Logs:Less Purpose
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| RL Date: 5 May, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, Z'yi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del and Z'yi have no solutions. Pity. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 9, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of patch clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: S'ren/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, V'teri/Mentions |
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| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. It's no longer summer, and the weather is making a pretty strong point about it, but the Garden Patio Ledge has yet to be abandoned for the season. Indeed, as the sun breaks through the clouds overhead, most of the tables are full - which makes the fact that K'del is sitting alone, if off to one side at one of the smallest tables, rather notable. Of course, he /is/ the Weyrleader, and he does seem to be doing Weyrleadery things: the table is spread with paperwork, and his mug does seem to be of the klah variety rather than anything more decadent. Still. "Well, sir, if you don't mind," comes the dry, dry, dry tones, deep as ever, of one Snowdrift bluerider. A beer in one hand and a roll of hides in the other, Z'yi gestures to the seat opposing the Weyrleader. "Seems as if all the rest are taken, and the last I sat in the 'oasis I ended up wearing someone's wine." He stands patient, a brief sketching glance outwards in case the Weyrleader is actually taken with something that requires a lack of immediate company. There's always the bowl -- Isforaith doesn't complain too much when there's a little beer spilt on his hide... Perhaps K'del isn't even aware of the activity around him; certainly, when he glances up, it's to blink owlishly at Z'yi for several seconds until-- ah, yes. Comprehension. Hastily, he sweeps his papers into a pile, waving towards the empty chair across from him. "No, no, of course not. Sit." His gaze slides away from the bluerider, allowing him to get a better glimpse of the Ledge; his papers are hastily shuffled into an even tidier pile. "Really does get rowdy in there, sometimes; not the right place to try and work, but-- I get lonely, sitting at home all the time." The tugging upwards of Z'yi's lips to one side is quickly masked, in the aftermath of comprehension dawning upon the bronzerider's face; the big man settles himself down with a chin-nod of thanks soon thereafter. "I get that. I find myself doing Faranth-only-knows what Mielline wants /now/ in the damnedest of places," stated amiably enough, the quiet-faced man taking a brief draw of his beer before settling it carefully to one side, where any possible tippage should run /away/ from documents. He unrolls his own work, scanning through the first several documents with a furrowed brow. "Has autumn found you well, working-in-rowdy-places notwithstanding?" Z'yi queries, tone only slightly preoccupied. "Bit of a task master, that Mielline," remarks K'del, more idly than thoughtfully, though his gaze does flick up to consider Z'yi's face as he says it. shifting through papers, he restores one to the top of the pile, giving it a considering glance as he reaches for his mug again. "It has-- nice and quiet, thus far, right? Best kind of autumn. Tithes coming in as appropriate, nothing to report. Couldn't wish for better, except it would've been nice for summer to last longer. Hope the same is true for you." "Just a bit." Z'yi's tone is drolly amused in regards to his grueling overlo-- uh, wingleader, that is. "Seems as if summer never lasts long enough," is his single remark as he finally seems to find what he's looking for, pulling it to the forefront to squint at thoughtfully, but in a cursory manner rather than anything in-depth. "Always good to hear tithes are coming steady." To the last, there is a brief handwave. "Summer, autumn, winter, spring; seems as if they come and go before I finally adjust to what it just was." "Everything alright?" Z'yi questions, his voice a study of neutrality -- there's only the barest flicker of gaze upwards, but it seems cued by that frown. "Isforaith's nearly six. Seems as if..." He shakes his head. "Turning thirty sucked." Matter-of-fact, that; along with a shake of the head and a rueful snort, it seems to sum up his feelings on /that/. "Just wait until you look that in the face." "Hm?" Pause. Then; "Oh, right. No - I mean, yeah, it's fine. Just the usual." Discrepancies? Complaints? Something, anyway. K'del flicks the pages back down again to actually look at Z'yi as he adds, "Thirty. Shells - yeah, that's bound to do anyone's head in. Know what's worse? Knowing that I'm like to lose this job sooner or later, and be completely washed up, best-I'll-ever-be /before/ I even hit that milestone." It comes out surprisingly moody; surprising, even, for K'del, whos expression freezes, and then looks awkward, as soon as he's said it. There's only a chuckle, deep, amused. "Well, you could think about it this way: you'll have the rest of your life to chance back into the job you have now, if you do lose it. Or that there are plenty of people who'll never get to be 'best' throughout their entire lifetime, much less as a whippersnapper of a twenty-something." The cynic once more looks out of Z'yi's dark eyes, lips twisted in what could be a brittle little smile, a fitting counterpart for K'del's moodiness. A snort of laughter washes the emotion