Logs:Or Ever
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2013 |
| Who: Brieli, N'muir |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli has an excuse for visiting Fort and runs into N'muir. He asks after things with N'rov, and Brieli finds unexpected support. |
| Where: Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Quick winds spend most of the day darting busily, chasing large clouds across those blue autumnal skies. |
| Mentions: N'rov/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr This section of the bowl is just as devoid of plantlife as the central portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to both the east and west, there are very few toward the north. Toward the northwest would be the ledges for the junior goldriders, while a second flight of stairs leads up to the Weyrleaders' complex. A little to the northeast is the entrance to the hatching cavern, while an entrance to the living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant southeastern end of the bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast, respectively. The warm days of early autumn are well behind with the brisk wind of winter beginning to snap at the heels of the breeze, jostling the trees of the lower foothills with that telltale message: change is coming. In the Bowl of the Weyr, Bijedth sits with his tear-stained face lifted to the distant sun, taking in the last warmth of the fading day. N'muir on the other hand is far less concerned with the time of day, his gloved hands making quick, practiced work of straps that tether sacks to the bronze's rig for transport. N'muir still isn't sporting the Weyrleader's knot, his shoulder entirely void but at least sharply dressed in what look like brand new leathers in Fort's colours of brown and black. The sun may be setting but there is still work to be done, clearly. Even a brisk autumn day is better than the deep winter that High Reaches now finds itself in; when the sunny gold Iesaryth blinks into existence high above, it's with a trail of snow at first, until it flies off, melts away in the afternoon sky, sparkling briefly. As is her custom, she tells Elaruth of her presence, ever polite - but rather than angling for a certain high ledge, the queen slowly spirals down to the bowl. As she lands, she has a rumble of greeting for Bijedth, and while she's not exactly laden down, she's a messenger bag attached to her straps. Perhaps Brieli at least has an excuse for visiting today? Bijedth opens his eyes to watch the foreign gold's flight, his attention transforming from passive interest to attentive intrigue as she draws closer. Surely he's noticed her visit previously but today is different. Today, he reaches for her with curious, frothy clouds of a summer thunderstorm, voice full of greeting that is far more welcoming than N'muir's appraisal of Brieli up in her straps. He squints up at her, and after a second thought he lifts a hand to salute her. "Fort's greetings to High Reaches," he calls up to her, and his expression warms somewhat along with the dark rumble of his voice. He pointedly glances at the messenger bag, and something of a lopsided smile lifts the corner of his lips. "Will you be taking your supper in Fort tonight, Weyrwoman?" Iesaryth is always curious and /interested/, so always welcoming of contact, of greeting, sunlit ocean waves bubbly with seafoam, salty breezes warm and easy. Brieli herself isn't so easy, but she seems used to being less-than-welcome - it's possible that happens in more than one or two places. The goldrider is not dressed in High Reaches' colors, but rather in wine-dark leathers that do better things for her than being a slave to one's allegiances do. Just to fashion. She salutes back casually before she swings down, returning, "High Reaches' duties to Fort. And I suppose I'd better not. She might not like it, and I try not to impose too much on your hospitality, Weyrleader." N'muir's head tips gently to the side, question asked even before he manages the words: "'She might not like it'?" Instinctively, he looks to Iesaryth, assuming perhaps. He lays a hand on Bijedth's chest, gloved hand rubbing up and under the chest buckle like an old habit while pride tries to rally against that word. "I'm not Weyrleader right now," he murmurs, and attempts to flash a short-lived smile at the young woman. "Speaking of Weyrleaders... I hear you have your fair share of them. I think everyone's been looking your way since Hraedhyth and Iesaryth went up..." Once she's undone the bag, slung it over one shoulder, Brieli offers up a smile. "Iesaryth, yes. And I apologize. Force of habit. I expect that you would be, were you to take it up again." She seems sincere enough