
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| Sprawled along the chaise N'rov had so reviled, the bronzerider picks at the tough fabric that now slipcovers its fancy shininess; "Did you ever use this," while E'dre lived here, "or just walk around it and give it the side-eye so it wouldn't leap out and blind you?" Some drinks into the evening, there's a bottle on the floor with a ways to go. E'dre shrugs his shoulders and glances at the chaise. "It wasn't my stuff to use or not. Maybe I used it once." The smirk he directs N'rov's way and the brief wrangling-of-brows hints at what that may have been. He takes another sip of his glass and eases back in that all-too familiar slouch of his as he glances around the space. "It feels off though, doesn't it? The plague brought about so many changes." He hides a grimace behind another gulp of alcohol. "Figured this would be N'muir's until his heart gave out completely." The scowl N'rov directs at E'dre is a dark one, and would be darker if he weren't about to say, "I had a drudge sniff over all the furniture in this place to make sure it was safe." Which might be a lie through his teeth, but it's enough to let that scowl become a smirk. The rest deserves his glass raised, a silent 'to N'muir'; "Let's hope his heart survives a while longer. Longer than it would have done, for sure; longer with C'stian there..." He shrugs. E'dre's far enough in his cups to be glib and he answers that dark look with a wider smirk, "What? Not as if you're saying Ebeny isn't safe, hm? How horrible that'd be for you on multiple accounts." He hefts his glass up in response to that toast, "To his easy retirement with family." He finishes off his glass and reaches to pour more. "Seems Southern tends to call everyone. Ebeny and the kids have been settled there almost a month now." That brings a momentary scowl down to replace his easier humor though he does well in shaking it off rather quickly. For him. The kids who aren't his kid. N'rov leans over to get his glass refilled, too, silent on the subject of Ebeny or that move, or of Roveny for that matter; "Next thing you know, we'll be living out of Ali's pocket too." After the briefest of pauses, he raises his voice, "If anyone's eavesdropping," they're not, Vhaeryth's clear about that, "that's a joke. J-o-k-e joke." Back to E'dre, "Though we got D'vro and his lot, so at least part of that's going the other way." "Who cares if someone heard. You can slam them down and punish them however you want. That's the best part of being Weyrleader," E'dre is just too cheerful about that direction. "I do enjoy spending my down time in Southern. I see the pull. Maybe when things are more stable here, I'll end up down there. For now, you and the others, have to put up with me. Cece would be dysfunctional without me, I'm sure." He smirks around another sip of his drink. "Did you hear the latest gossip on her? Seems she's gotten tangled up in a little love triangle." Yes. E'dre can gossip like an old auntie and from his grin he's enjoying it! N'rov has to laugh. "Don't tempt me," he warns, and with sincerity. "What is the latest? Last I heard, she was panting after M'vyn, but that's not exactly new. She's just," now he frowns, nothing overt, but there's a hooded quality to those gray eyes and a subtle twist to his mouth. E'dre catches that frown and sighs as he lowers his glass away from his mouth. "She's still bitter. It'll get better. It's not as if I've lost Hematite and you're not Weyrleader. It's the change that's hard on her. We lost a lot of good people to that plague." He lifts his glass up in a toast to the dead and then downs what remains quickly. "She's with him? I can never figure that relationship out. He's more of a prick than I am. Though I do like listening to him sing. Nah, she's torn between a weyrmated couple. Oryth caught both their greens I guess. The dragons as much of a player as his rider." A pause and then he tilts his head, peering more closely at N'rov. "How're you holding up? With the Weyrwoman. With the baby." He hasn't forgotten Roveny. "It better get better, or she'll shrivel up and," it might be just as well that N'rov breaks off and toasts, too. His swallow's not as deep, more speculative. "Sweet, sweet songs for your tender ears? And, what, she won't 'embrace them both'? Me, I'm fine. I keep telling you, Mirinda's good people; don't believe everything you hear... from anyone else, anyway," and there's the smirk. Briefly, regarding the baby, "Gotten over some colic." E'dre nods his head and then laughs. "You'd think Cece would be all for a tumble with that number, right? But she's off, like I said, her usual game." He eases himself back, lifting brows at the mention of Mirinda being 'good people'. "Hattie was good people," he reminds, looking sour, "and it did nothing for this Weyr when the Council decided to intercede where it shouldn't." He lifts a hand to stall any comment from N'rov, "but it's done. I'd much rather have Mirinda leading us than Dee. So don't get me wrong there." He frowns at the mention of colic. "That's rough. I'm glad Ebeny is in Southern. She'd be beside herself knowing that she wasn't well." N'rov eyes that hand with a lift of brow; choosing to go along this time, he listens, and in the end he leaves the rest to a grimace. "So you won't tell her, I take it. It's done now. It's fine. She's got a few teeth, even, crawling up a storm." Except for the part where she's two months old. "How can she be crawling?" E'dre asks, frowning at N'rov. Baby-rearing is something