Logs:What Happens
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| RL Date: 14 November, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin finds A'rist in his getaway. There's a brief conversation and some beer. |
| Where: A small local watering hole in a coastal cothold, just south of High Reaches Hold. |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Springtime in the High Reaches area. There's rain. |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Local Watering Hole, South of High Reaches Hold The riding jacket that would mark him out as not quite belonging in this little place is hanging on a rack near the door, cold, off to the side. A'rist, he's right in the middle of the warmth and camaraderie that are so requisite after the first few proper voyages out to sea with the change of seasons, a mug of beer in his left hand, the right reaching to clasp that of an old man who is just now taking his leave. A few of those younger gathered around the same table (and one, perched on a stool near the bar, but turned to be part of the other group) start making moves to leave, also. A'rist, he sets to finishing his beer. Little watering holes like this don't get too many new faces, and thus the new arrival undoubtedly earns some scrutiny. R'hin's dressed the part, at least, casual, with rough-hewn clothes and a worn, wide-brimmed hat that seems to have managed to keep most of the rain off. With a heavy groan, he lets his back pack slide off and sets it to lean against the bar while he pulls off his hat, tugs a hand through his hair, and replaces the hat. Pale eyes flicker around the room, nodding where he's being looked at directly. "Beer," he directs to the bartender, with a nod -- putting a coin down on the bar as he does so, since he's an unknown. There's no doubt he's seen A'rist, and too, he makes sure he's seen by the younger bronzerider, though he waits until he's collected his beer before making his way over. It might be for that scrutiny that A'rist dodges a hair-ruffle from one of the younger (but older than the rider himself) men. It's the lack of that, in fact, that has him looking away from his mug, and, indeed, seeing R'hin. More, recognising R'hin, with widening eyes, though not much of an expression change. His face gets put back to the mug as his fellows take their leave, some eyeballing the newcomer, others more concerned with making sure their coats are properly donned before heading out. There are still locals who don't seem intent on leaving, scattered, one by the bar, another by the hearth, but for all intents and purposes, A'rist is, soon enough, alone. Well, except for R'hin. Empty, the mug is put down. "Hey," is as much question as cautious, cryptic, greeting. Tugging his hat down, R'hin exhales a breath of relief as he slides into the seat recently vacated by the old man. "Mind some company?" is asked rather blandly of A'rist, given he's already made himself at home. He takes a gulp of his beer, glances around the bar again to determine whose remained and their locations, before returning to his fellow bronzerider. "What's your name, lad?" Either he's playing the part, or making sure not to ruin A'rist's hideaway. A'rist's face has set, still cautious, although he raises his right hand to gesture to the seat that R'hin has... already taken. The look quickly turns flat for the question. "You know my name. It's only ever changed the once." The empty mug is lifted, then tipped so he can peer into it. Damn. He leans back in his chair, looking toward the bar - and then, back to the older rider. "Do I need another one of these?" The mug now tilts toward R'hin, so that he can look into its emptiness. The lift-and-drop of shoulder from the older bronzerider is so smooth it could easily be missed. "Didn't want to assume," R'hin says, casually. The question -- about the beer -- earns a genuine chuckle. "Only seems sociable. Could make it a pitcher," he suggests. "I hear you wanted to talk to me." "Only have one name," he repeats, pointed. The younger bronzerider leans even further back in his chair, and waits for the bartender to notice. It doesn't take long, and it's hardly a secret sign language that goes on between them (for all that a shout could easily be heard, with the ambient noise level at a general low). Once that communication is done, A'rist looks back. "Coming." The drinks. Then, an uncertain twist of his mouth that's almost a frown, and he re-adjusts his position in the chair. He's settled by the time he's chosen how to proceed. And that: "Edyis?" With a light tone intended not to carry, R'hin points out, "Most people in places like this," a slight tip of his head, "Don't always take kindly to your type of name." It's an observation rather than a criticism. He nods for the drinks, and takes a deep drought of his, setting his mug on the table as he leans back. A faint glimmer of amusement for his latter question, as if it's an answer so obvious it doesn't need a response. "I didn't start out with most of these people," the younger rider shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but not to the point that the slight angle of his head isn't still a bit proud, "I started out with just one of them." He seems less amused than R'hin, certainly, sliding his empty mug so it sits directly in front of him, so he can clasp it with both hands, and tip it, idly, toward himself once more. And then check on the progress with their pitcher. (About thirty-two percent at this point.) "Here I thought you maybe wanted to talk to me." R'hin's head tilts; surprise briefly flickers across his expression. "Oh?" He's far more interested in his companion than the progress of the beer, but then, he has some to tide him over in the meantime. A'rist turns his attention, consciously, back to R'hin. "She," obvious, "made it sound like you had questions for me. Thought it might be easier," and he settles the mug before him, flat on its base, "if you just wanted to ask them. But maybe that was more before." The bartender has lifted the pitcher, and settled it, without any spillage, on the bartop, ready. Waiting. "A list of questions?" Surprise lilts throughout R'hin's tone. Despite that, he seems to be thinking. "Just how is your new Wingleader going?" Hard to tell whether that's on the hypothetical list of questions or something he's pulled from the here-and-now; he leans forward as if he's interested, either way. The pitcher for now is ignored or unnoticed by