Logs:Too Important
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| RL Date: 5 March, 2015 |
| Who: Ebeny, E'dre, Laurienth, Wroth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ben reads E'dre the riot act. Quietly. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'vryk/Mentions |
| The recent events at Fort have been more than the usual challenge for E'dre who has now found himself to be out of favor with the Weyrleader and half of his wing. He has been trying to hide his growing unease over these issues through extra effort with his duties, leaving him little spare time for his children or Ebeny. Today he has found himself fully caught up on all the paperwork, Hematite's drills completed, and having no interest in partaking in the search for Astivan - he now has free time. Not knowing where Ebeny's work stands now that the weyrlings have graduated, he heads into the weyrling complex to look for her. Wroth reaches for Laurienth, adding help to the quest for the greenrider with a rumble of thunder. « He is looking for her. » For the most part, Ebeny doesn't usually complain, but between one thing and another - notably knowing that E'dre is taking on more work, that his wing is rumoured to be not so pleased with him, and having to parent three small girls and the last clutch of weyrlings - both patience and tolerance have been pushed to the extent that she just holes herself up in her office when she has any free time, and half the time both the doors into said office are locked. Maybe she hasn't got around to that today, since the one from the weyrling complex is slightly ajar, allowing a glimpse of her having made camp at her desk with lunch and paperwork, despite there being no class to go with the latter. « Good luck, » Laurienth grates in answer to Wroth, sarcastic and completely unhelpful, her rider's irritation perhaps feeding into her for once, rather than the other way around. E'dre strides into the office and heads right to the nearest chair to flop into. He's got his riding gloves, helmet and goggles in his hands so he tosses them on the floor at his feet and only after they give a rather dramatic clatter into the otherwise quiet space does he look to Ebeny. "Let's transfer," he announces instead of greeting, "that seems to be the common answer to solving all problems. Ista? We always like the beach there. Igen? I wouldn't mind going back to the desert. The girls may like picking sand-grit from their hair after playing outside. We can build sandcastles out of the sand they stomp into the weyr in a pile by the door." He slouches further into the chair and glances at the paperwork and then to Ebeny. "Do you know something I don't? Are there more weyrlings coming?" Wroth snorts at the sarcasm and finds himself entirely amused by the situation. « To him. Sure. » Ben actually looks rather displeased with that particular turn of events, and eyes the door as if it's betrayed her absolutely. "I hope I don't have to remind you that it was also your answer once," she tells the brownrider, turning her attention back to the work before her. "And that your answer to everything is usually to throw your toys out of your cot and insist that you're not going to play anymore." She gives a little shake of her head. "I wonder that you remember you've got daughters, sometimes," she mutters under her breath. Either she's too bitter or proddy (or both) to care much more when she glances up and asks, "Can I help you, Weyrsecond?" "My answer?" E'dre sits up, looking affronted, "I transferred because of yo-," he cuts himself off, deciding that particular argument may not earn him the romantic favor of Ebeny like he might have intended it to. He frowns, watching her as she returns to work. "I don't throw my toys, I hide them," he grouses, leaning back in the chair to return to his slouching. "I took the girls to the beach last seven." He seems prepared for being called out on this as he sighs and glances up at the ceiling. A thumb and forefinger scrub along his jaw as he admits, "Okay, more like a few sevens ago." All of this - all of her prodding - he takes in stride. The 'Weyrsecond' title is what finally pushes him over the edge to staring at her with barely contained exasperation. "Ben! Are you proddy? I've finally got a spare second for you and you're no better than the rest of them. Why don't you just tie me up, toss me out, and feed me to the felines!" Affronted, meet (quietly) irate. "Oh, don't you start that with me," Ben warns, a deceptive evenness to her tone. "You transferred 'because of me', 'are you proddy?', 'a spare second for you': do you know how you sound?" She pauses, pen held over hide, and directs a level stare at him, brow furrowed. "Push your issues onto the nearest target, like always, huh? How self-obsessed