Logs:Heavy
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| RL Date: 14 November, 2014 |
| Who: K'del, X'vae |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A brief encounter between a bronzerider and a bluerider. |
| Where: Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Mielline/Mentions, Z'riah/Mentions |
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>---< Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr(#1803RJ) >---------------------------<
About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting
clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not
terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room
to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst
of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even
an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end,
nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge
itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the
stone as it is.
Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess
of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room
that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in
traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a
collection of mismatched tables and chairs. Towards the back, there's a
bar made out of old, recycled wood, manned during peak hours; there's
plenty of alcohol on display behind it, though most of it tends towards
the cheaper end of the range. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover
the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room
has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a
variety of other spirits ready and waiting.
A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone
floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from
the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking.
+views available
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
K'del M 33 6'4" Slender, Toffee hair, Baby Blue eyes 0s
X'vae M 24 6'0" Muscular, Dk Blonde hair, Mutable blue-gre 20s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Rim Sky
>------------------------------------------< 8D 4M 36T I10, spring afternoon >---< It's late afternoon, drearily wet and cool, but at least not outright cold, which is a relief after winter. The lounge is presently unstaffed - which is unsurprising - and mostly empty, though K'del is hovering behind the bar, bent forward to hunt through the available bottles and glasses in apparent search of something. It's not unusual to find him in here, at least on occasion, but it's early in the day for his presence; still, he seems cheerful enough. Apparently, they teach manners (to some anyway) at Monaco. X'vae has shaken his jacket out where the wet has infringed upon the warmth the lounge offers and hung it on one of the hooks, tapping his boots free of the mud that comes with the wet before sauntering into the lounge, a hand pushing through damp blonde locks that are on the longer side of his variable range, though his chin bears only the afternoon shadow of growth. His eyes shift across the few faces here, raising a hand to casually greet a Snowdrift greenrider whose hand is offering him a wave before he turns toward the bar. "If you find some good whiskey," X'vae's friendly baritone with its faint trace of a Monocoan accent extends to the Weyrleader before he's standing on the other side of the bar, "would you mind passing it this way, Weyrleader? I tip well." The last is a joke judging from the pull of his lips into his easy smile. It's funny because he's not a waitress. Get it? (No one said they teach good jokes.) "If you're tipping at all, I'm clearly over-paying my riders," is K'del's comment, dubious to the point of-- well, it's pretty dubious. He straightens, though, and adds, "And if there's good whiskey, that's probably even more problematic. You want that, you're in the wrong place." Wiping his hands idly on his trousers, as if to wipe away any remnant sticky liquids (presumably of the alcoholic variety), he lifts his chin, blue eyes lowering to consider the other rider. "Got some pretty mediocre stuff, though, if you're interested." The first and second gets an incorrigible sort of grin from X'vae. "Don't ask, don't get," the bluerider intones as if it were a motto to live by (it probably is). "I'll take it." He leans the distance to the lockbox after fishing his contribution out of his pocket. "I come here for the atmosphere," he remarks congenially. "Where else does a lowly bluerider get to rub elbows with his Weyrleader?" This has an edge of good humor to it as well. "I heard, I think, that you had a hand in all this, sir?" He gestures to the place on the whole. "My wingleader did the most of it," says K'del, with a shrug, though he's also reaching now for two clean glasses, and then one of the bottles. "But I was involved, sure." It's common knowledge, really, that K'del does not lead a wing himself-- and that, increasingly, his 'wingsecond' position is more honorary than anything. A glance around the cavern has him adding, "Imagine talking to me was not your reason for coming in, though." "Glad he did," the bluerider's appreciation for the space seems genuine, but he doesn't linger on the topic, nor does he address K'del's curious lack of wingleadership just now. Instead he confirms with a smile, "No, sir. Wingleader Mielline has been kind enough to let a few of her riders help me learn the 'Reaches ways of search and rescue maneuvers after hours. We meet for drinks and lessons a couple times a seven," this is an ideal place for that kind of thing, in the slow times like this. "Should like to be of better use if ever there's a need." Like there was. He doesn't say like the storm aloud, but it's there in the serious timbre of his voice, the convivial qualities muted for the moment. K'del's expression immediately turns more solemn, his thoughts clearly going directly to the storm; do not pass go, do not collect 200 marks. "I see," he says, as one of the glasses is slid towards the other rider. "Well, good for her. She's a good wingleader, Mielline. Been doing it a long time." That, however, leaves the bronzerider without anything further to say; floundering, he takes a sip from his glass, instead. X'vae will sip with him. "She seems it," the bluerider says with genuine appreciation and respect. "I'm learning a lot." He glances toward the Snowdrift riders, now two, but not the complete set he's waiting on. Brow furrowed, he looks back to the Weyrleader. His voice is quiet and touched with tragedy when he says, "There were two ships that day. Two ships and we couldn't help them both." The man squares his shoulders and he takes another sip. "We're learning to be better, though Faranth knows I hope we'll never have cause. What's the saying? Hope for the best, prepare for the worst?" He looks at the whiskey, "Maybe this isn't good enough stuff for this. Sorry." 'This,' the storm. "Not sure any whiskey is good enough for it," says K'del, holding his own glass up to peer at it through the glow light, as though it might be improved by it, or at least made prettier, glowing. "But it's fine. We're unused to dealing with disaster, these days. Twenty turns of Impressees who've never fought thread; how could we be? Doesn't mean we don't train, prepare ourselves the best we can. Evaluate how we did and... do better. It could've been much worse." The bluerider inclines his head to concede the first. His eyes follow the bronzerider's glass before flicking back to the man's face, listening and giving the older man's word's due gravity. He only nods in answer; who is he to have an opinion about this? He's a wingrider; evaluations of the Weyr on the whole isn't a part of his job description. "Shells but this got heavy," he sighs after another sip. "Not that heavy's bad, of course, only we don't really know each other." And yet the things that make it heavy offer them a kinship of sorts. "Some of the guys and I are organizing informal kickball games a couple times a seven now that the weather's improving-" (read: there aren't drifts as high as a man in the bowl anymore) "If you've time some afternoon, y'ought to come by." And just be one of the guys, is the implied. Can Weyrleaders do that? Maybe X'vae doesn't know the rules. K'del's relieved, clearly, to take the topic of conversation away from such weighty matters, though there's no denying that he's surprised by the turn it does take. "Kickball," he repeats, giving the word rather undue gravity, though there's a hint of a smile about the corners of his mouth, too. "Not sure I wouldn't ruin the fun, being there, but... maybe. One of these days. You're settling in, it seems. And your... friend?" "I'll have Zaz let Cadejoth know when there's a game in case you want to join," X'vae says with a smile and a slight raise of his glass, dismissing the notion that K'del might ruin the fun. Pish. "We are. Every day a new discovery for Zaz. Yizi and Z'riah had a bit more of a time of it, but he's found some friends, so that helps, I think. I think he finds Glacier to his liking." There's some amusement there before he glances toward the Snowdrift riders, the third just settling in. "Seems they're just waiting on me now," he offers with mild apology. "Will you excuse me, sir?" K'del's, "Good, good," is already a little distracted; his, "Yes, yes, of course. Enjoy yourself," is even moreso, coming as it is with a wave of his hand as, even now, he begins to turn away. |
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