Logs:Of Power Struggles
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| RL Date: 29 September, 2006 |
| Who: I'daur, M'wen, Melata, Mira, R'hin, Shalyn, Tavrie |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 16, Month 4, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 19:38 on day 16, month 4, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. You walk into the tunnel to the living cavern. Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#1000RJs) The impressive living cavern is seemingly as large as the bowl that cradles the hatching sands. Rivers of polished wood tables and benches arrow towards a raised platform crowned with a compact version of their sturdy design. Neatly crafted pegs, some fancifully carved, are tapped into holes in the wall and support clothing dangling like lazy sleepers. Woven baskets, both useful and decorative, hang along another wall. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. Banners worked with the designs of Holds and Halls beholden to the weyr cascade down the walls high above, interspersed with several brilliantly colored tapestries. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal. Contents: I'daur Melata M'wen Tavrie Jemah Large Ale Cask Tray of Bubblies(#6808V$) Firelizard Perch(#5030Jae$) Obvious exits: Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns "I'm always getting into trouble, it's in my contract." M'wen returns in a similar low voice, "Watch this!" He add's in the same tone with a small wink. Jumping to his feet, he spins on the spot with a much exagurated salute given to Melata, "I'm sorry ma'am, won't happen again, I'm very grateful you'd take me into your wing and not throw me to the wolves. Do you have the patch?" He adds, a much lesser version of his normal raised eyebrow, but it's message is clear. Shalyn wanders in from the tunnel to the bowl. Shalyn has arrived. R'hin wanders in from the bowl, hands shoved deep into his pockets in deference to the cold spring evening air. Pale eyes rove over the busy caverns with a brief grimace that is barely concealed by the twitch of shoulders and deliberate turn of body towards the food tables. While there, however, he seems to display very little interest in the food offered, using it to give him time to cast glances over the various groupings. Melata raises an eyebrow, but ignores the sarcasm. "My 'taking you' into the Wing is not the issue. You have been assigned into my Wing. There is a difference. Try to remember that." She gives over an Avalanche patch. "Avalanche is a high performance Wing, do remember that as well, even if Thread no longer falls. My greens and blues need good browns and bronzes to anchor them." She pauses. "And I also enforce disipline. If you play nicely with others and take orders appropriately, then all is good. If not, well, there are quite a number of cotholds which would love to have a watchrider assigned to them. Distant cotholds." Leiventh> Maxeoth senses that Leiventh's tone is normal, if laced with a hint of R'hin's familiar, dry sarcasm, « Mine suggests that a distant cothold might be just far enough to avoid the sound of your new Wingleader's voice. » I'daur shuffles into the living cavern several paces behind R'hin, the older bronzerider's pace slow. He rubs tiredly at his eyes as he does so, heading straight up toward the serving tables for his dinner, and then toward seats. This action winds up with him near M'wen, Tavrie, and Melata, glancing over the trio idly as he does so, his greeting a simple nod. Shalyn also heads for the serving tables, carrying her daughter in her arms. She watches the tapping with half interest. Once beside R'hin she starts to prepare a plate with one hand placing on it her evening meal. Leaning over she murmurs, "She's in good form tonight." Tavrie's brown eyes glow with her pent up mischief as she grins almost manically behind M'wen. His performance and sarcasm aren't lost on the nanny and she pretends to itch her nose in a delicate and sophisticated manner while trying to rid herself of the outlandish smile that threatens to engulf her face and could likely land her with an earful from someone. The young woman lifts her brows at the Wingleader's response and occupies herself by tugging a strand of her hair over her shoulder where she can smooth it in a calming, repetitive manner. Tavrie is desperately trying to settle down. "Smooth," she whispers out one side of her mouth