Logs:Taking Charge
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 7 July, 2015 |
| Who: N'rov, E'dre |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: E'dre and N'rov discuss the aftermath of Hematite's mysterious "illness" and E'dre asks N'rov to Step Up |
| Where: Records Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions, Ebeny/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, C'stian/Mentions |
  |
| It's been a handful of days since the mysterious 'bug' wrecked havoc on half of Hematite's riders. E'dre had the slightest of illness and led those healthier than he in drills for the day and a half that most were weyr-bound and ill. He's since recovered from his mild nausea and taken a list of complaints from those hit hardest about the kitchen staff. Weary and not necessarily at his ease with how to handle the incident, the Acting Weyrleader has taken up residence in the records room and is either hiding (or researching) amongst the many hidebound works held there. It might have been hard for that 'bug' to have had worse timing, considering what came after it, and N'rov was one of the worst hit; that's what he gets for... breathing. Today isn't a day for shooting the breeze with the recordskeepers, either; once he ascertains his used-to-be-wingsecond's holed up there, they get due appreciation and then he's off through the stacks. Silently. There's no baying the other man's name nor sniffing around dead ends, not even a gruff 'Gotcha' once he's tracked down. Only slouching against the nearest table-type surface until E'dre makes time for him, and if the bronzerider doesn't look all that gaunt to a passing glance, that's only because the infestation on his chin has moved from 'scruffy' to downright 'forested.' "You need to shave," E'dre drawls as he gives N'rov a sideways glance, that beard eyed with a frown. "We're going to do some flame drills tomorrow and I can't have your face catching on fire with a misdirected belch from Vhaeryth." He scrubs at his face briefly and sighs, turning back to the records he was examining. "There was no indication that anyone else in the Weyr was sick from the Infirmary records. It was all Hematite and to that, only those of us who went on to the Fountain. So the kitchen must've had some issue with whatever we ate there. I think I had some muffins? I mean.. shells, we went there to drink more than anything." He scratches at his temple, which is just starting to show the slightest of pepperings of gray at the hair there. "The fact an entire wing was nearly wiped out for few days is a serious concern." He looks to N'rov once more. "Cece thinks it was sabotage from Flint." That's dangled out and he waits to receive the bronzerider's thoughts on it. "I'm going to prune it into a," N'rov breaks right in, but whatever the shape might have been, it turns into a rough laugh. He doesn't mimic that would-be belch, though; he sobers instead. "I keep telling you, we need a better place to drink. Flint, now...." He scratches his jaw, casually at first and then starting to take his time with the hedge. "If it were anyone but Cece... but I've still got to doubt it. Who does that, you know? Head on's one thing, but that's just lame. Kid games." "I know you don't like the Fountain and I can't figure out why. At least it's local and we can all crawl home. If we were closer, I'd say Tillek every time," E'dre answers with a shrug. He leans waaaay back in his chair as he stretches his arms overhead and yawns. "Lame? Lame was a handful of our own stealing my clothes. People may have taken our pranking mentality too far again." He shakes his head and rubs briefly at his ear. "Cece was insistent. It doesn't help she has many good friends in the kitchen to defend." He eyes N'rov. "You think it's nothing?" N'rov's cough sounds an awful lot like 'fancy-assedness.' He's got a nod for getting home, though, even if it's soon followed by a grimace. "Watch what you call 'our.' Fuck. I don't know." He flexes his shoulders, not quite rolling them, definitely not relaxing. His gaze swings past E'dre to the ceiling, if only for a moment before he's looking back at the other rider."You put it that way and, yeah, someone could get distracted. Screw up flaming or betweening or whatever." A beat passes. "Maybe it wasn't the kitchen as such, maybe... someone spat in our drinks or something." Now he's scowling, because that version's so much better. "I'm no healer but I can assume /spit/ wouldn't make people puke and sh--, you don't need a reminder," E'dre stops himself with a wolfish grin as he appraises N'rov. "I don't have time to track down any spitters. Besides, if it was sabotage, they'll make themselves known. Someone's bound to slip up on that secret." He rubs at the back of his neck and then moves his hand to rub at his bad shoulder, rolling it a few times to relieve the buildup of tension. "I am transferring people," he tells N'rov, not quite looking at him. "I've decided to switch out some of our heavier dragons' for some of Malachite and Jasper's smaller ones. I'll have a bunch of new riders' in Hematite that need to be trained on the /proper/ way we operate." He pauses, looking back to N'rov to gauge his reaction. "Shoud've been a harper, listen to you rhyme," N'rov gripes, topping it off with a particularly crude gesture (though he does smirk) before slouching back and bracing with his free hand. "'Way to go, saboteurs. We'll just wait around until you get better at it.' This really had better be an accident." But then he's eyeing E'dre, more and more closely as the other man continues, less relaxed now than subtly primed. "Better hold off on the secret handshake, see who can actually hack it." "I didn't say it was permanent. No one is going to be happy with the changes but they have to be made. We are all too complacent and used to our routines," E'dre seems totally relaxed in this delivery as he tips back in his chair and idly inspects his fingers. He digs out a cuticle and then glances back at N'rov. "With my taking over for N'muir I'll need another wingsecond for Hematite. Do you think I should ask one of the transfers?" There's a gleam to his gaze and the slightest of smiles on his lips. Dangling that proverbial treat out and waiting to see if he gets a bite. So relaxed that N'rov hoods his own gaze, watching E'dre's home-grown manicure with gray eyes heavy-lidded. He doesn't look up, and doesn't look up, until those transfers and then he does. Sharply. Sharp as his drawl is excruciatingly