can you be?" the greenrider demands. "Am I supposed to be grateful that you have a moment for me? Everything - every time you think your feelings have been hurt, or that you've been done wrong, or that everyone else is being unreasonable, I've supported you. I don't throw my problems at your feet; I don't demand that you do some sharding parenting of our children, while I'm exhausting myself every day so that you can feel important and put upon. I behave like a sharding grown-up." Shaking her head, she looks down again. "Maybe it's about time someone told you that you're being unreasonable." E'dre meets that level stare with one of his own, his expression shifting slowly to a scowl as he listens. Petulant child? Present! When upset, E'dre has the habit of speaking without thinking and for a moment it looks like he might restrain himself as his lips tighten into a thin line when she returns her gaze downwards. "Self-obsessed?" E'dre begins, leaning forward as his hands plant on the desk top. "Unreasonable? I come in here to visit you and you start in on me like I'm one of your sharding weyrlings!" He pushes himself to his feet, pivoting to storm towards the door as his hands are thrown up in the air. "I can't help it that I have to pick up the Weyrleader's slack while everyone is running around looking for that son-of-a-bitch," he turns again, stalking back towards the table, "or that you've had to pick up the slack at home! The girls are fine!" He stomps back to the chair and throws himself back into it. He seems done with his tirade for now as he turns to glower at the far wall. "Again: am I supposed to be grateful that you've come to deliver this whining and ranting to me?" Ben doesn't really looks up again, and just lifts her gaze in his direction to fix him with another one of those narrow-eyed stares. "Maybe I'll talk to you like a grown-up, like my weyrmate, when you're not acting like one of my weyrlings," she tells him, all without raising her voice. "You blame everyone else. You always blame everyone else," is more quiet, as she finishes off a sentence and adds a dot of ink after it. "You're too important to consider that. I know." Putting her pen down, she leans back in her chair and regards him with carefully crafted indifference. "If the girls and I are too much of a chore for you, I suggest you find elsewhere to spend the night." E'dre does not seem prepared to concede to any of her points (however true they may be) until her last suggestion. "Please," E'dre shifts his tantrum and leans forward, scooting forward on the chair to perch on the edge. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to do any of those things," at least he seems to mean that and is beginning to look contrite, "I know I should change, I could, I can try," he doesn't even allow himself a second before he's changing his direction of thought. "I think I was better suited to living life as a bored rider who dabbled in dress-making." Pity party for one, step right up. "At least we never fought as much when I was that. It seems all this sharding knot has given me is trouble." He fingers the knot and removes it to look at it. "I've tried giving it back more than once. Maybe I'll finally give it back for good." He looks up then, seeking her approval, "Would that help?" Ben doesn't lean towards him and remains right where she is, with the desk an expanse between them. "...You always say this," she answers regretfully. "I say I can't take any more, and you say you'll give the knot up. You just want me to be why; you want me to say it's what I want and absolve you of the responsibility. And then you'll resent me and blame me." She knots her arms across her chest, like it'll stop her reaching or doing anything else demonstrative. "And you always say you'll be better, until next time. I don't want you to give up the knot. I want you take a good look at yourself and what you're doing, and what you've done. Because I don't like you when this is you. And that you think how you behave sometimes is okay? ...I like that even less." E'dre's fingers tighten against that knot as he levels a look at it. His shoulders tense in response to her words but he withholds his own. He allows silence to stretch between them while he gathers his thoughts together. His initial reactionary complaints are tossed aside on the end of the sigh that escapes his lips. He slouches back into the chair and continues to finger the knot. "I know I have faults," he finally breaks in, looking up at her with a tinge of remorse in his gaze, "and that my faults lead to problems for us and for the Weyr." He scrubs at the back of his neck and rubs his thumb against the tension in his neck. "I'm 41 turns.. I haven't changed yet.. I really don't know if I will. I tell you I'll try, I do. And then