about that, and perhaps somewhat aware of the irony, given the situation they're in. With her own head-tilt and curious arch of fine brows, "Our way, or my way specifically? I wouldn't blame anyone for looking our way, but we managed when our Weyrleader abandoned us. We'll manage now." If she sounds faintly bitter for being 'abandoned' in the wake of tragedy, could she be blamed? N'muir gives an idle glance across the Bowl into the distance, nodding his head. "Yeah, well..." He still isn't Weyrleader, says his flicker of a frown. His eyes roam back towards her, shrugging his shoulders and letting a shadow of amusement return. "Your way," generally, and "/your/ way," specifically, "Both, I suppose. Lately, more /your/ way, I'll admit. But I don't doubt you and Azaylia; you've proven yourselves capable." He pauses, considering her and his words, hand still wedged under Bijedth's chest buckle. "N'rov," he finally says, and pauses yet again, words lost to a moment of hesitation. "Things,... are they-... you know, he's my wingmate, and I just want to ..." His free hand vaguely gestures in an attempt to sway that awkward expression coming over him. "I just... you know, talked to him about it." That hand migrates in a wide circle, eventually making its way into his hair, disturbing curls. "I just want to make sure things are okay. You know?" Pulling off her gloves with quick, efficient motions, Brieli simply nods in acquiescence; what N'muir is or isn't doesn't really bother her, though it's obvious she still sees things a certain way. For the clarification, "Ah. Well. We /have/ proven ourselves capable. The Weyrleaders may change, the Weyrwomen don't. Whatever happens, we'll figure it out." On their own, seems the implication, for all the bronzerider hasn't implied otherwise. N'rov as a subject has her expression shading faintly uncomfortable, but perhaps the awkwardness on both sides helps - she busies herself with tucking gloves into her pocket, noting, "Things are fine. I... I would have liked things to be different, but I didn't want him... I wouldn't take him from here, into that." A pause. "But I would. It's difficult." N'muir gives an approving nod of his head. "I sincerely hope that you believe those words down to your bones," he mentions, echoing her sentiment: "High Reaches belongs to its weyrwomen. I hope you don't let any Weyrleader - or man, or /woman/, all things considered lately - take that authority from you." Very obviously hinting towards a very recent page from High Reaches' past with K'del. But onto more awkward topics: N'muir slips his hand out from under Bijedth's buckle, turning his attention to straightening it unnecessarily. "It can be hard on people but like I told him, it gets easier. And I'm glad he didn't become Weyrleader of High Reaches, all things told. But if he acts like a moron over this- if you need me to straighten him out," he tosses out in jest, "just say the word." He tires of talking to Bijedth's buckle and glances back across the space between bronze and gold. "I should let you get on with your day..." Once she's done with her gloves, Brieli can look back up for /that/, dark eyes serious, expression determined... and not a little pleased for N'muir's words. "I do. I think we both do. We don't intend to step back at this point." Ever, likely - not this particular weyrwoman, at least. For all that N'rov might not love it, they'd probably have to kill her first. Speaking of whom, she quirks her lips a touch for 'easier', telling him dryly, "I'll take your word for it. And..." She allows herself a faint smile. "I try not to think too much about it. But don't worry about straightening him out. He does all right for himself." Hitching the bag back up, nodding, "And you yours? I'm mostly being useful before I visit. If you see her first, please give my regards to the Weyrwoman?" There's no expression of surprise at the appearance of that pleased expression, N'muir simply nodding once again at her words and putting voice to unaired words: "Or ever, I hope." He steps back, giving Bijedth room to lower himself. A healthy rider might climb up his straps and swing himself into place but Bijedth lays flat against the ground before N'muir crawls into place and secures himself into his straps. There, he salutes Brieli again. "I would be happy to, Weyrwoman. Enjoy your visit." Bijedth rumbles his happy farewell to the Reachian queen before putting wind in his sails and reaching for the sky. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Thu, 31 Jan 2013 20:43:57 GMT.
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FFFFFF. N'muir is <3. Can we adopt him and Hattie as Den-parents?
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