Logs:Not Really About a Card Game
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| RL Date: 12 December, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist has questions. R'hin gives answers. |
| Where: Rider's Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 7, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
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| Rider's Lounge It's heading towards the end of the dinner hour, though it seems that the riders' lounge is already host to those settling in for an evening. There's a scattering of groups here and there, and a handful of Savannah riders already settled down at a table and starting a few games of (for now) mark-less poker to warm up. R'hin's not standing with them, however; he's taken up a perch leaning against the bar, half consumed glass of beer in hand. A'rist has not been so frequent in the lounge as once he was, even absent on occasion from Iceberg's outings these days. But today, he's back. He enters this time without fanfare, but with purpose. There's a surety in his scan for R'hin, and a satisfied nod when A'rist makes his way up to the bar, and takes a post alongside the older rider. "I kind of think you owe me a beer." R'hin's head turns marginally enough to confirm the suspected owner of the voice; he gives a brief grunt. "If you can remember a beer owed from three months ago, you clearly aren't drinking enough," he says with a low-throated chuckle, but he does at least give a nod to the young man tending the bar tonight, before pale gaze settles on A'rist. "Uh," says A'rist, "maybe." The smile isn't entirely certain, but it gets shared with tonight's bartender, quickly, as thanks. "It's not like you and me really hang out, though." He turns to brace both forearms on the bar, fingers drumming a little. Until they can seize hold of that beer, when brought forward. A glance back to where the rest of the Savannah riders are brings the question of, "Solo tonight?" The older bronzerider's gaze remains on the younger, R'hin's head tipping inquistively. The comment about hanging out doesn't earn a response; it's the latter that makes him chuckle briefly. "I'll join in soon. Why," a beat, "You want in?" on the card game, presumably, and yet there's an air of lightness in his tone, as if he anticipates refusal. The bartender returns with another glass of beer, set in front of A'rist. A'rist takes the beer with both hands, peering at it, offering up a, "Thanks," that could as well be for the bartender as for R'hin. "I wanted to ask you a question, mostly," dismisses the card game, or at the least, sets it on hold. The younger rider's gaze becomes more direct, his expression, the slightest bit more determined. R'hin doesn't look all that surprised, and gives a slight flicker of fingers as if to say, go on, his attention still on A'rist. A'rist, of course, has this one prepared: "Why do you guys pretend so much? At the holds and stuff. Like when you brought us with you." R'hin's expression is puzzled, briefly, giving the briefest shakes of his head, before he murmurs, "You came all this way," all the way up to the lounge, such a long distance that it is, "To ask me that? I'd have thought the answer obvious." "Well maybe it's not." He's not gotten defensive, yet; this is delivered with a shrug. "So," A'rist continues, "maybe tell me your answer?" The afterthought is, "Please." Of course, R'hin being R'hin, answers with a question: "Would you feel more comfortable talking to someone who shares similar experiences to you, lives near you, feels familiar? Or to a complete stranger that, to your knowledge, shares different ideals, goals, and experiences?" A'rist makes a bit of a scrunchy face, bringing his glass a bit closer to his chest, and the edge of the bar. The hesitation in answering is just for thought process. "But you don't have similar experiences to those people." "Not always, no," R'hin agrees, easily. "Yet people make assumptions, based on what they see, they hear, and they deduce. When you show up to a Hold, in your fancy leather riding gear, you scream Weyr, even if Lythronath isn't nearby. Holders have assumptions about riders, based on their own experiences, what their friends tell them, and how the harpers portray riders. Your very appearance brings baggage with you, whether you're aware of it or not." "No. Oh, no," A'rists head is shaking, "I know what you're trying to do. With that. But you... I mean, you, you like doing it though. Don't you?" The beer remains untouched. R'hin's chuckling again. "I like doing things I'm good at," he says, unapologetically. "I like fucking, too." This apparently reminds him of his beer, and he's taking a couple of gulps. "But," and A'rist is very clear on this point, "it's a lie. Not fucking. The other stuff." There's definitely surprise in R'hin's expression. "Yes." Which, presumably, is truth. A'rist's scrunchy face stays scrunchy. "And you're just... down with that." There's no hesitation before the second, "Yes," comes from R'hin. It makes A'rist shake his head, that simple answer, and finally lift his beer for a slow sip. It's only when that's done that he looks back to the older bronzerider. "You don't like... lose the real you?" A subtle shift in R'hin's expression is a fairly strong reaction, for him, pale eyes unwavering. "Why are you asking me, now?" "Because I didn't ask you, before," is too quick off the draw. A'rist's almost got the beer to his mouth before he puts it back down. "Because I don't like doing that. I don't think." A hint of amusement creeps into R'hin's voice, as he says, "You don't know until you've tried. Or... have you? And that's why you're asking, now?" "I tried with you the first time," A'rist points out. This time, he manages to actually drink more of his beer. "Don't you get worried," comes next, "people won't trust you, if you're lying all the time?" That's a bit more pointed, with an eyebrow arched, borderline cocky. The dismissive wave of R'hin's hand seems to suggest he doesn't think that counts. The latter earns a snort, and a bland: "They do or they don't. Making friends is a Weyrleader's job. We all have a part to play. Even someone like you," is added, casually, with a little twitch of lips. A'rist has the glass at his lips again, which allows his eyes to shift over to peer at R'hin without much movement of his head. "Someone like me?" Words given to the expression, once he's got his mouth freed up. "Mmhm," R'hin answers. Or doesn't, depending on the perspective. A few more Savannah riders arrive, joining the group at the table behind them, though the bronzerider's attention doesn't waver from his younger companion. A'rist keeps one hand on the glass, but shifts, standing a bit straighter (not that his height is by any means impressive), and tilting his head to one side. "What am I like?" R'hin doesn't answer immediately, instead draining his glass, and pushing it to one side, before he leans forward. He's silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, or perhaps weighing up what he might answer with. "You don't see the big picture. You're more focused on the here-and-now." He lifts a hand, "I don't mean that as a criticism; there's strength in that, too. You worry about what people will think of you, or how they'll judge you." There's a knowing, low-throated chuckle, "People will always judge you. You, your dragon, your actions. At the end of the day, you need to find yourself in a place where you're comfortable with what you do, and the reasons you do it. I think you're still uncomfortable with your place in the Weyr, or rather, you're still looking for your place." A'rist listens in relative silence, fingertips rubbing at the side of his glass, sliding along the surface, but not actually moving the object. He stays quiet even when R'hin seems to be finished, thinking it through, most likely, and eventually looking down to his drink. And then, the Savannah table. "Okay," finally. While A'rist reflects, R'hin studies the other bronzerider's expression. When he finally speaks, the Wingleader nods. "It took me a long time to find my place." Hard to tell whether that's advice or warning; maybe both. He's standing now, "Join us for a game or two?" It's an invitation, but not a hard-pressed one, given he's already striding over towards the group of riders gathering around the table. It's not the look of someone longing for an invitation; it's a nod of conscious decision, taking a path that seems like the right choice. "Sure," sounds affable, though. And A'rist lifts his beer from the bar, and moves toward Savannah's table. While A'gon is urging R'hin to join the first game, he defers to A'rist, waving the bronzerider to a seat while he lounges nearby. There's no sense that they're going easy on him; if he does win, it's well earned and with no small amount of cursing on behalf of the other riders. But he won't. Still, maybe that's not the point of the exercise. |
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