Logs:Of Duty and Allegiances
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| RL Date: 18 September, 2006 |
| Who: Josilina, M'wen, Melata, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 1, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons often dive from high above the lake into its chilly waters, rinsing away the pungent smell of firestone. Their riders are frequently seen standing along the shoreline, watching on, the waters too brisk for casual swimming. Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. The water of the pond is frozen solid, an expanse of crystal glass that spreads from shore to shore. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way. The afternoon is cloudy, the sun is dim behind the clouds. There is a light breeze that whistles softly across the frozen lake. Contents: Leiventh Dijilia Wagon Obvious exits: LAke Pond Diving Cliff Bowl Josilina wanders over from the eastern side of the bowl. Josilina has arrived. The winter air is chill, even in late afternoon, enough to make most people scarce out in the open area of the lake. It's not completely deserted, however - R'hin is there, jogging around the lake with a crunch of boots against the snow, breathing hard enough to indicate he's been at it for some time. His jacket is draped over his chosen rock, along with a small towel. Leiventh appears to be shadowing his rider from above - the dragon circling in the tricky air above the lake, circling almost in concert with the running rider. Josilina's prepared for the chill, at least, thoroughly bundled up with her hands in her jacket pockets and her face half-masked by a garish, rainbow-knit scarf. She must be expecting the deserted shore, and there's even a moment of surprise that widens her eyes when she spots R'hin present. Or maybe it's the jogging. In any event, her stroll is much slower, and close to where the ice meets the land, and while she doesn't seem inclined to interrupt the bronzerider, she will say if he passes close enough, "I thought it wasn't healthy to run too much in cold like this?" Mid-stride, R'hin becomes aware of the Weyrwoman's presence, his speed only slowing a few steps later. At her words, his lips curve in unbidden smile, down to walking pace, not-so-coincidentally to match Josilina's. "Would you prefer I ran at a foreign Weyr, Weyrwoman?" the retort is full of humor, a deep breath taken to try and slow down his breathing as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'd only prefer it if it kept you from getting sick," Josilina replies, and while her smile's hidden by the scarf, the crinkling of her eyes gives evidence to it. "'Course, I don't think running in heat's much better, so not Ista or Igen either. Which I guess means we've got to send you - and anyone else who likes to run - to Fort. And that might bother them, eventually." She matches her pace to his in turn, perhaps a little faster than her initial amble, so he doesn't fall out of the run -that- dramatically. R'hin stretches his arms across his chest as they walk, a brief incline of head unspoken thanks for the change in pace. "Bothering Fort would not be an issue for me. And, should you will it so, Weyrwoman, I have no choice but to obey." The words are accompanied by a half bow, deliberately mocking. "And, as our youngest weyrwoman also likes to run, you'd have no choice but to send her as well." That, if anything, seems to amuse the bronzerider, eliciting a low chuckle. "It would be an issue for -me-," Josilina points out. "And it -should- be an issue for you." Then with some abrupt concern: "You haven't been, have you? Bothering them, I mean. Anyway," she takes a gloved hand out of a pocket to wave dismissively. "I'm not ordering anyone anywhere. It's not my place to say where you run or not. Shards, imagine if I had to decide where everyone ran? There'd be no time for anything else." A beat, then, "I didn't mean to interrupt yours', by the way." "Should, yes," R'hin says, agreeably. "Bothering Fort?" He seems to need to take a pause to consider his response. "Not of late. I try to avoid it, for a number of reasons. There's probably a few weyrbrats who are scared of me, however." He seems oddly earnest about that, glancing sidelong at Josilina as if to evaluate her expression. "I was about done, anyway," the man responds, waving her concern away, "And I welcome the interruption. If I'd less respect for your weyrmate, I'd shamelessly make a pass at you, or some other expected action." It's hard to tell, but it does