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Logs talk:Heavy Sh*t

2015-11-08T15:51:28Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Heavy Sh*t]]
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==Aleudre (07:51, 8 November 2015 (PST)) said... ==

Constipated brownriders; assidious. I shouldn't have laughed as hard as I did.

Logs:She Moved Out (WTF)

2015-11-07T23:15:16Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, N'rov |what=The boys try and talk (then shove like children) |where=Council Room, Fort Weyr |day=13 |month=3 |turn=39 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2015.11...."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, N'rov
|what=The boys try and talk (then shove like children)
|where=Council Room, Fort Weyr
|day=13
|month=3
|turn=39
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.11.06
|quote=You like your women ''dead''
|weather=Neither noticed the weather.
|mentions=Ebeny, C'sel, Cece, Y'ral
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg, Icon n'rov black.jpg,
|log=When the council room's lousy with riders, that's one thing, leaning over the long table for a better look at the maps; nobody's talking about their leader's weyrmate right out, and a couple riders might not even know yet (though that's unlikely to last, given the expressions now and again that speak of dragon-talk). But once Hematite does have its assignments... strange how there aren't any stragglers today, the place clearing out in nothing flat. Then it's just the two of them, N'rov giving E'dre a long look and then moving to the sideboard to pour drinks for them both. ''Thanks'', Vhaeryth.

Is it Wroth in control of E’dre today? There’s been nothing but short answers and growled responses directed to Hematite’s riders during their meeting. He’s got no patience for banter and ‘’anyone’’ caught directing ‘’those’’ looks - those ones that ‘’know’’ - are given a severe scowl. There is no improvement to his mood when he finds himself stranded in the room with N’rov. ‘’Alone’’. He leans back in his chair and folds his arms in front of him. The object of annoyance and not at all interested in whatever N’rov’s pouring unless it’s ‘’stiff’’. Thanks to Vhaeryth, E’dre doesn’t even try to start a conversation with the bronzerider. Awkwardness and anger abounds.

It's good and stiff, all right. N'rov sets E'dre's glass before him, if from the side so he's not that much in the older man's personal space, and moves off to leans against the table. "Tell me," he says, "she didn't take your favorite pillow."

“You’re going to go there?” E’dre demands of N’rov, not bothering with the space as he glares up at the bronzerider. “I’d have thought you’d figure it out like the rest of them have and avoid me at all costs, much less ‘’stating’’ the obvious.” He reaches for that drink and sniffs it cautiously before downing half the contents. His grimace isn’t all from the booze. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

"And yet, here I am." N'rov snaps his fingers illustratively. "Call me the foreappointed sacrifice to soothe the savage beast," except his sardonic grin suggests anything but. "Guess it's better than booting you out, but sweet Faranth, a sky weyr in wintertime with ''Laurienth''..."

“She’s pregnant with ‘’your’’ baby,” E’dre reminds N’rov, glaring down into the now empty contents of that cup. “It was never going to be easy. She wants me to be mad at her, or hate the baby, or I don’t know.” He shoves his fingers back through his hair and lets loose a frustrated sigh through clenched teeth. He looks up at N’rov then. “It’s going to get worse. How are you going to help?” That last question is delivered with enough animosity as to be far from a signal for help.

Muscles work in N'rov's jaw, and he shoots the brownrider a 'No, really?' look. Ebeny's wantings get a dark grunt. "That's messed up." Evidently 'helping' amounts to, after downing a portion of his drink, pouring for E'dre. "One of those, 'If you're not pissed, you don't care' things," is an even darker speculation.

“You’re so fucking easy-going,” E’dre growls out, taking that refreshed drink but doing nothing more than clasping it between tightened fingers. “I don’t know. Pregnant women aren’t easy ‘’to’’ know.” He shakes his head and glowers down at his glass and then back up at N’rov. “I’m supposed to be angry at you,” he shares, scowl lessening a little. “But I really can’t find the energy to be.” He sighs and allows all further traces of his earlier anger to abate behind another gulp from his glass.

"Only to piss you off more," N'rov assures, topping off his own glass before setting down the decanter and stretching. "If you change your mind and want to hit something, we can." He drinks, a shallow, uncommitted sip, as he looks at the brownrider. "So how're you going to get her back? Do you ''want'' her back? And has she ''always'' been so 'I suck, suck so much,' or is that new?"

"Of course I want her back!" E'dre's got a shout for that as he slams that glass against the table for emphasis. "It took me too long to get this far! Just for one lousy flight and a baby who has done ''nothing'' to me to ruin it." He levels a glare at N'rov, "You've been with her you have no concept of who she is?"

Dryly, "Just checking." N'rov's at once composed and intent, gaze staying on the other man. "You tell me. If you want. Or not if you want, I don't care. What ''I'' want is for you two to get back to happy, happy weyrmates. What's that going to take?"

“You not fucking her next chance you get,” E’dre tells N’rov with absolutely no intent other than being nasty. He stands abruptly from the table and shoves the chair back to give himself room. “Would truly help. You stepping up and ‘’checking’’ on her, and the baby you helped create, would help. You can’t be hands off in this. It will only make it worse.” He’s got loads of other things to say but settles for a glare. “And let’s make sure we don’t talk about this again, right? Let’s keep it professional.” Because E’dre is always ‘’really’’ good at that.

"I already haven't." N'rov, ''helpful''. He's still leaning, but with E'dre up like that, there's a shift in balance that's ready to move. "For your in-for-ma-tion," drawled out syllable by syllable, "the healer said to 'give her space,' complete with 'this happens all the time,' and let's not forget the cow eyes. I'll take the kid, like she said. But in the meantime, I don't think you want me going up there and asking what I can do to help, when ''you're'' the one she needs."

“I don’t think you should take ‘the kid’,” E’dre replies on the heel of that drawled out response. “I’m glad you’ve gone to a healer. Do whatever you need to to be supportive. But we’ll take the kid.” It’s going to come down to a tug-o-war on that one. “Whatever best supports Ben. I know from personal experience,” and here the brownrider has enough decency to look sad rather than angry, “that it won’t be easy no matter how we proceed.” He sighs and seems prepared to take himself elsewhere. “Just do your best, N’rov.”

"''Ebeny''," N'rov tells him tightly, "already said that ''she didn't want it''." Each word is its own sentence. "So I fail to see where you get to make her." It's that mention of that personal experience; with something closer to kindness, "Listen. E'dre. The fuck this is like you and what's his name. It's not like that."

“She will always ‘’insist’’ that until the child is here and in her ‘’arms’’,” E’dre counters N’rov’s tightness with his own. “I’ve ‘’been’’ through this already.” He shakes his head and lifts his brow at N’rov. “Sure, it won’t be like that,” he agrees, “only because ‘’you’’ probably won’t fall in love with her. But ‘’I’’ did.” He sighs then and uses both hands to rub at his temples and jaw to temper his growing headache. “I never talked to ‘’him’’ about this. You don’t have to talk to ‘’me’’ about it either.”

"Maybe." The other man's been through it, but that doesn't erode N'rov's bedrock doubt. "Maybe she shouldn't," have it in her arms. They have wet-nurses. They have ''ways''. But for how it's different, he rolls his shoulders, slow and deliberate for emphasis; the drink he takes is deeper this time too. "Yeah, you did. Not me. I like my women with more spark, none of that 'I don't matter' wherbait. On ''top'' of how," exasperation growing, "she's your weyrmate, and if you'd just get the job done, we wouldn't be talking about this at ''all''."

It’s N’rov’s dig at Ben (or the perceived one) that has E’dre saying in a low voice, eyes flashing and words meant to blow, “You like your women ‘’dead’’.” And then that cup somehow is knocked over, the remaining liquid dripping down towards the floor. ‘’Someone’’ will have to clear it up and it won’t be E’dre. “Get the job done? I’m too busy doing a sharding job with this Weyr that none of you fucking bronzeriders can manage to do!” He’s turning and prepared to leave, going so far as to shoulder past N’rov for that hit of contact as he goes.

N'rov has no mind, no ''look'' for that liquid and for the finish of that table; gray eyes are hard on E'dre, his hand clenching around the glass that he sets, forcibly, to the wood. It doesn't break. He starts to speak, but whatever he says is lost in the brownrider's syllables, that low and that harsh; and if the brownrider wants contact, he'll give him that, stepping in hard with the thrust of a shove.

This probably was coming when E’dre first dumped ale on N’rov. The need to release ‘’all’’ frustrations through physical contact drives the brownrider forward after he’s recovered from that shove. He’s not swinging so much as lunging for the bronzerider, aiming to take the taller man down to the ground. Words? Are so past being used at this point.

So are chairs. And the table; N'rov may pivot so he doesn't go down, but its stone edge is going to leave a red bar of a bruise after the brownrider gets him that far, the area too crowded to really ''move''... which doesn't stop N'rov from attempting to hook E'dre's ankle and ''shove'' despite the chair that really, really wants to get in the way.

And since that chair wants it so badly, E’dre falls victim to its location and stumbles back and over it. He’s reaching out for stability as he grabs hold of N’rov’s shirt for balance that is never achieved. Feet go flying as hands spiral out to try and catch him as he lands in a tangle of limbs in furniture. He’s stuck beneath the bronzerider which is ‘’far’’ from where that initial lunge was supposed to take him. He’s swearing and shoving at N’rov once he’s recovered enough sense to want the man ‘’off’’.

He doesn't have balance, N'rov's shirt doesn't have balance, and neither does the man himself. There's ''more'' swearing as the bronzerider cracks his elbow into the sideboard, the carafes shuddering but far enough back to hold; it seems he'd ''like'' to get up despite E'dre's eye right there for the blackening, but it's hard when there's shoving and... "Fuck!" N'rov's scrambling back, wincing, that knee ''too close''.

That knee is too close and maybe it’s an accident if it happens to knock some against N’rov. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, E’dre manages to maneuver from beneath the bronzerider and upright himself. He could kick the bronzerider while he’s still down there, but perhaps he’s feeling guilty over those earlier words. He straightens his shirt, smoothes his pants, gives N’rov a glance and then storms out of the council room with nothing more to say. In the days (and likely sevens) that follow, E’dre will maintain an air of professionalism that some of the wing - like Cece and Y’ral - would find suspect when he speaks to N’rov but no one else may be the wiser to the tension between the Acting Weyrleader and his wingsecond.
}}

Logs talk:Music

2015-11-05T02:09:04Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Music]]
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==Alida (13:59, 3 November 2015 (PST)) said... ==

Yes... YES. Alida knows this too: music can heal.
==Aleudre (18:09, 4 November 2015 (PST)) said... ==

Sounds like Alida and M'vyn should sing too then :)

Logs:Work Kept Him

2015-11-03T03:39:35Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, |what=E'dre thinks about Ben's pregnancy when there is no more work to distract him |where=Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr |day=3 |month=3 |turn=39 |IP=Interv..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre,
|what=E'dre thinks about Ben's pregnancy when there is no more work to distract him
|where=Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr
|day=3
|month=3
|turn=39
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.11.02
|mentions=Ebeny, N'rov, A'ryk
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon E'dre n Wroth.jpg,
|log=E’dre did his best to avoid negative thinking by working even harder, which with the current knot he held, was not hard to do. There was always ‘’something’’ the Weyrleader should attend to. He’d caught up on all his hidework, leaving the office looking sparse and far too empty to the average person who may come in. He’d met with all the wingleaders who asked for his time, working with whatever issues may have come up since the recent graduating class entered the wing ranks. He’d even set aside time for any Holders, none too big or small, who had sent missives or indicated they requested a meeting with him.

He’d been going all out for a long enough time that by midday when he had nothing scheduled, no fresh demands for his time, and no pressing concerns to throw himself at full heartedly that he was stuck in his office staring at his too neat desk.

<< You’re going to regret not having work >> Wroth’s voice was a bluster of wind as the brown descended on E’dre. << Now you’re going to sit there and think about it. You should be thinking about how to better our Weyr. Not about another baby. >> The brown had always been disdainful when it came to his children. He was not the sort to feel anything but limited curiosity for the small humans that lived with his rider. As he had in the past with E’dre’s craft of dressmaking, his need to rear children was met with dry disdain and a near dislike that never encouraged E’dre to partake in the activities revolving around them.

‘’Shove off, Wroth’’ E’dre mentally ‘’heaved’’ at the brown and slammed up his defenses against the blast he knew his brown would try and angle his way. He was already feeling the beginnings of a headache caused by stress and he did not want to feel the migraine his dragon could so easily bring on.

The raucous laughter and thunderous booming that was Wroth’s retreat warned E’dre of a future argument and punishment delved out by the brown. E’dre slammed his hand down on his desk and then used the same hand to scrub his thumb and forefinger against his eyes and down his face in aggravation.

He still hadn’t spoken to N’rov about it. And likely, that was probably best. He’d never approached C’sel. Even after all these turns, he avoided the other brownrider at all costs. What would he say to the man? ‘’Sorry?’’ What a bunch of bullshit that conversation would be. No, he’d not approach N’rov just like he never approached C’sel. The only way he could continue to work seamlessly with his wingsecond was to ignore the growing reality between them. If the bronzerider felt the need to approach him he’d have to be prepared for ‘’that’’ conversation. He wouldn’t force it though. He’d avoid it.

Just like he continued to avoid it at home with Ben. He couldn’t get excited about her growing belly as he had with the twins. He feared that any mention of her pregnancy would set off a fight between them or bring her to tears. He worried, incessantly, that this baby would be as damaging as Elayne had been for her. She’d tried to give Elayne to him and A’yrk to raise and E’dre had watched how greatly that hurt her. He would take this baby and keep it, without issue, if it’d keep Ebeny from being as destroyed as she might be were N’rov to raise it on his own.

Wroth interrupted E’dre’s introspection with a loud boom of thunder, << Will you shut up already? If you’ve got the time let’s go and visit the real little humans in your life. Then you can think about all of this another day. >>

‘’Another day’’, E’dre agreed and pushed himself away from the desk. It took a few short notes in the right direction to free up a few hours of his time to go and visit his girls. That was always the better distraction than work was. He came home smiling and prepared to pretend everything was normal, more than he might’ve been able to do were he not full of stories of the girls to share with Ebeny.
}}

Logs talk:Bottom of a Bottle

2015-11-03T00:12:39Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

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==Aleudre (16:12, 2 November 2015 (PST)) said... ==

Sad :(

File:Icon gethin smirk.jpg

2015-10-31T23:52:24Z

Aleudre:

Logs:Responsibility

2015-10-31T23:50:53Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=Hattie, Gethin
|what=Mother and son do not see eye to eye about certain issues.
|where=Kitchen, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=22
|month=2
|turn=39
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.30
|mentions=Tabitha, N'muir, Harriet
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie Close-Up.png, Icon gethin main.png,
|log=Gethin, by nature of his craft, is often up late and sleeps late into the following day. It is nearing early afternoon when he heads into the kitchens to beg something to eat from the staff. He’s settled into a back corner with a warm bowl of porridge and a steaming cup of tea set in front of him. He’s still got the exhaustion of someone whose only recently woken up on his features and doesn’t seem inclined to do more than smile occasionally at one of the young women who seems to keep finding a reason to look at Gethin or bring him pastries to eat.

When the Weyrwoman appears, it’s by way of the stores and in animated conversation with one of Erinta’s assistants, who accepts the ledger she’s given and heads across the kitchen to begin going through it with one of the senior cooks. Hattie heads in the opposite direction, seemingly only passing through, though she finds a mug of something pressed into her hands before long and pauses long enough to offer thanks in return, which draws her son into her line of sight. She watches him for a moment or more over the rim of her mug and lets her gaze flit to that girl, then starts towards his table.

Gethin doesn’t immediately notice his mother’s entrance into the kitchens. It takes him a moment to look up from his contemplation of his breakfast and then he spies Hattie heading his way. He’s got a quick grin for his mother. “Good morn--,” he begins and catches himself with a laugh, “I mean, afternoon!” He glances around and then waves towards the seat opposite him. “Can the Weyrwoman spare a moment to share a cup of tea with her son?” he queries, playful in the question and clearly would be content if she were indeed ‘’too’’ busy to stay. “Otherwise,” he continues far more lowly, sliding a sidelong glance towards the now giggling baker’s assistant. “I’ll be forced to gobble my food down and flee.”

Hattie doesn’t look at the girl now that there’s a chance that she’ll see her do so, but she does wordlessly accept the invitation and slide to occupy a seat opposite Gethin. “If you don’t like her, tell her straight,” is her too practical advice on the subject, delivered rather dryly. “Or you might find that she’s gone and scribbled your name all over the walls of her room and there’ll be no escape for you, ever...” She ‘’tries’’ to deliver those teasing words completely deadpan, but in the end she’s forced to surrender a smirk. “Be kind and give me a turn or so before I’m a grandmother, hmm?”

“‘’Mother’’,” Gethin’s tone shows his displeasure more than his face does. “I do not encourage any of it. Am I supposed to go and tell ‘’every’’ girl that giggles at me they have no chance?” He scoffs at this notion, shakes his head, and descends upon his porridge rather than continue that conversation. He chokes on his mouthful at her last and coughs repeatedly into his fist. “Really, mother!” this time the boy doesn’t even try to keep his tone down. “Do you think I’m one of ‘’those’’ types?” He chugs at his mug to clear his throat. “Let’s talk about something else, can’t we? This is almost as bad as letting that girl giggle at me.”

Victory is hers, or so says the smug grin that Hattie tries to swallow down along with a mouthful of tea. “I think that I’m glad that I can finally invoke the mother’s privilege of winding you up about this sort of thing,” she tells him through a ripple of low laughter. “Do try to breathe, or she might come over here and weep over your prone form,” she adds with overplayed nonchalance. Still, after that, she relents and gives her boy a cursory looking over. “You’re settling back in well, I take it?”

Gethin’s smile seems to be gone only temporarily as Hattie continues to tease him. Once she settles on a more enjoyable topic for him, he returns to his casual grin. “Sure, I suppose I am. I at least know where everything is and don’t have to fuss over adjusting here. The way that Journeyman Hal puts it, it took him ‘’forever’’ to get used to dragons constantly flying overhead, the noise, the traffic,” he shakes his head and takes another gulp of tea. “I forget how hard it is on some people when they first arrive here. I told him at least he wasn’t a candidate who had to go and be in the thick of it all. Our work mostly keeps us separate.” He pauses in his enthusiasm over his craft to level a ‘’look’’ at her. “And are ‘’you’’ settling okay? Tabs mentioned, well- she worries. But. Really. Are things working out okay with N’muir and the baby and everything?”

