Logs:Set Adrift
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| RL Date: 26 May, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, M'kris, Bristia |
| Involves: Monaco Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Oriane's Evielth rises in leadership for Monaco, and R'hin's there to make sure things go wrong. They don't go wrong in quite the right way, though. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: D25, M11 - D2, M12, Turn 34 |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Follows on from Homeward Bound and For I'kris |
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| Fights -- real fights, that weren't for sport, for show, or for blowing off steam -- were often short, brutal, and to the point. This one was no exception, and left both of them limping away, and R'hin not really sure who had won. Alcohol dulled things, temporarily, but in the morning, he hurt. It wasn't like when he was in his teens, or twenties, or even his thirties. This morning, he felt... « You are old, » Leiventh pointed out, ever practical. "Shut up," he said, reflexively, and without heat. He didn't consider himself old, and he certainly didn't feel old. Mentally, anyway. « Perhaps it is time to put away childish things. » "Shut up." He wasn't angry, exactly -- Leiventh's encouraging of him to take up safer pasttimes was an old battleground, long fought between them, and with more acceptance than heat on either's behalf. And, besides, "If I did, you wouldn't be able to radiate smug and superior at me all day." Definite amusement from the bronze's side of their shared hut. Still, once this thing with M'kris was... settled, perhaps he'd think about... « Weyrhall. » There was a note of urgency to Leiventh's tone that made him sit up instantly, not bothering to reach for a shirt as he ran down the well-worn path. He recognized the figures involved immediately: young, cocky E'nest, taking on the older, grizzled wingsecond of M'kris'. A'gon, laughing and dancing out of the way of a bunch from a bluerider. Even K'son was in there, surprisingly. Savannah. R'hin felt a mixture of pride and apprehension. This put them in too much of a risk -- they were choosing sides, and making themselves a target. Without thought, he launched himself forward... ...and the world slid. Heat rose up, and distantly, Evielth's cry could be heard across the Weyr. R'hin groaned, "Now?" Leiventh, quickly. Have Saindyth call them. Relamoth, Yanvath, Rayaveth. She rises. « She will make sure they come. » They would only have one chance at this. R'hin searched the group for the familiar shock of dark hair. Some of the riders stood dully, now, not fighting -- but others, whose dragons wouldn't chase -- continued, taking advantage. And so must I. If I can find... ah! He lurched towards M'kris, raising a fist while he simultaneously felt Leiventh, and through him other bronzes, congregating where they could see Monaco's senior queen blooding. A moment before his blow landed, the very solid form of F'ren -- one of M'kris' brownriders -- tackled him to the ground. "It won't work this time," M'kris smirked down at him, as F'ren aimed a punch for his kidney. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. And then Savannah was there, and all bets were off as, moments later, Evielth soared into the skies of Monaco. He could feel the presence of K'son's Mereith at his flank, attempting to block one of M'kris' wingriders. He could feel Feyzeth's hair in his talons, the trickle of coppery blood spilling into his mouth, the pound of flesh against flesh as he jostled against him... « Focus. » One or both of them, it didn't matter: it was a timely reminder. Leiventh saw Feyzeth up ahead with the rest of the pack. Relamoth of Igen was there, as was Yanvath of Telgar and Rayaveth of Benden. Dragons his rider had wanted there, dragons his rider had chosen for Evielth. The other dragons didn't matter; it didn't matter who won, as long as it wasn't Feyzeth. He surged forward, seeking the bronze scarred by his own talons, feeling his own injuries burn in determination. At the final moment, it was his dragon nature that won out over his partnership with R'hin. Instead of blocking Feyzeth, he saw an opportunity, saw Evielth look back at him, and he burned, stretched for her, knowing she was his as she had been once before... But she was not. When Leiventh saw Feyzeth entangled in her wings, the bronze howled out his frustration, the bassy noise echoing through the sky as he surged downwards, defeated. R'hin forgave him, of course. R'hin always forgave him. But the worry over his straining, his overstepping -- knowing R'hin never wanted to be Weyrleader -- kept him awake past exhaustion. He sensed more than felt his rider join him in his grassy wallow. As always, the bronzerider was accepting of the defeat. "We'll find another way." He sensed