Logs:Igenites Everywhere
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| RL Date: 6 March, 2015 |
| Who: R'hin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin and Telavi spend a day at High Reaches Hold, but Telavi has other things on her mind. |
| Where: Dockside Bar, High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 8, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Bristia/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions |
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Isolated on its westward-jutting peninsula, from the landward side High Reaches Hold appears burrowed deep into the mountain, with only a few shuttered windows overlooking the rows of cotholds that line the river road. Its double courtyards appear designed more for transportation or defense than for welcoming visitors. From the seaward side, the slant of the windows overlooking the fine deep bay attempts to ward off the sea winds, the higher stories evading the less pleasant odors prevalent at low tide. However cold and bleak the Hold's setting may be, inside, its colors of dark blue and tan act as neutrals for the warmer, brighter hues of its llama-wool tapestries and rugs. Below the Hold, oval caverns house lengths of seasoned wood for its shipbuilders, and to its outskirts are several minor Crafthalls including a glass-smith's shop. Though the Hold's main access is by sea, the river road leads to its Weyr and the rest of Pern, while minor roads lead to a few outlying Holds and the distant lighthouse. A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. They've spent most of the day in and around the docks of High Reaches Hold. There's nothing too exciting to speak of; work continues on a new ship, though it's slowed down over the winter period, there's still a handful of seacrafters and local builders continuing to progress there. The Maddy's been gone from port for exactly two months, though there's no sign of her and apparently no expectation from the locals she'll be back any time soon. There's some talk of the Lord taking his family for a break away from the Hold, some murmuring it's for the best, and others not excited about the prospect of their Lord leaving High Reaches in the hands of Igenites. By early evening, R'hin and Telavi aren't the only ones with the same thought in mind -- heading for the local bar down by the docks. Sea-salt isn't exactly the nicest for Tela's skin, but it's not like wind-chapped on sweeps would have been either. Her expression is thoughtful enough that she might already be reassessing her cosmetics regimen, only-- murmured through her backward glance before going in the doors-- "Igenites all over." "They probably say the same of Reachians," counters R'hin mildly, a pace behind her. "I'll get the beer, you find a spot to sit?" he suggests, though it's less a suggestion than a... well, he's already heading for the bar. Her nostrils flare, but it's not like Tela minds; putting on a smile is second nature, watching the room for enough moments to see its patterns and-- there are a few people whose voice rhythms have changed, for all that they haven't yet started to get up, straightening from what had been a cozy huddle of five around a table set more freely for two. It may not adjoin the wall, but at least it's not by the shuttered window's drafts. She sidesteps, she stoops, she-- scores. The table's theirs, and she has mollifying chatter for the big lug who's that little bit too slow. "...Back soon, you know, and won't it be nice when the winds aren't so harsh?" has more to do with her mien than her actual words. Second nature. Just, today, it's more like work. R'hin doesn't linger overlong at the bar -- long enough to establish himself with the bartender, exchange a few quiet words and a laugh, and some coins, when the pitcher of beer and glasses are set down. Then he's threading towards Telavi, pale eyes approving of her choice even before he sets the refreshments down and sinks into a seat. If there's an exhale and relief in the way he rubs hands against each other for a moment, well -- he's not exactly wearing his usual warm riding jacket, and while appropriate for the sort of work they've purportedly been doing, the jacket he's chosen isn't the best quality. "I miss Monaco's winters," he says, and while it's a casual, throw-away line, there's something in his tone that suggests it's more than just a filler line. She tracks the man's departure with what isn't, tonight, an apologetic smile so much as a sympathetic one; more to the point, she tracks his departure, that he is in fact going. While R'hin rubs his hands, Telavi starts to pour, her knuckles briefly not quite so red thanks to the pressure. She slides a glance at R'hin while there's still plenty of space to go. "They seemed... inviting." R'hin's brow quirks upwards, as if to ask they, though he doesn't voice it aloud, instead bringing hands to his mouth and blowing. Surprisingly, he doesn't immediately reach for the beer. Telavi, conversant in brow-speak: "The winters." But it's distracted, a little wry for hers not being more exciting-- 'better'?