“...I suppose there comes a point where it’s normal and you don’t notice it as much,” Hattie says slowly, giving a shrug of one shoulder. “I can’t remember much of how ‘’I’’ felt about it, but a lot of that is down to Elaruth.” It’s with a mock sternness that she insists, “’’Try’’ not to lecture your Journeyman about weyr life, won’t you?” She lifts her mug again, then asks, “What does he have you doing?” It might simply be to buy time to react in an appropriate way to his question, for she’s silent for a moment while she schools her features into something far less readable than seconds ago. “N’muir and I are fine,” she declares. “Harriet’s healthy, if little. There’s no need for any of you to worry about me.” Yet she adds, “Though you might take a little time to make sure Harriet knows who you are.”

“What? He was going on and on. I don’t like reminding people of my lineage but I felt I had to at least ‘’explain’’ why I didn’t flinch every time a green flew overhead last night!” Gethin defends himself, instantly rushing to prove he did nothing wrong whether or not his mother is teasing him again. Gethin catches Hattie’s shift to the unreadable and hides his own reaction behind his mug of tea. “She’s so little,” he answers, “I don’t know if she’d even grasp I’m her brother. I promised Tabs I’d do my best to be available to the younger ones. She’s better with the babies than me, anyway.” He sighs and sets his mug on the table, looking back up at his mother with another gauging glance. “Are you ‘’sure’’ you’re handling everything okay?”

“He’s still your Journeyman and your future in your craft is in his hands,” Hattie enunciates just a little too clearly. “No matter how ridiculous you believe anything he says to be. ‘’Explaining’’ is one thing; lecturing another. I should know. I’m an expert at the latter.” And quite unrepentant about it she is too. What else she might say is interrupted by the kitchen hand who pauses beside her to offer a sweetroll from the tray he carries. As she begins to pull the roll apart, she utters a wry, “Don’t let Nehmet hear you calling him a baby,” soon followed by, “She doesn’t need to understand the concept of siblings, but they do recognise people, you know?” It’s a decent enough shield for what could be a fraying temper, given how she keeps ripping the roll apart. “What am I supposed to not be ‘’handling’’, Gethin?” she puts to him, point blank.

Gethin restrains himself from showing his exasperation at her words about his journeyman to a minimal tightening of his lips and he catches himself before he rolls his eyes by blinking a few times furiously at his now empty bowl. “Right,” he murmurs to Hattie’s lecture. He looks up at her mention of Harriet with a shrug. “Okay. If you want me to hold her, I will.” He adds as he shifts in his seat. He spares a glance to the door and then looks back to Hattie with a blankness that isn’t his normal reaction. “Nevermind that I asked,” he mutters, pushing up from his chair. “I was just ‘’checking’’. I sometimes feel like Tabs stays here to watch after you. And when I come and can help her out with that and I ask you a ‘’normal’’ question, you seem to just get mad. So forget it.” He gathers his dishes and gives his mother the courtesy of waiting for her response before fleeing.

“I don’t ‘’need’’ any of you to look after me!” Hattie exclaims before she can stop herself. “I’m ‘’your’’ mother. I look after ‘’you’’ and everyone else here. I’ve told you this before.” Turns ago, now. “You all have your own lives. You make your own choices. You’ve no right to get angry with me for standing by mine and not doing whatever I please instead.” When she stands, it’s a sedate affair, meant to appear unhurried to onlookers. “You’re young,” she says lowly. “Do what ‘’you’’ want to do with your life and stop worrying about people whose choices were made turns ago. Do you hear? Put your energy into something that will benefit ‘’you’’.” That she has to look ‘’up’’ at him now seems to deter her not in the slightest; she still fixes him with a stare that invites no argument.

“You’d better tell Tabitha that,” Gethin counters Hattie’s low rebuke, his eyes flashing with a momentary temper. “I do focus on myself far more than the others do. Maybe I feel ‘’guilty’’ my other siblings feel more responsible than I do.” He meets her stare with a scowl and then leaves, dumping his dishes in a haste beside the girl who is no longer giggling. What the rest of the staff may make of their encounter does not bother Gethin in the least.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

File:Icon gethin main.png

2015-10-31T23:49:40Z

Aleudre:

Gethin

2015-10-31T23:47:39Z

Aleudre:

{{Profile
|picture=Icon gethin you know.jpg
|mother=Hattie
|father=P'draig
|siblings=Full: Hasander Half: Palia, Jaivery, Dylan, Dharia, iTabitha, Mimi, Nimarie, Nehmet, Harriet
|body={{wysk}}

{{Family}}
{{FamilyEnd}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{Icons}}
}}
{{Character-Categories}}

File:Icon gethin you know.jpg

2015-10-31T23:46:24Z

Aleudre:

Logs:Whiskey For It

2015-10-29T02:59:42Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, R'oan, Cece (NPC), O'sek (NPC) |what=Hematite's enthusiasm for drink and gambling stir up some controversy at the Fountain |where=The Glass Fountain, Fort We..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, R'oan, Cece (NPC), O'sek (NPC)
|what=Hematite's enthusiasm for drink and gambling stir up some controversy at the Fountain
|where=The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
|day=16
|month=2
|turn=39
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.28
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Annoyed.jpg, Cece.jpg, Icon r'oan smirk.jpg,
|log=Hematite seems to be participating in one of its (many) off-duty bonding activities. Half of the wing has split, some trailing out of the Fountain with shouts and cheers of heading to Dice to gamble, while those who remain seem content to lounge in various spots throughout the establishment. During the shuffle, E'dre has found himself at a table alone. Unbothered by this, the Acting Weyrleader continues to sip at his whiskey and stare in an unfocused way into the distance as his thoughts have taken hold of his focus.

R'oan is here, at the bar. His own glass is full of clear liquid, being consumed at a steady pace, and his own wing missing for the evening. It means he has little backup with him as his grey-green eyes slide slowly after the Hematites and he announces loudly enough to be heard by the entire bar as his gaze finds its slow way back to E'dre, "Surprising. Hematite has the marks to go throwing them around gambling yet again while the rest of us scrape by." His words are dry, the syllables softened with alcohol.

E'dre's eyes focus and level on R'oan. He has no smile and his tone is flat as he replies, "Funny. Last time I checked, I'm currently running the Weyr with little to no pay for my trouble. Dice is not expensive," he adds, lifting a brow, "and if you're any good at the games, you can walk out of there either a winner or at least breaking even." He shakes his head, muttering under his breath about 'bothering to answer' and seems intent on ignoring R'oan by shifting in his seat and looking behind him. For someone - ''anyone'' else - to talk to.

"So you say, but who is checking your pockets? Or your wingmates?" challenges R'oan dryly, the cavern suspiciously quiet now as conversations die out to observe the brownriders. There's murmurs, of course, but there are always murmurs. He adds, "Don't bullshit a bullshitter. That isn't how gambling works. You think Dice is running up there just for charity and your riders are walking away with more marks every day?" A pause, and he turns to look at another wingrider with the hint of a crooked smirk. "Or maybe they are, right, O'sek? They've cheated before."

If R'oan is going to rely on O'sek for back-up it seems E'dre's already got another stepping up to take his side. Cece steps out of that all-too-silent crowd to slide into a chair beside E'dre. The two Hematite brownriders exchange looks and then E'dre shakes his head subtly at her. He looks to R'oan with a lifted brow, "Sure they've cheated. They may be be cheating now. If you're concerned about my marks, you should write to Edric. I'm sure he'd ''love'' to fill you in on all the budgetary details." Cece interjects before E'dre can stop her, "You're such an ass R'oan. Can't even appreciate that E'dre and Hattie took a larger hit so others didn't suffer as much."

O'sek, notably, says nothing, though there are murmurs, as always. Always murmurs. "That's me. The only asshole here, right?" R'oan agrees easily, lifting his clear glass in a toast to Cece and then tipping it back to drain the liquor. "Doesn't change that they already ''got'' a larger chunk to begin with before all this happened. Always have. Why, because they are ''that'' much more important than the rest of us, right? ''If'' they did at all." He slides to his feet, leveling a dismissive look over Cece for all that there is the hint of a crooked smile. "And they made the decision, sweetheart. They can fight their own battles if the rest of us who aren't in their pockets are unhappy."

E'dre leans back in his chair and reaches to rest a hand on Cece's arm to stall her from rising to the bait R'oan seems intent on laying out. "Are you trying to make a point here R'oan?" E'dre asks with a flat tone and lifted brow. "Or are you simply running your mouth before you silence it with more alcohol?" O'sek gets a glance and then so does the crowd with their murmurs.

"I think I made my point," R'oan replies dryly, flipping over his empty glass against the bar in a slow, deliberate gesture. His gaze slides to Cece, and that smile returns with the glint of amusement in sharp eyes. "Good girl. Heel." He digs into his pockets for marks, getting ready to leave, at least, even if he's going to leave an uproar behind in his wake.

"Oh, don't bother paying," E'dre says so very casually as he makes a wave at the barkeep from taking R'oans marks. "I'll cover your tab for the evening. I can afford it, can't I? Being the rider in charge of everyone at this Weyr. It's a ''trivial'' sum, after all." Cece half-rises from her chair in response to R'oans 'heel' comment but is forcibly held back by E'dre's tightening fingers on her arm. "Don't let the door smack you in the ass on your way out, ''R'oan''," Cece all but spits at the other brownrider.

R'oan only breathes out a sound that could be a laugh, and shoves his marks back into his pocket. "As you said. You can afford it," he repeats. And he winks to Cece before he turns and leaves. There's no door to smack him in the ass, alas, but he'll probably get what's coming to him another way.
}}

Logs talk:Are You Sure?

2015-10-28T17:50:46Z

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==Aleudre (10:50, 28 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

!!!!!

Logs talk:Building Character

2015-10-27T17:28:44Z

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==Aleudre (10:28, 27 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

I REQUIRE MORE OF THEM. And I want to sulk in a sea of whiskey and sawdust!

Logs talk:Beautiful Dreamer

2015-10-26T21:04:59Z

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==Aleudre (14:04, 26 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Agh! The poops! Super cute

Logs talk:Threads

2015-10-26T21:02:10Z

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==Aleudre (14:02, 26 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

No taxation without representation! ;)

Logs talk:Waking up to Zaisyreth

2015-10-26T20:59:58Z

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==Aleudre (13:59, 26 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

So sweet!

Logs talk:Constant

2015-10-26T15:27:58Z

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==Aleudre (08:27, 26 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Lovely

Logs talk:Green Seventeen

2015-10-19T01:42:36Z

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==Ebeny (07:48, 18 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Something shiny next turn...? <3
==Aleudre (18:42, 18 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Cass is growing up! <3

Logs:Breakfast Is Dangerous

2015-10-18T16:03:28Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, Parli, |what=Parli happens upon E'dre over breakfast |where=Living Caverns, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=14 |month=1 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gam..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, Parli,
|what=Parli happens upon E'dre over breakfast
|where=Living Caverns, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=14
|month=1
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.18
|weather=Let it snow!
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Hah.jpg, Icon Parli Bored.png,
|log=The morning saw the Weyr waking up to those large, soft, snow-flakes of a mild snowstorm that feels more magical and inviting than other storms may. The caverns are busy this morning as groups continue to wake and stream in for the breakfast offerings. E'dre's settled at a table recently vacated by his wingmates, still nursing his nearly cold klah as he browses a hide in front of him.

Oh boy. ''Morning.'' Narrow-eyed and sour-faced, Parli shuffles into the living cavern and heads directly for the klah pots. She's already dusted in a bit of snow, though it melts relatively quickly once she's well inside. Klah is poured, sampled, and "Ugh"ed at. It must pass the test - or, more likely, requesting a fresh pot of klah is too much effort - for she gathers up some manner of breakfast (pastries, mostly) before eventually setting eyes on the table a smattering of her wingmates occupy. A long-suffering sigh follows. She goes that way, which - fortunately or unfortunately - requires passing by the table E'dre is at.

E'dre doesn't generally find reason to be talkative in the living caverns (when he does taek a meal there) and might've let Parli simply grumble past him but there's something that catches his eye and he lifts a hand to stall her. "You didn't seem to like the klah," he comments, amusement clear in the gaze he tips at her and the smirky-smile that settles on his face. "You think they burned it this morning?"

Welp. Parli is successfully stalled, but at the cost of another sigh. She stops and half-turns to obliquely look askance at E'dre, one eyebrow slowly rising as he speaks. "No," is drawn out just a little - the tone is best described as bored sarcasm. "I mean, probably, but it's too weak to tell if it's burned or just trying too hard to be real klah." Her expression is delightfully deadpan throughout, though her raised eyebrow remains securely in place.

E'dre muses over this as he peers into the dregs of his remaining klah. He looks up at Parli and then back to his klah. He sidebars a glance towards the klah kettle that's ''clearly'' in closer reach to Parli than to him. "Huh," he muses, setting his mug on the table and sliding it away from him - and neaerer to the other brownrider. "I'd have to taste this latest batch to really draw any conculsions," he hints and then he picks that hide back up to stare at. Business-like.

"Yeah, you probably should," Parli agrees blandly. "It's kind of gross but, whatever." An indifferent shrug follows - but she's certainly not following the rest of his all-too-obvious hinting. Instead, she sets ''her'' mug down - within range of him to reach, but not really at a comfortable range. "Ugh, no. I don't want ''your'' gross klah. You can have mine." She cuts a look to her wingmates, wrinkles her nose, and adds, "It looks like a whiskey morning ''anyway''." Matter-of-fact, that.

"Yeah, you probably should," Parli agrees blandly. "It's kind of gross but, whatever." An indifferent shrug follows - but she's certainly not following the rest of his all-too-obvious hinting. Instead, she sets ''her'' mug down - within range of him to reach, but not really at a comfortable range. "Ugh, no. I don't want ''your'' gross klah. You can have mine." She cuts a look to her wingmates, wrinkles her nose, and adds, "It looks like a whiskey morning ''anyway''." Matter-of-fact, that.

"Them? Faranth no. I mean, maybe, I don't know." Parli shrugs again, the boneless kind of shrug that only the perpetually bored can manage. "I do, but only because they're idiots and alcohol makes them easier to deal with." The offer to sit is, eventually, taken. She does take her mug of klah back with a sense of weighty disappointment, but settles into picking at her pastry with a distinct lack of interest. A slow swig of klah follows, an eyebrow creeping skyward once more at that grumble and slamming of hide. "Uh... huh." Her gaze flicks to the hide and, if her hands weren't busy, she'd probably be wagging a finger at it. "Bad hide. You're the worst hide ever. Look at what you made the Weyrleader do."

"The hide, the drunks, either would suit for a reason for me to grumble and slam things around," E'dre drawls at Parli. Something of her boredom and sarcasm must be infectious as now ''he's'' sighing like someone who is long suffering. "Just one more thing added to the list of the day," he admits to her with a shrug. He spies an opportunity and lifts his hand, a come-hither wave and point given to his mug. A kitchen staff member bustles over without issue to refill his mug with the newly made klah. "There you are, sir. Nice to see you this morning, sir," the young boy murmurs to E'dre before dashing off to his other tasks. Satsified, E'dre takes his mug up and cradles it against his chest in growing contentment.

"I guess," Parli replies and absently continues picking at the pastry and taking bits and pieces. Her features screw up at something or another - the glazing over of her eyes does plenty to suggest the source - and then she's snorting to herself. She pushes the pastry a bit closer to E'dre. "Go ahead. Point on the pastry where the bad hide touched you." A beat, then: "You have an assistant, right? I mean, just make them deal with it today or whatever. Go do," vague and airy gesticulation ensues, "like, I don't know, whatever else you have to do."

E'dre can't help but chuckle over Parli's pastry and commentary. "No. The pastry wouldn't hold up if I began pointing out all the wrongs of the hide against me." He sips his klah and grimaces against the flavor. "I'll have to talk to them about where we're getting the klah these days. This is ''horrible''." He pats his chest and grimaces again against the burn as it goes down. "An assistant?" E'dre's amusement seems inclined to stay this morning. Parli must've caught him on one of his ''good'' days. "I ''was'' the Weyrsecond. I don't have one trained up as a back-up. Though I let N'rov try for a few days." He eyes her briefly and then gazes back to her wingmates. "You enjoying Flint? Aside from," he gestures in a back-handed way. "That."

A one-shouldered-"whatever floats your boat" shrug resolves in Parli pulling the pastry back. "It would probably be a better fate than it's going to suffer now," she muses. Not that she cares. That thing is going to be destroyed long before it's actually eaten. Both eyebrows raise at his proclamation, her slow smile - a rare thing, indeed - being very much of the unspoken (but obvious) 'I told you so' variety. Aloud: "So why don't you make him do it anyway? Or, I don't know, make some other Wingleader your 'Second of the day or whatever." The question is met with a vague noise, yet another shrug - such powerful shoulders! - and a bored, "I guess. I mean, it's okay. It's not, like, busy all the time any more or anything. Just drills and more drills and, oh boy, even more drills." Go, go, lazy jazz hands. "It's better than talking to Holders like before." ''Ugh.'' - unvoiced, but still there.

E'dre's interest just seems to keep catching as Parli speaks, something sparking in his gaze as he takes more sips from his klah and nods encouragement to her sharing. "I see," he offers, interest turning quickly to calculations. "I never was a fan of talking to Holders. They always seemed to ''want'' something in exchange for our presence," he adds, shifting in his seat. "Which could get annoying. Which Holders did you talk to? I mean, some of them are pretty decent, but others...," he lifts a hand and wriggles it side-to-side as a descriptor. "I guess now that you all don't do that and you've gotta drill," he adds, grinning, "those that don't like the drills are drinking?"

The klah is tried again, to much the same effect as before. Parli sucks her teeth a little, eats some pastry, and slouches a little in her seat. "Well, yeah. I mean. If they came here, wouldn't you want something from them?" Her nose wrinkles. "Ugh. I can't even remember. X'vin has all my reports, so. I guess talk to him or something. I'm sure he still has them somewhere." Another long, deep sigh of the long-suffering, soul-heavy sort is given, coupled with an eyeroll that lasts a second or two too long. "I can't speak for the others, but ''I'' like the drinking. Thank you, alcohol." She raises her klah briefly in a toast to the beverage that is definitely not there. "But, whatever. The drills still get done, so..." She'll just leave that there.

