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| RL Date: 18 September, 2015 |
| Who: K'del, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin drops by to welcome K'del home. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Alida/Mentions, Averin/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Keysi/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| It's early evening, after dinner, and not exactly the weather for visitors -- a heavy rain has persisted throughout the day, leaving muddy tracks to clean up at all the entrance-points to the main weyr. Still, someone's brave enough (stupid enough? determined enough?) to make the trek, as there's the sounds of booted heels stamping near the entrance, presumably to shed water. Even if Leiventh is perched up on the rim not all that far from Cadejoth, the bronze doesn't provide warning of his rider's presence, as the Savannah Wingleader calls: "Listen, my friend, I know you've had a month lounging around the deck chairs of Southern, but I'm hoping you're not naked in there," because he's stepping into the outer chamber. K'del's not naked, as it happens, and not even shirtless-- his Bronzerider Scar will have to remain unacknowledged, for now. The sound of R'hin's voice has him turning from the hearth that he's stoking up, and then there's that amused expression and that mock-horrified, "Did you know how quickly tans fade, R'hin? Won't take more than a few days more and I'll be as pale as anyone here." One hand gestures the wingleader further in, as the other sets down the poker, job done. "The weather here sucks. Mind, the heat was beginning to get to me, so maybe there's no pleasing me." The noise that R'hin makes in response could be disappointment, though the low-throated chuckle that follows suggests otherwise. His hair is soaked, though his riding gear has kept most of the weather off him otherwise, and protected the bottle he extracts once he unzips his jacket. "If you're well enough to between, you're well enough to drink, no?" with an offering lift of the bottle in invitation. "Mmhmm," he murmurs as he steps further in, grinning. "Grass is greener, etcetera. To be honest, I'm surprised that girl of yours didn't see fit to toss you out. I bet you were a terrible patient." "Do you need a towel?" K'del gives R'hin a dubious glance, though he's already equally turning his attention towards finding glasses for them both-- at least one of the perks of Weyrleadership is housekeeping, and that means they're not dusty. "Pretty sure it close, once or twice. Do you know how boring it is having nothing to do all day but rest, play cards, and occasionally mind your children in a very not-really-in-charge kind of way? It's good to be home." R'hin sets the bottle on the table once K'del starts for the glasses, waving off the offer of a towel, instead shucking out of that jacket and setting it on the back of a chair to drip unceremoniously before he shoves a hand through wet hair. "For some," the older bronzerider replies with an amused ease, "The very idea would be their dream life. But not for people like us." "Ugh," is K'del's answer to that, but with a knowing, resigned kind of acknowledgement to it, too. The two glasses are set down on the table; then, the younger bronzerider reaches to examine the bottle, evidently approving of its contents if his expression is anything to go by. But then... he's always been easily pleased by R'hin's offerings. "It's good to be back, even if it seems my temporary replacement has half the Weyr convinced I'm about to disband their wing." The label is near-faded, but enough of it remains to mark it as quite an old, rather expensive bottle of Benden, at least pre-Comet Pass age. R'hin regards K'del's examination of it closely, apparently satisfied. Exhaling a breath, he shifts a chair out, and sinks into it, tugging hand through his hair again. "Mmhm. Stirred up the locals something fierce. Alida came, looking for a new home in Savannah. Don't mean to begrudge your skills, but in a fight between you and Taikrin, I have to say, my friend, my mark's on the brownrider, especially with you just off your deathbed. Speaking of -- did you hear the one about how this was some elaborate plot by some Southerner to get you down there, presumably to bed your girl? Because people aren't adults with adult relationships." "Oh, is that what it was? Ali'll be thrilled to know her people have such an interest in her wellbeing." K'del's wry for that, but only in passing: more important is uncorking that wine and adding, "Glacier's not on my hit list, anyway. No idea where that idea came from. Serves me perfectly well, having those people grouped up, nice and safe." Beat. He's pouring wine, now. "What do we know about what happened at Greenfields?" "That wasn't even the worst one I heard," but apparently R'hin's not game to share that, or at least, not before they've taken a drink of the wine, judging by the direction of pale gaze, breathing deeply as the Weyrleader pours. His assurance about Glacier earns a wry sort of grin: "Glad to hear it. Have a fondness for the wing, myself -- and that's a more than fair assessment of it's purpose." K'del's mention of Greenfields earns a grimace. "Averin," he pauses, looking tired as he gathers his thoughts, "Riding in the fields at night, pleading with someone. Guess they didn't take too kindly to whatever he wanted, or didn't want -- to do." His fingers tap. "Gambling debts, maybe. Maybe genuinely an accident. A few other things, but they're too sparse to be certain -- still looking into it." As K'del picks up his own glass, he sinks into a chair opposite R'hin, listening with intent interest to the other rider's news. "Mm," he says, finally, holding back on what plainly wishes to be a sigh. "Feels odd, all of it," he admits. "Like... the whole thing needed to have a purpose. Whatever went down. Was it just me? And if so... shells, I don't know. Maybe I'm getting paranoid. H'vier seems to think I need a guard at all times." K'del, plainly, does not. R'hin leans forward to reach for the glass, and