Logs:Intentions
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| RL Date: 23 May, 2015 |
| Who: V'ros, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros and R'hin have drinks, and discuss the recent Fort goldflight, the new leadership, and differences. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
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| It's been a warm enough day for autumn that the late afternoon sees the Snowasis fairly crowded with weyrfolk of all sorts attempting to make the most of the lingering sunshine. Earlier, when passing by the living caverns at lunch, R'hin stopped by the Snowdrift table, nodding towards Mielline, before dropping a hand onto V'ros' shoulder. "Drinks, after you finish with the wing today. My shout." Typically, he doesn't wait around for any chance for the brownrider to decline. And thus, as the sun is beginning to set, here he is, at a smaller table, fending off attempts to take it over, a pitcher of beer and a couple of glasses on the top. It looks like he's already started. Long enough, after his duties with Snowdrift have wrapped up, to shed a questionable light on his intention to follow through with the bronzerider's offer, V'ros does deign to make the trek to the garden patio. His recently shorn hair, short as it is, is damp and his clothes fresh. He keeps a brisk pace up the steps, and once at the designated table, pauses with one hand on the chair across from R'hin. "Drinks?" he asks, part question, part salutation; he's obviously confused about the invitation at all, but with a curt nod, pulls out the chair to seat himself. Instead of answering immediately, R'hin leans forward to fill the second glass, setting the pitcher down before nudging the full glass V'ros' way. "What else?" the bronzerider replies, lifting his glass in silent salute to the brownrider, before taking a deep draught. It's timely, deliberate even, that he waits for the brownrider to drink in kind, mid-gulp, even, before he asks: "Spoken to A'rist?" Any hesitation V'ros has melts beneath the easily offered glass, which he eagerly palms, drawing it close to where he slumps in his chair. He doesn't immediately answer the rhetorical question, but lets his eyes rove over the other tables and familiar weyrfolk occupying the patio. "A'rist?" His eyes slide back to R'hin, a question in their dark depths. "Not.. recently. Why?" R'hin arches a brow. "Lythronath," is all he says, as if that should be obvious. "Uh.." V'ros' interest in his glass is not coincidence. "We've.. talked. Since the.. flight. He's.." He passes a hand over his hair, glancing up at R'hin. "Have you and.. Leiventh.. chased in any flights.. with them? Before?" He looks as uncomfortable as he sounds. "Hraedhyth's," R'hin's voice is dark. Maybe he's taken to speaking only dragon names, since he otherwise falls silent, pale gaze on V'ros. The cold winds of the bronze are borne on the distant beat of drums, fading almost immediately. (To Zmeyth from Leiventh) V'ros is in the process of lifting the beer glass to his lips, but sucks in a breath instead. "Were they.. like that.. too?" R'hin takes a deep draught of his glass. "He tore up Cadejoth," the Savannah rider says, blandly. The brownrider doesn't look surprised by the admission, though it seems to warrant a stout drink from his glass, and sinking against the back of his chair. He taps his free fingers against the table. "He said he didn't want to stop Lythronath," V'ros mutters, without looking at R'hin. "K'del doesn't.. ?" For the first time, R'hin's face twitches in reaction. "He didn't want to," the bronzerider echoes, darkly. The latter, unfinished sentence, earns a curious rise of brows, gesturing for the Snowdrift rider to continue. "Can't.. he? Stop him. Stop.." V'ros face contorts in frustration, but ultimately, he looks down at his hand, fingers twitching on the arm rest. "It.. could have been.. worse. Could have been one of the Fort dragons.. the queen." "Yes," with a hint of heat, as R'hin leans forward to refill the brownrider's glass, then his own. With an exhale of breath, "K'del had A'rist ferry him around for months after Hraedhyth's flight. As a Weyrleader, he could ground them, but if A'rist didn't want to stop him..." he pauses a beat. "A queen would need to enforce that command if it came to a flight, if A'rist won't, or can't." "What's stopping.. them? Stop the damage," V'ros says lowly. "A'rist won't.. why let them keep on? Zmeyth was fine.. this time.. but.. I think it might not've been." He scratches the side of his nose, shakes his head, and takes another, long, uninterrupted drink. R'hin spreads his hands. His, "You'd have to ask them," sounds a lot like, 'you should ask them. "Dragons by their very nature aren't violent. Flights can be an exception, but even still, as you said -- could have been worse." Everything requires dissection and thought, at this point, and it's into contemplation that V'ros slips, becoming quiet while one hand grips his glass and the other keeps up the tap-tapping on the chair arm. He straightens before speaking again. "How's.. things?" Dissection and thought, at least in R'hin's mind, requires the accompaniment of more beer, indulging both of them from the pitcher. His lips twitch, at the question. "Things," he echoes V'ros' tone precisely, "Are fine. And with you?" "Alright," V'ros says, gravely; tone and words belying one another. "Snowdrift's the same. Zmeyth.. doesn't remember.. and.." He presses his hand against the back of his neck, restlessly. "Still coming to terms with.. everything." His nod of