Logs:Threat or Promise
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| RL Date: 14 February, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, N'muir |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The inevitable is gotten over with. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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| Weyrleader's Office This space looks achingly plain in contrast to the ledge beyond, and appears to be used more as an office and storage than an actual weyr. A large, plain table with seating for six is situated in the centre of the room with easy access to both the bar as well as the hearth and klah pot. It's littered with scrolls and triptychs, loose scraps of hide held down with rocks. To the left, Bijedth's hefty collection of bedazzled straps hang from hooks like a rainbow spinnerweb that spans almost the entire length of the room. Deeper in the weyr and holed away as if in storage is a large bed and a storage chest, neither one looking like they are much in use. On the hearth sits a dark frame holding a charcoal drawing of a young girl amidst a sea of blocks, her giggling face looking up and out of the frame. At the far end of the room sits a small archway that snakes back into the bath, the room's shelves stocked well with clean towels and the typical accessories necessary for personal care.
Not only is K'zin early for the meeting, his bronze offered cheerful and informative answer to the watch dragon and followed all the appropriate protocol. It's good that the 'Reaches bronzerider was early, though, because it took time to find the Weyrleader's office, making it so he hangs outside on the ledge at 'reasonably early' and not 'what are you doing here, creeper??' early. Just at the appointed time (maybe a breath or two before), his baritone precedes him into the office, "Weyrleader N'muir?" It's asked loud enough to carry, but there's a small edge of uncertainty to the timbre. For a long moment there is nothing but silence. Is N'muir even going to invite the man in? Eventually, his dark voice carries, however unimpressed it may be: "Enter." If you must. He audibly sighs and pushes himself to his feet, picking up his wine cup from the table and crossing the room to the sidebar. "Well, I suppose we might as well get this over with, hmm?" Without looking over his shoulder, he begins refilling his cup. "Do you need a drink?" K'zin, evidently, must, because he does appear, dressed crisply in his riding leathers. He's already squared his shoulders but once he's at a reasonable distance he pauses in his stride to salute crisply, politely. "As I gather, it is rather unavoidable." The young bronzerider answers with the faintest touch of humor. He clears his throat, "No, thank you, sir." Rather than invite himself too casually to a seat, he stays standing at not-quite-attention, but a stance that is still formal and respectful. "I'd like to ask your permission to come and stay once Isyath clutches, Weyrleader. To help, in whatever way I can." At least he's not the type to be indirect. A small blessing perhaps. N'muir looks over his shoulder, catching sight of that salute and making a small sound of amusement as he finishes pouring his cup of wine. Something in that salute and the words that follow seem to soothe the Weyrleader's mood and he turns back to the table with a more pleasant (or at least less miserable) expression on his face. He even flashes a small smile as he moves back to his seat. N'muir sets his cup down first. "Direct. I like that." His eyes study K'zin up and down like eyeing up a herdbeast at market as though the man's flaws might be visible. "Why do you want to stay? What help could you be?" Two questions that are not meant to wound but rather out of genuine curiosity. He gestures at a nearby chair. "Sit if you want to. Or don't, I don't care." But N'muir sits, and takes up his wine. With the invitation to a chair, K'zin moves toward the one across from (or relatively so) the older bronzerider. His expression as he moves is thoughtful, not perturbed so likely the questions were taken in the way they were intended, or at least not as things meant to wound. "It's Rasavyth's first time catching a gold." It's not stated as part of the answer, but rather explanation for what he says next as he slides into the seat. "As you might imagine, I wasn't sure, come morning, what was expected or wanted of me. Speaking with Weyrwoman Ali, she indicated that Isyath can be challenging and that our presence might be of help. I suppose it's equally likely that we'll be useless, but it doesn't seem right not to try to do whatever we can." His brow is furrowed, "Did you--" He starts to ask, but silences himself, a slight brush of pink touching the dusky skin of his cheeks. "Sorry, that would've been impertinent to ask." N'muir frowns at K'zin, watching the much younger man from under his eyebrows with dubious displeasure as he lifts his cup. "It isn't his first time trying," he mutters before his lips disappear behind the rim of his cup. Are those hard feelings still lingering the Elaruth's closed (and yet not uneventful) flight? But he swallows it down with the gulp of his wine and sits back in his chair, cup cradled in his hand in his lap, haphazardly. "Did I what?" That K'zin's blush darkens with N'muir's words and that the young man has the decency to look genuinely abashed, his eyes diverting down to the tabletop probably speaks well of him. It might have been wise to simply leave it at that, rather than to quietly admit, "No. It wasn't." Beat. "Unfortunately." But there it is, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, grasping at the unasked question to hopefully lead them away from the topic of Elaruth's most recent flight. "I was going to ask if you knew. The first time you caught. What it is that clutchsires do to help. I didn't think to ask my Weyrleader when I spoke with him." Because it would most certainly have fit in the already very awkward conversation, even if he had thought to ask. It seems that K'zin's acceptance and apparent guilt might be enough of an apology for N'muir to carry on without glaring under his brows at the other bronzerider any longer. He takes another sip of wine to ease his mind and leans his head back against the chair in thought. "Well, every female is different," he mentions. "So you can imagine that every gold and goldrider have different needs. Hattie..." His memory lends him and laugh lightly and he cups his hand over his eyes as if trying to hide that vulnerable expression from his company. He purses his lips, trying to gain control over his face again and eventually drops his hand. "You should really just ask Ali. It's up to her. Maybe you could speak with bronzerider N'rov. His Vhaeryth has caught Isyath in the past. Or E'ten, his Adiulth has caught as well." And in those words, in those names are threads of pride; a closeness of family, or something closer than family. "I hope I don't need to tell you what happens if you upset Elaruth, Isyath, Hattie, or Ali though, hmm?" "Dismemberment." K'zin answers immediately, and in dead-pan. If Rasavyth's talons happen to dig into the ground in a way that might be interpreted as annoyed at that same moment, that has to be coincidence, right? The blush worsens and K'zin clears his throat. "I'll do that, sir. I'm acquainted with bronzerider N'rov. And I'll be following Weyrwoman Ali's lead. I--" His eyes, which had politely averted at N'muir's face-covering, find their way back with intention of meeting the Weyrleader's gaze. "Being here for either of your golds' flights was an accident. But we just want to help now that we've caught." N'muir nods sagely. "Very slow dismemberment," he says, and then adds: "With a dull tool." But his voice has lost it's edge in the wake of that fond memory of his past with Hattie. "We'll have your weyr available when you're prepared to come stay here," he assures. "You can discuss with your Weyr if you'll report there for duties or if you will have reduced duties here with one of our wings." His eyes slide over to the bronzerider and he watches the young man for a moment. "Is there anything else?" There's a small amount of relief that shows in K'zin's expression, paired with a slight lessening of the color in his cheeks. "I believe I will be at your disposal to be useful in any way I can, but I will verify that understanding with my Weyrleader before I arrive, when Isyath clutches, and send word." Presumably so N'muir can decide which latrines K'zin should clean first after his arrival. Then there's a shake of his head. "No, sir." And on that note, he rises from his chair. "Thank you for seeing me, Weyrleader," is offered formally, but then he waits. N'muir nods his head, and suddenly his expression is weary. He lifts his cup again, drowning the expression in long gulp of wine but it lingers. "Don't worry, everything will be okay," he mutters to his cup, and whether it is intended for K'zin or himself is left unclear. "Clear skies, bronzerider." And in case that isn't clear enough, he pulls one of his reports close and begins squinting at the words on the scrap piece of hide. |
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