Logs:Of Politics
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| RL Date: 24 March, 2007 |
| Who: Birgitte, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 21, Month 5, Turn 11 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 23:52 on day 21, month 5, Turn 61, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. You climb up some steps into the Lighthouse. Lighthouse Deck-HRH(#2520RJa) This is the beautiful LightHouse Deck. It is located on the westernmost point of the Hold. From here, the sea can be seen as far as the eye can see in every direction. Boats are milling around far below, working their way around the rocks and crags which litter the bay path. This seems like a very good place to sit and relax with your friends. The air here is calm and refreshing, and smells lightly of saltwater. You can feel cool drafts from the water below. The deep greeny-blue coloured water below you sparkles warmly under the sun's glare. The only safe way off the deck is back down the stairs to the Cove. Contents: Birgitte Obvious exits: Cove Spring. Evening. A patch of sylvan shadow, green on grey and grey on green settles as a cloak across the back of a chair. As limp and loose, a young woman in leathers claims the chair with her arms sprawled out to the sides and her attention on the fading sunset. The High Reaches Weyrleader is a well-known figure in the lighthouse deck - at least, up until recently he was. R'hin's got a new tightness to his eyes, a set of the shoulders - and a lack of familiar, scruffy hair - that marks him these days. The bartender glances over, pauses, then nods, digging a bottle from beneath the counter, offering it silently. The bronzerider flashes a grin, accepts the bottle and offered glass, and saunters over to look for an empty chair. There are plenty, however, eyes travel over and settle on Birgitte, and he makes a beeline for her table, sidling in until he's deliberately blocking her view of the sunset. Birgitte has that dozy sleepy dreamy reaction of the recently drunk and peers up not-quite soberly. She blinks, tilts her head, blinks again and rummages around in her dragon's tidier thoughts for a name. "R'hin." She remembers her manners and, with only a slight stumble, gains her feet with something close to Weyrling-speed -- old habits die hard. "Weyrleader. Rider of Leiventh." She's obviously reciting the information as it comes from Lili. And then, "You're blocking my sushet, shir." The recognition earns an amused quirk of lips from R'hin, pale eyes unwavering as he studies her fairly openly. "Sililith has quite the memory," he observes, a hint of dryness creeping into his tone, though perhaps not obvious enough to convey through the fog of the recently drunk. He half turns to peer over his shoulder, affecting surprise, as if he's only just now noticed the sunset in question. "Ah. So I am." Neither, however, does he move just yet. Leiventh senses that Sililith reaches out, a touch in the links as warm and heady as honeyed tea. » A dragon should always remember the Weyrleaders. « Another lesson, well drilled into these two in turns past. » Sorry about this. My rider is usually much better behaved." And in taste and hue she means it, her embarassment real, her concern a flicker of shadow. Birgitte tries to peer around the Weyrleader without appearing to peer around him, which just leaves her tilting oddly from side to side. "Sililith is 'Reaches born and bred, not to mention trained, sir. Its in her ichor to remember you." She focuses on the Rider with a few blinks, "My duty to Leiventh. And the Weyr." There, correct and polite even. Leiventh> Sililith senses that Leiventh's response is a long time in coming; not because he doesn't here, but because he seems to consider the gold's words, mulling them over in his head, honey turned to crimson as he absorbs them. There is the cool sharpness of High Reaches' weather to his tones when he finally speaks, « High Reaches knows it's own. » Which could have plenty of connotations, though the bronze, perhaps, seems to think it's obvious enough not to further expand. "Indeed." Dark humor laces the Weyrleader's tone, particularly as Leiventh's offering is not so different from the goldrider's observation. R'hin, too, is polite, gesturing towards an empty seat, "May I?" Connsumate gentleman, or at least playing the part well. Leiventh senses that Sililith appreciates the bite of frost, but remains cocoon'd around her Rider in layers of tropical warmth. She says nothing else, assuming dragons need few introductions, but remains a rippling presence of awareness in the links. Birgitte makes a grand gesture of dusting off said chair, "Would I say no?" Besides, if he sits she might still catch the sunset. "May Eastern buy you a...nother drink? You can sit and tell me all about the 'Reaches -- No Thread today I hope sir?" R'hin pauses, ever so slightly, a grin quirking his lips, "Some would," he responds easily enough. A tip of head indicates his gratitude as he slides into the seat, setting his bottle of Tillek white on the table. "I've my own, which I'm happy to share." A pause, as he eyes Birgitte thoughtfully, a knowing glint in pale eyes, "So long as you're willing to assure me you're fine to between with another glass of wine in you?" He half turns to catch the eye of the bartender, holding up a finger. His intentions are clear enough - or it's a gesture repeated previously, for the bartender appears shortly thereafter with another glass, to the Weyrleader's thanks. A beat, after her question, the 'Reachian bronzerider's expression hardening visibly. "Not today," he slaps a fist against the table top, "Not yet, anyway." Birgitte settles back into her own chair, flicking her cloak a bit up on the edges so she's half-wrapped up like some molting flutterby. "I'll