there's a deliberateness in the way he draws it to him, slowly, lifting it up and breathing the scent of the liquid, but not yet partaking. His gaze lifts to regard K'del at his musings, his expression largely neutral. "Fact is, even if you were in danger, the sight of the Weyrleader needing a bodyguard outweighs the risk of you being stabbed again. Wouldn't take much more to get back to the paranoid state of mere Turns ago, Glacier trailing the goldriders around like guard dogs. No," he exhales sharply, shaking his head to that image. "You're safe now, whatever that was," and he seems certain of that -- enough that he lifts his glass in a silent toast and drinks to it, anyway. "That was my thought," agrees K'del, making a face. "It's fine for Lords and Ladies to have their entourages, but weyrfolk are supposed to be able to handle themselves. In any case--" There's that toast to raise his glass to, and that's much more important. "It's good to be home. And in one piece, too, for that matter. Guess that's the important thing, even if we never know what happened and why." He says that, but it's plain in his expression that it bothers him, too. There's a flickering of something, very briefly, in R'hin's expression, too quick to decipher. He's silent, taking in the very well aged wine with an intensity that distracts him, perhaps, from the conversation a moment. Then, finally: "It's good to have you back. It isn't High Reaches, without you. Goldriders come and go, but K'del is forever," his lips twitch, facetious, but also not, in that way of his. That makes K'del laugh, though it's more a huff than a real, proper laugh, and his expression, afterwards, turns somewhat rueful. "Seems like it, in a way," he allows. "Just wish I didn't keep outliving them all... though Tiriana's still going strong, one hears. Pretty sure she'll live forever, that one, even if it's just out of spite." "Yes," R'hin exhales, slowly. With an agreeable nod of his head for the mention of Tiriana: "I'd be more worried about being stabbed by her than someone in Greenfields. You know, I once spoke to a man who acted as a Lord's double for Turns -- he even used to go out into the outlying cotholds, to meet people who'd never met the Lord -- to spread his goodwill and generous attention to his people." There ought to be a point to the sudden segue, but if there is, the story trails off, and he takes another slow sip from the glass, visibly savoring the contents. "Shells, really?" K'del straightens, visibly surprised by this particular story, however much of a segue it is. "Funny, but then again... maybe not. Can see it." His gaze drops back to his wine, thoughtful, though it doesn't seem inclined to linger there; it lifts again. "How are you, anyway, R'hin? Keysi's settling in fine, I hope?" "Wouldn't be a bad job -- aside from the potential to get pelted by fruit in the less well-liked areas," is R'hin's thought on the matter, more as a distracted afterthought. "Mm. She's more than fine," and the smile that appears is genuine, as he glosses over the first question in favor of the second: "Like a dragon to the sky. I've Tela mentoring her -- the idea of Tela's spirited approach to life and Keysi's reticence stuck in a wagon together just tickles me, I admit." He's chuckling, well-pleased with himself. K'del leans back again, plainly pleased by this particular progress report-- and then amused, visibly so, by that last comment. "Oh shells," he says, barely restraining his own laughter. "Can't even begin to imagine. Probably do them both some good, though, really. Guess that's why-- can't see you doing something just because it amuses you." "Hoping they each rub off on each other, just a little," R'hin agrees. "Though, mostly it's the amusement," he adds, ruefully. Taking another appreciative sip from his glass, he pulls a brief face. "Ought to warn you; Edyis might ask you about why you placed her in Snowdrift. Or more accurately, why not Savannah." A pause. "You directed her to me, didn't you." "Might've," R'hin admits, without a trace of guilt. Or visible trace thereof, anyway. "Bastard." But K'del, at least, can smile for it. "And what, pray tell, do you expect me to tell her?" "Welcome back, Weyrleader," R'hin says, rather blandly, though he is mindful enough to lean forward and refill said Weyrleader's glass while he does so. Clearly, he's not above soothing the way. "The truth," he adds, with a shrug. In answer, but only after his glass has been refilled, K'del lifts said glass; it's what he signed up for, isn't it? What he sent his dragon back alone for. "Mm," he allows, after a moment. "All right. If she asks. Never know which ones will, which ones won't. Sometimes they don't want to know the answer." "Took her, what, three, four months to ask me. And she did it with bribes of bottles of wine. Maybe you'll do better?" R'hin says, with a low-throated laugh. "Mm. Think Jo put her up to it. Not sure she would've, otherwise." He's draining the last of his glass, and with an exhale, pushing upwards. He looks tired, glancing at the bottle a moment, before gesturing to it grandly, "Welcome back present. Enjoy," with a smile, as he reaches for his jacket. K'del laughs, too, albeit with a thoughtful expression-- one that he shakes off, a few moments later, gaze sliding back to R'hin as he stands. The tiredness; he notes that, though he says nothing. Instead, "Thanks, R'hin. Good to be back. Cheers." Another lift of his glass, another nod for the other bronzerider. There's only a small pool of water at the base of the chair where R'hin's jacket dripped; something that'll no doubt be swiftly taken care of in the morning. For now, the Wingleader shrugs back into his jacket and, with a nod, disappears out into the heavy rain of the evening, Leiventh gliding lazily off the rim to join him down in the bowl. |
Comments
Faryn (08:15, 19 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Goldriders come and go but K'del is forever should be printed on consolation cards for use after the senior goldflights.
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