Logs:Flexible Change
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 6 January, 2016 |
| Who: N'rov, Ka'ge |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: An unlikely bronzerider is recruited into N'rov's new wing. |
| Where: Council Chambers, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear auntumn evening |
| Mentions: A'sran/Mentions, W'leri/Mentions |
  |
>---< Council Room, Fort Weyr(#839RJs$) >------------------------------------<
The Weyr's meeting space is a long, oval space with a large stone table
placed in the middle. There's seating enough for twelve around the table:
plenty of room to welcome most of the Weyrleaders and a good portion of
the Lord Holders from the north, though additional seating might be needed
if a Pern-wide meeting were to be held here.
A sideboard stands ready to serve, regardless of the occasion and is kept
well-stocked with carafes of wine, water and several fine liquors. Fresh
flowers, appropriate to the season are changed out regularly in the vase
atop the sideboard. Tapestries depicting Fort's illustrious history from
founding, to Moreta's role in the Plague to Lessa's arrival to bring the
Weyrs forward in time bedeck the walls, leavening the omnipresence of
cool, gray stone. Well-lit, the chamber boasts glows in niches around the
room, as well as oil lamps hanging from the ceiling.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Ka'ge M 17 6' toned, black hair, blue-green eyes 0s
N'rov M 33 6'1" lean, dk. brown hair, gray eyes 18s This time, it's N'rov seeking Ka'ge out, not one of the latter's intermittent visits; this time, though, it's via Vhaeryth, who sends an inverted image of the council chamber. The oil lamps may not be lit, but the the glows in their niches cast darkness onto the long table and other furnishings who in turn shade in light. They're wanted... both of them. When the junior bronzerider enters the council chamber, he'll find N'rov standing before that table; if he's quick, he'll catch him passing through the contents of a slightly more than palm-sized sack, assessing. Zymadiath's shadows on the horizon become no more prominent at Vhaeryth's summons, but there's the feeling of a sway of the eb and flow of the figments- a sensation of confirmation. And whether he was nearby already or made his way to the council chambers with some speed following the invitation, Ka'ge is prompt in his appearance. Prompt, but quiet. When he reaches the doorway to the chambers, though, it's with slow, deliberate steps until he comes to a pause just within. "Weyrleader." Is a heavy word the way he intones it, though not without a twitch at the edge of his lips that might eventually become a grin. Observant gaze flickers down to his hands, but don't linger long. "To what do I owe the honor?" Although there's certainly the lightly-restrained arrogant flare of the young man, his laid-back curiosity is as present and earnest as it had been when he'd sought him out times before. The dark head lifts, though not with the jerk of one being caught out: lifts, and turns, part of one easy movement that is that weyrleader's smile and the rest of him turning, too; turning and then treading to meet the other man just within. N'rov's gray glance surveys Ka'ge, and then he says drily, "It's my Turnday." That smile hooks deeper. "Let's go." Not far: only just outside, where from beneath that overhang both men might see Zymadiath... if he's there to be seen. There's nothing but patience as N'rov turns and then approaches, the younger bronzerider's maybe-grin becoming more of one, if curled more to one side than the other as the weyrleader speaks. "Your turnday." Ka'ge echoes, slower, as he follows him in turn- without complaint, without concern. "I'm always one for a drink, but surely you have more grand plans for such a day." It's light hearted, though his baited curiosity taints it, his words more questions than conversation. The dark bronze circles above, his true shadow below on the bowl itself. Not too terrible an elevation, the slight tilt of his head regards them as they exit. But to his vigilance he returns, carried slightly upwards by a warmer thermal. "I won't have you dying on thirst," N'rov says, "on my watch." For all its lightness, it bears a peculiar ring, obscurely like a promise even as, all the while, he's looking up towards Zymadiath. His eyes have narrowed slightly, assesing, but not the same way as he'd gauged that small bag he'd held; it has the wide-pupiled vision of a man seeing a dragon. That, and something more, before the look he gives Ka'ge is human again. "How are you taking to Flint, with W'leri gone?" Taken. Co-opted. Willingly. Ka'ge doesn't follow his gaze after a brief observation to see what was of interest, instead watching N'rov's expression. His gloved hands find pockets, a soft hmh of a chuckle within his breath give at that. "It might just be a legitimate concern soon." He plays on, blue-green eyes slipping aside briefly to watch a couple of riders pass them at some distance when the more directed question comes. The grin wavers but remains, a thoughtfulness bringing about a shrug and rustling of his flight jacket in the movement. "Flint has very.. relaxed time tables." This, a good thing by the way he drawls, "I've spent more time out at the Holds than here. The bonding," The word seems to bring a renewed sense of ironic amusement, "Mostly the poker-nights, which many miss." Himself included, he implies. "It was my first placement." Seems to be the rest of the answer, unattached. "Most of that I assume you already know." "It's more the change," N'rov says, but unhurriedly so; even if he should know most of the rest, even all of the rest, it has its own value. A lift of a brow encourages Ka'ge to continue if he likes. In the end, though, "I think I've found you a 'good place,' of sorts. Here: have some of my Turnday present." It's a badge he slips from the little bag: a wing badge, that is not Obsidian's despite the predominant black of its hue. But it's also a badge that he holds up rather than gives, as though it is an offer, an option, rather than the requirement he's capable of compelling. "My wing. If you choose." Ka'ge, usually ungiving of details, seems only mildly to hedge with time and words on the matter. Encouraged to continue, but not hurried. "Unconcerning." Summarizes it all, simply. "Not enough to cause unrest- with me, or those I've spoken to." In what infrequent extracurricular time he makes for the ones he's referring, "Do you plan to change it more?" The return of a question seems more comfortable than the search for words he'd been in, but it becomes less important when N'rov slips the badge from his bag. A brow lifts slightly, that curious sort of way, "I'm pretty sure someone once told me you're supposed to receive gifts on your Turnday, not give them. I might be a little rusty." He runs a hand through his disheveled black hair, "Your wing-" Is noted, slower, "Not Hematite?" Hematite, with its silvery sheen picked out with dots of white. "No. 