Logs:The Situation
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| RL Date: 19 October, 2012 |
| Who: I'kris, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: I'kris is visiting his family; R'hin waylays him. |
| Where: Bar, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 1, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Even though it's a winter's afternoon, in the Southern continent winter is relatively mild, and warm compared to the Northern Weyrs. It's a cold, chilly mental touch that announces the presence of another dragon in Svissath's mind: a chill that he can probably associate with High Reaches with relative ease. « Svissath. » While Leiventh's tone is polite, distant, there's the warmer tones of Monaco's weather to take the edge off -- or perhaps it's the gold's name that is mentioned moments later, « Mine would like to buy yours a drink. Zaisavyth says you have finished with hers. » A brief flash -- the location of the bar certainly shouldn't be unknown to a native Monacoan. It's fair to say that Svissath has been enjoying the contrast of Monaco's warmth to High Reaches' chill, though auroral lights and the gleam of sun-on-snow still pervade his reply; there's Rielsath, never far from his thoughts. If he's disappointed that their stay will be extended, the brown is careful to bury it beneath layers of sweetness, and confirms, « He will meet yours there, Leiventh. We will stay a little while longer. » Two months in wintry High Reaches have made their mark on I'kris' still-dusky skin, but the brownrider seems nonetheless quite at home as he ambles in to the bar, short-sleeved and short-wearing, sandals slapping against the ground with each step. He's not cagey enough to be able to shield is expression entirely: there's curiosity and interest, there, and no small amount of caution. R'hin, too, is dressed casually -- loose linen shirt and a pair of gray slacks. He's secured the back half of the bar -- one of the best places to watch the comings and goings, a pitcher of beer on the table and a couple of glasses as well, one full, and one half drunk already. When his gaze falls on the brownrider, he rises, smile quick to play on his lips despite the other's obvious caution. "Good to see you, I'kris," he greets with an easy sort of casual warmth. His hand stretches out to indicate a seat by way of invitation, waiting until the other Monaco rider gets closer before he seats himself again. "Mirinda's well?" There might just be a hint of too-warm, too-familiar in his tone when he speaks of the other man's sister. "And you," says I'kris, though it can't be said that the words - or the attempted smile that accompany them - are entirely genuine. He's distractedly studying the other rider, as if attempting to get a read on him in a way that is not especially subtle. And then there's the flinch that follows mention of his sister, and the deliberate sharpening of his expression. Cooler still is his, "She is. Is there something I can assist you with, R'hin? Svissath's eager to return to his queen, of course." He sits, at least, folding his hands in front of him tidily, though he's not quite as poised as perhaps he's intending to be. Both the flinch and the cooler tones are noted by R'hin, who takes the opportunity to take a gulp of the beer, before gesturing to the other glass. "Please." Then: "I'm sure you can understand my interest in High Reaches Weyr. And in you, of course, with Svissath being of Leiventh. It's good to see his blood going back into the Reaches' line." For his part, the bronzerider looks relaxed enough, leaning back, and gaze shifting across the bar, before returning to I'kris. "I'm curious what you make of the situation?" His expression is interested, curious, though for once, not overly intense. I'kris pulls the glass towards him across the table, but doesn't lift it to drink: no, he's too busy looking at R'hin, that study still so-obvious in his expression. "As I understand it, his blood is already in High Reaches' line," he points out. "I looked it up. Rielsath is his grand-daughter or something." But it's a side issue, one he's less interested in pursuing than that other one - and before he can answer this he really does need to take a careful sip. And then a second one. "The situation. I assume you mean High Reaches in general? Their politics? If not, you'll need to... educate me." Brows flicker upwards; if anything, R'hin seems more surprised by the fact that I'kris 'looked it up', than the information itself -- likely that's not any kind of surprise. "Sure, but that's a good span of time ago. It never hurts to strengthen a good bloodline." A low-throated laugh spills out in response to the other's hedging; for his part, the Monaco bronzerider is plain: "The exile queen, of course. The Weyrleaders remain interested in the situation." 