as she stares down at the lock of hair with almost too much concentration. At least she isn't grinning in that Cheshire manner anymore. It would be difficult for R'hin to miss the 'discussion', such that it is, between the two Avalanche riders, given it's attracting a number of open and sidelong glances. With a purse of lips, the Weyrleader picks out some bread rolls and cheese, lips thinned but not quite enough to conceal abrupt amusement. "Is she?" the dry tone is offered along with a look of interest to Shalyn. Shalyn pours a glass of juice and sips at it, "Oh yes. Daddy's told me lots of stories about Mel and her tappings. This is one of the more spirited ones." "That'd be the day..." M'wen mutters to himself, an innocent grin sent right after at Melata. "May I be dismissed wingleader?" He adds, the tone flippant, though not in any way insulting. Not waiting for an answer, he turns on his heel, yet again, And flops down in his recently vacated seat. Throwing Tavrie a smile he looks about to burst, though from Melata's perspective, it is unnoticable. Melata taps M'wen on the shoulder, "Please stand up, rider. I did not dismiss you yet." Oh-oh, she has gone overly polite. "I'd think it'd be more spirited if she actually followed through with her threat," is R'hin's mild assessment in response to Shalyn's comment. He waits for the greenrider to finish with the juice and pours a glass for himself. "What better use of one of the illustrious dragonriders of Pern then to assign them to a backwater cothold?" Shalyn sips and nodnods, "Oh she does. When daddy was my age he spent many cold nights on watch duty in lonely little cotholds. Mom says I take after him. Not sure what she means by that." Like any reasonably nosy person, I'daur's watching the scene unfolding, coming to a halt at a seat near the group. He sets his place down, then his glass, and is on the verge of pulling out a chair while checking faces and knots when he catches R'hin's. "Weyrleader," he offers after a moment, and uses that as excuse to step closer. Tavrie rises when Melata asks M'wen to rise as if she has forgotten her own name. The petite woman glances at Melata as if to size her up in true female fashion and then offers the woman a rather patronizingly sweet smile. "I'll leave you to your...business," she notes, though whether she is talking to M'wen or Melata is anyone's guess. That said, Tavrie turns and makes her way toward the serving table. Melata waits, rather calmly for Melata (at least those who know her), for M'wen's response. Obviously being in another Wing until just oh-so-recently, he has never had any reason to observe the Wingleader or get to know her quirks. "And I'm sure he found it to be very full of... purpose." One would probably have to know R'hin a little better than the greenrider does to detect the dry sarcasm in those particular words. Though his eyes flick between M'wen and Melata, he doesn't appear about to intercede, despite rumors of his and M'wen's closeness. His attention shifts as the bronzerider approaches him, careful look and a guarded smile offered, "I'daur," he guesses, offering a hand in greeting after setting aside his mug. "I saw your transfer papers. You're settling in, I trust?" M'wen stands up, surprisingly synchronized with Tavrie. He gives a hard gaze to Melata, none of the previous hunour visible. Remaining silent, he ignores the talk around him and keeps a steady gaze on the bluerider, not seeming to care much for her quirks. Shalyn shrugs and repositions the baby in her arms, "He says he learned his lesson. What he did to get that duty he wouldn't say." "I'daur," the man affirms with a nod, extending his own hand to R'hin. "Weyrleader. I am, yes. I've found... things surprisingly the same as I remember." He frowns slightly, glances again to Melata, then back to the man. "Mind if I join you? Miss." A glance to Shalyn and the baby, quirking a brow. Melata is silent, head cocked slightly. She's dealt with a wide variety of riders over the decades, and one more youngster who thinks he knows everything or wants to test the limits of insolence is nothing new. In addition to creating a premier Wing, she has turned riders like M'wen, somehow, into thoughtful, mature individuals who have gone on to be Wingseconds, Wingleaders, Weyrlingmasters, even Weyrleaders, at High Reaches and elsewhere. "Very good, brownrider. You are dismissed. I have drill scheduled for dawn, please