have to get to know you before I decide to dislike you, sir", she offers with a cheeky grin though its brittleness is belied by those too-bright eyes. She turns her gaze onto his bottle -- oh, the tempting bottle and the new glass -- and manages to shake her head. "Trying to sober up for the last candlemark or so already, Weyrleader, I'd best stick to my klah." And she forces herself to take another drink of the bitterly dark brew. And then, because she can't help herself, "Do you often share bottles with strange Weyrwomen?" "Ah," R'hin gives a low-throated chuckle, gesturing with palm out, "That's more generous than most people. No point in delaying then; what would you like to know?" good humor laces his tone as he uncorks the bottle and pours out a glass, then a splash into the other one. "At least," he cajoles, "Join me in a toast. To Pern's riders." He offers the smaller glass to Birgitte, head tipped as he waits to see if she'll accept - glass or toast. "Frequently," he allows, "If they let me. Which is rather rarer than you might imagine, from my illustrious station." Birgitte wriggles a bit in her cocoon of leathers and not-so-distant dragon. "Well, there's a toast I cannot deny, that's for sure." She pushes her mug to the side and accepts the proffered glass, carefully holding it by its stem and the very very tips of her fingers. "To Pern's riders. Those that are, those that were, and those that are yet to be. May Thread be but a memory in the days to come." Matheny drummed a few lessons of her own, into this one. Brie tries to carefully *tink* glasses with him. "My my my, Rider R'hin. Doth thou regret thy dragon's prowess in flight?" Leiventh senses that Sililith sneaks in again, like a warm spring breeze melting the last of winter. She tries to give shape to your thoughts and see the dragon behind the touch, wondering at those that can catch her ilk. Its a shy touch, perhaps unnoticed behind a coy flutter of curiosity. A glint of satisfaction creeps into R'hin's eyes, looking pleased as she accepts both his offerings. Picking up his own glass, he holds it aloft throughout her speech, pale eyes resting on Birgitte's features, intoning at the end, "Hear hear," taking a deep gulp after clicking his glass with hers. "Regret? Frequently," he confesses, with aplomb. "My role was not to be a leader, but I have been upstaged by my dragon. It is hard, however, to be regretful for that fact that I impressed such a capable dragon." A twitch of shoulders beneath leathers denote a half shrug. "Regardless, my loyalty is to the Weyr, and I shall support her, through good or ill." Leiventh> Sililith senses that Leiventh's presence remains notable, a low auditory hum, bass wrapped up in his crimsons. The sharp winter's bite of the bronze's tones remain unmarred by the gold's spring advances; stoic acceptance but little curiousity in turn. "It is good though, isn't it?" asks Brie with a wide-eyed look, her heart in those too-blue eyes. "I mean High Reaches, all is well?" She cares, she does, for a Weyr they once called home. "I think I met the Weyrwoman once, before she was The Weyrwoman. It is good for the Reaches to be lead with such strength of character." Ah Brie, a born diplomat. And, with another sip of the wine and shake of her head, "Never yet met me a Weyrleader that claimed it was all wine and roses... at least not after the first few days." Leiventh senses that Sililith whispers along the edges then, not advancing so much as absorbing him. Them. All the dragons she tastes in the links. She is... insidious? No, perhaps not so sinister. She is... delicate. Insubstantial. A warm waft of scent, a half-remembered hug, the purr of a kitten. She absorbs and learns and wonders, still, at all those that are not Her or that which is Hers. "Too early to tell yet," R'hin responds with bland honestly; no platitudes from the young Weyrleader. "A schism exists in the Weyr. Ask your friend, Shalyn. She made -her- particular views clear to me recently." A bite of something in his tone, but he shakes it off with a low exhale, reaching for the bottle to refill her glass. Perhaps it's mere forgetfulness of her earlier wish to sober up. "We shall see whether the crises clears the divide or no. The Weyrwoman is... certainly strong," he allows. Leiventh> Sililith senses that Leiventh, it seems, remains politely indifferent to the gold's curiousity. The bronze is a dragon, a creature sure of himself and his place in the world. He exudes this knowledge, and this confidence, solid and sure. Aw, but Birgitte likes platitudes. "Schism exist everyweyr", relies the Eastern goldrider with a shrug of her own. "Though some rifts are large enough to be dangerous, people can fall into them and disappear." She smiles at the thought of Shalyn, "Ah, see", toasting R'hin with her refilled glass, "Shalyn and I make it a point never to talk about politics, it too easily descends into gossip-mongering and tat-tittle..er... tittle-tattle. Candidate-mates are like that, have you noticed? We still can't really take anything seriously when we're together, its like all our immaturities resurface and feed off one another." Then again, mebbie that's just Brie and Shay. She indulges in some more of Tillek's rather decent vintage? Perhaps Weyrleaders get a few perks afterall. "And you, sir, are you a bridge-builder or more prone to swinging back and forth across the divide on a thread-bare rope?" No pun intended, really. Leiventh senses that Sililith draws from that then, like a weed in fresh dirt, and sends out tendrils of attention at other dragons nearby to see who wakes, who sleeps, who dreams dragon-dreams, who guards, and who waits. She waits. Today is a day made for waiting. "Perhaps you should talk politics," R'hin says, rather pointedly. "If you intend to visit