A chance must've been missed for E'dre's not as cheerful and chummy as he was. "Of course X'vin's got your reports," he agrees as he takes a longer pull from his klah. "And if the drinking is really turning into such sport, perhaps I'll have to chat him up a bit about that. Safety. Sanity. Y'know. Can't have all our riders tossing back booze to celebrate the coming of the sun." He shifts in his seat and then stands, pushing the bench out from behind him as he goes. "I'm going to take this offensive hide to throw at N'rov's head," he comments, grabbing the hide. "See if he wants to make sense of it." He's got a smirk for Parli on that, "Thanks for the idea." He tips his head to her and then moves to head out of the caverns. He's got that klah mug but he's left the rest of his dishes behind for someone else to deal with.

There's another rolling of eyes, but Parli doesn't say any more; she's a bit more occupied with her business, such as it is. Her wingmates eventually get up and file out - presumably to get ready for drills - but she doesn't join them. "Sure. Yeah. Just make sure to fold it up or something before you throw it. It doesn't go far otherwise." Spoken from experience, that. There is no getting up to salute, no farewells; there's a vague little wave, though, so there's something? In either case, he leaves and she lingers - and she'll eventually get to her drills. Probably even while it's still morning. Maybe.
}}

Logs:Regarding Murder

2015-10-13T02:12:25Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=Hattie, E'dre,
|what=A Discussion of the Impending Weyr Council Meeting
|where=Council Room, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area, Fort Weyr
|day=24
|month=13
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.12
|mentions=Azaylia, Aishani, Oriane, R'hin, Mirinda, M'kris,
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie Worried.png, Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg,
|log=There could be any number of reasons why Fort’s Weyrwoman is seemingly progressively more grim as the autumn and winter months have worn on, but at least there is an evident explanation for today, given the subject matter that Elaruth shares with Wroth when she reaches for the brown. << She asks to talk about the ‘Reachian. And the idiot woman. >> It can’t be the little queen’s own phrasing that she uses, for it even has something of Hattie’s inflections about it, but the message is dutifully repeated nonetheless. She needn’t say where – Hattie doesn’t seem to manage much time beyond the council room and caverns these days.

Wroth is drowsy when Elaruth’s reach touches him and so his reply is far more subdued than it normally would be. << He will be there shortly. >> He fades from her then to return to his nap, his hide barely warmed in the winter sun. E’dre enters the council room, his face refreshed looking with the tan that his trip gave him. He’s dressed in his riding leathers, though he takes the time to strip his jacket off and toss it over a chair before he sits at his usual chair. “I’m unclear as to ‘’which’’ woman is the idiot, but otherwise,” he begins with a lifted brow directed at her, “I’m prepared for the discussion we’re set to have.”

“Are you?” Hattie near demands from her seat at the head of the table, the work stacked before her a neat little barrier between her and him – and the world – whether she realises it or not. “Ready, that is,” she clarifies. “If we’re to go to Council over this whole sorry affair...” She shakes her head. “Why none of this for Azaylia or Aishani... No-one questions how many ‘’queenriders’’ they lose...” is nothing more than bitter mutterings, still tainted by long-cold grief. “If we go to Council, you can’t just go saying any old thing you please. I think Oriane’s a fool, but I won’t be ‘’saying so’’ in so many words.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” E’dre counters, lifting both brows high. “I’m not going to run my mouth and lose my temper,” he clarifies, “but if no one else will bring up the obvious, I certainly will.” He leans back in his chair, arms folding in front of him as he scowls at her self-created barrier. “Our Weyrs are little better than the Holds, killing each other for whatever reason best suits the current mood. And you have to realize,” he continues, lifting his gaze back to hers as he smoothes out his scowl into a more neutral plane. “That the only reason ‘’this’’ is going to council is because of Monaco. There’s something to gain there, isn’t there?”

“Because if you show your hand, the next person anyone will be aiming to manipulate will be ‘’you’’,” Hattie warns lowly, reaching across the hidework to sip at the dregs of icy tea. “I highly doubt that it’s just a matter of High Reaches’ leaders wanting justice for R’hin,” she agrees. “Their ties with Monaco have been rather odd for turns now, not that I really have a leg to stand on there, with my former juniors now Southern’s leaders. If they can get a controlling interest in how the place runs, I doubt they’d pass up the opportunity. This is ‘’if’’ anyone agrees with their line of thought concerning the succession.”

“This is all based on the assumption that R’hin’s death was a plotted murder and the Weyrleader had no cause for committing it,” E’dre replies blandly, “we’re already asked to proceed like judgement has come to pass. That alone seems suspicious.” He shrugs a shoulder and moves to rest a hand on the table. He drums his fingers as he collects his thoughts. “We’re in an Interval,” he continues, tapping onto the subject of Ali’s position, “and there aren’t as many queens as there might be within each Weyr. It stands to reason that we shift them when the need arises. But since Oriane doesn’t feel capable to run her own Weyr under these circumstances, and the junior is the accused's daughter, I guess we’re in the position that someone must be placed there.” He shakes his head. “And if we’re going to be shifting a queen, why shouldn’t we go so far as shifting a bronze or brownrider? The leadership is too shaky as it stands now.”

“Oriane or Mirinda passing judgement are equally displeasing options.” Hattie lapses into silence, seemingly about to say no more, but then she shakes her head and murmurs, “There’s no telling how any of this will unfold until everyone’s arguments have been put forth,” with a twitch of her shoulders. “For Oriane to take M’kris into custody and have resigned her knot is foolish. No matter what she could be trying to protect of her reputation or morals, she’ll be remembered for the mess she’s made more than anything else.” She cannot quite hide the flick of her eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t want Mirinda in charge any more than I want Oriane to keep her knot, even if she could hold onto it, but it might not be as simple a matter as moving in new blood. And truly, even ‘’that’’ will not be simple. We may be autonomous, but none of us are impartial, or oblivious.”

“I don’t want to pass judgement on someone’s decision made under extreme pressure and likely shock,” E’dre adds his thoughts following Hattie’s lapse into silence. “She may regret her rashness later or she may not.” He rubs at his temple with a forefinger. “It’ll be interesting to see how the Council unfolds and where people choose to stand. I think until we can suss out the rest of the Weyr’s reactions and discuss their motives, we really can’t do much.” He pauses, looking at the wall behind Hattie with a distant expression. “This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself feeling relief that I am no longer a Reachian. I imagine,” he adds sourly, looking back to Hattie with the same distance to his gaze, “it won’t be the last.”

“Or she might not have been shocked at all.” There’s no attempt on Hattie’s part to keep it from being a damning condemnation, whether she seems to believe that it’s true or otherwise. “As it is, there may be no time to discuss anything when the time comes,” she goes on, watching E’dre and not watching him at the same time. “You’re not bound to agree with me, should it come down to any rounds of votes. ‘’I’’ won’t hold it against you if you don’t.” The implication being that others might. “Whatever happens, it’s not a pissing contest. Too many goldriders may have lost their lives at the ‘Reaches for me to ever trust them, but I won’t vote against what they desire just to spite them. We need to do what’s best for ‘’us’’... And sometimes, what we can live with.”

“Before we head into that Council, we should consider what is best for ‘’us’’,” E’dre agrees, waving between the space between them and lifting a hand to wave over his shoulder to indicate the Weyr at large. “And it may very well be best for Fort to come out agreeing on this point rather than each of us casting a different vote. I see absolutely no reason to show anything but a stable leadership between the two of us. If you give me your opinion now, I’ll respect it and we can agree to what we may vote on prior to the meeting. If things change due to knowledge we gain, well, at least we tried. We can always have Wroth and Elaruth talk for us while we listen.” He shrugs, splaying his fingers out on the table. “I haven’t been to one of these before, so your guidance will be appreciated.”

“I’m not sure that I have any more of an opinion right now than what I’ve told you,” Hattie admits somewhat reluctantly. “But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to speak for us, provided they can each deliver accurate information without colouring it with their own thoughts.” She leans back in her chair and lets her head drop back for a moment. “I don’t have any particular investment in Monaco, but I’d rather no-one else did either. If it’s a choice between making a move for us and letting someone else do the same...” When she straightens again, she grips the edge of the table and hauls herself forward, as if she needs the support. “I can make you notes about everything I know about the others Weyrleaders. Some of the juniors. If you don’t mind playing pretend, we can even run through what it’s like at Council.”

“I’m sure Elaruth is more reliable than Wroth,” E’dre admits dryly, “but if the stakes are high and it involves the strength of our leadership, he’ll behave as best as he can. Elaruth doesn’t offend him, so he should be fine.” He winces slightly and then rubs at his temple again with a grimace. “He says he will be.” The mention of pretend has him smiling, despite the gravity of their discussion. “I’ve just returned from spending time with my children. I’m well prepared to play more pretend. Especially if it’ll serve us well to do it. And yes, I’ve met all of the Weyrleaders over the turns but none of them have recently come calling to me.” He shrugs at this, unbothered by that admission, “so let’s haggle this tidbit out and then we can move onto more enjoyable pursuits.”

“Maybe you can,” Hattie says under her breath. “I’m beginning to forget what they are.” She’s not bitter, for all the darkness of her words, her answer matter of fact and nothing more. “I’ll need some time to write everything down and put into manageable segments, or you’re not going to remember any of it. I don’t suppose I need say that what I tell you doesn’t go beyond yourself. I might be up for gearing for battle, but I’m not going to give anyone else the means to harm someone else’s leadership unnecessarily.” Thumb and forefinger press to the bridge of her nose. “I can have everything ready by this evening, if you’re willing to dedicate the time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. How about we have dinner in here then?” E’dre asks as he scoots his chair back with an audible scrape to the floor. “I’ll let you return to your work,” he continues as he heaves himself up with a small grunt for the effort. “I’ll see you for dinner and we can take as much time as you need,” E’dre continues and for someone who has been away from their weyrmate for the last few days, he seems a little ‘’too’’ eager for the opportunity. “Just have Elaruth send word to Wroth. We can practice that too,” he adds with a crooked smile, “and I’ll bring a meal here.”

Hattie’s only response is a bob of her head and a smile that doesn’t make it past a thin, strained thing. She directs her focus back to her work just as it seems E’dre is headed outside, but there’s little interest there for the tasks that lie before her. Hour upon hour will pass, and nothing much will change at all, save for the stack of hidework growing smaller and the appearance of a set of notes in its place. Upon his return, it might seem like the Weyrwoman hasn’t moved at all.
|Categories=The Death of R'hin Logs
}}

Logs:Regarding Murder

2015-10-12T22:46:49Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=Hattie, E'dre,
|what=A Discussion of the Impending Weyr Council Meeting
|where=Council Room, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=22
|month=13
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.12
|mentions=Azaylia, Aishani, Oriane, R'hin, Mirinda, M'kris,
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie Worried.png, Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg,
|log=There could be any number of reasons why Fort’s Weyrwoman is seemingly progressively more grim as the autumn and winter months have worn on, but at least there is an evident explanation for today, given the subject matter that Elaruth shares with Wroth when she reaches for the brown. << She asks to talk about the ‘Reachian. And the idiot woman. >> It can’t be the little queen’s own phrasing that she uses, for it even has something of Hattie’s inflections about it, but the message is dutifully repeated nonetheless. She needn’t say where – Hattie doesn’t seem to manage much time beyond the council room and caverns these days.

Wroth is drowsy when Elaruth’s reach touches him and so his reply is far more subdued than it normally would be. << He will be there shortly. >> He fades from her then to return to his nap, his hide barely warmed in the winter sun. E’dre enters the council room, his face refreshed looking with the tan that his trip gave him. He’s dressed in his riding leathers, though he takes the time to strip his jacket off and toss it over a chair before he sits at his usual chair. “I’m unclear as to ‘’which’’ woman is the idiot, but otherwise,” he begins with a lifted brow directed at her, “I’m prepared for the discussion we’re set to have.”

“Are you?” Hattie near demands from her seat at the head of the table, the work stacked before her a neat little barrier between her and him – and the world – whether she realises it or not. “Ready, that is,” she clarifies. “If we’re to go to Council over this whole sorry affair...” She shakes her head. “Why none of this for Azaylia or Aishani... No-one questions how many ‘’queenriders’’ they lose...” is nothing more than bitter mutterings, still tainted by long-cold grief. “If we go to Council, you can’t just go saying any old thing you please. I think Oriane’s a fool, but I won’t be ‘’saying so’’ in so many words.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” E’dre counters, lifting both brows high. “I’m not going to run my mouth and lose my temper,” he clarifies, “but if no one else will bring up the obvious, I certainly will.” He leans back in his chair, arms folding in front of him as he scowls at her self-created barrier. “Our Weyrs are little better than the Holds, killing each other for whatever reason best suits the current mood. And you have to realize,” he continues, lifting his gaze back to hers as he smoothes out his scowl into a more neutral plane. “That the only reason ‘’this’’ is going to council is because of Monaco. There’s something to gain there, isn’t there?”

“Because if you show your hand, the next person anyone will be aiming to manipulate will be ‘’you’’,” Hattie warns lowly, reaching across the hidework to sip at the dregs of icy tea. “I highly doubt that it’s just a matter of High Reaches’ leaders wanting justice for R’hin,” she agrees. “Their ties with Monaco have been rather odd for turns now, not that I really have a leg to stand on there, with my former juniors now Southern’s leaders. If they can get a controlling interest in how the place runs, I doubt they’d pass up the opportunity. This is ‘’if’’ anyone agrees with their line of thought concerning the succession.”

“This is all based on the assumption that R’hin’s death was a plotted murder and the Weyrleader had no cause for committing it,” E’dre replies blandly, “we’re already asked to proceed like judgement has come to pass. That alone seems suspicious.” He shrugs a shoulder and moves to rest a hand on the table. He drums his fingers as he collects his thoughts. “We’re in an Interval,” he continues, tapping onto the subject of Ali’s position, “and there aren’t as many queens as there might be within each Weyr. It stands to reason that we shift them when the need arises. But since Oriane doesn’t feel capable to run her own Weyr under these circumstances, and the junior is the accused's daughter, I guess we’re in the position that someone must be placed there.” He shakes his head. “And if we’re going to be shifting a queen, why shouldn’t we go so far as shifting a bronze or brownrider? The leadership is too shaky as it stands now.”

“Oriane or Mirinda passing judgement are equally displeasing options.” Hattie lapses into silence, seemingly about to say no more, but then she shakes her head and murmurs, “There’s no telling how any of this will unfold until everyone’s arguments have been put forth,” with a twitch of her shoulders. “For Oriane to take M’kris into custody and have resigned her knot is foolish. No matter what she could be trying to protect of her reputation or morals, she’ll be remembered for the mess she’s made more than anything else.” She cannot quite hide the flick of her eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t want Mirinda in charge any more than I want Oriane to keep her knot, even if she could hold onto it, but it might not be as simple a matter as moving in new blood. And truly, even ‘’that’’ will not be simple. We may be autonomous, but none of us are impartial, or oblivious.”

“I don’t want to pass judgement on someone’s decision made under extreme pressure and likely shock,” E’dre adds his thoughts following Hattie’s lapse into silence. “She may regret her rashness later or she may not.” He rubs at his temple with a forefinger. “It’ll be interesting to see how the Council unfolds and where people choose to stand. I think until we can suss out the rest of the Weyr’s reactions and discuss their motives, we really can’t do much.” He pauses, looking at the wall behind Hattie with a distant expression. “This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself feeling relief that I am no longer a Reachian. I imagine,” he adds sourly, looking back to Hattie with the same distance to his gaze, “it won’t be the last.”

“Or she might not have been shocked at all.” There’s no attempt on Hattie’s part to keep it from being a damning condemnation, whether she seems to believe that it’s true or otherwise. “As it is, there may be no time to discuss anything when the time comes,” she goes on, watching E’dre and not watching him at the same time. “You’re not bound to agree with me, should it come down to any rounds of votes. ‘’I’’ won’t hold it against you if you don’t.” The implication being that others might. “Whatever happens, it’s not a pissing contest. Too many goldriders may have lost their lives at the ‘Reaches for me to ever trust them, but I won’t vote against what they desire just to spite them. We need to do what’s best for ‘’us’’... And sometimes, what we can live with.”

“Before we head into that Council, we should consider what is best for ‘’us’’,” E’dre agrees, waving between the space between them and lifting a hand to wave over his shoulder to indicate the Weyr at large. “And it may very well be best for Fort to come out agreeing on this point rather than each of us casting a different vote. I see absolutely no reason to show anything but a stable leadership between the two of us. If you give me your opinion now, I’ll respect it and we can agree to what we may vote on prior to the meeting. If things change due to knowledge we gain, well, at least we tried. We can always have Wroth and Elaruth talk for us while we listen.” He shrugs, splaying his fingers out on the table. “I haven’t been to one of these before, so your guidance will be appreciated.”

“I’m not sure that I have any more of an opinion right now than what I’ve told you,” Hattie admits somewhat reluctantly. “But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to speak for us, provided they can each deliver accurate information without colouring it with their own thoughts.” She leans back in her chair and lets her head drop back for a moment. “I don’t have any particular investment in Monaco, but I’d rather no-one else did either. If it’s a choice between making a move for us and letting someone else do the same...” When she straightens again, she grips the edge of the table and hauls herself forward, as if she needs the support. “I can make you notes about everything I know about the others Weyrleaders. Some of the juniors. If you don’t mind playing pretend, we can even run through what it’s like at Council.”

“I’m sure Elaruth is more reliable than Wroth,” E’dre admits dryly, “but if the stakes are high and it involves the strength of our leadership, he’ll behave as best as he can. Elaruth doesn’t offend him, so he should be fine.” He winces slightly and then rubs at his temple again with a grimace. “He says he will be.” The mention of pretend has him smiling, despite the gravity of their discussion. “I’ve just returned from spending time with my children. I’m well prepared to play more pretend. Especially if it’ll serve us well to do it. And yes, I’ve met all of the Weyrleaders over the turns but none of them have recently come calling to me.” He shrugs at this, unbothered by that admission, “so let’s haggle this tidbit out and then we can move onto more enjoyable pursuits.”

