Logs:Transferring
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| RL Date: 6 December, 2013 |
| Who: N'muir, Reesa |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Southern Boll Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Reesa asks N'muir for a transfer. |
| Where: Southern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 6, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'ten/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: This scene is backdated prior to the news of N'muir's renegade involvement. |
| While Reesa hasn't been that 'present' in the Weyr outside the duties of Hematite, it's a warm summer afternoon and she's been spending her time hanging around the bowl area, catching some sun. It's unusual enough to attract attention, perhaps, and the fact that Khiabeth's lightning brews at the edges of Bijedth's awareness most of the day makes it more so. She waits for the appropriate time to catch the Weyrleader when he's travelling between meetings, or heading to the living caverns - anywhere where he's in motion and there's less likelihood of being interrupted. Smoothing down her bright yellow summer dress, it's with ease that she approaches him with, "Weyrleader? A moment?" N'muir is distracted on his journey to the leader's ledges, his attention on the rucksack slung across his body while hands rummage through triptychs and loose scraps of hide that nearly spill out of the bag. So when Reesa's voice interrupts his world of thought, it is with a very sudden and jarring force that he is brought back to reality, his gaze shooting abruptly towards her. "Hmm? Oh, sure," he replies, and absently settles the rucksack into place against his hip. "Do you want to talk out here or do you need to see me in my office?" An office which is apparently located somewhere in the direction of his weyr if the sweeping gesture of his hand is any indication. "We can walk and talk. It's a nice day." And Reesa does love to show off her prettier dresses, emphasized by a swish of material as she adjusts her pace to match the Weyrleader's. Despite her indicating her wish to talk, there's a length pause before she does so, as if gathering her thoughts- her gaze flickers towards Elaruth's ledge, then hastily away. "I was thinking- with everything with Jasper and Sandstone- I was thinking it might be useful to have someone in one of the wings, to try and keep an eye on things. Try to keep people from fighting, not the least of which because doing so over a girl is fucking dumb," no apologies for the profanity, just a roll of eyes. "You've- well, you've shown a trust in me, sir, and I'd like to pay it back in some way, if you'll allow." N'muir very suddenly wears a small measure of awkwardness in the form of a slight hesitation before he nods succinctly and flashes a brief smile at the young greenrider. "Sure, I can walk and talk." Yes, he can do that. That /should/ be easy - except that N'muir's natural speed of walking is a brisk, firm march. Casual, easy meandering is not exactly his thing. And so it is with his purposeful, direct steps that he travels onward towards the staircase to the leaders' ledges, oblivious as to whether his pace is suitable for the young woman or not. Her words swing his gaze sideways at her, brows wrinkling gently. "Are you asking to transfer out of Hematite?" he asks, a faint thread of something akin to injury stinging the end of his question. "Are you unhappy with our wing?" The march of the Weyrleader is definitely not the pace that the greenrider's used to; it makes her mouth draw down into a line briefly as she adjusts her stride, glancing sidelong at the taller man as if to determine whether it's purposeful or not. Apparently satisfied with whatever she sees there, Reesa shakes her head immediately at his query. "Not at all," she answers, plainly, and apparently honestly. "I like," a quick, unbidden smile, pleased and secretive, "Hematite. But /there/, I'm just another wingrider. I think I can be more useful to you elsewhere. Besides," she brushes an invisible speck of dust off her dress, "People are talking. Saying that I get it easy because of E'ten." Whether that's true or not isn't something offers. "People will talk if I start transferring you too," N'muir reminds. "And what will happen when I don't need... eyes anywhere anymore? Am I to abandon you to your new wing?" /Abandon/ - as if she is his to look after in some way; family. "A dragonrider who is transferred often is not looked upon as a trustworthy wingmate. Generally, people are transferred because of problems." He falls silent to consider her words but for the crunching of dirt under his steady footfalls and the quiet swishing of the rucksack moving in tandem against his slender hip. It is a long twenty paces and an absent look across the weyr's bowl before he sighs heavily, and he stops rather suddenly. "If this is what you /want/, I will do it. But you have to want to do it because you /want/ to, not because you think it will fix anything. Because it probably won't." "They're talking anyway," Reesa points out, rather plainly. It's the words that follow that surprise the greenrider, making her slow for long enough that he probably gets ahead of her, if he continues his stride: "Abandon?" she echoes, with a hint of... something surprised, and then, "When that happens, we can talk again. Besides, I /am/ a problem, right? It totally suits my cover." She hastens to catch up, while trying not to appear rushed - an effort in itself, involving the smoothing of her dress and a check on her hair. "I want it," she says, plainly, with a look up at the Weyrleader, and a half-finished shrug of shoulders at his last, like she disagrees but isn't willing to voice it aloud, for once. N'muir looks at Reesa squarely, light brown eyes searching green eyes for some sort of indication of wariness or reluctance on her end. If ever there were an expression that so very clearly announced this precise moment to be a serious one, it would be this look. "You are not a problem," is said with dauntless conviction despite whatever half- or full-truths may lie behind her words. He squares his shoulders, for a moment resisting her reply but his brows remain slanted with doubt and the corner of his mouth tugs down in an undecided, disappointed slant of a frown. "If it is what you want," he concedes heavily, and looks at her empty shoulder with a saddened sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. "Just... come hand in your badge tonight. I'll brief Jasper's interim Wingleader and you can report to him tomorrow." A twist of her lips suggests Reesa's natural inclination to disagree, but N'muir's expression being so serious seems to quell the words before they're even voiced. Indeed, it seems the greenrider's lost for words for a time, falling silent. It's after his saddened sigh that she darts in, lighting quick - maybe even quick enough for that peck to his cheek to land, too. "Don't worry; he won't be nearly as /interesting/ as you, sir." There's a pleased sort of grin to her expression as she dances away. The kiss lands and N'muir doesn't back away, instead opting to adopt the cool, grumpy exterior he is (in)famous for. "Yeah, whatever," he attempts to grumble, unable to hide the sliver of a wound or quietly budding affection crushed by his as-of-now-/ex/-wingmate. He grabs hold of his rucksack and adjusts it as if he could so easily settle the ruffles of his mood, and casts one glance back at the greenrider before he carries on his tromping pace towards his weyr, his pace ever-so-slightly slower and posture ever-so-slightly slouched. There's a last look over her shoulder - perhaps more than one - before Reesa trots off in the other direction. And if N'muir finds a vase of freshly picked flowers on his table later that day, well, that's pure coincidence that it's resting next to Reesa's Hematite badge. |
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