seem like he's being facetious, if the faint quirk of lip is any indication. "What did you do to them?" Josilina asks, sounding somewhat intrigued but worried. The weyrbrats, presumably, though Fort could apply as well. "I hope you avoid it, in any event. It's not nice." From her tone, one might guess that a lot of Josilina's morals revolve around 'nice'. His last brings a flush that can't entirely be attributed to the cold, and after a flustered beat she asks, "And why would that be -expected-?" In the sky directly above, Maxeoth glides to a swift landing at the lake shore. Maxeoth has arrived. M'wen hops down Maxeoth's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely. M'wen has arrived. "Which time?" The query, despite R'hin's smile, seems genuine enough. "I can't imagine why small children would find -me- scary." It appears he goes with the 'safer' query out of the options, wiping at his brow with the back of his sleeve. He looks as if he's just finished a run, though his breathing has slowed down, and he walks at a decent pace beside Josilina around the lake. "Not nice?" he picks up that particular sentiment, with a curl of lips. "They've not got much going for them, so I've little reason to go there. As for what's expected," he shifts subjects smoothly, with a sidelong look, a gleam of pleasure at that fluster, "Am I not -expected- to live up to what a bronzerider should be?" There might just be a hint of anger in his voice, well heeled, though his gaze is once more on the path. Josilina just shakes her head, muttering, "I don't want to know." She even glosses over the Fort issue, besides giving him a look that's a little disapproving and a little more concerned. "Since when is a bronzerider -expected- to make passes at people he doesn't even know well?" She keeps pace with him, loosening her scarf a little as they cover more distance along the shore. "I've never heard anyone tell someone that's true. And really, I don't know any bronzeriders who /do/ do that. Well," she pauses to amend, "not /many/." R'hin, though he notes the disapproving look, doesn't seem particularly cowed by it. "Probably not," he agrees, before falling silent - strange for him, not that she knows him well enough to note it. "It's one of the first things that was... expected of me, hours after I'd Impressed." A notable glance upwards to the circling bronze, with a thinning of lips. "You can't tell me that you weren't -expected- to be friendly and polite and diplomatic the second you Impressed Lhiannonth, regardless of how much you were that way inclined beforehand?" "By who?" Josilina asks, sharp. "It wasn't - no one did anything inappropriate, did they?" The official exterior relaxes a little at his question, and she shrugs. "I've always been friendly." Not likely a surprise to hear, if R'hin knows much of anything about her reputation. She's quiet a moment, breath puffing white in the air, before conceding, "I know what you mean. But I'd think it would have been similar, on bronze. Being a ...leader, or semi-leader. Extra responsible. Not... well, that. Especially when we have so many around here who aren't." She's intent on the conversation, but does cast a glance or two around the shore area now and then. There's steel in response to the sharp question, R'hin's back straightening slightly. "I don't really remember. It's not important." It's undoubtedly a lie, though he says it with such deliberate forcefulness that bespeaks little wish to continue discussing the topic. "Being... responsible, as you put it, Weyrwoman, means many different things to many different people. How do you define it? Loyalty to the Weyr? To its people? I have that in spades. Yet, I will undoubtedly cause you more issues over the next ten Turns than I will solve. I imagine," the tones dry, "That our esteemed Weyrlingmaster," the words drawled enough to hint at dislike, "Has had plenty to say of my behavior." "If they did, you should have reported it." Josilina states firmly. And that, it seems, is that, for that particular matter anyway. "Sure, loyalty. And keeping a certain ...level of behavior, at certain times and places. Like other Weyrs." A little pointed there, perhaps? "But," and this with a sigh, "you won't be the first. What S'din and his team have or haven't said isn't the point. It's whether you /want/ to make a bother of yourself, and if you do, there's not a lot we can do when you're set on it. But you're not the only one, so there you go. Though I can't see what you get out of it." She says