Logs:Peace Offering
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| RL Date: 31 January, 2014 |
| Who: Ali, N'muir |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali brings a peace offering of food and attempts to talk to N'muir about Dice again. It doesn't go well. |
| Where: N'muir's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'ten/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions |
| To say that N'muir has been avoiding Ali in recent sevendays would be an understatement. Where she is, he is not - though it well may be just coincidence that N'muir is suddenly so deeply involved with people or in tasks that have no reason to be anywhere near Ali. So when an invitation to dine with Ali presents itself, it is keeping with the behaviour that N'muir has exhibited recently that he replies to the invitation with a solid excuse: Can't; working. It's fool-proof - or it would be if his bronze lifemate weren't visible in the mouth of his weyr, watching the going-ons of the Bowl before him while N'muir rubs oil into his front paws. Would it be lulling him into a false sense of security that Ali doesn't immediately rush over when he's visibly taking care of Bijedth? Moreso when, as is her habit, Isyath tries to tempt the senior bronze up into the skies with her and the other dragons? Ali's steps are quiet, unintentionally, as she climbs the ledge up to Bijedth's location, visible perhaps to the dragon as she stops in the entrance and frowns at N'muir. She's carrying a basket - and certain delicious smells can be detected wafting out from there - hesitating visibly. Bijedth lifts his head to watch Isyath high above the Weyr, his answer to her call the contented enjoyment of his manicure. Maybe next time. That big, angular head swivels to watch Ali's approach, the happy blue-green of his whirling eyes welcoming her. N'muir's back is turned, his body bent over a bronze paw. He first cleans the paw before meticulously massaging oil into the hide, paying special attention to the usual places where callouses might form. N'muir doesn't look over his shoulder when he takes a breath. "Did you not receive my reply or are you pointedly ignoring it?" he asks dryly, his voice defeated more than irritated. Next time, next time. Always next time. Except, thankfully perhaps for Bijedth, Isyath is likely to forget the /last/ time by the time the /next/ time comes around. So, she merely contents herself by sharing that delighted joy of flying with the dragons of her Weyr. "Bijedth," /he/ receives a respectful curtsy from the junior; N'muir receives a lift of chin (not that he's looking), and: "I'd already cooked; I /was/ going to bring you the left-overs, since you're so swamped with- work." She doesn't sound that angry, really, because- well, it's Bijedth, and he can't be blamed for his rider, surely. "But, speaking of ignoring- you've been avoiding me, sir." N'muir doesn't stop his methodical massaging of Bijedth's paw. Perhaps it's safer than turning and seeing what might be in Ali's hands. Or maybe he's still trying to adhere to that illusion of being swamped with work. "I've been busy," is his excuse. "Surely you don't begrudge a man for attending to his duty?" Bijedth returns the curtsy with a happy rumble of affection. Attention is attention, and whatever is between N'muir and Ali in this moment is no concern of Bijedth's. N'muir rubs the oil up into the joints above the bronze's paw and finally takes a moment to pause and look over his shoulder at Ali, squinting against the sky. "Is there something you need, Weyrwoman?" The press of Ali's lips, unseen by N'muir, is silent disapproval, though the dark-haired woman wouldn't dare voice it aloud. Instead, she waits until he finally looks at her, then stretches the basket partway out, as if in invitation for him to take it. "You can eat," she says, looking at him expectantly. It might seem that's all there is, except, "I also wanted to- to apologize. Not for my words, because I- I stand by them." She squares her shoulders at that. "But for the manner in which I addressed them." N'muir eyes the outstretched basket with a stubborn line in his lips, his gaze eventually sliding passed the basket to the woman wielding it. That frown falters for the briefest of moments to toe the line between pride and guilt. "I have no idea what that means, Ali," N'muir sighs out, his tone miserable defeat. Still, he doesn't make for that basket. "And I just want to be clear about what exactly you stand by. You believe you're in the right for badgering me to discipline my wingriders for /not/ cheating in a gambling tournament that took place in an illegal establishment in this Weyr, just because people are upset that my boys' club wins everything? Do I have that right or am I missing anything?" When he doesn't take the basket, Ali doesn't just stand there holding it out- she moves past him, looking for an empty space on the table - or clearing one if there is none. "No," she answers, quickly, pausing. "You have the right to discipline your riders however you see fit. If you choose not to do so-" there's a lift of her chin, "But I want you to comprehend the effect you have on the Weyr. That your actions as a Wingleader, protecting your wing, have on your role as Weyrleader." It looks like she's planning to set that food out for him, unless stopped, pulling out carefully wrapped bowls. "Dice is-" she hesitates, stops what she's doing as she speaks, "It's a way of helping the Weyr. If it stays illegal, then anything that occurs there, or because of it, won't fall onto you or the Weyrwoman." Bijedth has absolutely no shame about watching the two interact with each other, his attention swiveling from one to the other and back. N'muir still has Bijedth's paw in his lap and his hands on that paw remain gentle, almost cradling it as if he might hold a beloved toy he seeks comfort from, but his expression becomes stern and grim. "You admitted that pooling their marks wasn't against the rules," N'muir argues, and as he continues, his words are emphasized to stand as stalwart in their structure as his opinion against hers: "They. Did. Nothing. Wrong." Something about that causes him to suddenly become unable to stay sitting any longer, and he carefully moves Bijedth's paw from his lap in order to stand up. "You /think/ what you're doing is helping? Accusing good, decent men of doing something that they didn't do just because you think it looks bad?" N'muir moves as if to cover his face with his hand but remembers the oil slick on his hand and instead buries his face in the crook of his arm before continuing with one short demand: "What is Dice? Why is it funding the Weyr? Who will it fall on if something happens because of it?" The next word that follows is disbelief and accusation all in one: "/You?/" While N'muir takes comfort in Bijedth's presence, Ali takes comfort in a routine she's used to: setting out the food here and there, arranging all the dishes just so. She leaves them covered for now, and places the basket on the ground beside the table, all while she answers, "Yes. I didn't have a rule that says, 'Don't pool your resources because the prize is for one person.' I also didn't have a rule that says 'Don't steal your marks from other people,' because I'd assume, like the first, it was obvious, and polite, and no one would try to scam their fellow riders. Clearly, it was a misjudgement on my part." She says it in low tones, like she's trying not to raise her voice, deliberately. "If you choose to protect them on a technicality-" she shakes her head sharply, drawing herself up as she turns to face N'muir just in time for his barrage of demands. With a slow breath, she answers the last first: "Yes." Then, as she folds her hands, "It's a place for people to let off steam. It's something we can control. Something we can get marks from. Somewhere we can get /information/ from." Her gaze goes distant, briefly, then back to him as she steps away from the table, posture rigid. "I'll let you get back to your- work, sir." His mood poisoned, N'muir turns to take his bubbling frustration into the depths of his weyr-turned-office, leaving her food untouched. "It doesn't look like you're controlling anything. How will you control anyone with less than good intentions when you can't even keep /E'ten/ from breaking your rules?" he mutters over his shoulder. "You had better hope that Hattie is willing to take the hit for you, because I'm not." When N'muir fades into darkness, Bijedth looks expectantly at the weyrwoman, emitting a quiet whimper of a sound and inching mere hairwidths closer to her. Ali's expression crumbles, and she takes a slow, deep breath, fingers pressed white-knuckled against each other. When N'muir retreats, she does too - in the opposite direction, hurrying down the ledge. It doesn't seem like she's noticed Bijedth's attention in her haste to leave. |
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