thanks is directed at R'hin, for the prompt refill. "Been a shitty few turns." "It has been," and there's a lift of R'hin's glass in, not so much toast, as acknowledgement of those words, taking a decent gulp. "In less than two Turns, I've lost four goldriders that I've known, close and otherwise. I think, perhaps," and there's a chuckle, as if he might be joking, but it's a dark one, suggesting it might not be so much: "I should stop knowing them." V'ros' face is solemn. "Most.. have moved on. Seems a shame." He, clearly, has not, though it's a deferential sort of lack of progress. "No..? Uh, the new ones? The Igen one and.. the weyrling one." He shifts, to stretch his legs out to the side, and give the passing waitress a disinterested glance. "Don't.. know either of them, but Irianke.. she's.. different." "Different?" R'hin's curious about that, leaning forward. He notices the disinterested glance at the waitress, but doesn't seem too interested in it. "Different," V'ros repeats, some of his solemnity lifting beneath the barest smirk. "Haven't you.. met her?" He is genuinely puzzled. "She's.. not like Azaylia.. not like Aishani.. she's.." Shrugging, lamely, he hides his mouth behind his glass. "I have," R'hin allows, "But I'm interested in how you see her." He gives a flicker of fingers, as if dismissing the not like comparisons. "Of course she's not. She wasn't taught as a High Reaches weyrwoman. She's bound to be different. But bad different? Good different?" He pauses a beat. "Let me put it like this; if she asked you to follow her for something questionable, would you?" "Neither?" V'ros is helpful. "No.. I.. wouldn't.. follow her. Blindly." He grimaces at his own statement and lifts his eyes to R'hin. "I've.. met her a few times. She's.. bold. Flashy? Kind of.. strange. Should expect as much from.. Igen.. though." His shoulders lift, fall, in a shrug. "Different." "Different," R'hin says, almost in time with V'ros' final statement. His fingers tap against the table top. "Would you have, if it were Azaylia? Aishani?" It shouldn't require thought, but V'ros does, take time to think of his answer before replying, slowly. "Yeah.. either.. both. Knew them better?" His attention refocuses on the bronzerider, his head inclining slightly. "Would you?" The Savannah Wingleader is silent, attention fixed on the brownrider until he answers, giving a slow nod, as if not altogether too unsurprised. "Irianke?" At least, R'hin assumes that's who V'ros is asking him about. "No. She's well enough trained in Weyr management -- Nimae made sure of that. But her intentions, now that Azaylia's gone, are unclear. Perhaps," he acknowledges, "Even to herself." "Huh." V'ros's brow flickers with an inscrutable emotion. "I don't.. give a damn? What her intentions are. As long as.. High Reaches is still standing.. when she's done." He pauses to hydrate - on beer no less - and then shrugs noncommittally. "What makes you think.. she doesn't? Might be hiding what she does or.. doesn't.. know. Kind of canny." And now, R'hin's brows draw downwards, as he exhales a breath, voice low, but intent for all that. "You should. Her intentions might form the Weyr's future, should her queen rise first. It's not enough to hope the Weyr's standing. Don't you want someone you can believe in? Someone you can choose to follow, knowing they have the best interests of High Reaches at heart?" It sounds as if he does, at any rate. It says something that V'ros even gives pause, to listen and give consideration to what R'hin is saying. "Part of me.. yeah.. part of me.. no. Had Azaylia and Aishani, look how that went." He can't quite keep the other man's stare, though. "I'm.. not good at.." He gestures with a hand: this. "I.. don't know what we need or.. who. Not anymore. Never.. did, but now.. things are.. different. She's good enough.. for now.. or are you putting your marks on the other girl?" "You don't need to be good. Just need to make your own judgement. You haven't made up your mind yet," R'hin points out, then adds, "Neither have I." He refills both glasses. He makes a low noise of amusement, as he confesses, "I prefer to hedge my bets, since not even I can make a queen rise before she's ready." Smiles generally look awkward on V'ros' face, regardless of sentiment, and the one he sports next is no exception. "No," he agrees. "Sometimes I prefer.. one and then.." His smile fades and he scoots forward in his chair, folding his arms on the table, with his glass by his elbow. "I'm still not.. sure how we got here," he mutters, about the leadership situation; not their location on the patio. "Guess I better get used to it." "The same way we always do: life." R'hin gives a low-throated laugh, draining the rest of his glass soon after, dropping it onto the table with a little thump. "As must we all. I wonder if A'rist finds it harder than most?" that oh-so-casual thought is tossed out, as he pushes to his feet, gesturing towards the pitcher as if inviting V'ros to finish it if he desires. Stony silence is V'ros' answer, his eyes lifting, but his face stays set and immovable. Time for thinking about A'rist's motives and Lythronath's bloodthirstiness has passed, for the brownrider. His head does jerk in a nodding motion, a terse, "thanks" following; he's accepted the offer and he's thankful, but he doesn't reach for the pitcher right away. Whether the reaction was what R'hin wanted or not isn't clear; the Savannah Wingleader is striding off, heading for the bowl and disappearing into the evening twilight. |
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