Logs:Men Don't Gossip
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| RL Date: 28 September, 2013 |
| Who: N'muir, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'muir drops in on his wingmate after Iesaryth clutches. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Y'ral/Mentions |
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| Finally Iesaryth's finished clutching; finally Iesaryth and, let's face it, Vhaeryth have relaxed enough to allow visitors of the more general variety, even if N'muir rates significantly higher than that in at least one human's estimation. The queen's more mellow than her mate, Vhaeryth being on the bright-eyed and flicky-tailed end of the spectrum; at the moment N'rov's up in the galleries but barely so, leaning back against the rail that's all that separates him from a drop onto the sands. Naturally, he also has a cool drink in hand. And seated next to him is none other than Fort's Weyrleader except that he's opted for a warm drink despite the warm caverns. N'muir's wearing a big, goofy smile, looking at the freshly-laid eggs with the sort of proud affectionate grin typically reserved for his own dragon's eggs. "Yep," he remarks, leaning back in his seat, "that's a nice sized clutch. You must be pretty proud about the whole thing, eh?" He lifts his mug of hot cider towards N'rov in an offer of cheers. "Hard to believe it really happened. How's... things?" With Aishani. "Over the moons," N'rov's got to agree, especially since he's only just gotten started with keeping an eye on those eggs; the cabin fever will set in later, but he's ignoring even the possibility for now. Once he's clinked his glass with N'muir's, he adds, "Tell me about it. After last time," but he just shakes his head. "The woman's moved her boot collection, well, part of it anyway, to make room for my stuff; she must like me." He smirks at his wingleader. "How about with you? The wing?" Only the way he says it, not that he's been gone all that long, it's 'Our wing.' N'muir laughs merrily at his wingmate's happiness, clinking glasses and preparing to take a sip when N'rov's next statement causes him to hesitate. "Your stuff?" It's out before he can keep it from coming out, blurted rather suddenly and holding far too much personal injury. "You... you mean just temporarily, right? Like, til the eggs hatch?" N'muir tries to play it cool, taking a swig of his cider and swallowing it down before continuing. "I mean, unless you like it here better than Fort. I won't make you come home. You're old enough to live your own life, choose your own transfers." He sniffs and carries on, lifting his chin. "The wing's doing good. It's weird not having Vhaeryth around. Bijedth thinks of telling him something and forgets he isn't right there, y'know?" Despite being able to talk distances. "Are they being nice to you?" Is it N'rov's first day of Harper lessons or something? Might as well be. N'rov's staring at him. "What? Fuck yeah, until the eggs hatch." N'muir can play it cool, but N'rov's wise to him now, if by 'wise' one means that he might as well be that little kid off for harper lessons. At least he's not clutching N'muir's leg. "It's not like the food is good here or anything." That might have sounded funnier in N'rov's head, especially when the younger bronzerider goes on to add, "Now if Iesaryth had stayed at Monaco... No. No, if I start breathing the fumes, I'm going to count on you to haul me back. And you know that Bijedth can just go ahead and tell him, right? Worst thing that would happen is Vhaeryth gets pissy over getting woken up or gives him smug vibes because 'his queen his clutch' or something. And they've been all right, so far, though it's not as though I've been here that long. There's one girl who insists on winking at me whenever Shani's not looking." "Well, considering the state of things here and at home, you should've tried catching a gold in a Weyr that isn't screwed," is N'muir's dry reply. He takes another swig of cider and swallows it down before his shoulders shake with a brief chuckle. "Fine, I'll cause an international scene to drag you back to Fort kicking and screaming when you get too accustomed to playing weyrmates with your girlfriend. But you'd better not whine about it." He lifts a shoulder in passive agreement. "Yeah, but you know how Bijedth is. He thinks Vhaeryth is having fun flying, like, a million golds over here. I think he forgets what it's like watching eggs grow." Boooring. He kicks his feet up on the seats in front of them and looks sidelong at his wingmate. "Is Aishani good at sharing?" "Yeah, well, you should've told me that before," N'rov points out. "I would've changed my whole game plan. I hear Igen isn't bad this time of Turn." Of course he's got to smirk at N'muir, it would be like he's got a quota he's got to meet or something, if they didn't all come so naturally. "Let Bijedth go on thinking that. It'll do him good." As for sharing, he says judiciously, "Not bad, though I won't say I've never had to keep out of her hair. She doesn't even hog the covers," much, at least that he'll admit to. "And, of course, guests stay in the