be present an hour before for exercise and the daily bowl run. Sweeps will occur afterwards, returning maybe about mid-afternoon. You will be in my subwing." Melata adds, "Avalanche Wing tends to be run a bit different from the other Wings at this Weyr." She finishes with a not-quite smile. Shalyn smiles and waves to the spot next to her. "Please, by all means. I'm Shalyn rider of green Oenoneth, and this is my daughter Thealyn." she says indicating the bundle in her arms. A brief curl of lips is offered as R'hin's eyes fix on I'daur. "Tradition, I'daur, ensures very little changes." There might be a slight emphasis on the first word. His eyes follow the other's to Melata, expression guarded still, but there's a flicker of amusement nonetheless. "It's always good to welcome a 'Reachian home. We should talk, I'daur. Another time." He picks up his mug again, silent as Shalyn introduces herself. "Point of it, isn't it, sir?" replies I'daur as he takes the seat, with a grateful nod to Shalyn. Settling his dinner in front of him, he glances from greenrider to bronze and then to M'wen and Melata, expression dry. "Another time," he agrees to R'hin, nodding once. "I'd be most happy to, sir." M'wen gives a little bow, his disgust with his wingleaders manner much in evidence. "And now that you've gotten to display that pointless attempt to instill fear in your 'subjects' and enjoy that power-struggle you seem to assume you won, I can be dismissed? I can see why your wing would be run different, though you can decide good or bad." he intones, expressionless to the end. Breaking off his gaze from the Wingleader, he turns and strides towards the exit, an almost imperceptible nod given to the Weyrleader. Shalyn says "I sense many a cold lonely night for that guy." A level gaze is offered as R'hin settles himself, taking in I'daur's comment. "Excellent. I suppose," dry, "That I ought to find a wing to slot you into, no? Conveniently, I've a patch from Glacier lying around, if you'd fly with me." M'wen's confrontation with Melata is difficult to ignore, as might be the faint twitch of lips that is partway smile, partway grimace. He does, however, return the nod give him by M'wen, respectful, even gaze tracking the brownrider's departure. Melata has dismissed M'wen, so she ignores his display. She shakes her head slightly and sighs, wondering what she has done to deserve another hothead young rider. With no threat of Thread, young riders don't have to grow up fast. Maybe he should spend some time up on the Star Stones thinking about things. However, that will have to wait until he brings the consequence down on himself. For now...now Melata has some chores to take care of out in one of the storage caverns. Leiventh> I bespoke Maxeoth with « Mine suggests, that you are going to have an interesting time under your new Wingleader. » Mirah quick steps into the warm room her riding jacket pulled tightly up around her chin. Peering around silently she reaches up to pull her muffler down from her mouth. Pulling the message hide out of her jacket she peers at the name on it again and around the room. Melata studiously ignoring R'hin, she busies herself out towards the lower caverns and, eventually, the bowl. Melata strides through the archway, into the lower caverns. Melata has left. Leiventh senses that Maxeoth laughs as only a dragon can, though the mindvoice suggests much of his riders thoughts « Mine assumes more laps will be run then yours ever did. » Leiventh> Maxeoth senses that Leiventh's tones shift with the faintest of amusements. « That is quite possibly. Mine would be happy to join yours in laps. He feels somewhat lost now that no one can give them to him anymore. » I'daur, studying M'wen as he exits, furrows his brows slightly. "When was your last hatching, sir?" he asks R'hin distantly. Then, shaking his head once as he begins his meal, he cuts his eyes back to R'hin. "Be honored to, sir. I was actually going to ask about that tomorrow if I hadn't heard something--Zunaeth's about as edgy about having nothing to do as I am." R'hin shows very little interest in his meal, the bread and cheese untouched. "A couple of Turns ago, maybe more," is his absent answer to I'daur's question, little attention paid to Melata's departure. Hands slip into his pockets once more and produce the Glacier wing patch, smoothing fingers over it before pushing it across the table. "He has no Thread to fly