the last in a half-mutter, but one clearly meant to be heard. The point is taken is stride and, perhaps, unnecessary. "I am no diplomat," R'hin responds, "It's not in my nature not to speak what I think, especially when I feel strongly. Impressing bronze doesn't change me like that," he snaps his fingers sharply. A sidelong look is given at that mutter, pale eyes assessing as he paces the goldrider. A beat or two, then he answers in low, intent voice: "There is value in stripping away the layers of politeness to get to the truth, Weyrwoman, just as much as there is in hiding one's true nature. It all depends," a hint of humor here, and a curl of lips, "Which side of the fence you're sitting on." Josilina keeps most of her attention on the bronzerider, at this point, though she has enough periferal awareness to nod or wave to a familiar face in passing, for all that most of those faces are hurrying back towards the indoors. "Of course it doesn't. It's not meant to. I /agree/ with you, R'hin, when it comes down to it. But when you're outside of this Weyr, or in a, a delicate situation, being careful with your words can be important." She shrugs, "Or you can not. And deal with what comes from that. But after so much time, I don't know. It just looks like a child running away with traders to defy his parents, after a while." R'hin, for his part, doesn't seem to bother with greeting those that passes, though it could merely be deliberate contrast to Josilina's friendliness. "I never claimed not to be flawed, and it's a flaw I recognize, and attempt to compensate for - but I can't do it personally." His shoulders shift in a slight shrug, as if it's something he's long accepted. "It can look like whatever it looks like. I've hardly had a glowing reputation -ever-, so the opinions of people who matter little to me mean nothing." Josilina's head tips to one side in a quizzical look, "What do you mean you can't do it personally?" She matches his shrug with one of her own, albeit more pronounced. "No. But they matter to your Weyr, at least sometimes, which you claim you feel loyalty to. So. Well, I guess that's one argument, anyway. From what I can tell, there're a lot of folks who end up in spots they're not really suited for. And, well, it ends up somehow, good or bad." "I have help," R'hin clarifies, though doesn't seem inclined to elaborate more. Eyes narrow briefly, but his voice is even as he slows his pace down to more of a causal stroll than a fast walk. "There's only two positions that can't be replaced by your word, Weyrwoman, should they prove unsuitable and should you choose it." The words may seem accusation, but tone is deliberately neutral. Josilina opens her mouth as if to press the subject, but stops herself and there's even a flicker of understanding. "That's good." She slows with him, nodding, "True. But also not true. It's not like I go around demoting people because I don't like their face, or something. And really, there's more than two. But either way, I don't like pushing people around like that. I'd rather talk with them." R'hin pushes his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the cold starting to affect him now that he's no longer running. "I'm not speaking of arbitrary decisions. I'm speaking of decisions made for the good of the Weyr. For the future of the Weyr. We no longer fight Thread, not in our lifetime, anyway. What purpose do we have for the next two hundred Turns, except to continue the line - or what purpose we make of ourselves." There's that odd intensity back in his tone again, almost vehement despite his low voice. "We still have a duty to the Holds and Crafts we protect, even if it's not from Thread." Josilina points out. "To help them, to help guard them against any other threats. If there's a flood at Tillek, or a fire at Reaches Hold, it's our job to help them. And of course, to keep up the traditions that'll keep us ready for Thread in two hundred Turns." She shrugs, glancing towards the bowl. "I'm being called back," she says, and she sounds a little disappointed about it. "I'm sure I'll see you around. Take care, R'hin." And with that she branches off from the path, heading towards the bowl. A brown dragon launches silently from a weyr over the lake, unnoticed by those about. Circling slowly, he beats his wings rhythmically to lower languidly to the ground near the lakeshore. Landing softly, his rider slides down the dragons side, giving the brown a brief slap of affection on it's flank. He and the dragon approach