“Maybe you can,” Hattie says under her breath. “I’m beginning to forget what they are.” She’s not bitter, for all the darkness of her words, her answer matter of fact and nothing more. “I’ll need some time to write everything down and put into manageable segments, or you’re not going to remember any of it. I don’t suppose I need say that what I tell you doesn’t go beyond yourself. I might be up for gearing for battle, but I’m not going to give anyone else the means to harm someone else’s leadership unnecessarily.” Thumb and forefinger press to the bridge of her nose. “I can have everything ready by this evening, if you’re willing to dedicate the time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. How about we have dinner in here then?” E’dre asks as he scoots his chair back with an audible scrape to the floor. “I’ll let you return to your work,” he continues as he heaves himself up with a small grunt for the effort. “I’ll see you for dinner and we can take as much time as you need,” E’dre continues and for someone who has been away from their weyrmate for the last few days, he seems a little ‘’too’’ eager for the opportunity. “Just have Elaruth send word to Wroth. We can practice that too,” he adds with a crooked smile, “and I’ll bring a meal here.”

Hattie’s only response is a bob of her head and a smile that doesn’t make it past a thin, strained thing. She directs her focus back to her work just as it seems E’dre is headed outside, but there’s little interest there for the tasks that lie before her. Hour upon hour will pass, and nothing much will change at all, save for the stack of hidework growing smaller and the appearance of a set of notes in its place. Upon his return, it might seem like the Weyrwoman hasn’t moved at all.
}}

Logs:Regarding Murder

2015-10-12T22:44:52Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=Hattie, E'dre,
|what=A Discussion of the Impending Weyr Council Meeting
|where=Council Room, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=22
|month=13
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.12
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie Worried.png, Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg,
|log=There could be any number of reasons why Fort’s Weyrwoman is seemingly progressively more grim as the autumn and winter months have worn on, but at least there is an evident explanation for today, given the subject matter that Elaruth shares with Wroth when she reaches for the brown. << She asks to talk about the ‘Reachian. And the idiot woman. >> It can’t be the little queen’s own phrasing that she uses, for it even has something of Hattie’s inflections about it, but the message is dutifully repeated nonetheless. She needn’t say where – Hattie doesn’t seem to manage much time beyond the council room and caverns these days.

Wroth is drowsy when Elaruth’s reach touches him and so his reply is far more subdued than it normally would be. << He will be there shortly. >> He fades from her then to return to his nap, his hide barely warmed in the winter sun. E’dre enters the council room, his face refreshed looking with the tan that his trip gave him. He’s dressed in his riding leathers, though he takes the time to strip his jacket off and toss it over a chair before he sits at his usual chair. “I’m unclear as to ‘’which’’ woman is the idiot, but otherwise,” he begins with a lifted brow directed at her, “I’m prepared for the discussion we’re set to have.”

“Are you?” Hattie near demands from her seat at the head of the table, the work stacked before her a neat little barrier between her and him – and the world – whether she realises it or not. “Ready, that is,” she clarifies. “If we’re to go to Council over this whole sorry affair...” She shakes her head. “Why none of this for Azaylia or Aishani... No-one questions how many ‘’queenriders’’ they lose...” is nothing more than bitter mutterings, still tainted by long-cold grief. “If we go to Council, you can’t just go saying any old thing you please. I think Oriane’s a fool, but I won’t be ‘’saying so’’ in so many words.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” E’dre counters, lifting both brows high. “I’m not going to run my mouth and lose my temper,” he clarifies, “but if no one else will bring up the obvious, I certainly will.” He leans back in his chair, arms folding in front of him as he scowls at her self-created barrier. “Our Weyrs are little better than the Holds, killing each other for whatever reason best suits the current mood. And you have to realize,” he continues, lifting his gaze back to hers as he smoothes out his scowl into a more neutral plane. “That the only reason ‘’this’’ is going to council is because of Monaco. There’s something to gain there, isn’t there?”

“Because if you show your hand, the next person anyone will be aiming to manipulate will be ‘’you’’,” Hattie warns lowly, reaching across the hidework to sip at the dregs of icy tea. “I highly doubt that it’s just a matter of High Reaches’ leaders wanting justice for R’hin,” she agrees. “Their ties with Monaco have been rather odd for turns now, not that I really have a leg to stand on there, with my former juniors now Southern’s leaders. If they can get a controlling interest in how the place runs, I doubt they’d pass up the opportunity. This is ‘’if’’ anyone agrees with their line of thought concerning the succession.”

“This is all based on the assumption that R’hin’s death was a plotted murder and the Weyrleader had no cause for committing it,” E’dre replies blandly, “we’re already asked to proceed like judgement has come to pass. That alone seems suspicious.” He shrugs a shoulder and moves to rest a hand on the table. He drums his fingers as he collects his thoughts. “We’re in an Interval,” he continues, tapping onto the subject of Ali’s position, “and there aren’t as many queens as there might be within each Weyr. It stands to reason that we shift them when the need arises. But since Oriane doesn’t feel capable to run her own Weyr under these circumstances, and the junior is the accused's daughter, I guess we’re in the position that someone must be placed there.” He shakes his head. “And if we’re going to be shifting a queen, why shouldn’t we go so far as shifting a bronze or brownrider? The leadership is too shaky as it stands now.”

“Oriane or Mirinda passing judgement are equally displeasing options.” Hattie lapses into silence, seemingly about to say no more, but then she shakes her head and murmurs, “There’s no telling how any of this will unfold until everyone’s arguments have been put forth,” with a twitch of her shoulders. “For Oriane to take M’kris into custody and have resigned her knot is foolish. No matter what she could be trying to protect of her reputation or morals, she’ll be remembered for the mess she’s made more than anything else.” She cannot quite hide the flick of her eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t want Mirinda in charge any more than I want Oriane to keep her knot, even if she could hold onto it, but it might not be as simple a matter as moving in new blood. And truly, even ‘’that’’ will not be simple. We may be autonomous, but none of us are impartial, or oblivious.”

“I don’t want to pass judgement on someone’s decision made under extreme pressure and likely shock,” E’dre adds his thoughts following Hattie’s lapse into silence. “She may regret her rashness later or she may not.” He rubs at his temple with a forefinger. “It’ll be interesting to see how the Council unfolds and where people choose to stand. I think until we can suss out the rest of the Weyr’s reactions and discuss their motives, we really can’t do much.” He pauses, looking at the wall behind Hattie with a distant expression. “This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself feeling relief that I am no longer a Reachian. I imagine,” he adds sourly, looking back to Hattie with the same distance to his gaze, “it won’t be the last.”

“Or she might not have been shocked at all.” There’s no attempt on Hattie’s part to keep it from being a damning condemnation, whether she seems to believe that it’s true or otherwise. “As it is, there may be no time to discuss anything when the time comes,” she goes on, watching E’dre and not watching him at the same time. “You’re not bound to agree with me, should it come down to any rounds of votes. ‘’I’’ won’t hold it against you if you don’t.” The implication being that others might. “Whatever happens, it’s not a pissing contest. Too many goldriders may have lost their lives at the ‘Reaches for me to ever trust them, but I won’t vote against what they desire just to spite them. We need to do what’s best for ‘’us’’... And sometimes, what we can live with.”

“Before we head into that Council, we should consider what is best for ‘’us’’,” E’dre agrees, waving between the space between them and lifting a hand to wave over his shoulder to indicate the Weyr at large. “And it may very well be best for Fort to come out agreeing on this point rather than each of us casting a different vote. I see absolutely no reason to show anything but a stable leadership between the two of us. If you give me your opinion now, I’ll respect it and we can agree to what we may vote on prior to the meeting. If things change due to knowledge we gain, well, at least we tried. We can always have Wroth and Elaruth talk for us while we listen.” He shrugs, splaying his fingers out on the table. “I haven’t been to one of these before, so your guidance will be appreciated.”

“I’m not sure that I have any more of an opinion right now than what I’ve told you,” Hattie admits somewhat reluctantly. “But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to speak for us, provided they can each deliver accurate information without colouring it with their own thoughts.” She leans back in her chair and lets her head drop back for a moment. “I don’t have any particular investment in Monaco, but I’d rather no-one else did either. If it’s a choice between making a move for us and letting someone else do the same...” When she straightens again, she grips the edge of the table and hauls herself forward, as if she needs the support. “I can make you notes about everything I know about the others Weyrleaders. Some of the juniors. If you don’t mind playing pretend, we can even run through what it’s like at Council.”

“I’m sure Elaruth is more reliable than Wroth,” E’dre admits dryly, “but if the stakes are high and it involves the strength of our leadership, he’ll behave as best as he can. Elaruth doesn’t offend him, so he should be fine.” He winces slightly and then rubs at his temple again with a grimace. “He says he will be.” The mention of pretend has him smiling, despite the gravity of their discussion. “I’ve just returned from spending time with my children. I’m well prepared to play more pretend. Especially if it’ll serve us well to do it. And yes, I’ve met all of the Weyrleaders over the turns but none of them have recently come calling to me.” He shrugs at this, unbothered by that admission, “so let’s haggle this tidbit out and then we can move onto more enjoyable pursuits.”

“Maybe you can,” Hattie says under her breath. “I’m beginning to forget what they are.” She’s not bitter, for all the darkness of her words, her answer matter of fact and nothing more. “I’ll need some time to write everything down and put into manageable segments, or you’re not going to remember any of it. I don’t suppose I need say that what I tell you doesn’t go beyond yourself. I might be up for gearing for battle, but I’m not going to give anyone else the means to harm someone else’s leadership unnecessarily.” Thumb and forefinger press to the bridge of her nose. “I can have everything ready by this evening, if you’re willing to dedicate the time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. How about we have dinner in here then?” E’dre asks as he scoots his chair back with an audible scrape to the floor. “I’ll let you return to your work,” he continues as he heaves himself up with a small grunt for the effort. “I’ll see you for dinner and we can take as much time as you need,” E’dre continues and for someone who has been away from their weyrmate for the last few days, he seems a little ‘’too’’ eager for the opportunity. “Just have Elaruth send word to Wroth. We can practice that too,” he adds with a crooked smile, “and I’ll bring a meal here.”

Hattie’s only response is a bob of her head and a smile that doesn’t make it past a thin, strained thing. She directs her focus back to her work just as it seems E’dre is headed outside, but there’s little interest there for the tasks that lie before her. Hour upon hour will pass, and nothing much will change at all, save for the stack of hidework growing smaller and the appearance of a set of notes in its place. Upon his return, it might seem like the Weyrwoman hasn’t moved at all.
}}

Logs:Regarding Murder

2015-10-12T22:44:12Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=Hattie, E'dre, |what=A Discussion of the Impending Weyr Council Meeting |where=Council Room, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=22 |month=13 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |..."

{{Log
|who=Hattie, E'dre,
|what=A Discussion of the Impending Weyr Council Meeting
|where=Council Room, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=22
|month=13
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.12
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie Worried.png, Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg,
|log=There could be any number of reasons why Fort’s Weyrwoman is seemingly progressively more grim as the autumn and winter months have worn on, but at least there is an evident explanation for today, given the subject matter that Elaruth shares with Wroth when she reaches for the brown. << She asks to talk about the ‘Reachian. And the idiot woman. >> It can’t be the little queen’s own phrasing that she uses, for it even has something of Hattie’s inflections about it, but the message is dutifully repeated nonetheless. She needn’t say where – Hattie doesn’t seem to manage much time beyond the council room and caverns these days.

Wroth is drowsy when Elaruth’s reach touches him and so his reply is far more subdued than it normally would be. << He will be there shortly. >> He fades from her then to return to his nap, his hide barely warmed in the winter sun. E’dre enters the council room, his face refreshed looking with the tan that his trip gave him. He’s dressed in his riding leathers, though he takes the time to strip his jacket off and toss it over a chair before he sits at his usual chair. “I’m unclear as to ‘’which’’ woman is the idiot, but otherwise,” he begins with a lifted brow directed at her, “I’m prepared for the discussion we’re set to have.”

“Are you?” Hattie near demands from her seat at the head of the table, the work stacked before her a neat little barrier between her and him – and the world – whether she realises it or not. “Ready, that is,” she clarifies. “If we’re to go to Council over this whole sorry affair...” She shakes her head. “Why none of this for Azaylia or Aishani... No-one questions how many ‘’queenriders’’ they lose...” is nothing more than bitter mutterings, still tainted by long-cold grief. “If we go to Council, you can’t just go saying any old thing you please. I think Oriane’s a fool, but I won’t be ‘’saying so’’ in so many words.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” E’dre counters, lifting both brows high. “I’m not going to run my mouth and lose my temper,” he clarifies, “but if no one else will bring up the obvious, I certainly will.” He leans back in his chair, arms folding in front of him as he scowls at her self-created barrier. “Our Weyrs are little better than the Holds, killing each other for whatever reason best suits the current mood. And you have to realize,” he continues, lifting his gaze back to hers as he smoothes out his scowl into a more neutral plane. “That the only reason ‘’this’’ is going to council is because of Monaco. There’s something to gain there, isn’t there?”

“Because if you show your hand, the next person anyone will be aiming to manipulate will be ‘’you’’,” Hattie warns lowly, reaching across the hidework to sip at the dregs of icy tea. “I highly doubt that it’s just a matter of High Reaches’ leaders wanting justice for R’hin,” she agrees. “Their ties with Monaco have been rather odd for turns now, not that I really have a leg to stand on there, with my former juniors now Southern’s leaders. If they can get a controlling interest in how the place runs, I doubt they’d pass up the opportunity. This is ‘’if’’ anyone agrees with their line of thought concerning the succession.”

“This is all based on the assumption that R’hin’s death was a plotted murder and the Weyrleader had no cause for committing it,” E’dre replies blandly, “we’re already asked to proceed like judgement has come to pass. That alone seems suspicious.” He shrugs a shoulder and moves to rest a hand on the table. He drums his fingers as he collects his thoughts. “We’re in an Interval,” he continues, tapping onto the subject of Ali’s position, “and there aren’t as many queens as there might be within each Weyr. It stands to reason that we shift them when the need arises. But since Oriane doesn’t feel capable to run her own Weyr under these circumstances, and the junior is the accused's daughter, I guess we’re in the position that someone must be placed there.” He shakes his head. “And if we’re going to be shifting a queen, why shouldn’t we go so far as shifting a bronze or brownrider? The leadership is too shaky as it stands now.”

“Oriane or Mirinda passing judgement are equally displeasing options.” Hattie lapses into silence, seemingly about to say no more, but then she shakes her head and murmurs, “There’s no telling how any of this will unfold until everyone’s arguments have been put forth,” with a twitch of her shoulders. “For Oriane to take M’kris into custody and have resigned her knot is foolish. No matter what she could be trying to protect of her reputation or morals, she’ll be remembered for the mess she’s made more than anything else.” She cannot quite hide the flick of her eyes towards the ceiling. “I don’t want Mirinda in charge any more than I want Oriane to keep her knot, even if she could hold onto it, but it might not be as simple a matter as moving in new blood. And truly, even ‘’that’’ will not be simple. We may be autonomous, but none of us are impartial, or oblivious.”

“I don’t want to pass judgement on someone’s decision made under extreme pressure and likely shock,” E’dre adds his thoughts following Hattie’s lapse into silence. “She may regret her rashness later or she may not.” He rubs at his temple with a forefinger. “It’ll be interesting to see how the Council unfolds and where people choose to stand. I think until we can suss out the rest of the Weyr’s reactions and discuss their motives, we really can’t do much.” He pauses, looking at the wall behind Hattie with a distant expression. “This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself feeling relief that I am no longer a Reachian. I imagine,” he adds sourly, looking back to Hattie with the same distance to his gaze, “it won’t be the last.”

“Or she might not have been shocked at all.” There’s no attempt on Hattie’s part to keep it from being a damning condemnation, whether she seems to believe that it’s true or otherwise. “As it is, there may be no time to discuss anything when the time comes,” she goes on, watching E’dre and not watching him at the same time. “You’re not bound to agree with me, should it come down to any rounds of votes. ‘’I’’ won’t hold it against you if you don’t.” The implication being that others might. “Whatever happens, it’s not a pissing contest. Too many goldriders may have lost their lives at the ‘Reaches for me to ever trust them, but I won’t vote against what they desire just to spite them. We need to do what’s best for ‘’us’’... And sometimes, what we can live with.”

“Before we head into that Council, we should consider what is best for ‘’us’’,” E’dre agrees, waving between the space between them and lifting a hand to wave over his shoulder to indicate the Weyr at large. “And it may very well be best for Fort to come out agreeing on this point rather than each of us casting a different vote. I see absolutely no reason to show anything but a stable leadership between the two of us. If you give me your opinion now, I’ll respect it and we can agree to what we may vote on prior to the meeting. If things change due to knowledge we gain, well, at least we tried. We can always have Wroth and Elaruth talk for us while we listen.” He shrugs, splaying his fingers out on the table. “I haven’t been to one of these before, so your guidance will be appreciated.”

“I’m not sure that I have any more of an opinion right now than what I’ve told you,” Hattie admits somewhat reluctantly. “But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for them to speak for us, provided they can each deliver accurate information without colouring it with their own thoughts.” She leans back in her chair and lets her head drop back for a moment. “I don’t have any particular investment in Monaco, but I’d rather no-one else did either. If it’s a choice between making a move for us and letting someone else do the same...” When she straightens again, she grips the edge of the table and hauls herself forward, as if she needs the support. “I can make you notes about everything I know about the others Weyrleaders. Some of the juniors. If you don’t mind playing pretend, we can even run through what it’s like at Council.”

“I’m sure Elaruth is more reliable than Wroth,” E’dre admits dryly, “but if the stakes are high and it involves the strength of our leadership, he’ll behave as best as he can. Elaruth doesn’t offend him, so he should be fine.” He winces slightly and then rubs at his temple again with a grimace. “He says he will be.” The mention of pretend has him smiling, despite the gravity of their discussion. “I’ve just returned from spending time with my children. I’m well prepared to play more pretend. Especially if it’ll serve us well to do it. And yes, I’ve met all of the Weyrleaders over the turns but none of them have recently come calling to me.” He shrugs at this, unbothered by that admission, “so let’s haggle this tidbit out and then we can move onto more enjoyable pursuits.”