anymore, I'daur." It's statement, but there's a slight lilt that suggests there's a question in there somewhere, too. Mirah's entrance is noted belatedly, as is her Telgar knot, with interest. "High Reaches' duties to Telgar and her queens," he greets. I'daur quirks a brow, and shoots another look after Melata and M'wen. "Interesting," is all he says before glancing back at R'hin. "Good point, sir. Too bad we didn't figure that out back at Monaco--the beaches are much better there," he deadpans. Shalyn :perks up, "Oh you're from the south? I've never been here, what's it like? When did you leave?" "I would get used to that particular tableau," R'hin says, taking note of the other bronzerider's reaction, head nodding after M'wen. A tap of fingers bespeak consternation at the response, low breath exhaled. Wry, "We will speak later," he echoes his words of earlier, reaching for his mug. Shalyn's query earns very little interest from the sandy-haired rider, leaning back slightly in his seat. I'daur glances around at Shalyn, shaking his head. "From here, originally. Been down there since the end of the Pass--recuperating, as it were. Better weather for us invalids down that way," he answers dryly, curving a half-smile up at the greenrider. "Yes, sir," he tells R'hin with a nod, before turning full attention back to the woman. "You look familiar. Shalyn, you said?" Mirah looks up from the message hide and nods her greeting the weyrleader. "Thank you, Mirah rider of green Trinaith at your service." Sliding the message hide back into her jacket she frowns "I think this was misadressed. Was hoping to get a cup of klah 'afore I venture back out into the cold?" Shalyn smiles and nodnods, "Yes, you might remember my impression. Youngest rider on Pern and youngest to fly in a fighting wing during the final threadfall." "Mirah," R'hin greets with a nod, "There's plenty of klah on the hearthside, and High Reaches is not so strapped we can't afford to share some with Telgar." His deprecating tone is accompanied by a grin and a wave of hand in the direction of the hearth. "Ah, that's right," I'daur agress with a nod. "That's right. I knew I knew the name. Well. Good to, uh. See you again, I suppose." He offers another half-smile to the woman, then, curiously, glances back at R'hin and then the Telgari Mirah. Nodding her thanks Mirah winds her way though to the hearthside. Filling a cup she peers around for an empty space to occupy. Settling on a space within earshot of both the bowl outside and R'hin, she nods a greeting to the glance from I'daur. Shalyn giggles, "That's ok, you look familiar but I didn't recognize you either 'specially since I went pretty much straight from the children's cavern to the weyrling barracks." she checks on the little girl in her arms, "And there have been plenty of changes since then." she smiles. "Join us, won't you, Mirah? Tell me, how fares Telgar?" R'hin invites, gesturing to the seat next to him. He seems to be studiously avoiding looking at the child in Shalyn's arms, and thus, avoids looking at Shalyn. "So there have," I'daur concedes with a nod. Having been eating steadily throughout, he finally pushes back his plate and stands stiffly. "Well, if you'll excuse me, it's past my bedtime. Good night, Shalyn, miss. We'll speak later, Weyrleader," he tells each of the three in turn, before he turns to shuffle out again. Shalyn smiles and waves, "Have a nice night, and welcome back!" Mirah sips greatfully at the steaming mug in her hands. Sliding over to the profered chair she grins lopsidedly. "Telgar... fares really. I've been away for some time helping rebuild my family's old hold, so I'm feeling a bit out of the loop myself." Mirah waves a quick fare well to the departing rider as well. R'hin offers an even nod to I'daur by way of farewell, eyes on the bronzerider for a moment before turning politely to Mirah. "I'd heard there'd been some big changes at Telgar, too. Your Weyrwoman is well, I take it?" Nodding slowly with the mug to her lips Mirah gulps more of the steaming liquid. "Ahh. Indeed, 'sfar as I know she is quite well. I've been a bit of a hermit of late though." "That's good to hear. I hope you'll pass on my regards," R'hin says, rising from his seat. "If you'll both excuse me, I've some things to take care of." With a tip of head to both, he heads for the bowl. You meander outside to the bowl. |
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