the edge of the lakeshore, seeming to be looking for somewhere to relax, and on spotting the flattish rock R'hin usually frequents, the rider swings up and sits on the side of the rock, looking out over the frozen lake, a hand lazily brushing a snowlake from his eye. R'hin exhales slowly, disappointed too, but for very differing reasons than the Weyrwoman's, pale gaze watching Josilina's departure. Leiventh, still circling in the air above, greets his clutchmate with a low rumble, attracting his rider's attention. He alters his path to take him towards his rock, where a towel and his jacket have been slung. A salute is offered the brownrider, lips curling, before he reaches past M'wen for his towel, shaking it off before running it over his face and neck. Returning the salute, M'wen keeps his hand above his eye's regarding R'hin without the snow going into his eyes. Maxeoth returns the rumble to Leiventh and turns his head skyward, following the bronzes' path. "How are things R'hin?" M'wen asks simply, legs swinging slightly under him, drumming softly against the rock. R'hin runs the towel over his head, before slinging it back over the rock, leaning a boot into the side, but letting M'wen retain ownership of it for the time being. "Oh, you know, much of the same. Causing incidents all over Pern, impressing our Weyrwoman with my diplomatic skills, drowning small puppies." The facetious answer is given with a twist of lips. "And you, my good man?" "I can see the first two but maybe the third one is going a bit far," is M'wen's response, looking amused. "Oh, you know, much of the same." He echoes the look emaining on his face, "Embarrasing myself in front of others, tryig to improve my first impressions and associating with itinerants." The last is said with a small twitch of the cheek. "Have you -seen- any puppies around here of late? Ever wonder why?" R'hin responds with a curl of lips. Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that it's winter or anything. Brows flicker upwards in interest, the bronzerider leaning forward slightly so that arms are resting against his bent knee, stretching his muscles. "I can't imagine why you'd want to do that, unless you're bored and need some entertainment. That's usually my reasoning, anyway." M'wen gives a small chuckle shaking his head to R'hin's question, a smile playing across his lips. "No I haven't, but I'll believe you this time." He raises an eyebrow slightly, regarding the bronzerider slightly. "You've told me, oh so much about this man, and I needed to meet him for myself. Turns out, even your strected, exagurated version is pretty close to the truth." That earns a hearty, low-throated chuckle from R'hin. "I know, shocking, isn't it?" the bronzerider chortles, shifting to put his other foot against the rock and continue stretching. "Maybe I need to exaggerate his reputation more, so people will be more likely to believe even half of what I say. But, regardless," he continues, "It's heartening to know your opinion coincides with mine. I was concerned, since we seem to differ on the Dijilia." M'wen sighs softly, "And what do you think of the Dijilia traders? I admit my first meeting was a bad time, but I still have bad feelings about them. In fact, me and L'sen are going to visit them eventually so I can make my final judgement on them all." He gives a wry grin, regreting his choice of words. R'hin seems to consider for a moment or two, straightening before stretching arms over his head. Finally: "I believe the woman, Jendayi, has the potential to be our diplomat. I've not met the wagonmaster yet, but-- perhaps your feelings aren't wrong, M'wen. I spoke to Ayana yesterday, and she said she saw signs that this Vertai was of Bayan's ilk." A slight emphasis brings forth his true meaning, though he doesn't voice the words aloud. "So I shall be wary, and your counsel is not unfounded." M'wen gives a subtle nod, "I'm worried that they may have a separate agenda then just trading, and saying Vertai may be the Bayan type further raises my suspicions of that." He leans back on the rock, flinching slightly as the cold seeps through the thick layer of clothing he's wearing. "We will watch them, either for our advantage or to avoid putting us at the disadvantage. Bayan as well." M'wen looks deep in thought, though still attentive to his surroundings. R'hin finally finishes his stretching, and reaches for his jacket, huddling into it's warmth. "I've no doubt that they do. We just have to find out if that agenda coincides