the Savannah rider. "She," again, obvious, and this time, with some weight to it, "wasn't that specific. Is it?" He has spied the pitcher. He's reacted, straightening up, hands on the table now, and ready to push himself to his feet. But he doesn't go, not yet. "People keep asking that. I don't know, it's H'vier. And he wasn't wingleader, when Edyis," who gets a name now, "was trying to figure stuff out for you." On that note, he raises a hand, a silent request for a pause, and goes to fetch the beer. It's one particular comment -- people keep asking that -- that has the older bronzerider chuckling briefly. But, as bidden, R'hin waits for A'rist's return, gulping down the contents of his mug while he waits. And A'rist comes back, not even after all that long. Short trip. Then, he'll have R'hin wait while he refills his mug. "So," when that's done, "do I have to answer one to get to the next one?" R'hin waits, resorting to looking around the bar again while A'rist settles back in. "We're not playing a game," he says. "If you don't want to answer, no one's twisting your arm. I'm curious how he's managing with the wing. He has a... different style than Fayla." A'rist's eyes narrow, almost suspicious. But he watches the head on his beer settle into the thickness it will be, and offers, "It's not like we'd never seen his style before, though. He was wingsecond. And then acting... whatever." A'rist lifts the mug, takes his first sip. "There were people in the wing who wanted him, so." "The wing doesn't get to decide who their Wingleader is," R'hin observes, blandly. "No," agrees A'rist. Wryly, "Not the whole wing." A lengthy pause is broken by R'hin reaching for the pitcher to refill his mug. When done, he asks, "Why do you think K'del appointed him as Wingleader?" That is a meatier question, one that actually has A'rist leaning in, slightly. What might've been a quick answer is instead left on his tongue, and that, in turn, is chewed at pensively. "There was a good part of the wing wanted it that way. And another part, the older ones, grumbling about having people brought in over their heads..." A frown. "Not that H'vier had been there forever or anything. I don't know. Really, I guess because why not." Again, wry. More beer. "Why not," R'hin echoes, in almost precisely the same tone as A'rist's, albeit with some muted humor. Pulling off his hat and resting it on the table beside his mug, he says, "That's rarely a reason used by a Weyrleader to do anything. More often, what happens if I do, or what happens if I don't? Future proofing is often the watch phrase of the savy Weyrleader." A'rist puts his mug back down, and squares up to R'hin, across the table. "And if he didn't, then you'd have a big chunk of the wing asking why he didn't, and when he did, at least the wing was more or less where it was before. Because you bring in a new guy, you got two groups that are mad. So because," and he waits a beat, "why not. I don't know," easing a bit, "it's the best reason I can think of." Dusting an invisible spot of dust off his hat, R'hin chuckles briefly. "You say new guy, like H'vier isn't. He's Istan -- though admittedly, Ista has a lot of High Reaches' blood bred into it by now." With a gulp of beer, he adds, "To feel apathetic about someone who is a big part of your life is..." he spreads his hands, as if he can't quite come up with a word to explain it. "I said that he hadn't been around long," A'rist repeats, ego making his tone a bit testy. "But that doesn't change that he's got support. And was leading, even if for a little bit. Besides, if you brought someone new in, what would you do with H'vier?" He leaves it as a pseudo-rhetorical. And just frowns and shrugs, all at once, for R'hin's next observation. R'hin seems to give the rhetorical question much more attention than necessary, eyes rolling ceiling-ward for a moment. "I probably have put him under a Wingleader who wouldn't fuck him. Someone like Taikrin." The very idea clearly tickles him, given the low-throated chuckle that follows. And that brings a snort from the younger bronzerider, just on the tail end of having taken another drink of beer. A'rist has a hand on his mouth, and takes a moment. "Ah." When he's sure he can breathe safely. "Yeah," after that, with a twitch at the edge of his mouth. "But K'del didn't. He went why not." R'hin's humor fades by measures, too. "Maybe," the Savannah rider says, with a twitch of shoulders. "Or maybe there was a what happens if I do that we don't know about." Casually, he tacks on, "Kind of like with that ship that got destroyed by a dragon." "Maybe," A'rist is willing to allow. This sip of beer is taken carefully, with eyes on R'hin. And that casual comparison doesn't even make him spit it out. "Was there a 'what happens if I do' with that?" Cautious again. "Plenty of it," R'hin answers easily, in between sips of his beer, and a splash of liquid as he refills his mug. "Mostly around a boy that he hopes will become an integral part of the Weyr one day. Reputations linger. K'del knows that more than most people." It's here that A'rist looks around this place, his place, his happy and safe place. Where the man by the hearth is now eyeballing up that rider table over there, for all the other guy at the bar still seems more or less distracted by his own concerns. "Do you," turning back to R'hin, "have a point, here?" Pale eyes study the younger bronzerider, noting that look around the bar. R'hin's eyes, however, don't waver. "My point is, sometimes it's ok to wonder and question why things happen. Sometimes the knowing benefits you." The rider's fingers taps against the table, before picking up his hat and dropping it onto his head. "I do appreciate the beer, too." A'rist surely has some sort of defensive comment at the ready - he's assumed a more defensive, squared position - but it's kept back, in the end. He glances to the pitcher, and keeps his seat, with every intention of holding it until R'hin has left. But before the other bronzerider can fully get away, a low, "Don't come here after me, 'kay?" Simple request. With an easy sort of grin, R'hin stands, having set down his now-empty mug. He's murmuring something under his breath about a mountain -- as he strolls over to the bar to collect his back pack, nodding casually towards the bartender and brushing fingers against the rim of his hat in mute salute, before heading out the door. |
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