outer rooms, they don't get to get into anywhere too private," because sharing a weyr is totally what N'muir meant, right? "I've always wanted to know what a little time in Southern would feel like," N'muir remarks. "Other than holidays." The thought of which seems to cause N'muir's expression to falter a little, and he stares out at the sands, lost in some distant, sad thought. Before long, N'rov is pulling him back to the present and he turns a smirk over at the younger man. "Yeah, I figure it does him a little good to brush with jealousy, even if it's just for a little while." He nudges N'rov with his elbow. "It's pretty funny, wish you could see it. DOn't get me wrong," he suddenly interjects, lifting his free hand in defense. "He's totally dedicated to Elaruth. But that's more because she won't share rather than a lack of... uh... interest." At first, N'muir smiles at N'rov for his giving partner. Slowly, his smile fades with an increasing amount of confusion until he bursts into laughter. "Faranth, what a baby you are," he teases. "I meant does Aishani share you with other women. Or men. I guess people in general." "Yeah, no." N'rov's newfound scowl only deepens when N'muir goes on to men, and he aims to thump the other man on his shoulder. "Why, needing to live vicariously? Other than Southern, I mean. Still spending all your time with your work instead of your woman?" Well, if N'rov was looking for a quick way to end up enjoying the sands alone, he certainly figured out how to do it. N'muir frowns and looks down into his half-empty mug. He flashes a short smile that lacks genuine flare and reaches out to lay a hand on N'rov's shoulder. "Speaking of work," he says. "I should get back to things. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be back before the eggs hatch. Someone's got to keep you from getting a big fat head, right?" "Running off already? You just got here," N'rov says, his scowl fading to more of a grimace, like that little kid Norov has just had his daddy say he's going to leave him alone with that harper and those girls. "What, has K'del gone over to see Ali again, you need to keep an eye on him or something? Man's got a wingsecond's knot again, believe it or not. Not that I care if he ranks me. Finish your drink at least." N'rov knows exactly what to say to N'muir's attention. The Weyrleader snaps his head at the drop of that name, lips twisted in a grimace. "What? Why do you say it like that? Like he's seeing seeing Ali? Is he? Is he visiting Fort while I'm away?" Given how often N'muir isn't at the Weyr, the possibility is suddenly very sobering. Amber-brown eyes fly skyward and roll around beneath his dark brows in disgust and frustration. "Why does anybody even like that guy? He's a bloody-" Whatever he would say is suddenly dropped in exchange for looking over his shoulder with suspicion. He leans closer to N'rov, voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you think they like him here? Should I keep my mouth shut?" "Only once a sevenday," or twice, or who knows how many since of course, "I'm not paying attention or anything, it's just kind of hard to miss the bony lug flying around with her," N'rov claims right before he takes a longer drink. Though his frustration's less than N'muir's, since a broken nose (not to mention three flights because yes, he's counting) beats a black eye any day of the seven,"Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. I don't know. Some of them might, some of them won't." He shrugs. "Anyway, it's not like I fathered her kid, right? Timing's off. Maybe he did, in which case he'd better do right by her. Then again, maybe he'd take another man's leavings..." and maybe it's just as well that they both have their voices low before some woman hears them and shoves them over the rail. "Once a sevenday?" Apparently it is easy to miss the bony lug flying around with Ali. "Could he be seeing someone other than Ali?" N'muir's brows knit together and he flails his free hand out. "I knew they were acquaintances after the whole-..." That hand waves off the past and gestures to it all in the same flourish. "But... guh!" He takes another gulp of cider and then gives N'rov a sidelong look. "Fathered whose kid? What are you talking about?" And then it dawns and N'muir's eyes go wide. "She's-" He pauses and looks over his shoulder again, suspicious of ears and eyes and Reachians in general. He leans closer. "Do you know know or is it just a rumour?" That's the kind of excitement that leads N'rov to give the older man a hearty, teeth-baring grin. "Sad, isn't it? She could have done so much better." Now he's looking around too, though, and if the two of them wind up scaring off an elderly uncle who'd just shown up to warm up, it's not their fault. "Wait. You didn't know? Pretend you don't know, not officially, though how much longer she can keep it a secret I have no idea. Shells," the bronzerider swears, but it's then that someone past them catches his attention. Someone who looks sort of lost. N'rov gives N'muir one last guilty look and then calls, "Y'ral! Over here." |
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