Logs:Of Responsibilities
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| RL Date: 14 April, 2006 |
| Who: G'non, Rathin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 21, Month 4, Turn 7 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 16:38 on day 21, month 4, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring afternoon. 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: G'non Weyrling Board Obvious exits: Bowl Candidate Barracks G'non looks up from his hides as you come in and nods. "Rathin, yes?" He stands. "I'm G'non, Wydreth's rider." Dutifully (somewhat, anyway), Rathin follows the drudge that leads him to the room, claps the man cheerfully on the back, and steps inside. The Wingleader is studied thoughtfully, the scruffy-haired candidate offering an easy grin. "That's me." A brief pause. "Sir. I hear you wanted to-- ask me some questions?" G'non nods. "That's right. I understand there was an incident between you and one of my Riders." He sits again, gesturing you to the chair across the worktable. "An incident." Rathin echoes that, deliberately borrowing precise intonation. "That's one way of putting it. Sir." He can't help it; a wry smile creeps across his features, before he crosses the room, taking the indicated seat. "I don't really know that there's much I can tell you. My cheek got in the way of her hand, and I ended up with a sevenday's extra chores. End of story, no?" His head tips to one side, curious, though his tone holds a faint note of facetiousness to it. G'non steeples his fingers and shakes his head slightly, his expression neutral. "Not quite, no. But before I make any decisions one way or another, I like to get all the facts and hear from everyone involved." He sits back. "It's not always possible, but it's how I prefer to do things." He gestures to you. "Right now, I'd like to hear your side of the story. Please be honest; you're not going to be punished for speaking plainly." A pause follows, as Rathin studies G'non evenly, as if weighing up the validity of his words. "I beg to differ. People -always- get punished for speaking plainly. Especially me." His arms stretch to either side before he laces his fingers behind his head, eyes going to the ceiling as he recites in a bland tone: "She said something about it being useful to listen to stories from people in the Weyr, and I suggested that I wouldn't be interested in whatever stories about the latest who's-sleeping-with-who around the Weyr, and she accused me of being disrespectful. Then she goes to storm out the door, stops and hangs around, then comes back and slaps-- I mean, I get in her way with my cheek, and then she's sobbing hysterically, then laughing hysterically, and then she announces she's pregnant." The candidate's lips purse briefly. "I think I interrupted her happy shining moment of revelation. My bad." G'non's eyebrows arch slightly. "Were you? Being disrespectful, that is." "I called her ma'am," Rathin counters. G'non's lips quirk up very slightly. "It's possible to turn ma'am into an insult, if you work at it hard enough. It's not always what you say, but how you say it." He studies you again. "You strike me as someone who's good at saying things without actually saying them. Am I wrong?" A snort of amusement from Rathin is quickly followed by a grin. "If I'd wanted to be disrespectful to her, I would've been a lot more clear about it. You know, made up flash cards and such to help her along." He neither confirms nor denies G'non's accusations, settling instead for a shift of shoulders. G'non falls silent for a few seconds, ruminating. You didn't exactly answer his question; then again, by dancing around it so neatly, you did, in a sense. "There's value in a talent like that...in the right place, at the right time." He looks up at you again. "You also strike me as someone who likes to test limits...see how far you can go." A raised eyebrow makes it a question. "I thought this was about the Incident," Rathin's deliberate emphasis adds the capital to that word. "Not about myself. Not that I'm not a fascinating topic, but..." G'non says "One in which I have a vested interest." G'non taps his hides. "Considering that there's more than a passing chance that you might be one of my possibilities for a new recruit down the road, mmm?" A slight shrug of the shoulders. "But that's down the road. What I'm concerned with right now *is* the incident...why it happened, and how to prevent it from happening again." He doesn't frown, but there's a suggestion of it in the set of his mouth. "I dislike hearing that my wingriders have come to blows with candidates."" Rathin's posture, casual throughout the interview until now, changes noticeably at G'non's words. His hands drop from behind his head, folding across his chest instead, his whole demeanour closed off, guarded. "I wouldn't go around counting your eggs as yet, Wingleader." His voice, too, is pointedly even, as he continues, "And since you suggested -honesty-, I'd suggest your greenrider would benefit from a session with the mindhealer. Several, personally. As for preventing it happening again..." there's a tight smile. "...some things are just inevitable." G'non notes the change in posture, his expression still neutral. "The idea of being tapped for a Wing bothers you? Why is...no." He holds up a hand. "Don't answer that. That IS outside the scope of this interview." A rueful expression