“Maybe you can,” Hattie says under her breath. “I’m beginning to forget what they are.” She’s not bitter, for all the darkness of her words, her answer matter of fact and nothing more. “I’ll need some time to write everything down and put into manageable segments, or you’re not going to remember any of it. I don’t suppose I need say that what I tell you doesn’t go beyond yourself. I might be up for gearing for battle, but I’m not going to give anyone else the means to harm someone else’s leadership unnecessarily.” Thumb and forefinger press to the bridge of her nose. “I can have everything ready by this evening, if you’re willing to dedicate the time.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. How about we have dinner in here then?” E’dre asks as he scoots his chair back with an audible scrape to the floor. “I’ll let you return to your work,” he continues as he heaves himself up with a small grunt for the effort. “I’ll see you for dinner and we can take as much time as you need,” E’dre continues and for someone who has been away from their weyrmate for the last few days, he seems a little ‘’too’’ eager for the opportunity. “Just have Elaruth send word to Wroth. We can practice that too,” he adds with a crooked smile, “and I’ll bring a meal here.”

Hattie’s only response is a bob of her head and a smile that doesn’t make it past a thin, strained thing. She directs her focus back to her work just as it seems E’dre is headed outside, but there’s little interest there for the tasks that lie before her. Hour upon hour will pass, and nothing much will change at all, save for the stack of hidework growing smaller and the appearance of a set of notes in its place. Upon his return, it might seem like the Weyrwoman hasn’t moved at all.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:He Could Try

2015-10-11T20:48:38Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, Eden, Eryn, Elayne, Reeden, Yurise |what=E'dre takes his children to stay with an old friend |where=Reeden's Cot, Igen Hold |involves=Igen Area |day=13 |mont..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, Eden, Eryn, Elayne, Reeden, Yurise
|what=E'dre takes his children to stay with an old friend
|where=Reeden's Cot, Igen Hold
|involves=Igen Area
|day=13
|month=13
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.09
|mentions=Ebeny, A'ryk, Astivan,
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Dad.jpg,
|log=''Day One''

“It isn’t the beach dad,” Elayne said as she folded her arms in front of her and pouted her lips as she surveyed the expanse of desert in front of her. The twins seemed less interested in complaining and more excited to explore as they ran around the small cot’s yard, laughing at the newness of their venture with “just daddy”.

E’dre shrugged his shoulders in response to his eldest’s complaint. “It isn’t,” he agrees as he watches Eden and Eryn with an indulgent smile. “But it’s the closest thing to my family I can share with you girls.” He looked to where Wroth lounged in the distance, his rugged hide a beacon amongst the sand dunes.

“I’ve got something put together for lunch,” Reeden’s voice announced him as the taller man stepped up alongside E’dre and Elayne. He scratched briefly at his grizzled cheek as he watched the two younger girls. “They’ve got a lot of energy between the two of them, don’t they?”

“They certainly do,” E’dre replied with a small chuckle. “Go and collect your sisters Elayne,” he told his daughter as he turned to follow Reeden inside the small cot.

Reeden tossed an arm about the brownrider’s shoulder as they moved through the doorway. “You’ll stay and rest for a few days,” he reasoned as he steered E’dre towards the table set for dinner. “And you’ll find some perspective on your issues. You’ll see. The desert can heal.”

E’dre slid into the nearest chair and grabbed the already poured glass of wine as he listened to his daughters enter the cot behind them, their excited laughter and chatter enough to ease the burdens of his heart. “It is,” he replied to Reeden after a sip of wine, “as is time spent with the ones you love.”

''Day Two''

Elayne loved to ride one of Reeden’s stocky and sturdy desert runners, her joy in spending time with her favorite dun mare overpowering her desire to spend time with her father. E’dre lounged in a chair, a large-brim hat on his head to shield his face from the heat of the sun as he watched the eight turn-old circle the arena under Reeden’s instruction. Yurise, Reeden’s partner and the resident beastcrafter of the area, had Eden and Eryn back at the cothold to play with their current litter of puppies. There was a simpleness to the life Reeden had built for himself here that E’dre couldn’t help but envy.

The strain of his and Ebeny’s relationship was unbearable. He had created it by throwing a fit about N’rov. He shouldn’t have thrown a fit about ‘’that’’, and yet -- how could he not? Had he not fallen in love with Ebeny during a flight? He ‘’knew’’ that side of her was what scared her most but it was what had drawn him out of his apathy. She had drawn him to move to Fort for a fresh start. They each had their own lives. Ebeny had C’sel - ''“Even C’sel…”'' - had his children, had her own life. He had respected that for many turns. E’dre had built his own life too, with A’ryk. And then Ebeny had Elayne. It had changed everything. It had changed nothing. He had always struggled with wanting more of Ebeny. And then he had made the selfish decision to ask her to be his. He had destroyed two families in the pursuit of Ebeny. At what cost?

And now it looked as if he’d destroy a third. << So you’re unable to keep the ones you love >> Wroth’s gravelly voice interjected as the brown lazily drifted overhead on the ample updrafts the heat of the desert provided him. << You should be used to it by now. She’s going to leave you and then you’ll find someone else. You have more important things to worry about. >>

''Maybe this is what is more important'', E’dre argued with his dragon as he looked at Elayne and Reeden discussing something in the corral. ''Maybe there’s more to life than what's expected of me as Acting Weyrleader.''

And wasn’t that the argument constantly at his feet back at Fort? How should he encourage his riders to find a new path with the Holders? Most assumed he hated the Holders and wanted to keep the boundaries firm between them. None really understood why. He tipped his hat back from his face and swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. Hadn’t Astivan’s antics proven anything to them? It was best to keep a boundary.

<< We aren’t runners or herdbeasts to do tasks for other men because they need our muscle >> Wroth’s voice agreed as he angled up and against the sun, catching the sunlight against the membrane of his wings. << We should be respected. We shouldn’t have to earn it. >>

''Day Three''

“You can all come back anytime you like,” Reeden promised as Elayne hugged him and fought back her tears. He patted the girl’s shoulder awkwardly and looked at E’dre with a bemused smile. “I hadn’t thought of children before,” he told his friend, “but your three may have me rethinking it.”

E’dre held Eden and Eryn’s hands as the girls stood patiently at his side. Wroth was already settled with their belongings and pushed at E’dre’s mind for him to hurry up. “Tell Yurise thank you for letting us stay. I’m sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye ourselves before he had to go.”

“I will,” Reeden promised as he followed E’dre to Wroth’s side. The girl’s were settled on the brown’s neckridges and strapped in relatively quickly. Too soon E’dre was on the ground again and embracing his friend. “Try and fix what’s broken, Aleudr-,” Reeden caught himself and laughed, “I’ve been calling you E’dre for turns and now I slip?” He shook his head and tugged on E’dre’s earlobe. “Fix what you have, E’dre. Both as Weyrleader and as a husband. Don’t let your pride ruin everything.”

“I’ll try,” E’dre replied as his parting words. Three quick strides up had him positioning himself behind his girls. Wroth’s muscles bunched beneath their legs and then the whoosh of the brown’s wings and the momentum of his lift set the reality of returning to them all. It was hard - harder than he wanted it to be - to take the girl’s back to Ebeny’s family. Harder still to return to Fort. He had a job to do, and apologies to make, and then - perhaps - he could fix the things he had broken.

He could try.
}}

Logs talk:Metamorphosis

2015-10-11T16:11:40Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Metamorphosis]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (09:11, 11 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

E'dre is such a rotten bastard ! :(

Logs talk:Caving In

2015-10-04T23:27:34Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Caving In]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (16:27, 4 October 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

!!

Logs:A Dump of Ale

2015-10-04T18:43:52Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, N'rov |what=E'dre takes out some pent up aggression on N'rov. Oh, and he dumps an ale on him. |where=Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Wey..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, N'rov
|what=E'dre takes out some pent up aggression on N'rov. Oh, and he dumps an ale on him.
|where=Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=23
|month=12
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.10.02
|quote=Maybe she's pregnant
|mentions=Aishani, B'doran, Ebeny, H'vier, Hattie, Kyouri, M'vyn, Nala
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon n'rov drink.png, Icon E'dre Really.jpg,
|log=E'dre has made his way to the Fountain after a long day of meeting after meeting with riders and holders alike. He looks worn and grumpy enough that those who are in the bar do nothing more than politely hail him. He grabs an ale from the barkeep before sliding into a chair near the back. He tilts his head back against the cushion of the booth and closes his eyes as he allows the sound of conversations around him to lull his mind to nothingness.

Somewhere in those conversations is that low, familiar southern baritone. N'rov hasn't frequented the Fountain since his grounding, and the continued diminished stipend can't help; even so, there's his voice, rolling into a chuckle as though he hasn't a care in the world. Those at his table are mostly local: a senior handyman, a recordskeeper of all people, and a brownrider from one of the other wings.

N'rov and his table is given a passing glance from E'dre when he reopens his eyes. If he listens a little harder in that direction he hides it well as he sips his ale. The groups that are in the Fountain are seemingly ready for a rotation out as more than one table closes a tab and leaves the Fountain. The cut in pay must be damaging the business and E'dre looks towards the bar in time to catch the barkeeps shaking head as a third group calls it a night.

N'rov's might be next; certainly the recordskeeper's rising, the brownrider hunting for his coat, none of them in too great of a hurry. They had been talking casually, the brownrider the closest to the tipsy side.

E'dre turns to focus on N'rov and his group, considering them in a rather obvious way as he sips his ale. The company the bronzerider keeps may draw the Acting's focus or it could be the man himself.

Obvious enough that N'rov gets elbowed none too discreetly, with a gruff mutter of explanation that has the bronzerider silent in the first moment and smiling in the next, even before he tips his head back up and turns, the better to meet E'dre's gaze. Then he's abandoning the other two, or possibly is ''being'' abandoned; at least they don't stick around to play audience when N'rov approaches. "You rang, sir?"

E'dre downs the last of his ale and slides it towards N'rov. "Fetch me another and then come sit with me." Not a request and close enough in tone to be a demand - yet something eases about the brownrider's posture as he reclines back in his seat and offers the bronzerider the slightest hint of a smile.

N'rov plays along, tugging on an invisible forelock. "Sir, yes sir," he says snappily and saunters off with E'dre's glass. When he returns, he's got his own short dark drink as well, and drops into a seat as though he's making himself comfortable. It doesn't mean he doesn't keep an eye on the brownrider, him and his smile.

There's no thank you offered as E'dre takes that glass to sip from. He may remain silent as he turns his gaze out to look at those still lingering around their tables. He sets his glass down and swings his gaze back to N'rov. "Glad to be back in the air?" He queries and then pauses to sip his ale. "Nala's been in the infirmary. What do you make of that?" There's no papers in front of him to mark but he clearly wants to quiz N'rov.

"Yeah," the easy answer but stronger than he might intend nonetheless. For Nala, N'rov shrugs. "She has spots, and they aren't going away, and they're ''catching''. Also," here's the kicker, "purple."

E'dre is far from amused by N'rov's answer. His flash of irritation he tries to hide as he takes a larger gulp of the ale. "She's our wingmate," he reminds the bronzerider, "that ''means'' something. I have not seen one of ours go and see her." If there have been some, he either doesn't know or doesn't care as he tries to make his point. "Our wing seems to do whatever it pleases these days and don't seem to think of the consequences." He narrows his eyes on N'rov.

"Just these days?" N'rov inquires. And as long as E'dre's narrowing his eyes at him ''anyway'', "Maybe she's pregnant."

There's a tightening of fingers against his glass as E'dre glares outright at N'rov. "You make me wish I hadn't tapped you to be second when you joke like this. I'm seriously concerned about her and the fact you don't seem to mind only adds to the problem. if we don't lead by example then we aren't leading at all." He downs the last of his ale and with that behind him and the one before it he lets slide, "Maybe Ebeny is."

"So you really think," N'rov says just as dryly as before, only with more seriousness underlying it, "we should lead at showing up where we aren't wanted. ''She'' might lead that way..."

"I'm telling you," E'dre interrupts with a fist dropped on the table, "to not make a joke about it! I didn't expect you to go, ''however'' instead of it being a fucking joke that she's there you should show some ''concern''."

"Look, I don't go around ''laughing at her''," N'rov tells him. "E'dre. She's not going to welcome me showing up. Anyone who she ''would'', is already there. You want me to make her life harder? You think she'd want us wandering around all, 'Poor Nala! Poor, poor Nala!'?"

"There's something that happened between the two of you that is outside of the wing. I can't reason out why she'd outright attack you in the first place. She snapped. And no. She believes Hematite despises her. I should probably transfer her but that feels like I'm making her someone else's problem now!" He leans forward, just now catching how loud their conversation may have gotten. "And you saying shit about her being pregnant doesn't help me. I wanted to lean on you as my second but clearly you can't form a proper opinion on it."

"Shells if ''I' know why she snapped. Don't think I haven't thought about it," N'rov says sourly. "If she's pregnant, transfer her to the queens' wing already; it's not like Hattie hasn't popped out enough to know how to deal with her. If that's someone else's problem, at least it's ''normal''."

E'dre stands abruptly and storms off towards the bar. He takes a shot and then grabs another ale before he returns to his table. He stands near it with the glass in hand, he's close enough to the bronzerider that it'll be easy enough to dump on him if he feels so inclined. "So is it your habit to catch your wingmates' weyrmates now?"

"What?" N'rov swivels for a better look at the brownrider. "Look, I didn't ''do'' anything to her. Else. Lately. If she's pregnant, that explains the whole infirmary thing, but ''that's'' not ''my'' fault."

"Answer the other question," E'dre growls out, still standing there. Still holding that ale.

"What other question," N'rov more states than asks, all ready to ''earn that ale''.

"Why'd you have Vhaeryth chase Laurienth?" E'dre has either lost his patience or is done dancing around the real issue between his frustration with the bronzerider. "Ebeny didn't come home crying," he continues, something flashing in his gaze as he catches and holds N'rov's.

Gray eyes narrow; then, ''Ebeny''. Not Nala. "I didn't ''have'' him chase her," N'rov says acerbically. "That was ''his'' idea. I seem to recall a 'request' not to leave."

"What do you mean a request?" E'dre asks as he leans forward enough to rest a hand on N'rov's chair. He takes a casual sip of his ale and then he lowers it to set on the table.

N'rov cocks a brow at the brownrider. "Grounded, remember? No 'my weyrmate is proddy and your dragon hasn't flown her ever in however-many Turns but you still better get out' exception. Better watch out, next time it'll be Jynth."

"So this is how you'd each find ways around punishment? Chasing my weyrmates?" E'dre's tight lips and stony expression make it clear he has yet to find any humor in this. "Was it you who stole our clothes that day?"

"You have ''another'' weyrmate?" N'rov's stuck on the plural, smirking. "''E'dre''. Yeah, absolutely, I came back from Benden," and Kyouri, and B'doran in a different way, "and back to Fort ''just so I could be an ass''." He downs his drink, gray eyes flat on the other man. "''You'' were the one who didn't want me getting on them."

It's that plural he hadn't meant to use that causes E'dre to react more strongly than the rest of N'rov's words. "You're always in someone's bed aren't you? Rarely find a time to have your own." Low blow, followed by a real one as he aims a shove against N'rov to force his chair back. That ale is grabbed and dumped as it was always intended to be. There's no dramatic words or storming out as E'dre levels a steely gaze down. He tenses, ready to further the fight if N'rov makes a swing up.

Glass crashes to the tabletop, N'rov gripping the latter's edge with one freed hand as the other goes up, ale spilling over his sleeve and head as he twists back upright. "You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you," the bronzerider growls. "Look, I didn't ''ask'' to fuck her." Whether due to E'dre's rank or allowance for a pissy weyrmate, there's no swing.

E'dre steps closer, glaring up at his wingsecond. He ignores the slosh of ale that's smattered his boots. "What? She asked you to fuck her?" He demands, "because they all come ''asking'' for you?"

His boots ''and N'rov's''. N'rov's swiping the flat of his wet hand over his wet face, and just ''eyes'' E'dre. "It's a flight. It's over. We don't have to think about it ''ever''." That finished assistant's essay, the one he'd intended to turn in to the pair of them along with his wingsecond work, that's still back in his weyr where it's going to ''stay''.

"It would've been better if you just fucking took a swing at me," E'dre swipes his own hand across his face and then scrubs up into his hair. He glares out at those looking and waits until they look away before he looks back to N'rov. He should apologize but he won't. He lingers for a moment to see if the bronzerider has any passing remarks to make before he turns and leaves the bar and his tab for the other man to settle.

N'rov allows him a mutter about that one numbskull and 'saryth for ''that''. But afterward, even when E'dre looks back, N'rov has nothing more to say except to order another ale, because he can, and drink it ''right there'' in the mess. Not that there won't be more muttering later: about tabs, and stipends, and ''taxes''.
|Categories=Fight Logs, General Logs
}}

Logs:Another One Bites the Dust

2015-09-10T02:13:13Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=N'rov, E'dre
|what=E'dre follows up and punishes N'rov for his fight with Nala (or Nala's fight with N'rov). Either way, the Acting Weyrleader is not pleased.
|where=Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=6
|month=10
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.09.08
|quote=Next thing I know, she's going at me
|mentions=C'stian, K'del, N'muir, Nala, N'muir
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg, Icon n'rov salute.png,
|log=E’dre should have allowed more time to cool his temper but fueled by Wroth’s snarling, he allows the brown to send out his thoughts towards Vhaeryth. << Come to the office. Now. >> A demand, with a shuddering of thunder sounding in the distance. << Don’t be stupid and ‘’you’’ come. Send your rider >> the brown clarifies, not trusting a bronze’s mind to work the details out on his own. E’dre’s within his office, anger still writ all over his face as he stares with expectation at a door only recently vacated by Nala.

''Now?'' Of ''course'' Wroth (or E'dre, but let's face it, Wroth) would have to pick a time when Vhaeryth's not even, if just about, half-oiled. There's muttering, the rumble of some metallic reverberation, and it's not long before N'rov himself is heading into said office, his old short-sleeved shirt slick here and there with the stuff. "Yeah, I'm here."