doubt, but for once, didn't needle. Sometimes, they needed to lie to themselves. It had been an uncomfortable few days in the wake of the flight, as Monaco adjusted to the shift in power, and waited to see how a leadership under Oriane and M'kris would go. There was plenty of nervous mutterings, of course -- none too loudly -- and M'kris' wingriders strutted around the Weyr like they owned it. Which, in a way, was true now. It was by no coincidence that when M'kris finally called R'hin, it was to the council room, nor was his position at the head of the table and the absence of the Weyrwoman by chance. There was no pussyfooting around. "Sending you away was the best decision Oriane ever made, and I think we should make it permanent." M'kris tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table. "In fact, I think we'll clear out all of the former Savannah Wing. Things were much better when the lot of you was gone." He smirked. "I don't care where you go. High Reaches, Igen, whatever. You're not my problem anymore." A whole wing. R'hin's heart thudded with the possibility. Could he dare disappear a whole wing, given the opportunity? He'd vetted the whole wing, though he still wasn't sure of the loyalty of a few, but... it might be worth the risk. Except... these were people with families and ties to Monaco, and people who had established ties at High Reaches. He, too, was expected to be here by people in High Reaches. He hadn't meant to get quite so invested. Quite so messy. He gritted his teeth. "I'll go. But the others -- they were just following orders. Your issue is with me." "Weyrleader," M'kris snapped. "What?" "You forgot, Weyrleader." M'kris gazed at him steadily. R'hin swallowed down his immediate reaction, trying to stifle the thudding of his heart. For them. "Weyrleader. They have families here. Lives." M'kris smirked. "And they backed you. Don't think I didn't take notes during that little scene in the weyrhall the other night." A beat, then, "The Weyr is mine. Now get out." Rage, smoldering until now, flared and burned inside him. For a moment, the darkest thought was indulged: if he killed M'kris, right here and now, what would be the worst that could happen? He might end up with I'kris' fate, but the Weyr would be saved. « No. » The voice was cold, but it was not Leiventh's. He didn't recognize it, not at first. « Feyzeth is mine. He has spoken. You will leave. » Evielth? Cold silence answered him, smothering the heat in his mind. R'hin grit his teeth, and with great difficulty, turned on a heel and walked away, his fingers twitching and aching to reach for that beltknife at his side all the way. That cold presence in his head pressed harder, becoming painful. He started jogging, then ran, blindly -- aware in a distant sort of way people were staring at him as he did so. Then... « R'hin. » It was cold, but it was cold tempered with love and an innate understanding of him. His other half. "Leiventh." That he practically sobbed the name might at any other time have made him feel ashamed, but in that moment, it was right. He felt raw, burned away, and Leiventh's thoughts were a soothing balm, encasing and protecting him. He didn't wait for the edict to be enforced. He had Leiventh spread word, and one by one, Savannah slipped away in the night. The void of between swallowed his frustrated howl, silencing it as if it never happened, before he reappeared, moments before others appeared into the skies and circled to land down on the sandy shoreline. The crate strapped to Leiventh's side was heavy, and he had K'son help him cart it to the middle of the beach, as other riders landed and pressed in. Wordlessly, he and K'son began handing out bottles of the rum to each of the riders who arrived. The farewell present from Maiga would suit them well enough for now, maybe even enough to ease the sting of her blunt refusal to stock K'del's wine. "Bad for business, what with M'kris and the history with High Reaches. You know how it is." Yes, he knew how it was. How it would be from now on. They had questions, all of them -- some shocked, some relieved to be away from M'kris, others resentful about being forced to leave. The questions flooded him, but he had only once answer for them. "I promise you this. M'kris will pay." There was a heartbeat of silence after he spoke, as if surprised by his vehemence. And then Bristia, ever the harper, filled the silence before it could stretch, telling a great tale of the Old Times, of a time of the dark before the dawn, filling them with a hope in the way his lust for vengeance did not. They talked, all of them -- with anticipation or anxiety, hope and dread. He stayed silent, a single, burning thought in his mind. M'kris. |
Comments
Azaylia said...
M'kris! The bastard. When Evielth spoke directly to R'hin, I got chills.
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