with us, or at least, doesn't contradict ours. Then again, considering they're planning to move on after winter, it may not be an issue." His lips curve, pleased. "I agree." A beat or two, as eyes stray upwards towards Leiventh, before he asks, "Has Maxeoth shown a preference of late to stay close to the Weyr?" Melata meanders over from the eastern side of the bowl. Melata has arrived. Verenth wades out of the lake, dripping. Verenth has arrived. Melata jogs across the bowl, obviously taking in a bit of exercise to make sure that she is always just a wee bit better than any of her wingriders. She slows as she nears the trader wagon, M'wen, and R'hin. Melata slows to a walk and heads over to the pair of young riders. The wagon appears to be closed (again), unfortunately. "Hello, you two." R'hin is looking like he just completed a run not too long ago himself; he finishes settling into his jacket, slinging down across his shoulder as he stands near the rock M'wen's lounging on. Leiventh is circling in the sky above, his shadow passing across the pair every now and then. The bronzerider's staring carefully at M'wen, as if waiting for a response, though his head lifts as he hears the crunching of boots hinting at a new arrival. Pale eyes follow the bluerider's progress, and he gives an easy nod in response. "Afternoon." Melata looks up at the darkening sky, "Afternoon, rather. What brings you two out here this chilly night?" A twitch of brows bespeaks R'hin's bemusement at the woman's words. His voice is abrupt, though it's hard to tell if it's deliberate or not. "A stroll in the lovely weather. We won't interrupt your run, Wingleader." M'wen regards R'hin with curiosity, "Has Maxeoth what? Not that I've noticed, has Leiventh?" He looks confused, but intrigued. Shaking his head softly, he turns to look at Melata, and with a small salute he acknowledges her, but looks troubled. Melata says, "No inturruption. It is time for a walk anyway, and a short rest." "He's shown an inclination," is R'hin's answer to M'wen, with a twitch of lips. "Which made me wonder, is all." Melata raises an eyebrow as she hears cryptic comments. She allows the pair to move ahead with their conversation. R'hin gives a brief shrug of his shoulders as if to dismiss the topic, though he does take note of Melata's raised brow. "Was there something you needed, Wingleader?" he enquires, polite to the extreme. "Any thoughts? Or is change in the air, and we just can sense it?" M'wen ponders briefly. "What does he say about it?" he asks, perplexed to say the least. He pulls of the jacket, holding it tighter as a small breeze whistles by. Seeing R'hin's shrug, he mirrors it and stares across the lake. Melata shakes her head, "No...you trying to get rid of this old bluerider, R'hin?" A faint curl of lips, R'hin's pale eyes shining with the briefest of amusement: "He's invoked draconic privilege, much in the way they do whenever you bring up Impression, or Search. For whatever that's worth." Melata's query earns a tip of head from the bronzerider. "It depends, Wingleader, on whether you consider it rude to bluster up interrogate someone on what they're doing, as if they're committing some crime." The words are said in that casual tone. Melata snorts, somewhat amused at the young rider's tone. "Well, don't we have our knickers in a bundle tonight? I was just out for a run and saw you two over here, so I thought I'd be friendly. I'm not always a horrid old woman of a Wingleader, you know." "Do we?" R'hin deliberately echoes Melata's use of the plural. The latter comment earns a twitch of brows. "Oh? Do you mean to suggest you have moments when you're human? Wait, wait. Let me get this down; M'wen, do you have something to write on?" he turns towards the brownrider, while patting his pockets. M'wen looks at R'hin incredulously, and runs a hand down his face in exasperation. Knowing all to well that saying anything won't help, he just shrugs innocently to Melata. A faint curl of R'hin's lips bespeaks amusement, not the least bit chagrined at M'wen's look. "Nothing to write with. You'll have to remind me next time; no one will believe me." Melata ignores R'hin's expression and tone of voice. "Well, then, I'll leave you two alone this evening. I've another round around the bowl to do before dinner." "Enjoy the run, Wingleader," R'hin says, all the more pleasant all of a sudden. Melata goes away from the lake shore, back to the main bowl. Melata has left. |
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