touches his lips--perhaps a hint of apology? "Habits die hard, and Wingleaders start digging for information almost before the clutch is shelled. I didn't ask you here for that." He sits back again. "I'm curious, though. If you were in my position, what would you do in this situation?" The brief tightening of lips suggests that Rathin wouldn't have answered the question even had G'non finished it. The closed off posture lingers despite the change of subject: "It depends on what the greenrider said was -her- side of the story. I imagine it's vastly different. I bet I was kicking canines at the same time as I was secretly planning to take over some vastly important Hold." G'non actually chuckles at that. "Felines, I think...and it was the Weyr, not a Hold." He shakes his head. "In all honesty, I'm going to speak with her last." "I'd take along a box of tissues and some calming herbs or other," is Rathin's advice. "Don't do it where there's any sharp objects either, that'd be asking for trouble." His expression is still largely guarded, though a thin mask of amusement begins to creep over. "She'll blame me. There'll be no fault on her part. I accept that - I mean the word of a mere candidate over that of a greenrider? She is, after all, a member of the much vaunted Dragonriders of Pern. She is above reproach." Deliberate pause. "Right, sir?" If anything, it's like he's offering that option willingly, unconcerned with the consequences for himself. G'non looks just mildly surprised. He shakes his head. "A question for you...and, yes, it has to do with the topic at hand. When you were growing up, was there one lad who was bigger and stronger than all the others his age?" Rathin's tone is bland, impersonal, just like his response: "Isn't there always someone like that when you're growing up?" G'non nods. "And when he got in fights...whether he started them or not...who wound up taking the blame?" Rathin knows exactly where this is going, and heads it off with a curt gesture of his hand: "What would you rather have, Wingleader? Unity in your wing, or a peon you'll likely never see again doing a few extra chores for a while? I know which I'd choose." The contemplation is longer this time...verging on uncomfortably long. "Riders...protect people, Rathin. That's why we exist; that's why the Weyrs exist. It's the greatest feeling in the world, Impressing--but it carries responsibilities with it." G'non smiles--a bit sadly, perhaps. "I take those responsibilities seriously. If I have a rider who isn't taking those responsibilities seriously, then we don't *have* unity. I take that seriously, as well." G'non says "At any rate...I shouldn't keep you longer. Unless there's anything else you'd like to add?" Thinly veiled contempt twists Rathin's face: "Then you're a fool, sir." The statement is even, without any sort of heat, which could be an indicator that his words are a deliberate attempt to antagonise the bronzerider. He rises slowly, hands on the worktable, leaning forward as if to emphasise his point. "Harpers have spent Turns and Turns building the myth of the dragonrider. You would tear that down in the name of -responsibility-," the last word drawled out. He straightens, eyes meeting the other man's, formal all of a sudden. "I deliberately antagonised Shalyn, sir. I often behave that way. I'm certain if you asked anyone in the Weyr, they'd confirm that. Morowen and Rachiel were there; I'm sure they'd say the same." G'non remains seated for a few moments, still studying you. If the words find their mark, he shows no outward sign of it. "I don't have much use for myths, Rathin. I deal in realities. And the reality of the dragonrider *is* responsibility." He stands and begins to collect his hides. "One piece of advice: if you don't want to be a Rider...if you don't want it enough to die for it...it would be best if you decided that now. You may not think that you stand a chance of Impression. The dragon may have other ideas." G'non tucks the hides under one arm. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Rathin." It's clear from Rathin's abrupt stiffening and narrowing of eyes that G'non's hit a nerve, even though the candidate attempts to obfuscate the reaction by flinging his arms wide. "Any other world-shattering tidbits you'd like to share, feel free to note them down on hide to preserve them for future generations. I can arrange a discount for you through the Beowin traders, if you like? No?" His hands drop to his sides, casual lift of shoulder given. "I'm happy to obey, dragonrider." Faint mocking is audible in his tone at the last, as he turns to head for the door. G'non says "Only that sarcasm works best as a scalpel, not a bludgeon." G'non smiles faintly. "Don't overuse it, and you'll do fine. Good night, Rathin." He heads for the door himself." "Wise words for the ages, sir," Rathin quips, gesturing as if writing on an invisible piece of hide as he steps outside. You stroll into the eastern bowl, high reaches weyr. G'non meanders in from the weyrling training room. G'non has arrived. G'non wanders towards the western side of the bowl. G'non has left. Hands in his pockets, Rathin watches the bronzerider leave with an even expression. The kick he gives to some poor rock as he turns towards the barracks is indicator enough of his mood, though. You stride into the candidate barracks. |
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