'Interested' in this case more than likely being R'hin's own substitution. "They rely on me to keep abreast of such things. Just in case." Of what, is fairly deliberately not shared. It would be against I'kris' best interests to deny the strength of the bloodline, and so he says nothing. Nor does he conceal the tightening of his expression at mention of the exile queen, though he's careful to take a moment before replying. And another tidy sip of his drink. "'Just in case'," he repeats, testing out the words on his tongue. "In case she tries to do something unthinkable? I haven't met her, not properly. The two younger juniors seem content with her. The Weyrleader's besotted with her. But there are... quiet stirrings. Not everyone is content, or pleased." The answer to the musing, just in case, is a lift-and-drop of shoulders, as if R'hin himself doesn't know what their Weyrleaders might ask of him. When I'kris takes a sip of his beer, the bronzerider takes a deeper drought, expression thoughtful, keenly interested in the other rider's thoughts. "I imagine they wouldn't be. It doesn't follow Tradition." A subtle sort of emphasis to that word, followed by a lifting of brow, "And what do you make of her, I'kris?" "My Father--" But that's not what's been asked of him, and I'kris knows it, biting back the answer that so quickly came to his tongue. "Tradition is important. The idea of a Weyrwoman who doesn't understand is a - a strange one. It makes me uneasy. But, as I said," and it's his turn to shrug his shoulders and to look away from the bronzerider, seeking out the far wall. "I don't know her personally. Her queen rose first, and that, by tradition, makes her the Weyrwoman." A tip of head is R'hin's response to I'kris' initial response, a curve of lips hidden, mostly, by the lift of his mug to take another gulp of the cold beer. He studies the other rider openly, while he's looking away, leaning forward to fill the other man's glass while he does so. "Her queen rose barely six months after her last flight. Even during a Pass that timeframe would be... unusual." Not that he's suggesting anything, merely offering it with a casual twitch of shoulders. "K'del strikes me as a good man. Undoubtedly he's... relieved... to no longer be paired with Tiriana." Nor is I'kris suggesting anything when he adds, "And then to lose the clutch. I'd never even heard of such a thing happening." His tone's even, though, and if it's obvious that he doesn't especially care for the exile Weyrwoman, well, is that any surprise? "No doubt. Even those showing concern about her don't hesitating in admitting that they're glad Tiriana is gone. For the most part, anyway. People assure me that she listens to the Weyrleader, at least." "Nor has the records of any Weyr recorded such an event." Just /how/ R'hin was able to get access to such information isn't elucidated; but then, he always had plenty of visitors (sometimes female, sometimes not) from other Weyrs in his time at Monaco. He empties his glass, and leans back in his seat, a wry little smile twitching the corner of his lips. "No one knows what happens behind closed doors, with a couple. Many a great man has been lead astray by a young, ambitious, pretty girl." I'kris gives R'hin a searching look, the kind that suggests he's surprised, but perhaps as much by the bronzerider as what he's actually saying. Turning his attention away, he focuses on his drink, taking several more casual sips before he speaks again. "It all makes for a strange situation, does it? Monaco, surely, would never have let her Stand, but... there she is. I can only hope he's sensible enough to keep his head. Leiventh's daughter, at least, seems to have Impressed a solid enough girl, though she's a little difficult to read. Azaylia's more obvious, but doesn't want to be Weyrwoman." While R'hin starts to lean forward for the pitcher, his fingers curl loosely around the handle, though he doesn't lift it. He's silent enough on the subject of the exile standing, which is perhaps telling in itself, for him. "The ability of the other goldriders matter little, given Iolene's age. She's likely to be Weyrwoman for some time to come." Letting his hand fall free, he tugs it through his hair instead. "Next time you're down to visit the family, let me know. I'll buy you another beer, or two." "But hopefully they can be a... a moderating influence," says I'kris, not sounding terribly convinced by his own suggestion. "They're all young. Perhaps they'll work together." His chin lifts, but this time there's distinctly less caution in his stance and expression, as though he's been surprised, and even pleased, by the turn of this conversation. "I'll do that," he agrees, easily. "I'll hope to be down here at least once more before the eggs arrive. After that - it will depends, of course, on Svissath and Rielsath. I should get back." He stands, finishing his beer even in the process of doing so. A purse of lips is R'hin's reaction to the suggestion of moderation. "Perhaps, indeed." He pushes upwards as I'kris does, stretching out a hand for the other rider to shake with an easy companionship. "We'll try and make it up for the clutching, if we can. Leiventh's fairly interested." Not that R'hin isn't, judging by the gleam of pale gaze, the hint of pride that twitches his lips into an easy smile. There's a weakness to I'kris' grip - a reminder of his youth, no doubt, and confidence that he has largely been feigning throughout this conversation, though he seems quietly pleased nonetheless. "We'd like that," he says. "Thank you. Clear skies, R'hin." Interestingly, R'hin's handshake isn't overbearing as one might well expect. Instead, he matches I'kris' strength, or lackthereof, almost perfectly -- obviously deliberately. "And to you and Svissath." When his hand drops away, he's striding off across the bar, Levienth's presence in Svissath's mind -- hovering, if quiet until now -- receding after a bassy thrum of farewell to his son. And Svissath? He has a respectful burst of golden-brown light, a clock-tick of recognition. And then he's gone - back to High Reaches, and back to his queen. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:The Situation"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sat, 20 Oct 2012 05:37:19 GMT.
Oooh. This was a juicy, juicy log. Om nom nom!
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