Logs:Of Future Concerns
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| RL Date: 20 March, 2007 |
| Who: M'wen, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 4, Turn 11 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 22:05 on day 28, month 4, Turn 61, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. You fly down to land gently on Maxeoth's ledge. You jump down Leiventh's side to the ground, as the dragon rumbles softly. Maxeoth's Ledge This cozy weyr's ledge is small, only just enough room for a single dragon to land upon it. It makes up for this lacking by having an unusually large chamber just inside, big enough for a pair of browns. The weyr itself is equally cozy, with a small room behind the dragon's area for the rider. It has only a bed visible inside. The most interesting aspect of this little weyr is found in a spot just at the doorway to the ledge. When one stands in the precise right spot, noises, even quiet voices, echo upward from the bowl to the ledge, an anomaly found no where else in the weyr. Fortunately, the rest of the weyr is relatively quiet and peaceful. Contents: Leiventh M'wen Maxeoth Dirt Obvious exits: Inner Weyr Sky It's a fairly late evening on the night of the Telgar hatching. Despite the hour, Leiventh's rider apparently has no qualms about visiting unannounced - not that the bronze can't be seen circling upwards and heading over. Running a hand through his hair is a habit that's hard to break, even though it's almost all gone; the Weyrleader grimaces as he slips to the ground, a skin of wine in hand. "M'wen?" The gusting of dragon wings outside the ledge get no notice from M'wen, his attentions currently on a hide in his hand as he leans back in a chair just inside the chamber of the weyr. While dragons may fly across outside his weyr often enough, it's not everyday one lands on the ledge, the brownriders head going from the words in front of him to the wall across as an ear is cocked towards the, currently unseen, dragon. The slightly echoing call of his name gets a twist of his head around the edge of the curve, a faint grin settling as the arrival is made known. Standing to his feet, he places the hide gingerly on the chair before turning to R'hin with a florish of a bow. His greeting is casual, despite the words and bow as, "Evening Weyreader, I am honoured to be graced with your presence." "Oh, please," R'hin half begs, half dismisses M'wen's greeting. "I've felt like I've been battered around tonight. No titles, for the love of Leiventh's shell. Drink," he holds up the skin, followed by the query, "Cups?" Straightening up from the hunched back of a recent bow, M'wen shrugs indifferently, confirming, "No titles." He raises a brow, the unasked question about the bronzeriders first comment lingering on the cool night air. Before a chance for an answer is given, he strides over to a cabinet, withdrawing two worn mugs before returning to his initial position. "These aren't the best cups for anything fancy, but they'll do." "Good thing this isn't anything fancy," R'hin response with a wry twitch of lips. "It's just the generic Weyr stock. As much as I'd love to get roaring drunk, I wouldn't want to waste the good stuff on that... greenrider," the way he says the title is clearly derisive. "C'len'll be better off without her," he adds, making it fairly obvious who he's talking about. "She finally cornered you then?" M'wen asks with a grin, seeming to find that funny. "So what was your final ruling then? Her reasons seemed poor at best but I'm too nice to say it as such." The cups are held out, whether to be filled or taken to be filled, the brownrider giving them little attention. "As much as I'd like to force her on Melata, I don't think giving in would be the best course of action considering the current... circumstances." R'hin grimaces in response to M'wen's grin, filling the cups near to the brim before putting the stopper back on. "Her reasoning was poor, but I think it'd cause more trouble than it's worth - to me or C'len - to keep her where she is. She's been publicly badmouthing C'len, and I won't have that, especially not now - we can't afford it. And if Melata wants to take her on, well, she's welcome to her." "While that may be the case," M'wen takes a step back in from the ledge. "That makes it seem like you condone her open insults towards her own wingleader. Whether she is punished for it or not, I don't know if giving her what she wants is the best idea." He takes a brief sip of the wine, drinking enough so that a brief shrug spills none. "But you're the Weyrleader for a reason, I'll defer to your judgement if you think it best." "She's the sort that won't get it. She didn't get it the first time when I denied her transfer. She's upset that I didn't pick her for Wingleader