slow, once he's caught that gleam and, more to the point, once he's too-easily caught catching it. "Because they'll be so great at training how we.... operate." "Hmm," E'dre muses, giving another glance to a nail and then he settles his chair down with a thud. "They may have the freshness to snap our most troublesome riders into shape. Perhaps how we operate is exactly what I don't want." He seems to be enjoying this line of the conversation because he angles a smirk at N'rov. "Unless," and he is purposefully patronizing in this delivery, "you have a better plan you wish to propose?" His smirk runs right into N'rov's short, disbelieving laugh; the bronzerider stretches out his legs, bootsoles scraping against the stone before he flattens them with a slow, spit-eating grin. "Get Elayne out there. So what if she doesn't have a dragon, she can still hand them their asses." E'dre's smirk loosens into a smile as he chuckles at N'rov. "She certainly could," he agrees. He scruffs his hand against the back of his head and sighs. A look is leveled on the bronzerider. "There's no getting you to rise to this, is there? No amount of hinting or teasing." He waits, seemingly seeing if /that/ would draw N'rov to 'ask'. "Do you want it?" he asks, brows lowering as he looks far too serious. "Could you handle it?" "Almost 'proposed' putting that Jasper badge somewhere special," N'rov admits, his grin more boyish this time before he's sitting forward, looking serious too. "Yeah, I could handle it. Just tell me you want me to back you the fuck up, and let's be done; don't need those games." Even if most days they're more fun. "You wouldn't be the first person to tell me to shove it lately," E'dre drawls with a crooked smile. "I want you to back me the fuck up," he continues, shaking his head and looking away from N'rov for a second. "It's going to be trying. I want to do something preemptive to keep Lilah out of the wings. She's.. she has a tendency to meddle in things she shouldn't. We haven't fought yet but you and I both know that's coming." He swings his gaze back to N'rov. "I need you to step up and help me. Help me keep Hematite functioning at it's best and listen to any complaints that may trickle your way from any direction. This time I wear this," he pauses to tap the knot against his shoulder, "I want to do it right. It'll be my last time." "Yeah, yeah. Well, unless they're in our wing, they can go get it shoved," N'rov puts that out there, and gets to listening; well after his reluctant half-smile for the meddler has come and gone, "You got it. She'll try, all right; you'd think she'd have her hands full with the caverns and Holds and everything, but that won't stop her." It isn't quite approval, under the circumstances, though it might be close. He glances past the older man, then back at him, gray eyes on brown. "So we're officially conniving? I'm all for somewhere with more sun and less dust and nosiness. Since it's your last time, and all." "She probably won't be able to be content with me, not ever. She may eventually trust her 'own' Weyrleader. That isn't likely to happen any time soon. So, until that time of a flight happens we're stuck with each other," E'dre muses aloud, rubbing his thumb along his jaw and ending with a flick of his fingers and a shrug. "You want to try and make a transfer to Ista? I don't think I could live in Igen again after enjoying winters all these turns." He grins and then stretches his arms overhead. "I just want you to keep people in line. In a different style than I might do. You know. I tend to make people cry, or transfer, or want to punch me. Since we're switching up the wings, I need someone that people may feel better about approaching. C'stian is too young to do it on his own." "Or the little one beats her to it," N'rov interjects, though his own shrug's now more amused than anything serious. "Nah. B'doran runs a tight ship; I'd go there." He says it all too briefly, as though it's of no import at all. "Though what I really meant was... let's go somewhere that isn't designed for people to listen in and write it down. Unless you can practice your make-'em-cry and get them out of here." "There's not much I feel inclined to hide. People can know what I've said as public knowledge or gossip," E'dre grouses, irritated by the idea of someone listening in. He glances around the room and tightens his lips in a thin line. "I'd say we could use the Weyrleaders' Complex, but that isn't--," he shakes his head and scrubs his face briefly. "We'll find somewhere better for the future. For now, though, you'll accept?" he asks, swinging his gaze back to the bronzerider. "I don't want to try and think about asking someone else. I need to know it's handled." "Yeah, I'm in." N'rov scratches at his chin; his frown still lingers for that complex Complex, dark as his scruff. Instead of disputing wheres and whens, "Just promise me you won't let her, let anyone drive you off. Shells, you can have a 'who can yell louder' contest and invite the whole Weyr. What you've got, maybe that's what it's going to take." "I don't think anyone will drive me off. Drive me crazy, sure. Maybe I'll do a bad job, maybe I'll do a good one. But I owe it to N'muir to do it /right/. To stay and stick it out. He's-he," he shakes his head, unable to articulate words on their former 'leader. "I owe him." That's simple enough. He stands then, shuffling whatever paperwork and hides are in front of him into a pile to shove under his arm. "C'mon. Let's go get you that knot. I'm sure Ben's going to slap me upside the head for it and others may complain but," he pauses, turning to reach for N'rov's shoulder to squeeze. "I trust you." "Yeah." N'rov's all in when it comes to that, and he's rising too, all set to quip about Ebeny and E'dre liking it. Only it doesn't go that way, and for once he has nothing sardonic to say, just a clap aimed for the other man's shoulder and an uncharacteristically inarticulate mutter. Yeah, they'll go; they'll get it done. E'dre nods his head, not bothering to say much else. There's plenty of idle chatter to fill the space as they make their way to the space N'muir used to hold. When he enters the office, he doesn't linger. That knot is dug out, handed over, and then he's elbowing his way back out towards the bowl. "C'mon. I'll take you to a dive bar I know in Tillek. Just your style," he tosses N'rov's way. How long they stay and how much they drink, well. That'll depend on many things. |
Leave A Comment