“Sit down,” E’dre points to the chair in front of him, not offering a smile or seeming anything like the usual man that presents to N’rov. “Nala’s just left. I got little to no explanation from her. She’s grounded.” His temper is clear as he allows his scowl to settle. “You care to tell me what happened? She told me you ‘’annoyed’’ her,” he grinds that word out, “and I tried making up my mind on how to handle this since N’muir told me about it.”

Vhaeryth's itchy. Vhaeryth's ''very happy'' to relay some of that itchiness, creeping up between the shoulderblades. N'rov's not immune; his twitch, and he reaches back to scratch before dropping down into the seat. "That would be it," he says. "Do ''you'' know why she gets pissed so easily?"

E’dre’s not in the mood to talk about Nala directly - there’s a reason for that by the tightening of his lips at N’rov’s question but he doesn’t elaborate. “I want to know why she hit you, N’rov. I don’t want to discuss her reasons. Tell me what happened. I want a ‘’report’’. I don’t want to deal with the gossip of the holders I had to speak to nor on the words I had with N’muir.”

N'rov nods, brief; he squares his shoulders the way he might if he were standing and squaring his stance as well. "We were harvesting with the scythes, riders put off to what I understand was the less... ''fragile'' part of the harvest. We were talking; she told me to shut up, and you know how well ''that'' works; next thing I know, she's going at me. With the handle of the scythe," he's careful to specify right away, "though I didn't know it at the time."

E’dre listens with a stony expression and his posture is so still that the anger is noticeable in it. He steeples his fingers together and presses his thumbs against his lips as his elbows rest on the desk. His eyes never leave N’rov as he finishes his explanation. He doesn’t immediately respond. When he does, he informs the bronzerider, “I grounded Nala. Do you feel I should punish you equally?”

"No." It's not a defense; none of it has been. Even the question of knowledge, or that he tried to shut her and it down, was set out as information rather than an attempt to exculpate. "You could send me back there," N'rov points out. "Something more useful than just sitting around."

“Send you back where?” E’dre demands, not immediately drawing to the conclusion of the hold but when he does he frowns. “I don’t want our time continued in aiding the holders. N’muir took his chosen time there. I see no point in your returning as something ‘’useful’’.” He shifts in his chair again, giving his shoulders a brief shake to regroup. “What would you do, if two of your riders behaved as you and Nala did?” Whether he believes N’rov to be a full participant or a victim in this has not been clearly stated, though his behavior may indicate his belief N’rov is more of one than the other.

Good enough; N'rov accepts that with a nod. Without regard for his personal safety, he says dryly, "I'd be tempted to tie them up at the wrist." Evidently he's signing up for the 'full participant' slot. Better that than a victim, ''ever''.

“You’re probably lucky,” E’dre answers with a dry tone, “that I do not believe in public shaming. If I were K’del, for example, I’d have banished you both back into a weyrling class to re-learn the manners you each should’ve learned the first round.” He shakes his head and sighs, his temper finally cooling as Wroth’s presence begins to ebb out of boredom. “I heard you punched back,” he finally tells N’rov, leaning back in his chair as he folds his arms in front of him. “You should’ve walked away.”

N'rov's got a loose shrug for that, although... "Yeah?" When E'dre gets to the rest, he ''will'' say this time, "She was already coming at me again. There wasn't ''time''." Beat. "I kept it low."

“Kept it low,” E’dre sounds so civil it doesn’t match the flash of anger in his eyes and the twitch of his brows. “A perfect, reasonable, response.” He begins to tap his fingers on the desk as he eyes N’rov. “You’re grounded. Vhaeryth and you are not to leave this Weyr. You are not permitted to do more than let him lift you to your ledge. That was the punishment I gave Nala.” His eyes are steely as he challenges, “Will you complain about it?”

Perfect, reasonable response: N'rov just ''looks'' at him, level rather than repentant. As for the grounding, "Utterly reasonable. How long?"

“I haven’t decided the length,” E’dre tells him, shrugging. “I’m disappointed I have to do it to my newest wingsecond,” he grinds that one in, giving N’rov a pointed look. “I suggest you take your time to review the records and reports of those before you and ‘’learn’’ something in the time you’re on the ground. C’stian will have to pick up your slack.” He looks towards the door and back to N’rov. “You’re dismissed.”

"''That'' I apologize for," N'rov tells him straight out. Which doesn't mean he doesn't say, "You'd be more disappointed if one of us were bleeding. I'll make it up to C'stian." Or try. He'll have to look over those records, too. As he's standing, "Sir." He doesn't let the tapestry hit his ass on the way out.
}}

Logs:Another One Bites the Dust

2015-09-10T01:53:23Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=N'rov, E'dre |what=E'dre follows up and punishes N'rov for his fight with Nala (or Nala's fight with N'rov). Either way, the Acting Weyrleader is not pleased. |whe..."

{{Log
|who=N'rov, E'dre
|what=E'dre follows up and punishes N'rov for his fight with Nala (or Nala's fight with N'rov). Either way, the Acting Weyrleader is not pleased.
|where=Elaruth's Ledge, Fort Weyr, Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=6
|month=10
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.09.08
|quote=Next thing I know, she's going at me
|mentions=C'stian, K'del, N'muir, Nala, N'muir
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg, Icon n'rov salute.png,
|log=E’dre should have allowed more time to cool his temper but fueled by Wroth’s snarling, he allows the brown to send out his thoughts towards Vhaeryth. << Come to the office. Now. >> A demand, with a shuddering of thunder sounding in the distance. << Don’t be stupid and ‘’you’’ come. Send your rider >> the brown clarifies, not trusting a bronze’s mind to work the details out on his own. E’dre’s within his office, anger still writ all over his face as he stares with expectation at a door only recently vacated by Nala.

''Now?'' Of ''course'' Wroth (or E'dre, but let's face it, Wroth) would have to pick a time when Vhaeryth's not even, if just about, half-oiled. There's muttering, the rumble of some metallic reverberation, and it's not long before N'rov himself is heading into said office, his old short-sleeved shirt slick here and there with the stuff. "Yeah, I'm here."

“Sit down,” E’dre points to the chair in front of him, not offering a smile or seeming anything like the usual man that presents to N’rov. “Nala’s just left. I got little to no explanation from her. She’s grounded.” His temper is clear as he allows his scowl to settle. “You care to tell me what happened? She told me you ‘’annoyed’’ her,” he grinds that word out, “and I tried making up my mind on how to handle this since N’muir told me about it.”

Vhaeryth's itchy. Vhaeryth's ''very happy'' to relay some of that itchiness, creeping up between the shoulderblades. N'rov's not immune; his twitch, and he reaches back to scratch before dropping down into the seat. "That would be it," he says. "Do ''you'' know why she gets pissed so easily?"

E’dre’s not in the mood to talk about Nala directly - there’s a reason for that by the tightening of his lips at N’rov’s question but he doesn’t elaborate. “I want to know why she hit you, N’rov. I don’t want to discuss her reasons. Tell me what happened. I want a ‘’report’’. I don’t want to deal with the gossip of the holders I had to speak to nor on the words I had with N’muir.”

N'rov nods, brief; he squares his shoulders the way he might if he were standing and squaring his stance as well. "We were harvesting with the scythes, riders put off to what I understand was the less... ''fragile'' part of the harvest. We were talking; she told me to shut up, and you know how well ''that'' works; next thing I know, she's going at me. With the handle of the scythe," he's careful to specify right away, "though I didn't know it at the time."

E’dre listens with a stony expression and his posture is so still that the anger is noticeable in it. He steeples his fingers together and presses his thumbs against his lips as his elbows rest on the desk. His eyes never leave N’rov as he finishes his explanation. He doesn’t immediately respond. When he does, he informs the bronzerider, “I grounded Nala. Do you feel I should punish you equally?”

"No." It's not a defense; none of it has been. Even the question of knowledge, or that he tried to shut her and it down, was set out as information rather than an attempt to exculpate. "You could send me back there," N'rov points out. "Something more useful than just sitting around."

“Send you back where?” E’dre demands, not immediately drawing to the conclusion of the hold but when he does he frowns. “I don’t want our time continued in aiding the holders. N’muir took his chosen time there. I see no point in your returning as something ‘’useful’’.” He shifts in his chair again, giving his shoulders a brief shake to regroup. “What would you do, if two of your riders behaved as you and Nala did?” Whether he believes N’rov to be a full participant or a victim in this has not been clearly stated, though his behavior may indicate his belief N’rov is more of one than the other.

Good enough; N'rov accepts that with a nod. Without regard for his personal safety, he says dryly, "I'd be tempted to tie them up at the wrist." Evidently he's signing up for the 'full participant' slot. Better that than a victim, ''ever''.

“You’re probably lucky,” E’dre answers with a dry tone, “that I do not believe in public shaming. If I were K’del, for example, I’d have banished you both back into a weyrling class to re-learn the manners you each should’ve learned the first round.” He shakes his head and sighs, his temper finally cooling as Wroth’s presence begins to ebb out of boredom. “I heard you punched back,” he finally tells N’rov, leaning back in his chair as he folds his arms in front of him. “You should’ve walked away.”

N'rov's got a loose shrug for that, although... "Yeah?" When E'dre gets to the rest, he ''will'' say this time, "She was already coming at me again. There wasn't ''time''." Beat. "I kept it low."

“Kept it low,” E’dre sounds so civil it doesn’t match the flash of anger in his eyes and the twitch of his brows. “A perfect, reasonable, response.” He begins to tap his fingers on the desk as he eyes N’rov. “You’re grounded. Vhaeryth and you are not to leave this Weyr. You are not permitted to do more than let him lift you to your ledge. That was the punishment I gave Nala.” His eyes are steely as he challenges, “Will you complain about it?”

Perfect, reasonable response: N'rov just ''looks'' at him, level rather than repentant. As for the grounding, "Utterly reasonable. How long?"

“I haven’t decided the length,” E’dre tells him, shrugging. “I’m disappointed I have to do it to my newest wingsecond,” he grinds that one in, giving N’rov a pointed look. “I suggest you take your time to review the records and reports of those before you and ‘’learn’’ something in the time you’re on the ground. C’stian will have to pick up your slack.” He looks towards the door and back to N’rov. “You’re dismissed.”

"''That'' I apologize for," N'rov tells him straight out. Which doesn't mean he doesn't say, "You'd be more disappointed if one of us were bleeding. I'll make it up to C'stian." Or try. He'll have to look over those records, too. As he's standing, "Sir." He doesn't let the tapestry hit his ass on the way out.
}}

Logs:Fists Don't Fly

2015-09-07T22:55:19Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=M'vyn, N'rov |what=N'rov and M'vyn hang out and do manly things |where=M'vyn's Cosy For Keeps Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=22 |month=9 |turn=38 |IP=Inte..."

{{Log
|who=M'vyn, N'rov
|what=N'rov and M'vyn hang out and do manly things
|where=M'vyn's Cosy For Keeps Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=22
|month=9
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.09.04
|quote=I could give a shit if he does
|mentions=Aislara, Cece, N'muir, Nala
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon M'vyn Main.jpg, Icon n'rov drink.png,
|log=Evening. He knew why, and he didn't know why, he dropped a few short words by M'vyn over dinner. It wasn't a real commitment, except he'd made it, so it was. By the time Vhaeryth flew him to Elsyth's ledge, it was getting dark. His shoulder was a dull ache that went deeper than the numbweed; he paid no more attention to it than the others. Nor to the ''look'' the green gave him, who'd made room in her wallow for his bronze, and especially not to the small, almost inaudible croon that was soon echoed by Vhaeryth's rumble. In the large main room, the mats were already out, the furniture pushed aside; N'rov stripped off outerwear and overshirt into the usual pile by his boots. He met the other man with a grin, and then moved to warm up, the last thing he'd have to do before making the rest hurt too.

The rest would not take long to hurt as M’vyn seems set on pushing the limits with the bronzerider.
There is the usual grappling, the grunting, the shouldering, the flipping and pinning. M’vyn and N’rov are evenly matched so as typical, M’vyn slaps a hand on the ground and calls, “Let’s break.”
The greenrider hefts himself off of the mats and pads barefoot over to the pitcher of water he’s got out for the occasion. He pours each of them a glass and then slides into a dining chair to drink. He doesn’t slouch but he reaches for a towel to wipe at his sweat with a smirk directed towards N’rov. “You’re in a mood tonight,” he drawls, lifting a brow as he gulps more than sips from his glass of water.

He gulps, N'rov glugs, towel about his shoulders; the bronzerider splashes another palmful over his head. "That kind of night," he says, leaning forward now with the glass between his knees. Then he gives M'vyn an assessing look, a thoughtful look: ''debating''.

“Mind the rugs,” M’vyn says critically as he watches N’rov splash his head. The bronzerider isn’t ‘’near’’ the throw rugs that linger further from the wrestling mats but ‘’still’’. He finishes his glass of water and pours more. He indicates the pitcher by hefting it up. “You need more?” he queries, not rising from his chair. If N’rov does he’ll have to walk over and then M’vyn will pour.

Rugs. N'rov looks around and hey, there really are some. He grunts, and then shifts forward, swinging to his feet with his glass to go get it topped off. No, refilled, because he finishes draining it first. And then a second, if M'vyn's hospitality will go that far. The latest he takes more slowly, stepping back to lean against the table. Finally, "What's with Nala?"

M’vyn pours the rest of the pitcher’s water into N’rov’s glass and then sets the pitcher back on the table with a rattly-clang of sound. He lowers his own glass to the table, clearing his hands of any encumbrance. He asks slowly, looking beneath lowered brows at N’rov. “What do you mean by ‘what’s with Nala’? I assume you ‘’know’’ she’s a bluerider and is in ‘’your’’ wing,” he doesn’t bother hiding the sarcasm there.

"No, really?" but N'rov doesn't smirk; instead, there's a lurking not-yet-frown that's half uncertainty. "We were helping out N'muir today, ''harvesting''," only for N'muir, "and she just lost it." He doesn't say it like it's out of the blue, only like he hasn't gotten to the rest of it yet.

M’vyn’s features fall into neutral lines as he leans back in his chair. He folds his arms in front of his chest. He may be keeping his face relatively inexpressive but there’s steel in his gaze. “Why do you assume I may know her motivations?”

"I assume you ''know'' you have two kids." N'rov's tone is dry, but not an exact mimicry of M'vyn's from earlier, letting the troubled quality show. "I figure there's got to be an insight knocking around somewhere in there."

M’vyn’s irritation shows in the twitch of a shoulder and a lift of a brow. “Yes, I’ve two children by Nala. It doesn’t make me her keeper nor do I claim to understand her.” He considers N’rov for a moment and then looks away. “Is there something in particular you’d think I’d understand? You claim she ‘’lost’’ it. What? She cried?” He looks back at N’rov.

"Yeah. Well." In that moment, and the next one. Crying, though, that gets a quick frown. "No. We were harvesting, like I said." N'rov has another swallow. He rubs his cheekbone with his knuckles. "And talking, some, and she went and took a swing at me. Sound familiar?" Beat. "With the ''scythe''."

M’vyn’s watching N’rov carefully as he speaks, his eyes sharpening as he listens. “What did you say that made her swing at you?” Because, in the greenrider’s mind, there’d have to be a reason for such behavior. “And a scythe? Shards, she wanted to kill you.” There shouldn’t be but suddenly there is a wolfish grin directed at the bronzerider. “Did she win?”

That grin, that's better. N'rov doesn't quite grin back, but it's a near thing. "With the handle," he does have to admit. Beat. "The first time." He rubs his cheekbone with his knuckles. "Took me off guard, bursting out like that. And yeah, I wasn't giving her peace, but I was ''bored''."

"She doesn't handle being picked at very well," M'vyn notes with a one shouldered shrug. "And," he pauses, considering the bronzerider with lowered brows. "She is not fond of Cece," this is shared slowly, as he gauges N'rov's reaction. "Because I sleep with her. Yet she's with Aislara." The next is delivered more quickly, "Are you sleeping with Aislara as well?"

"Yeah," starts to have a ''but'' attached, but then N'rov's just eyeing the other man back. His brows don't lower; one goes up. And then there's the last, a heartfelt, "''No''." Except then he has to pause. "Vhaeryth did fly her a few times, but that was Turns ago."

"I am not sure why she," M'vyn pauses, reaching for his water to drain fully. "Hates you. We do not.. Outside of flights." He pauses and swings his head in the direction of their dragons. "Though she may assume our wrestling isn't..," he throat-clears, "the sort ''we'' do." He hefts himself from the chair and makes his way towards a cabinet to grab something stiffer than water.

Stiffer is good. To drink, when alcohol's involved. Which is to say that that the cabinet's promising, so N'rov leans back with a brief, "What would she know anyway?" While he's at it, "If it would help," only that deadpan tone promises anything but, "I could announce at some wing gathering that no, we've been ''terribly'' chaste. Cee might like that too. In the interest of preserving your modesty."

"I don't need anyone discussing where and who and how I may sleep with someone," M'vyn drawls as he returns with two smaller tumblers and a flask of something amber colored. He pours them each a hearty serving and then settles back in his chair. He rubs a finger briefly against his sternum, his bare chest no longer gleamed with sweat. "Nala and I are," he sips the whiskey, "not on speaking terms. Maybe it's your looks that set her off." He smirks, "or did you mention Cece?"

Smaller is ''wise'', but N'rov has another swallow of water from the bigger glass anyway before setting it down in favor of the smaller. "What, that my nose doesn't actually show where it got broken?" he inquires with interest. "No, no Cece. Who skipped ''out'' of the extra work, I'll have you know, else I might not have been working next to her to begin with. No, I take that back; I might have gotten stuck between them," clearly worse.

"If Nala went I assume Cece wouldn't if she could avoid it," M'vyn answers after another sip. "Well, she hates you and made it clear. Is it bothering you that much?" He shifts back in his chair, flicking his hand back to smooth loose strands of hair back against his head.

"Eh, I could have done without holders over there," so not ''right'' there," to witness," N'rov says somewhat dourly. "And I didn't want to hit her, but she wouldn't ''stop''."

It is a good thing M'vyn has downed the rest of his drink and set it on the table when N'rov admits to hitting Nala. The look the bronzerider gets is savage as his lip twitches near a snarl, "You hit her?" He reaches to pour more of the whiskey for himself. Anything to keep from rising to hit N'rov ''now''.

If reactive tension's readying N'rov's lean frame, he doesn't stand, he keeps ''that'' lean. "Meant to knock the wind out of her," he's all too plain about agreeing. "Like I said, she got me off guard," which he sounds distinctly disgruntled about, "hit me and kept coming. Scythes, remember?"