away soon after. "Come on, you have to hold onto your job at least for two more clutches, if only to piss Tiri off," he points out. The cynicism of his companion draws silent from K'del, at first, and then? /Then/, he laughs, breaking out of at least some of his moodiness as he shakes his head. "You're probably right. Don't mind me-- call it a mid-youth crisis or something." Beat. "But why at least two more? Why not one more? Suppose the more it is, the more it'll piss her off. Of course," his smile is crooked as he says this, his tone inclined towards the rueful, "that all depends on Iovniath actually rising at some point. It's been /turns/." "We've all been there, I reckon," Z'yi returns, offering something of a grin in return for that laugh. "Doubt it's so much as a crisis, even -- seems like, looking back, we're always worried about things that you laugh at later." The philosophic statement is followed by a lift and fall of broad shoulders in a shrug-- what can you do? "I think in the time that it takes two more clutches, she'll be mellowed out -- towards you, at least," he's hasty to add that last part, as if the idea of Tiriana /mellowing/ in her old age is particularly crazy. K'del's expression remains amused, if slightly self-conscious; as Z'yi explains the bit about the two clutches, though, he breaks into laughter for a second time. "Shells. There's a thought. Maybe so. We're even kind of beginning to get along better, now... sometimes, anyway. Don't think she'd trust her son with my boys, still, but it's better than it was." Which makes him nod, apparently with satisfaction. "I'm sorry, though. Here I go, blathering on at you about my insecurities, and you came out here to work." K'del's quip about children startles a chuckle -- nearly a chortle, really -- out of the bluerider. "Children are different, aren't they, though?" His expression is bemused, as if this is some kind of ongoing theme and K'del just happens to fall into the pattern. "Not a big deal. Seems as if all I do is work, some days, on hides or on drills or on keeping Isforaith clean." The random flash of exasperation at the end, there, may clue in to exactly how big of a job the latter actually is. A shrewd glance precedes a mild question of, "Think she's going to go up anytime soon?" -- revisiting the last topic, surely. Sympathy shades K'del's expression; "Cadejoth, too. Like father like son, I swear." There is too much mud in the world. Particularly at this time of turn. The young Weyrleader leans back in his chair, dropping his stylus to the table to leave both hands free to steady him as he leans far enough for two of the chair legs to rise from the ground. "She ought to. It's been-- mm, close to four turns, I guess. But maybe she won't while Tiriana's pregnant, which means it could be, like, six months or something? I don't know." "Yeah, thanks," Z'yi returns, sarcastic but not overly so. "Worst is when he dries dirty, and the /scrubbing/." The vaguest of a shudder, there; the resignation on his face says it all. "A half a turn." Z'yi's voice is musing. "Isforaith fancies himself a Searchdragon, every time he forgets he forgot about Searching." That's his explanation for his interest, at least. "Oh, it's my pleasure," says K'del, teasingly, his smile undeniably amused. "Yeah, no kidding. Be thankful he isn't Cadejoth's size; like I'm thankful Cadejoth isn't as big as /some/ bronzes. Shells." He shifts, letting the legs of his chair drop back down to the ground, nodding. "Cadejoth's still-- well. His record is better than it used to be, I guess. Still not great. Suppose, with three queens, now, maybe it makes sense it being so long. Maybe we'll have the same amount of clutches we always used to, but spread over three. Guess it's not like we /need/ the extra dragons, much." "Yeah, I don't envy Mik that, with his Xadovith." Z'yi shakes his head. "Raith's big enough just by himself, for me. Don't see how the goldriders do it, dragon's so big and--" He doesn't actually go on record to declare women small and weak, since one never knows what kind of ears listen in. "Yeah, 'less Thread decides to come back... again." Z'yi's position as the official pessimist of the weyr is likely still intact, with statements like that. K'del gives his mug, now long since abandoned, a poke with his finger - an idle kind of gesture, since he doesn't actually /move/ it. "Shells, right? Faranth. No wonder none of our Weyrwomen ever seem to get fat." On the other hand, as he continues: "Don't even want to think about another comet pass, or something like it. Shells. We'd be nowhere near ready for it. Or-- shells." He makes a face, though at least he doesn't seem to be taking it /too/ seriously. Now, he places both hands flat on the table, giving them an idle glance as he adds, "Anyway. Iovniath'll go up when she does, and same with the other two. And then there'll be weyrlings again, and-- I kind of like having weyrlings around, you know?" "I bet Teris'll get fat when she gets older," Z'yi snarks, more moody than anything else. It passes quickly, as he focuses on the topic of the comet pass easily enough. "Yeah, not that I /wish/ anything like that to happen, it's just -- with our luck." He doesn't finish the statement, just allows it to stand on it's own -- as it should. High Reaches' luck -- yeah. "I don't have that much to do with them," Z'yi returns openly, "So it doesn't really matter to me until wingleaders start tapping. Then I have kids to train, and--" There's a