he's done three times now. "Did you confuse your own daughter with another in the nurseries?" He seems serious in that question (the ass) as he refills his glass. "She doesn't want to know details. It doesn't mean I don't." That's a reminder. He takes a few sips of his drink, looking off at a distant wall. "Don't be a shitty father. Or Weyrleader. I'll stand by you," he reminds N'rov as he looks back to him. "As I always did for N'muir. For what it's worth and our rocky friendship aside." He must be far in his cups for that admission. "She's just that talented," N'rov asserts, just as deadpan as before; it's only afterward that he lets the other man see his slow, growing smirk. "Yeah, working on that. Count on you, too." He leans forward, not solely to offer the next refill, though there's that too. "Don't lose your head and drop it on Cee, she'll lose it even more. I left Hematite in your hands," left Hematite, "for a reason." "As a consolation prize?" E'dre asks all too dryly. He's probably heading in that too-inebriated-state for serious, professional conversation. That does not stop him from continuing on with another sip. Cece isn't there to drink them under the table, but maybe she's there in spirit as he's somehow landed another refill within a short span. He eyes N'rov's glass. "Are you slowing down? Drink up." He taps his fingers against his thigh. "You liking your placements for the other wingleaders?" For that, N'rov gives E'dre quite the serious, professional roll of his eyes: as if. He does seem happy enough to top his glass off when the brownrider reminds him, at least, though there's no question he's drinking more slowly than the older man; maybe bronzeriders really can't hold their liquor. Or, maybe it's the awareness of just how early breakfast with their goldriders is going to be. "So far. We'll see how that works out. Got to say, it's fun moving it all around, though I shouldn't make a habit of it," wistfully said, boys with their toys. "It's not like we've got Thread to face," E'dre replied with a shrug and then something darkens his face. He shakes his head, choosing to drink rather than share. He rubs at the back of his neck briefly and heaves a sigh. "I fucking hate change," he declares out of the blue. "At least when I run Hematite drills I don't have to think 'what will N'muir think' but all the same." He shakes his head, downs the rest of the booze, then looks gloomily at N'rov. "I miss it, you know." He's eying that knot. "And I don't. Think it destroyed my marriage. But still. I did something with it. I was more than the asshole 'Second, or the crafter." "Tell me about it," N'rov mutters after that comment on N'muir; he'd been moodily eyeing his glass, but now looks over at the weight of E'dre's gaze. There's a slight grimace somewhere in there; he flexes his shoulders, knotted and otherwise. "Yeah, because they never did anything at all, just lazed around," he says dryly. "So what's your favorite 'something' you did, big man?" "Held it all together when we lost Lilah, kept things going when Hattie was doing her best for everyone and put on a good face even though I knew it was hard on her. Organized our Weyr when the plague hit. I mean, shells," E'dre can't hide the bitter edge to his laugh, "it's not as if it was smooth sailing and boring like all the times Ali and I handled things." He shakes his head, "Ali," he mutters, "one of the few goldriders I always liked." This draws his gaze up and he turns it on N'rov again with a calculating look. He finishes his drink (perhaps for courage?) and asks, "Did you see yourself being a Weyrleader with Aishani? I wonder if it's hard, seeing someone else beside you. Hattie and I always wanted you to be a Weyrleader, y'know. I bet N'muir did too. So don't get me wrong when I'm pissy about my life, okay?" "Shells, it wasn't," smooth sailing, and that's muttered too. N'rov's got a nod for Ali; Aishani causes a quick flicker in his gaze though he doesn't interject, and then... then the bronzerider's just looking dubious. "Right," he says. "All the times you lot thought I was dragging E'ten around, getting him into trouble, and got him thinking that too. 'Weyrleader N'rov,' that's what you really meant. Same with that time back at Igen; with promoting C'stian. Or is it that you just wanted me to be 'a' Weyrleader, somewhere else? Don't you think that if I'd wanted that, with Shani, I'd have left for the Reaches way back when?" E'dre laughs, he can't help it, as he tosses his hand through his hair and gives N'rov a roguish grin once his mirth has settled down. "No one told me they had a track to put you on to get there. And for a while there you were just young and didn't seem like you cared. I promoted you, didn't I? I started to give you more responsibilities. Why'd you think I did that? Because I wanted a young handsome bronzerider at my side?" He snorts and then he adds, more quietly, "I shouldn't have brought her up." He isn't moving for anymore alcohol. "It's getting late. I should probably get going." "Yeah, yeah," N'rov doesn't dispute all that seeming, or clarify either, though those gray eyes gain an amused light that belies the lingering intensity. "That must've been it. If anyone asks, I'll give you all the credit." He doesn't say anything about the rest, about his girl that was, one way or another; he just stands, all the better if E'dre wants that bronzerider to be giving him a hand up: no crashing on his couch this time. Maybe next seven. |
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