-- a little more focused on his hands. She doesn't hurry him, pouring her own before, in an undertone, "There's my scarf if you want to warm up quick." She tries to keep it not terribly concerned, but though it might be a little thing, it's... different. "You're trying to damage my vulnerable man ego, aren't you?" R'hin's laughing, and the quick shake of his head seems to defer the offer, and the maybe-not-concern. With a twitch of shoulders, as he leans closer to murmur, "Much easier to be all.. local in the summer? Pretty dresses, pretty girls, pretty views." He exhales dramatically. "The things we do for love." She sits back a little too quickly, though the flush that's risen on her cheeks recedes when he laughs and goes on, and Tela leans forward again to better hear his murmur; "Love, you say? Is that what it is, bringing tidbits," of information, "back home?" R'hin spreads his hands, as if to say, it is what it is, chuckling under his breath before he finally reaches for his glass, tipping it in Telavi's direction in silent salute, before taking a deep drought. "So, what's been on your mind? You're usually more," he lifts a finger and spins it, as if to indicate energy (or maybe crazy?) "Let me guess. You're been brooding over some new love. Solith's proddy. Or," he leans forward, intent all of a sudden, snapping his fingers as if he's got it, "You're sad because you're soon to be inevitably snatched away into the claws of that vixen of a Weyrlingmaster, bound to the Weyr for an entire Turn, being Tel-a-vi." Her mouth quirks slightly, though she doesn't salute him back; her eyes narrow right on cue, then carefully don't narrow-- then, "Shush, you, not like that." Not so loud. Even if he isn't. Even if... "Fine, that too. Though she has very nice claws, which I believe you know." It's more like Tela; only then, even more quietly, "Sometimes I think they'll take you back. While I'm gone." "I wouldn't know," R'hin replies blandly, before taking another generous gulp of beer. His brows go upwards. "Monaco?" There's a snort. "Not until Evielth's due to rise again. Which... mm, going by her schedule, could be in a Turn or so. So, you never know." His expression may be serious, but his gaze is not, amusement, at her, glimmering in pale gaze. Her eyes lift, widen-- a Turn-- "Exactly. Ugh." There's a twitch of leather under the table. If he hears about it later, her asking one of the other riders about Evielth's schedule... "Don't wind me up," Tela requests, with seriousness rather than the banter that dares to do it. "Something happened the other night... well, I did something... and if you could do the 'mentor thing,'" air quotes, here in the crowded bar, "...it would help." It would help her. "Sorry," R'hin says automatically, even though it's clear he's definitely not, chuckling under his breath, behind the (relative) safety of his glass. Is the latter words that make his teasing mien slip away, leaning forward. "Something...?" he prompts, gaze fixed on her. Of course he's not; of course she can't help but near-smile even with everything. But, "When you were new to... all this," Tela asks, "did you ever... well, it's hard with someone who ranks you, but you also know them personally, kind of?" Surely, to look at R'hin now, even Rathin might never have had that uncertain tone... did he? "How did you walk the line, between being all sir-ma'am-sir and... and crossing the line?" She's a weyrgirl; surely this is something she's had to do all her life. And yet she asks, asks him, anyway. "I was never..." R'hin pauses, chuckling reminiscently, "...rank never deterred me. It's the reason I ran so much, as a weyrling. And the reason Bristia did, too." He's rubbing at his chin, kind of thoughtfully, as he focuses on her. "It's all about... being prepared to deal with the consequences when you crossed the line, more. The things that were done didn't seem as important to me, then, as... making a point, I guess." He shakes his head, slowly, at the thought of R'hin-who-was. "Rank doesn't mean you can't tell someone to fuck off. If you want to avoid dawn starstones duties, you tell them to fuck off with a smile, a salute, and a sir." Telavi doesn't look surprised, exactly, and the mention of Bristia adds wistful, admiring warmth to the curve or her lips. She hides them-- not exactly hides them, not from R'hin-- with a sip and then another, more of a gulp. "It's harder when you don't want to tell someone to fuck off," she says with a bit of a sigh and no hesitation at all with the phrase. "When you don't want to make it harder on, on them, and you're not righteous, you're just-- it matters. But I feel like I took advantage of," 'K'del.' She'd not