snicker, here, more than a snort. "Seems like there's always someone who needs extra help." The snark makes K'del laugh: he seems somehow genuinely pleased with it, albeit in a bitter kind of way, complete with eye-rolling. "Roly poly Teris," he puts in, with a twist of his mouth, before shaking his head. "Yeah. I know. Seems like every time I start feeling like things are quiet and good, and--" He doesn't continue. That would probably be a bit like tempting fate. "You've got S'ren back," he puts in, after a moment. A change of topic, sort of, but linking in to that last comment of the bluerider's. "From the sounds of it, he and Cerveath haven't... grown up, much. They'll probably need a careful hand. Keep 'em out of trouble. Not that I don't expect Mielline will have worked out as much for herself." "Maybe Iskiveth will /have/ to learn to flame, to light a fire under her ass to stop eating bubbly-pies," Z'yi remarks as an only half-sour counterpart to the concept of a roly-poly Teris. He's obviously thought about this entirely too much. "Mmm, yeah," Z'yi nods regarding the other bluerider. "My luck, Miel'll put 'em under us, and then I'll have three babies to look after." Beat. "Cerveath, S'ren, /and/ Isforaith." Someone has to be the old man of the group, obviously. "She knows what she's doing, though, whatever it is that she does." There is a true thread of admiration in the man's tone for his well-put-together wingleader, and a touch of a smile that is soon obscured as he lifts his beer for a long draw. Lips twitching, "Iskiveth'd like that." K'del settles for a smirk afterwards, though, one that carries him through the rest of what he has to say, strengthening slightly at mention of those /three/ babies: "If she does, then it's because she knows you can handle 'em. Because you're right, she totally does know what she's doing. Wish every Wingleader was as-- good at that." It doesn't seem to be aimed at anyone in particular, or indeed, said with bitterness or frustration. Which is something. "A weyr full of Miellines would scare the /crap/ out of me." Z'yi's just pointing this out. "Bluerider or not, she could do your job." There's that slight grin surfacing, the statement something of a teasing note for the weyrleader. "But I know what you mean. I swear, some still think that all there is to being a rider is drinking, whoring, and dicing." His lips curve again, slightly downwards this time, then turning into a grimaced line. "Guess there'll always be those, somewhere, somehow." "Me, too." K'dels emphatic about that. "Reckon I spent most of the time I was shadowing Snowdrift running scared of her, when I was a weyrling. Pretty sure she'd do my job /better/ than I can, too, for that matter." The teasing makes him grin; he's not worried. "Yeah. They do. I guess... it's hard. There's less purpose, these days. More /time/ for that kind of thing. And I get that drills seem like a waste to some people, even though they /aren't/. I wish I knew a way around it. Seems like anything we could do would still seem trivial - and I'm not going to /create/ trouble for us to deal with." "Mmmm." Z'yi's brow creases in thought, the big man falling silent for a long moment. "Yeah, it is quite the dilemma. I almost wish..." He trails off. "Dunno. Seems like if there was some kind of... something random, keep people on their toes. Give a purpose to drilling. Just not sure what you could actually do. Wing challenges, rewards, but--" He shakes his head. "Sorry, didn't mean to blabber on. But I get it, what you mean, what you have on your plate." He squints off, keeping a wary eye on a certain dark-wash denim blue who seems to be advancing towards the patio. It leaves K'del silent for a few moments; his brow begins furrowing, too, and he nods, a bare incline of his head. "Yeah," he agrees. "It all seems... kind of futile, even when there are rewards. Because they're just games, ultimately. And," he breaks off, shaking his head fast. "Blather away. Shells, if you come up with ideas, that'd be all the better." He pauses, then, a second time, running his hand through his hair. "At least V'teri's little treasure hunty thing might keep some people occupied for a bit. Theoretically." He hasn't noticed where Z'yi's gaze has shifted; he seems pretty focused on what's in front of him. "Mmmm." Z'yi shakes his head. "If I think of anything remarkable, I'll let you know." The droll undertone seems to indicate that Z'yi doesn't see that forthcoming -- the inference follows in the slack posture of shoulders and the way he slumps in his chair. "My higher power is currently calling me." That would be Isforaith, looming obnoxiously close, a splatter of mud dripping off his muzzle not far from the outermost table of the patio itself. Z'yi shifts in his seat, downing the rest of his beer and rolling his hides. His self-pleased lifemate looks... self-pleased, and Z'yi rolls his eyes. "Back to cleaning, evidently. It was good speaking with you, sir." He substitues a wave instead of a salute, shifting off to mutedly exclaim over exactly /how/ dirty Isforaith has managed to get himself this time. K'del opens his mouth to respond, but he is - unsurprisingly - distracted by the suddenly so close Isforaith. His mouth opens slightly wider, and no doubt he simply can't help himself: he has to laugh. "Later, Z'yi. It was good speaking to you, too." He'll watch them go, too, shaking his head in barely restrained amusement. Poor Z'yi. |
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