of Snowstrike," R'hin says, gulping down a generous mouthful of liquid. He seems apt to stand, pacing back and forth. "When you get right down to it, that's the heart of her issue. She thinks -she- should be in charge, of the weyrlings, or other riders, anyone. And it'll happen over my dead body," he says fervently. "Melata, at least, is an older rider, and she won't have cause to complain about inexperience there. It's not a great solution, but it's a solution." Idly spinning the mug in his hands, M'wen hmms softly to himself, a twist of his lips given, "I think I was giving her too much credit, you're right. I was approaching this as if she wasn't blinded by jealousy for one much more qualified then herself, no matter how much longer she has ridden a dragon." He finally concedes the point with a low nod, "I'm sure she would see it as a victory either way, might as well put her in a situation to stop the unnecessary complaints." "She'll see it as a victory, -and- find someone to complain to about my behavior, I'm sure," R'hin allows with a low-throated chuckle, shaking his head as he drains the rest of his mug in a few gulps. "But, enough about her, I think, or I'll just get angry again." He starts to run his hand through his hair before he catches himself. "How are you doing, wise man?" "Same old then?" M'wen quips quickly before stifling it with a drink of the wine. "I agree, I think even talking to her vicariously is annoying me, so..." He trails off before taking a seat, unfortunately on the hide he was reading. Not moving, the query is answered off handedly, "Ignoring the mass destruction, death and mayhem, pretty good. I don't think anyone saw this-" And hand is gestured outside, "-coming." "Some," R'hin grimaces briefly, "Believe we brought it on ourselves. By settling into the complacency of a pass." He reaches for the skin to refill his own glass, then to top up M'wen's. "On the bright side, we've gotten ourselves a new harper, Mahew. He seems," the Weyrleader pauses to consider, "Clueful. He could be valuable in containing the panic and fear damage this whole thing is going to cause." "Some probably believe that we are doing it so that we don't fall out of favour of the holds," M'wen muses, the thought not a happy one. "I'm not as worried about the weyrs as the smaller cotholds surrounding... We haven't lost the last person." A nod on mention of the harper is given, "Clueful is good, compared to the alternative. I think I may need to have a talk with him soon." "As if we would sacrifice riders and dragons lives like that to make them tithe to us!" R'hin bursts out, angry and pacing once again. The emotion is short lived, and not directed at his friend; merely letting out steam. "You should," he agrees, finally, "I needled him pretty hard and he took it well. I was impressed," which is rare enough for the bronzerider. "The Telgar hatching went well. Did you hear they had a gold?" M'wen gives a nod, "Maybe the dragons know something we don't? There seem to be an awful lot of golds hatching in the last turn or so, especially for a supposed interval." He leaves it at that with a surprised raise of his brows at the compliment given of the harper, "If he impressed you then I most definately have to talk to him. People like that are what we need in times like this." "More golds, maybe," R'hin frowns, his gaze inadvertently shifting to their own sands. "But not more eggs. It's documented, that in the approach of every pass, dragon clutches increase-- but they haven't. Which breaks the pattern. If this was fall - a real, sustained fall - the dragons would sense it, and the clutch sizes would grow... wouldn't they?" The latter comment earns a definite nod of his head by way of agreement. "Well we already know this isn't a pass," M'wen replies, rubbing his hands against his eyes, "As the time for pass and interval are just as well documented as clutch size." The sky outside the weyr is dark, and the brownrider casts a glance towards this, before looking back at R'hin. "I think I should be getting to bed soon, I don't want to be out of it tommorow" The comment isn't a request, just a statement, though the hint to the other rider is obvious. R'hin is quick to respond to the statement, request or no. "I appreciate the company, my friend." He picks up the bottle, grinning. "I'll take the wine with me." With a tip of head and a sharp salute, he heads towards Leiventh. "The pleasure was mine, R'hin," M'wen replies, a grin flitting at the corner of his lips. "Good evening and Clear skies." The salute is returned as M'wen flops back down in the chair with a sigh, sipping the near empty mug with little attention. You jump up onto Leiventh's back, using his foreleg as a step. You launch into the air. |
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