Logs:Of Drinking Partners
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| RL Date: 20 November, 2006 |
| Who: I'daur, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 23:14 on day 28, month 11, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn evening. You wander into the weyrling training room. Weyrling Training Room(#530RJs$) This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked. On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which. Views: Couches North Wall East Wall West Wall Measure Marks Contents: Weyrling Board Obvious exits: Bowl Weyrling Barracks I'daur meanders in from the weyrling barracks. I'daur has arrived. There is, unsurprisingly, paperwork on I'daur's desk. Perhaps equally unsurprising, he's ignoring it; a bottle of some sort of alcohol serves as paperweight for it. The bronzerider is seated behind the desk, sipping idly from his glass, and shooting periodic glances back toward the barracks, where the dragons, and some of their riders, are already asleep. R'hin's entrance is rather quiet and unassuming - he's attempting not to draw the attention of those passing in the bowl, or the weyrlings asleep in the next room. He's carrying a bottle and a couple of glasses, which clink softly as he approaches the Weyrlingmaster's desk, curl of lips offered as he greets, "Weyrlingmaster. I picked the red wine - about the hardest they had available at the feast, though I understand it's not your drink of choice, but - care to join me?" The bottle is lifted for examination, brow quirking upwards. I'daur glances up at the sound of footsteps, watching R'hin evenly as the Weyrleader comes to join him. "Pull up a chair, Weyrleader," he invites, as he moves to put away his own drinks. The red might not be his favorite, but if it's offered, he's not turning it down. "A good clutch--your dragons ought to be proud." R'hin's eyes finally light on the bottle on I'daur's desk, pale eyes glittering with interest. "Though it seems," he adds, "You well ahead of me on that score. The Weyrwoman's for light drinks, and Maja doesn't drink, so I've had very poor company for drinking, tonight." The invitation is accepted with a nod, and he sets the glasses aside as he uncorks the bottle, pouring out a couple of glasses before settling into a chair with a low-throated laugh. "They are, trust me. Leiventh's still talking of it. Thank goodness for draconic memory, more than a few days of this and I'd go nuts." "Only a glass or two," I'daur notes, brushing off his prior count of drinks. "And Zunaeth's already itching to meet them himself. Never sired a clutch himself, but he's a fan of everyone else's. His idea, getting into this whole line of work. So what do you make of 'em?" One hand slides around the glass when R'hin finishes pouring; the other gestures back to the barracks to indicate the new weyrlings. "Interesting," is R'hin's initial assessment, glancing over his shoulder to follow I'daur's gesture towards the barracks. "Some I wouldn't have picked. Others seem well matched. I suppose the dragons know." He reaches for his glass, too, tipping it towards the Weyrlingmaster in silent salute before taking a deep gulp. "A few will be quite a handful for you and your staff. You have mine, and Josilina's full confidence, however." "Don't know many of 'em," I'daur notes as he tips back his own glass. "Usually don't, in point of fact. Figure, it's easier if I don't have a lot of preconceptions about 'em. Of course, I usually like to know who I'm working with better--'M not real thrilled about having a couple of kids on staff, but I knew Maja's father, and M'wen seems like he's got a head on his shoulders if he'd just lose the chip there, too." R'hin nods thoughtfully at I'daur's words, taking another gulp of the wine, lips twitching. "The kids are -my- age." He does grimace a little at the description of M'wen, but doesn't exactly disagree, only observes, "He's spend an unenviable time under Melata's Wingleadership," is all he says, as if that should be explaination enough. "Still, they seemed to do well on the sands today, if that's any indication of what's to come. You may need to--" he hesitates, exhales, and says, "Tavrie and M'wen seemed to have a close relationship before the hatching, and Baya--B'yan and Maja. Might be something to keep an eye on, not to pair them, or the like." "No offense," I'daur says, in a rather flippant tone, when R'hin points out his own age. "I'll keep an eye on them, then," he adds in response to R'hin's latter warning. Though, he has to ask, too, "Tavrie and B'yan--which ones are they again?" "None taken, old man," R'hin retorts, just as flippantly, leaning over with the bottle to refill I'daur's glass. "Tavrie impressed the gold, Nabrimeth," and one might suspect with the pause he has a little help with the name there, "And B'yan the bronze." "Jaireth," I'daur supplies that name, after a pause himself, perhaps for Zunaeth's help or for his own memory to kick in. "Always the bronze ones, and the golds, too. Haven't dealt with one of those before--Monaco was about overrun with queens while I was there; no need to clutch another. I'll keep an eye on 'em," he repeats. R'hin nods his head in silent gratitude, gulping down the remainder of his wine with obvious relish. "Once this lot is gone," his head tips briefly towards the barracks, "You'll have to let me buy you drinks at the Waverider. For now, I should leave you to it, I expect." He rises, albeit reluctantly. "I've obligations to be sociable. Holders to butter up, Crafters to meet and make deals with - you know how it is." He's wry, gesturing to the bottle, "Shall I leave this for you?" "Always liked the Waverider," muses I'daur as he finishes off that second glass of wine. "Though, the Rusted Hulk--that was my haunt. I'll hold you to it, Weyrleader." A pause; he eyes the wine and finally shakes his head. "I've my own stock; you can keep that. Good luck with them, Weyrleader. Don't envy you." "Nor I, you," R'hin returns with a smile as he rises, taking the bottle with a nod of gratitude. "Name the place then if you'd like. It will be well worth it, I suspect." He transfers the bottle to his other hand, offering a sharp salute. "Good evening, Weyrlingmaster." The Weyrleader collects the empty glasses, departing after a significant glance towards the barracks and the sleeping dragons there. I'daur salutes in return as R'hin leaves, watching him. Then, glancing back at his charges, he studies them a moment, then reaches for his own bottle again. Maybe just one more glass. You stroll into the eastern bowl, high reaches weyr. |
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