M'vyn is not easily mollified but he's downed that second glass of whiskey in an attempt to settle his anger. He flattens his lips together as he eyes N'rov. "She likes to brawl," he says more civilly.

There's more than one reason why N'rov didn't lead with it right when he walked in. Still barely into his first glass, he swallows his first through third responses instead. "Better when it's not in front of the holders."

"That's not my concern," M'vyn reminds N'rov, "though the Weyrleader may hide you both for it." He does seem more settled after his whiskey. He shakes his head and lifts his hands to undo his hair tie and redo his hair back into a knot against his neck.

"No, it's not," the bronzerider would agree. "I'm expecting he will." But, "I'd as soon not provoke her ''that'' much by accident."

"You can't tell what will provoke her," M'vyn doesn't seem bothered about that admission. "That's how she operates. One thing will be fine, like her bedding someone regularly other than her husband," he pauses at that admission and then carries on, "yet when I sleep with someone she becomes so enraged she breaks it off ''again'' and doesn't visit her children."

"Great." Not great. N'rov's long look, though, that has everything to do with the 'husband.'

"So, avoid her. Because you're fucked if she hates you that much that she'll try and cut you down in public." M'vyn shrugs and rises. "Any greater insight you may want to ask of Aislara. Nala and I aren't...," he trails off and shrugs again as he trails off.

"''Great''." N'rov pushes away, pacing alongside the length of the table. "Yeah, no, I don't want to go talking about her. 'Hey, how about that Nala!'"

M’vyn stretches an arm across his chest. “Then don’t. I clearly have never talked to that woman since we graduated.” The way he says ‘that woman’ he might as well have used a more profane word - yet, he’s tempered enough not to. He switches arms to stretch the other.

"Does E'dre know you were married?" N'rov asks over his glass.

“I could give a shit if he does,” M’vyn replies with a cutting gesture that is meant to end any further questions. “C’mon,” he jerks his chin towards the mats. “I don’t feel like playing forty questions. Unless you want me to start asking you some tough ones?” His eyes glitter. “I’ve got enough dirt on you to ask the ones that’ll make you want to hit ‘’me’’,” he promises.

That invitation's enough that N'rov's quick with the rest of the whiskey, quicker than it might deserve. For the glitter, there's a smirk; "I'd have to think you ''want'' to get hit." Which doesn't stop him any. He sets down the now-clear glass, ''done''. Back to work.

M’vyn stretches his arms over head, in doing so flexing his abdominal muscles and giving a ‘show’ of his other firmer muscles. “C’mon. No hitting. I’m going to win this match and then we can have more of my whiskey.” He heads towards the mats, prepared to finish what they’d started earlier. After, whiskey will be had and so long as no further comments are brought up about the bluerider, no fists will fly.
}}

Logs talk:Your Aim's Off

2015-09-05T00:33:15Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Your Aim's Off]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (17:33, 4 September 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Guys, this was a great scene. The pace and timing of the fight had me on the edge!

Shameful, if E'dre finds out he will be mad! But really.. awwweeesome!

Logs:A Morning Chat

2015-09-04T18:40:12Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=N'rov, E'dre
|what=N'rov brings breakfast for his meeting with E'dre
|where=Autumnal Eventide Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=2
|month=9
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.28
|quote=Thought you'd want to know, I spent a while last night holding X'vin's sack.
|mentions=Ebeny, X'vin, B'ryl (NPC),
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Annoyed.jpg, Icon n'rov faceknuckles.jpg,
|log=Early enough that Hematite's not due for drills for an hour or two, late enough that E'dre's on his own, that's when N'rov shoulders his way past the curtain to the dragons' wallow. He's got a basket that's certainly promising, above and beyond the klah container that pokes its way out the top; the bronzerider gives brooding Wroth the eye before yelling deeper into the weyr, "Awake?!" ''Someone's'' cheerful.

E'dre's response is a barked, "Come in!" He's settled on one of the two large couches within, his feet kicked up and resting on the table resting in front of it. He's yet to pull his boots on but otherwise looks prepared for the morning drills that are in Hematite's future. He waves N'rov towards the couch in encouragement when he spots the bronzerider. "Gimme the klah. I was up way too late." There are dark circles underneath his eyes but he seems otherwise cheerful.

'Up too late' has N'rov glancing at the side door; he's already striding on inside, taking the klah out along the way, ''holding'' it out to the other man like a sacrifice. "Weyrlings?"

"I forgot what Ben's got them doing today, but she's already up and out," E'dre replies, tipping forward to reach and grab that klah. He draws it close to cradle against his chest as he inhales the smell. "Mm. Thanks," he adds before he sips. He resettles the mug against his chest as he tips his head back to look at N'rov. "What've you got to report this morning?"

N'rov holds up a hand, and pours for himself first before dropping on the couch. While he's busy getting out the savories, particularly the double portion of baked egg-cheese-whatever, he deadpans, "Thought you'd want to know, I spent a while last night holding X'vin's sack."

E'dre's face flickers from surprise to confusion and then finally on to anger as he stares at N'rov with his mouth half-open and his immediate reply stuck in his throat. He blinks once or twice and then manages to ask in a strangled voice, "What the ''fuck''?"

And N'rov's just ''sitting'' there, or rather, reclining there now. "See, he asked for it and nobody else would, and it was getting awkward. Man in need, and all that." He doesn't grin over at E'dre, but there's a hint of a smirk lurking. "You could say he owes me."

"N'rov," E'dre's struggling to keep his voice civil, "I need you to explain yourself. The way you are spinning this," he tightens his grip on his klah and leans forward. "You realize how this is sounding."

He leans forward; N'rov has a long drink of klah. "Couldn't resist," he confides, completely unrepentant. "Seriously, though: workout room, punching bag, thought you should hear it from me. Nobody ''got'' punched, so that's a good thing, right?"

"I had an entirely different visual there," E'dre grumbles, rubbing his face with his hand partly out of relief. "I can't," he shakes his head, downing some of his klah to cleanse his mouth. "Why'd you bother? He's such a prick."

''Now'' N'rov smirks, and leans over to set the basket closer to the other man to work on his own portion. As to why, he shrugs; "Like I said, it was awkward, and I could fix it. And then, of course, we got along fantastically, he saw the light, and he's vowed to cater to your every need." The wryness on that last says,''not really''. Or, perhaps, ''not yet''.

"I doubt that," E'dre's reply is sour and he slouches back against the cushions with a sigh. "He's obviously preparing himself for a full take over here. You should've heard him when he was belittling B'ryl," he shakes his head and sips that klah. He never seems to go for the food N'rov brings to these meetings but he hefts himself forward to grab something now. "I wouldn't care if I could respect him. I don't." He grunts and takes a bite of food and looks to N'rov.

He says that name, and something of N'rov's humor slips, if not the wryness; "I'd like to see him chatting up Hattie," he says first. "Or was she in on it, his coming here?" And then, "What happened with B'ryl?"

"You know B'ryl, he's got a million stories. He was telling me about when Ulesanth chased gold and nearly won," E'dre waves his hand, dismissing the rest of that tale. "And X'vin had a few parting comments on that." He sighs, "Everyone acts like I want to wear this knot permanently. Do none of them see the sacrifices I have been making?" He shakes his head and finishes his klah. "Maybe I should transfer you to Flint. To spy on X'vin."

"Ah, that one," and N'rov gets back to eating. The Flint idea gets a mumble and a roll of his eyes. "Maybe you'll get lucky," 'lucky,' "and Elaruth and the little one will rise at the same time, in a non-fighting way, and you and..." who to pick, who to pick, "''Cee'' can each fly a gold. Just like Reaches, only ''we'' will have a battle in the ring."

E'dre rolls his eyes and throws his hand through his hair. "Sure, sure," he grumbles. "That'll work out ''swell''." He lifts a brow and considers N'rov. "It's not like it isn't a possibility you'd be Weyrleader. I suppose I'd stomach that." A sigh, then he refocuses. "What'd you think of X'vin then?"

''He'' can stomach that, but N'rov, he's got a grimace. "Don't think I haven't thought about it. Where 'thought' equals 'had nightmares.' You know I wouldn't have chased if N'muir hadn't wanted it," crazy man. "Not that it's easy to get the drop on Vhaeryth. X'vin, now, I think he hasn't a lot of support; I don't think he's going to let that stop him from what he ''does'' want; I think we're going to have drinks down the road, and I don't want you to think I'm selling you out."

E'dre looks resigned as he admits to N'rov, "I think he has a few Holder's who support him. It's not the same, but it could mean something. With tithes. And perhaps he'll change more rider's minds that way ''here''." He scrubs his face again and stands to go and pour more klah for himself and N'rov if the bronzerider needs it. "What d'you mean sell me out?" he asks, looking up and quirking a brow.

"He probably will, over time. ''Tithes.''" Necessary, and N'rov was a holder once, but he never did deal with them directly; he may not be grimacing, but he's still not looking pleased. He finds a half-smile for E'dre for the klah, but, "If we do meet up, I want you to realize that it's just that, I'm not 'consorting with the enemy' or 'selling you out' or 'spilling all our secrets.' So don't get pissed off."

"I'll try," E'dre answers drily, "to not get pissed off that you find that asshole's company worth your time." He sips his klah and looks away from N'rov, his scowl focusing on a distant wall.

N'rov eyes him. "You're convincing me, you are." His exhale is audible. "If it's not so polarized, we'll have fewer people choosing sides, and you know people like to jump in on what's new a lot of the time. And that I can get along with people without wanting to introduce them to my mother." After a slight pause, he smirks; come to think of it, "''Do'' you want to meet my mother? The food's good."

It's N'rov's mention of his mother that draws a laugh from E'dre. "All right," he turns back, holding up a hand. "I'll tolerate whatever you choose to do with X'vin. Holding sacks and all." He wrinkles his nose, "I won't ''like'' it. But I won't pull your knot or throw a tantrum like you might've expected." He finishes off his klah and sets it on the table. "I figure we'd best get going." He stands with a groan as he stretches his arms over his head.

"I'll wash up before I come see you, don't you worry," N'rov says dryly. But, "Thanks." He hasn't finished his meal, but he moves to wolf it down now, that and the rest of his klah. Time to ''fly''.
|Categories=Plot Logs, Wing Logs
}}

Logs:A Morning Chat

2015-09-04T18:02:51Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=N'rov, E'dre |what=N'rov brings breakfast for his meeting with E'dre |where=Autumnal Eventide Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=2 |month=9 |turn=38 |IP=Inter..."

{{Log
|who=N'rov, E'dre
|what=N'rov brings breakfast for his meeting with E'dre
|where=Autumnal Eventide Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=2
|month=9
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.28
|quote=Thought you'd want to know, I spent a while last night holding X'vin's sack.
|mentions=Ebeny, X'vin, B'ryl (NPC),
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Annoyed.jpg, Icon n'rov faceknuckles.jpg,
|log=Early enough that Hematite's not due for drills for an hour or two, late enough that E'dre's on his own, that's when N'rov shoulders his way past the curtain to the dragons' wallow. He's got a basket that's certainly promising, above and beyond the klah container that pokes its way out the top; the bronzerider gives brooding Wroth the eye before yelling deeper into the weyr, "Awake?!" ''Someone's'' cheerful.

E'dre's response is a barked, "Come in!" He's settled on one of the two large couches within, his feet kicked up and resting on the table resting in front of it. He's yet to pull his boots on but otherwise looks prepared for the morning drills that are in Hematite's future. He waves N'rov towards the couch in encouragement when he spots the bronzerider. "Gimme the klah. I was up way too late." There are dark circles underneath his eyes but he seems otherwise cheerful.

'Up too late' has N'rov glancing at the side door; he's already striding on inside, taking the klah out along the way, ''holding'' it out to the other man like a sacrifice. "Weyrlings?"

"I forgot what Ben's got them doing today, but she's already up and out," E'dre replies, tipping forward to reach and grab that klah. He draws it close to cradle against his chest as he inhales the smell. "Mm. Thanks," he adds before he sips. He resettles the mug against his chest as he tips his head back to look at N'rov. "What've you got to report this morning?"

N'rov holds up a hand, and pours for himself first before dropping on the couch. While he's busy getting out the savories, particularly the double portion of baked egg-cheese-whatever, he deadpans, "Thought you'd want to know, I spent a while last night holding X'vin's sack."

E'dre's face flickers from surprise to confusion and then finally on to anger as he stares at N'rov with his mouth half-open and his immediate reply stuck in his throat. He blinks once or twice and then manages to ask in a strangled voice, "What the ''fuck''?"

And N'rov's just ''sitting'' there, or rather, reclining there now. "See, he asked for it and nobody else would, and it was getting awkward. Man in need, and all that." He doesn't grin over at E'dre, but there's a hint of a smirk lurking. "You could say he owes me."

"N'rov," E'dre's struggling to keep his voice civil, "I need you to explain yourself. The way you are spinning this," he tightens his grip on his klah and leans forward. "You realize how this is sounding."

He leans forward; N'rov has a long drink of klah. "Couldn't resist," he confides, completely unrepentant. "Seriously, though: workout room, punching bag, thought you should hear it from me. Nobody ''got'' punched, so that's a good thing, right?"

"I had an entirely different visual there," E'dre grumbles, rubbing his face with his hand partly out of relief. "I can't," he shakes his head, downing some of his klah to cleanse his mouth. "Why'd you bother? He's such a prick."
''Now'' N'rov smirks, and leans over to set the basket closer to the other man to work on his own portion. As to why, he shrugs; "Like I said, it was awkward, and I could fix it. And then, of course, we got along fantastically, he saw the light, and he's vowed to cater to your every need." The wryness on that last says,''not really''. Or, perhaps, ''not yet''.

"I doubt that," E'dre's reply is sour and he slouches back against the cushions with a sigh. "He's obviously preparing himself for a full take over here. You should've heard him when he was belittling B'ryl," he shakes his head and sips that klah. He never seems to go for the food N'rov brings to these meetings but he hefts himself forward to grab something now. "I wouldn't care if I could respect him. I don't." He grunts and takes a bite of food and looks to N'rov.

He says that name, and something of N'rov's humor slips, if not the wryness; "I'd like to see him chatting up Hattie," he says first. "Or was she in on it, his coming here?" And then, "What happened with B'ryl?"

"You know B'ryl, he's got a million stories. He was telling me about when Ulesanth chased gold and nearly won," E'dre waves his hand, dismissing the rest of that tale. "And X'vin had a few parting comments on that." He sighs, "Everyone acts like I want to wear this knot permanently. Do none of them see the sacrifices I have been making?" He shakes his head and finishes his klah. "Maybe I should transfer you to Flint. To spy on X'vin."

"Ah, that one," and N'rov gets back to eating. The Flint idea gets a mumble and a roll of his eyes. "Maybe you'll get lucky," 'lucky,' "and Elaruth and the little one will rise at the same time, in a non-fighting way, and you and..." who to pick, who to pick, "''Cee'' can each fly a gold. Just like Reaches, only ''we'' will have a battle in the ring."

E'dre rolls his eyes and throws his hand through his hair. "Sure, sure," he grumbles. "That'll work out ''swell''." He lifts a brow and considers N'rov. "It's not like it isn't a possibility you'd be Weyrleader. I suppose I'd stomach that." A sigh, then he refocuses. "What'd you think of X'vin then?"

''He'' can stomach that, but N'rov, he's got a grimace. "Don't think I haven't thought about it. Where 'thought' equals 'had nightmares.' You know I wouldn't have chased if N'muir hadn't wanted it," crazy man. "Not that it's easy to get the drop on Vhaeryth. X'vin, now, I think he hasn't a lot of support; I don't think he's going to let that stop him from what he ''does'' want; I think we're going to have drinks down the road, and I don't want you to think I'm selling you out."

E'dre looks resigned as he admits to N'rov, "I think he has a few Holder's who support him. It's not the same, but it could mean something. With tithes. And perhaps he'll change more rider's minds that way ''here''." He scrubs his face again and stands to go and pour more klah for himself and N'rov if the bronzerider needs it. "What d'you mean sell me out?" he asks, looking up and quirking a brow.

"He probably will, over time. ''Tithes.''" Necessary, and N'rov was a holder once, but he never did deal with them directly; he may not be grimacing, but he's still not looking pleased. He finds a half-smile for E'dre for the klah, but, "If we do meet up, I want you to realize that it's just that, I'm not 'consorting with the enemy' or 'selling you out' or 'spilling all our secrets.' So don't get pissed off."

"I'll try," E'dre answers drily, "to not get pissed off that you find that asshole's company worth your time." He sips his klah and looks away from N'rov, his scowl focusing on a distant wall.

N'rov eyes him. "You're convincing me, you are." His exhale is audible. "If it's not so polarized, we'll have fewer people choosing sides, and you know people like to jump in on what's new a lot of the time. And that I can get along with people without wanting to introduce them to my mother." After a slight pause, he smirks; come to think of it, "''Do'' you want to meet my mother? The food's good."

It's N'rov's mention of his mother that draws a laugh from E'dre. "All right," he turns back, holding up a hand. "I'll tolerate whatever you choose to do with X'vin. Holding sacks and all." He wrinkles his nose, "I won't ''like'' it. But I won't pull your knot or throw a tantrum like you might've expected." He finishes off his klah and sets it on the table. "I figure we'd best get going." He stands with a groan as he stretches his arms over his head.

"I'll wash up before I come see you, don't you worry," N'rov says dryly. But, "Thanks." He hasn't finished his meal, but he moves to wolf it down now, that and the rest of his klah. Time to ''fly''.
|Categories=Plot Logs, Wing Logs
}}

Logs talk:Peace

2015-09-01T00:11:38Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Peace]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (17:11, 31 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Ben is stronger than she thinks! Loved this

Logs:Accidents Happen

2015-08-23T20:29:19Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=N'rov, M'vyn, Cece, Y'ral
|what=Elsyth is caught by Vhaeryth
|where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=25
|month=6
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.08
|mentions=Aishani, Ali, Hattie, Kyouri, N'dalis, N’muir
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon M'vyn Main.jpg, Icon n'rov.png,
|log=M’vyn doesn’t often show any signs of proddiness and those that he does have are generally reserved for Nala. Elsyth is not nearly as discreet as her rider. The green is not known for friendships and she certainly is not keen on seeking the company of others. The last few days she has actively been seeking places that put her in public view - especially for the males to notice. Today she’s lingering by the lake, her hide steadily glowing towards richer shades and hues of greens as the day progresses. Her thoughts are sharpened points of ice, a radiating of her contemplation of the sky, and she broadcasts it to all who may listen.