I revert back." He shrugs, looking away from her as his jaw tightens. "A'vryk probably-," he cuts himself off, shakes his head and looks back to her. "I want to turn in the knot because I want to. I don't feel like I do the job that needs to be done. I don't handle the politics right. I handle our wing relations wrong. I probably inspire some of the shit Hematite pulls, because I pull it first." He heaves a sigh, "I wanted to be better when I took it on. Maybe it's only inspired me to be worse." He looks to her then, "I'm sorry it has affected our relationship as deeply as it has. You're the most important thing. You come first. I want to make that my priority. I want you to know that." "I'm forty-two," Ben answers steadily, "and I have changed. I've had to, or I'd've had weyrlings and everyone else walking all over me for turns." Maybe she's not changed so much, for she can't claim that and look him in the eye at the same time. She gives a twitch of her lips - not quite a grimace - when he mentions his former weyrmate, but she holds her tongue and bites back any remark she might make about the bluerider. "You were better when you took it on. For a long time. No matter what they say about your wing, I don't believe you were chosen just because N'muir liked you or something." She looks down into her lap, lowering her gaze. "I don't need to be the most important thing; that's not what I'm asking. But," now she does grimace, "I don't want to carry on letting you think I'm okay with you acting out and being an asshole when you don't get your way. I don't want that example for our daughters." E'dre's defeat on the point is clear at Ebeny's mention of 'asshole' and their daughters. He rubs his face with a hand for a long moment, willing himself to contain the emotions that stirs. His jaw clenches and unclenches a few times before he clears his throat and nods. "I understand," he tells her, looking to her with an unflinching gaze. "I'll stop the asshole tirade. I'll apologize to N'muir. I, well, to be honest, I think if I ever talk to Nala again I'll make that worse." He pats the pocket of his jacket briefly and grimaces. "Where's a flask when you need one? A man can only handle being called out for being a prick for so long without needing a drink." He looks to her then - really looks at her. "Forty-two and still beautiful. Are you okay? Why are you holed up in here anyway?" It's difficult to tell whether Ben's doubting, open look is in response to his intending to stop or his assertion that she's beautiful. "...You're not a prick," she murmurs, and the word doesn't sound like anything but awkward, coming from her, "you're just... not the man I weyrmated. ...Not right now." She's got this far - and even though she flinches away as she says it, it's more than she might have admitted to feeling in turns past. As for why she's been holing herself up in her office and locking the doors: "...I was avoiding this," the greerider confesses. "I didn't want to have to say all of this. At least with the girls at home, I can't." E'dre rises from the chair then, stepping around her desk and stops just in front of her. He rests a hand briefly against her cheek. "I am so sorry," he murmurs, "I never want to be the reason to cause that. And I won't put you in this position again." He leans down to gently press his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a moment. He opens them and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose before he straightens. "Let's get out of here. We can head to that bar and get roaring drunk. I'll lose all my clothes from gambling and then, stark-naked, I will remind me of the reasons why you put up with me." His teasing is clear in tone and crooked smile as he holds his hand out to her. The flicker of doubt remains in Ben's muddy-green eyes, yet she doesn't verbalise a single syllable of it, and instead snags a grip on his collar when he leans his forehead against hers, exhaling quietly. "You can take me out for a drink and I can remind you how I felt about the man I weyrmated," is her more solemn counter proposal, as she sets her hand in his and gets to her feet, unable to quite summon the levity that he does, seemingly suddenly exhausted by the reality of everything she's said. "Come on." E'dre's arm snakes around her middle as he pulls Ebeny close to his side. "Maybe between all the drinking we can find a place on the beach to show each other other things," he continues the line of teasing and he'll carry that throughout the rest of the day. Where they go, how long they go, all of that is irrelevant. They go. E'dre will do his best to behave, going so far as to be polite to the Holders they run into during their venture. It's a start. He'll try. |
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