voiced it, but just in time, silent with eyes imploring. "Of his good nature, I mean." Because lowly greenriders are in a position to do that. Even if she doesn't name who it is, the slight tip of R'hin's head suggests he's speculating in his head. After a beat: "If you take advantage of someone of rank, it's generally for one of three reasons. They want to be taken advantage of, they're friendly enough with you to allow it, or they're weak and deserve to be taken advantage of." He reaches for the pitcher, waiting for her to hold her glass in way that he can refill it, before he says, "Figure, only one you could feel guilty about is the second. Even leaders deserve to have friends they can trust. If it's keeping you awake, you either get over it, or you make it right." He sounds fairly practical about it. She'd shaped the name, just not put sound behind it; it's another secret Telavi doesn't keep from R'hin, though here's hoping the person beyond them-- who, admittedly, doesn't seem to be paying much attention-- can't lip-read. A hasty headshake-pause-headshake later, she's quick to drink and drink before tilting the glass into range. "I was trying," she admits, "to make it right about the... well, the gossip about what wasn't meant to be heard." If someone hadn't been listening, someone who does more or less exactly what they do, possibly minus the lock-picking. "Or better, anyway, because it seemed like that made a tough job harder. Bu-ut... I didn't stay on that entirely; we were talking about the situation and it was fine and then it came up about the limits over there and... I should have read body language better; I was just feeling." She bites her lip, a momentary glance downward. "About that and having to leave. So I don't know if I can make it right? I want to-- but it's my job, isn't it, to suck it up and wait?" R'hin pauses, cocks his head. "Are you upset about him, about her, or upset on behalf of yet-to-be-determined outcomes, for people who may not or may actually want to take up such an opportunity?" The way he phrases it is deliberate and neutral, as is the way he watches the greenrider carefully after he speaks. That tempers her tone; she curves her hands around the base of her glass and reports to her untraditional wingleader, eyes lifted to his, "I am worried... for people who might not volunteer; for people who might think of, of a place as their home and have to leave." She doesn't, is very careful not to, draw comparisons. "I'm also concerned for-- what other people might do, not knowing, thinking the worst about how and why." Telavi looks back at him, keeps looking. "I'm troubled that I made a situation harder for him, yes, when he's got to have more than enough to deal with already. I don't think I'm so important as to have had that much of an impact? but a man deserves a dinner in peace. And he," her gaze drops for a moment; she admits, "You know I don't like to step wrong and not see it coming." Instead of on purpose, taking it on. "You worry a lot, for something you have no control over." It's an observation, not a criticism, and yet R'hin takes his time in following up, taking a slow sip of his beer, to give him time to consider. "People leave their homes for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes it's not their choice. To be a... one of us... is to give up some measure of freedom. What you can do about it, is make sure all the potentials that are chosen are aware of this, and this potential outcome. If nothing else," he looks thoughtful, all of a sudden, chuckling, "Perhaps we ought to spend some time in the Igen area in a month's time. See who we can find." It's a brief grin at the end, one of sympathy and understanding. "Sometimes, a man will forgive when plied with the right alcohol, the right knowledge, and the right leverage." She blushes all the same, glancing at the foam splotching her glass, and doesn't deny it. Neither does she shiver the tallest walls back into place; R'hin's tone has mattered, his attention. Telavi spends her care, just now, on not drinking too fast into the quietness of the pause. On not drinking too fast into the steadiness of his speech. On listening. She nods; she finds a small smile for Igen, one that doesn't show a dimple but, somehow, a touch of knowingness; and at the end-- half-teasingly, "Until then, we have beer." Now she lifts her glass, and toasts him. She doesn't ask more. The beer is still cool; they aren't out there, where the sea wind's cold. "We have beer," R'hin agrees, lifting his glass a moment after she does hers, taking an equal measure of the contents, by no coincidence. They'll stay there, for longer, while the pitcher of beer is still cold, listening to others, now, falling into old patterns -- talk, pause, listen, talk. Eventually, they'll return home, to the warmth of their respective weyrs. |
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