often, as a goldrider, you ought to know what you are stepping into, as much so you do not step on toes as anything... don't you think?" attentive, pale eyes affix on the woman's expression, head tipped. "Me? I am what I am. I am not a bridge-builder, nor do I sway with the winds of opinion," a hint of derision creeps into his tone at that, though perhaps missed by markedly even tones as he continues with a spread of hand, palm upwards, "I don't make apologies for it, nor for the decisions I must make as a Weyrleader." Leiventh> Sililith senses that Leiventh remains present throughout, and as the gold checks through the other dragons nearby, the bronze's low thrumming mindvoice is discernable there, too. He is present, watching the Weyr: checking with this dragon, ascertaining the location of another, while making request of third. The Weyrleader's dragon guards the Weyr. Birgitte leans back into her cloaked chair, stretching booted feet out in front of her. "Perhaps", she says sipping the wine again as if having forgotten she was supposed to be sobering up. "Or are you suggesting I am unwelcome at High Reaches?" She narrows her eyes and considers him with what should be a shrewd look, but likely comes off as churlish. "Did you come here to find me, sir, and warn me off?" And then, after a long pause, "Or is it education you had in mind, something I need to know but am too clueless to ask?" She leans forwards again, tapping the table with skinny fingers, "Politics, you say, without apology. What is it I am to avoid stepping in?" In, not into. Its a subtle yet important difference. Leiventh senses that Sililith has leave to grow, and learn, set adrift among these dragons that are not hers. She guards nothing but her own, her one, but appreciates the dedication of the others. Not that she doesn't tend and nurture the minds of Eastern as required, for all she's always been a bit too flighty and fey for her color, but hers is still a childhood of exploration and investigation. "I do not warn you off," R'hin dismisses that notion with a flick of fingers, oblivious to her look or polite enough to pretend to be unaware. "That is Satiet's call to make, and she would make it fairly clear, if that's how she felt." A flicker of a smile touches his lips, then fades. "Such suspicions of me, dear goldrider! No, I came with no intentions other than to find someone to share a bottle of white with," he gestures to the bottle in question. He leans back in his chair, visibly savouring the wine, pale eyes drifting to the view which earlier held Birgitte's interest. "This High Reaches is not the one you left. That's all." Birgitte relaxes, or seems to, perhaps its just the wine in her elbows and the inability to hold onto thoughts, much less politics. "I hope to meet this Satiet of yours again, then, in the coming days. Sililith /likes/ visiting the Reaches and I like visiting my friends. Thread or no Thread, as long as my duties allow us to travel as we wish, it is here you will find us." Unless of course they put her and 'Lilith on the no-fly list. Suspected weyr-terrors or something. Sililith would make a lousy dissident, she hasn't the character for it. Birgitte, on the other hand, "I've known a few Weyrleaders, in my turns for all I've not that many, and plenty more politicians." Being a mostly-disposable Eastern asset, Brie spends a lot of time in Meetings, the boring kind, "I'm trained to be suspicious of everyone. But your right, R'hin sir, the Reaches are not the ones I left, but they are as they are. What was it you said? Through good or ill, she deserves our support. What are we without our Weyrs and those that Rider them?" And live in them, clean them, support them... "Oh, I've no doubt you'll have that particular pleasure, sooner or later," R'hin responds, a hint of quiet amusement creeping into his voice, as he leans over to refill her glass. A brief tip of head seems to be the only acknowledgement the Weyrleader gives of the other's stated intention to return to the 'Reaches. "Then, undoubtedly, I'll see you around, as your duties allow. And mine," a quiet chuckle, though his expression turns a little more distant, a little more thoughtful. "Yes, she is a... harsh mistress, our Weyr," the bronzerider says, though there's fondness in the words. Birgitte gives up on any attempt at staying sober anytime soon and links her fingers around her wineglass, ruining its chill with the heat of her hands. "Duty", said like it is, a four-letter word. The sunset came, and went, while they were talking, though the dusk is still more light than dark. Brie matches his amusement with her own, refusing to worry about something that has yet to be a problem. She settles herself into a lazy, unladylike sprawl on the table and regards the yound Weyrleader sideways for awhile, just letting the minutes pass. "I like your hair", she says finally in a rather sisterly way - no lecherous leering slobbering commentary today. "That's shmart. I bet you're usually pretty shmart eh sir?" With a frown, R'hin's hand moves by habit to his head, with a wry twist of lips at the remembrance. "Despite what many say, I don't discount the experiences of the past. We can learn a great deal from them, and what they chose to do, and why." Intent, pale gaze settles on the goldrider, as if discerning the meaning behind her words, though whatever he might have said is interrupted by a momentary glazed look, the Weyrleader rising smoothly. "I'm required back at the Weyr. Thank you," he smiles at Birgitte, "For the company. I'll leave the last of the wine in your capable hands?" without waiting for a response, he turns and strides off across the deck. Birgitte likes him, then, at that moment. Perhaps she'll remmeber she did, later. |
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