'Onyx,' by name." N'rov bares his eyeteeth in a grin, after that brief but significant nod for that lack of unrest. "Have to keep the weyrlings on their toes, those who thought they knew all the wings already. I'm picking and choosing, you could say; so, yes, there are more changes coming." The sun, that part of it that is not cut to shadow, catches the glossy threads as the wind does. "To the Weyr's favor, is my hope. Yours, Ka'ge, would be the first... gift... of my day." "For what purpose?" Ka'ge, intrigued is still nonchalant, with a casual readiness, and willingness to listen. With gentle creases still at the edges of his eyes, amusement is not entirely gone, "Tradition based, less so?" He relieves a hand from a pocket to gesture lightly, vaguely, across the Weyr bowl, "You're recruiting, looking for something particular, I'm assuming, in specific riders. Who else has joined you?" That doesn't seem to be the question he wants to ask, but a better preliminary one as he pauses there. "A certain flexibility," and there's a slight smile for those words used in common; N'rov waves his fingers against each other so the badge catches the light once more, then drops his hand to his own pocket, thumb inside and badge outside: not withdrawn, but for the moment set back. "Not to mention, vitality." He names a handful and change: not enough for a wing the way they've known them. A'sran is partway down the list, A'sran who hasn't stopped doing Carnelian's duties, but as yet no other bronzerider and only one brownrider. "We'll be doing some drilling; some sweeps; some filling in where needed. Not to be confused with inserting our collective noses in anyone else's business," is deadpan indeed. "I was recruited to Flint because of Zymadiath's-" And his, goes unstated, "Less than graceful teamwork. Our drills are imperfect," Those few that Flint did were less a priority than many other things, "And I have no..." He takes a strangely slow inhale, "formal craft training. I'm not sure how I would be of benefit to your wing." If any of the names on that list bother him or spur some recognition- which some certainly should- he doesn't show it. Instead, Ka'ge's gaze steadily follows the badge. The last statement earns a flicker of his gaze back to N'rov's expression, eased by the following quiet breathy chuckle, "Hard to not overhear something when surrounded by some of the chattier wings." Is innocent, surely. "Indeed," N'rov says of that last, with the too-polite inclination of his head and the slighest of smirks. He's relaxed, the way he stands, relaxed and ready but unhurriedly so; his dragon's up on the Rim, watching over when he isn't shamelessly yawning. "I think you have the flexibility," he surmises, "and I'm not worried about the perfection of the drills. Drills are more... to keep up the skills, so that if the comet should return," when he speaks again, the involuntary chill of that evocation's left his voice, "we won't be so rusty as all that. Nor is it... formal craft training that I need. Nor want, if that's all they want to get back to do." "Flexible." Ka'ge's agreement is a cool one, with a dip of his own head that resembles a nod. "That I can be." A beat. "That, I am." Reservations fade by degrees at his description, the younger bronzerider quiet and thoughtful between his responses. "What you need, a wing that can do it all? The vitality of a wing that's a substitute for the absences elsewhere- will it still be viable in time when there are less holes? Or are there plans beyond the present?" He doesn't seem to be asking particulars, not yet. But surely there's something worthwhile in Flint- maybe the time alone?- that he must be losing to present questions here, at such an opportunity. "Of course." That's utterly assured, part-surprised, and just as relaxed as before. As is N'rov's, "I have in mind to find out what you think, as it happens. The wing won't remain this small, but in the meantime, we have options." Interesting options, his tone implies. "But if you want to stay in Flint, I understand that. I'd have seconded a wing sooner if I'd left Hematite." Ka'ge's gaze falls to his gloves, which he pulls at the hems each in turn. "An open ear?" Might be a little surprise, but toned as simply continued relaxed inquisitiveness. Especially at his last statement, there's little missing the returned, searching look he gives the weyrleader, "I've become a little fond of my outward visits, but all the changes here.." He pauses, his grin drawing broader, unevenly so, "I think change- more change- would benefit us. And I imagine we could be of benefit to such a wing. Besides," This, a little eerie, but with the humor more prominent, "How could I possibly deny a man on his turnday?" N'rov lets him look at him without objection, at once serious and amused in his own right; he can look all he likes, even if N'rov's slight smile widens as Ka'ge's grin does. "Keep in mind whose name you're riding in," is his only caution. And for the last, "Not to call into question your capabilities," of denying, "yet..." There's the badge, extended once more. Once more. All Ka'ge has to do is take it. "My track record is imperfect, but my capabilities-" Ka'ge's dismissive smirk leads to a short shake of his head, which is stopped when the badge is produced again. "We take great pains to ensure we don't look poorly on the name we keep." Is worded very particularly, and when he does finally reach for that badge, it's with far less reservation. Taken, he smooths a gloved thumb over it, observing the details of it but more lost in his own head than its intricacies, "If you have the time, there's much more I would like to ask. But maybe after you've celebrated a little more appropriately. A drink?" It's an offer, maybe returning that earlier notion and favor. All that particularity leads to the lift of one brow, ever so slight but there, and the corresponding quirk of N'rov's mouth; "A drink," he agrees easily, and he'll go with those questions... before they are, inevitably, interrupted. One down. |
Leave A Comment