Ice. More ice. Because they haven't had ''enough'' of it, these last seasons. Vhaeryth was gone in the morning, drilling with the refurbished Hematite; this afternoon, though, he's been lurking. Not by the lake, exactly; by the feeding pens, on any of half a dozen ledges above them, scoping out the beasts he isn't supposed to have just any old time. There's one in particular, wily ''and'' juicy-looking (just his type) yet he hasn't made up his mind; to pass the time, he starts batting at those ice-javelins that happen to veer his way, not sending them right back at their source so much as ''deflecting''. That sleeping, ancient green? She wakes in a froth of disgruntlement, staring blindly around in surprise.

Does Elsyth notice Vhaeryth and his deflecting techniques? It would seem so as she amplifies the direction of her thoughts towards him. A fierce array of cold is gathered and jettisoned towards him in a swirling mass of ‘’cold’’. That cold seems to signal something else as she rouses from her lounge and pushes herself into the air. It’s a short enough flight to the feeding pens, one that doesn’t warrant circling about the Weyr as much as Elsyth chooses to do. She angles herself against the sun to draw whatever attention her action may bring. She toys with another lazy circle over the feeding pens, taunting whatever male may be watching her. Will she or won’t she? A beast (is it the one Vhaeryth is eying?) is singled out and she slams her wings against her side and dives down into the feeding pends to slice her claws into it’s back. The creature barely has time to bleat it’s distress as she breaks its neck and begins to greedily gulp at the blood that begins to pool in the dirt.

Vhaeryth doesn't dodge that one; he shivers and shudders and judders at the blow, shaking his wings as though shaking off ice crystals. Of ''course'' it's his beast; now he'll have to go through all the work of finding a new one... or just grab the nearest. ''That's'' what he does, and drink where he hadn't before. Around them, others circulate and steal and slay. The dirt is becoming mud, and worse when entrails fall and get trampled on. Time to get out of town! He flexes his hindquarters in preparation to do just that, and never mind how he'd abandoned his rider on someone else's ledge.

Mud is ‘’beneath’’ Elsyth and as it slowly begins to spread out in clumps of blood and gore. The grotesquely created mud-strewn grounds are thick with piles of dirt slickened to an eerie and darkened black from the mauled and half-gnawed on corpses of the creatures being dispatched for nothing more than a few, hot, throaty-gulps of ‘’blood’’. Elsyth has rendered another beast to pieces, its body broken and splattered against the bones of her previous victim. She toys with it, eying the males and sizing up those that have come for ‘’her’’. It’s only when she’s certain enough are there to please her that she flings that last carcass towards blue Oryth and takes to the skies with a throaty bellowing challenge for the males to ‘’follow’’. The guest weyr is full of most of the riders and is a hazy image in the link Elsyth shares with her rider. She takes M’vyn up with her, drawing him into her mind to experience the thrill of the air billowing beneath their wings as he makes steady progress upwards.

As long as N'rov doesn't have to walk on it. Or ''run''. He barely makes it off Oryth's neck in time, hurrying (and cursing) after Y'ral while the blue scrambles with limited success to avoid the carcass and get into the air. Vhaeryth's already up, accelerating after Elsyth. N'rov's got to ''catch'' up. Somehow in the confusion he gets the wrong ground weyr on the first try, surprises a couple people who didn't want to be surprised and high-tails it out of there. By the time he gets to the right spot he's speeding, ''skidding'' inside.

Y’ral shouldn’t be laughing - but he is as he and N’rov finally make it inside the right weyr. “S’what we get,” he drawls as he elbows N’rov and gives him a wolfish smile. “Good thing Oryth has the patience to take us!” The rest of the men and women in the weyr shoot various glares at the entrance of two more competitors and then narrow their gazes on the man sprawled out on the bed. “Cece’s here,” Y’ral grumbles as he eyes the blonde brownrider. “She’s always trying to hold a claim.” Cece has no words for her wingmates as she remains focused with her head tipped back against the nearest wall and arms folded in front of her. Above, Elsyth’s made progress through the scattering clouds. She doesn’t always keep her body angled up, choosing to even out now and then to save her strength and fly a straighter path with the air currents. There seem to be no males that are near to her at this time, her earlier launch having maintained a certain distance and an edge of time for it from the others.

Not to mention the inherent distractions in removing other males from their territory, in which Vhaeryth happily engages now that they're far above the ground; sometimes it's subtler, wider wings stealing updrafts or gauging risky spaces, sometimes more physical with a swipe of his tail intended to foul another male's path as irrevocably as can be. The only thing is, the last one may off-balance another bronze enough that a particularly savvy blue further upsets him with a body blow and sends him falling... but in the meantime, another couple of blues have gotten past Vhaeryth himself. Well past him; his recourse now is, other than getting back to the straight flight that suits his larger size, keeping a better eye on Elsyth and attempting to predict her future maneuvers. Speaking of maneuvers; N'rov's been muttering back at Y'ral and, increasingly, at his dragon; it doesn't stop him from, as they reach Cece's wall, splatting a hand in the air in front of her face with a suddenly-loud, "Boo."

Elsyth must be taking notes from her fellow greens - especially those that fly in Jasper. She’s full of stunts and tricks, her wing-beats and maneuvers strong and sure. A few blues have gotten near enough to make attempts at catching her, though savvy they may ‘’seem’’ they are not savvy enough to twine with ‘’her’’. Thwarted, one blue barrels down past the remaining males with the intent of bumping a few from their paths as he goes. Elsyth twists to the left and peers back at her at her remaining suitors and bugles a challenge at them. << Still trying? None of you are worthy! >> Her mental blast of ice is meant to disorient any that are weak enough to such a tactic. Cece slaps N’rov’s hand away without flinching. Clearly she is used to such behavior from her wingmates. “Dunno why you bother coming,” she challenges as her eyes open and she leers at Y’ral and then N’rov. “You two aren’t suited to win this one. Call your boys home and lick your wounds with someone else.” The others that are lingering near the wall glance at the Hematite riders and mutter amongst themselves. M’vyn seems to be unphased by any as he lounges back on the bed with his hands tucked beneath his curls. Eyes closed, he encourages his green to soar ‘’higher’’.

''That's'' disappointing. Not Elsyth's maneuvers; ''those'' are more exciting than they used to be (and if much-larger Vhaeryth can't match them, he'll concentrate on predicting where each will take her). Not the blue, whom Vhaeryth wouldn't bother to dodge if it weren't for that pesky momentum business (after which the bronze has to dodge all over again, thanks to one of the blue's earlier victims that had been slower to fall). Definitely not the ice blast, his portion of which rattles and sizzle as though on now-heated metal, amplified back to her and the rest of them; jocular on the surface, << You're worth ''trying'', aren't you? >> Maybe he's in the wrong flight? Maybe they all are! No, it's Cece's not spooking that's the downer. Just because they've all been doing that sort of thing to each other for ''Turns''. "Shells, Cee. No licking wounds for you?" is all about the implications in N'rov's low drawl. "What if I poured salt in them? Or a dusting of salt. A sprinkling." He glances at M'vyn. "Rimming the very edge of the glass."

Elsyth doesn’t even bother to reply to Vhaeryth. That rattling and sizzling of heated metal is interesting. It’s a shiny, distracting, sparkly-sort of object that draws Elsyth’s mind further against the bronze’s. She angles more of her ice towards it, flicking it casually as she flies further into the clouds. Her mental focus being on Vhaeryth, she narrowly misses being caught from a brown that has surged up from beneath her. She snarls at him and shoves his reaching claws away as she banks hard to the left and folds her wings to barrel downwards. She’ll lose some height but hopefully in the attempt she’ll put some space between her and the others. Cece’s smile is laced with Oryth’s more wicked humor as she taps a finger against her lower lip. “Salt in the wounds? Licking? Me? Hm. If I’m going to lick ‘’anything’’, I’ll coat it in sugar and make it worth the other person’s time.” She gives a wink in answer to Y’ral’s guffaw at her lewdness. One of the other rider’s hisses at them, “Be quiet! Some of us need to focus!” That earns him a laugh from Y’ral as he elbows N’rov. M’vyn in all this? Still draped on the bed.

That's the spirit! Vhaeryth snarls ''too'' and swerves, taking advantage of all the lost height he can (rattle-ping-ping!); if he can't intercept her yet, he's (still) working on it, and if her attention on him remains a problem, he (still) doesn't seem to mind. As for his rider, "Cee... she... likes it sweet," N'rov of the not-injured-enough ribs recites all singsong, Y'ral getting the smirk he might otherwise have lent the poor hissing rider. "Flights for her are such a ''treat'', suckling on a little tea--"

Elsyth has pulled her mind from Vhaeryth in a snap - one minute she’s draping him in the cold, the next she is simply ‘’gone’’. That loss of height has done more damage than the green anticipated as she finds herself battling for space between her and a steady group of males. Her focus shifts down to snarl at them, leaving someone who may be waiting for such an opportunity to swoop in and claim her. Cece can’t help but laugh and Y’ral’s got a cocky-smile directed towards the bronzerider before he murmurs encouragement to his blue. M’vyn growls, lifting up from the bed to swing a glare in the direction of the riders. “Don’t,” he warns, clearly voicing Elsyth’s warning.

This time, it's the warmth Vhaeryth shudders at, or rather the cold's lack, ''her'' lack; as to M'vyn's warning, though N'rov turns, it's less that the bronzerider rebuts it as that it can't possibly apply to ''him''. To them. To ''them'', because Vhaeryth's already swooping, aiming, the better to take her and make that group take it.

Elsyth’s fury is a blast of ice that sharpens into razor edges as Vhaeryth’s aim is true and she finds herself tangled within his grasp. There’s enough clawing of denial from the green as she attempts to break free of his clasp to no avail. She finds her anger ebbed by pleasure and finally submits to the ichor-marked bronze. M’vyn’s there, of course, and not as he is subsumed by his green and her desires. Unlike his green, he opts ‘’not’’ to mark his partner and finds his time better spent in simply enjoying.

Ichor-marked and all too proud: the bronze claims not merely submission of her but ichor-deep satisfaction, hunting up that rare warmth of once before. Even after, after they've all four worked it well out and the dragons have found stone to settle upon, his rider's still ''there''; braced only barely upon an elbow, he traces the different sort of marks on the other man's neck with that lazy gray gaze and, only after M'vyn seems to stir, his thumb.

Elsyth toys tiredly with that warmth, allowing enough in to melt the surrounding ice into a slush-coated state. Content, she drowses near the bronze. Near enough to solicit Vhaeryth to curl around her. She’s pleased, that’s clear. M’vyn slowly comes into his own awareness once Elsyth’s mind begins to recede into her own space. He stirs beneath that tracing and he shifts enough to lift his head up to twist a glance at N’rov. This reaction is far different than that ‘’other’’ time. Their relationship has some foundation in agreement (if not friendship) and he stretches languidly beneath the bronzerider. “Satisfied?” he queries, genuine enough in the question as he settles back amongst the crumpled sheets.

She's pleased, Vhaeryth's certainly pleased, and indulgent to boot: not only curling about Elsyth (there's a forearm for her to rest her head upon, much more comfortable than stone) but idly grooming any stray splatters of ichor as well as his own drying wounds. N'rov's less with the licking; he's got a slow grin for M'vyn, though, one that loses what focus it had when the other man moves. He laughs then, low; he rubs his jaw, where the stubble's started to show. "You... Yeah." Then, "Better?"

Elsyth rumbles at his grooming, that borderline of contentment and annoyance there as she decides whether or not she ‘’likes’’ his attention in that manner. She decides to tolerate it as she moves to rest her head upon that offered forearm. She will not be returning the favor of helping Vhaeryth with his wounds. Instead, she eyes them with a sense of pride. She marked him. She chose him. M’vyn shifts, moving to the side and not caring for the moment that in doing so he reveals his nakedness. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. A glance is given to that stubble and another glance towards N’rov’s chest and torso in appreciation. He finger-combs his hair into some sort of order as he lounges back against a pillow. “You’re better than others,” he tells the bronzerider with a sly tilt to his lips. “But yes. Since that first…, I don’t…,” he shrugs. “I’ve learned to let her be my focus.” He pauses then, looking away from N’rov and towards the entrance. “You could choose not to… with men. So… why do you?”

As he adjusts, N'rov half-absently does as well to make it easier. Once settled on his side, he contemplates M'vyn, though his gaze doesn't roam as far as the greenrider's had; indeed, though he doesn't take shelter in any way, there gets to be a flush to his ears that only deepens at the other man's remark. All he can do is swallow a laugh, and touch two fingers to his brow by way of a provisional salute. In the end, "Think you might underestimate Vhaeryth's powers of... persuasion." Or of just doing. The bronze's amused and possibly even ''entitled'' rumble lingers about the pair of them, deeper than Elsyth's and the warmer for her so-great tolerance; could be he likes that edge of hers. In that rumble's echoes, his words ring as all too genuine. As might the question that emerges after all; "You think we can?"

There’s something about N’rov’s blush and his accompanying amusement that serves to lower M’vyn’s inherent defenses. Still languid from a flight, he considers the bronzerider in a lazy, thoughtful, way that he rarely shows to others. “I do think some can,” he reasons, lifting a brow at N’rov, “I’ve never seen N’muir allow his bronze to chase a green, much less one that’s ridden by a male.” He shrugs, moving an arm to tuck back behind his head. “I figured you all had some pull and say on whether or not you let them chase.” He angles a glance towards the bronzerider with the barest hint of a smile. “Unless you like the thrill of it so much you don’t care who you tumble?” A push to see if that blush of N’rov’s will remain or deepen. “I know you’ve won your fair share of goldflights. So it isn’t as if Vhaeryth has no choices.” Elsyth has made her choice and for now seems content enough to slumber beside the bronze, her ice slowly reforms around her as she sleeps, but when she wakens it may be easier for some to make way in the face of the bronze’s warmth.

"''Bijedth's'' all swoony over Elaruth," N'rov can't let that pass without saying; he manages to survive without interrupting the rest, but it's a near thing. Vhaeryth can watch over Elsyth; he... he's there and yes, the flush travels a little further despite the rueful hook to his mouth. Yes, it's different for him too, right now. For now. And still he asks as part of his answer, "Would ''you'' be... satisfied... with three tumbles in your lifetime?" To quote the man over and over again.

M’vyn allows a smile, however small and short lived, to show his enjoyment as he watches N’rov’s reaction. That question earns N’rov a surprised guffaw. “I hadn’t,” he manages to say, “quite thought of it that way.” He shakes his head, holding back a laugh that somehow etches its way into the tone of his voice. “I’ve only recently started to find some sort of… joy in a flight. Earlier, I would’ve been glad for having few.” He shrugs, “Now? I suppose they’re worth having more of.” He slides a sidelong glance at N’rov as he asks, “Don’t you get some outside of a flight though?”

That guffaw gets a grin, quicker than the rest but no less lasting; N'rov starts to speak, then holds off for M'vyn... only to wind up grinning all over again. He reaches back, rubs his neck; the easy humor in those gray eyes, though, that doesn't go away at ''all''. "Sometimes after a flight, even," he imparts the forbidden knowledge. "No, but I want him to be happy. He gets tense, I get tense. He ''likes'' the chase, yeah? It's going all out and you just don't get to do that in drills, though losing's a big ball of suck." It prompts him to lean up a little, enough to poke his pillow so it's more fluffy when he leans back down. "It was hard for a while there, though. After our first flight," he stops to look more fully at M'vyn again.

There’s an infectious quality that N’rov has that continues to lower M’vyn’s defenses, Not fully, for he stiffens at the mention of ‘after a flight’ but slowly relaxes again rather than react otherwise. “I suppose if you came to and truly - ah - well,” he struggles for a moment there, the slightest hint of redness there against his cheeks, “you’d want to go again.” N’rov’s movements has M’vyn equally straightening on the bed, though he eventually settles back down and angles himself to the side. He rests his elbow on the pillow and places his chin in the palm of his hand as he appraises N’rov. “Elsyth is fond of the males that chase her. But, she’s a different creature entirely.” He pauses for a moment, then prompts, “What happened after your first flight?”

"'Course she is," has assured warmth rather than otherwise, like 'different' is a fine way to be. N'rov hadn't called M'vyn on ''his'' blush, though for a moment temptation might have lurked; he holds off, similarly, on Elsyth's first. After a deep breath, he doesn't hold off any longer on what he'd put out there himself. "Imagine, if you will," here his look at M'vyn turns distinctly wry, "us as a new pair. Vhaeryth's started sniffing around. I'm even looking forward to flights half the time. But who does he set his sights on first? Elaruth." Near-whispered, "''Elaruth''."

M’vyn lifts a brow and smirks at N’rov’s assurance over Elsyth’s quality but otherwise doesn’t do anything to downplay or disagree with the bronzerider. His other brow lifts in response to the sharing, more on the comment of looking forward to a first flight than to the punch-line. “I guess I don’t understand what’s wrong with that? Other than the fear of being tapped a Weyrleader shortly after completing weyrlinghood. Wouldn’t it be obvious that - ah, Vhaeryth’s youth in that department, would’ve made it unsuccessful?” He rubs his thumb along his jawline. “Unless,” he muses, “in losing you ended up out of your mind and tumbled the first person you laid hands on.” He tries for a joke, though it may come off less than humorous, “was that the first time you slept with a man then?”

"Accidents happen," N'rov says to M'vyn and those raised brows. "Point is, though..." He breaks off, not-quite-laughs. "Ah, no." The bronzerider's smile lingers, private but soon explained. "First time I ''slept with a man'' was thanks to Suraieth, and that was significantly later. You know Dal?" More than just a hello, presumably.

“I suppose they do,” M’vyn replies with a twitch at the corner of his lips as he holds back a smile. His amusement still shows in the ease of his features and a spark in the glance he gives N’rov. “Dal? No,” he replies, shrugging as that seriousness descends upon him. “I don’t socialize with all that many riders.” He at least is honest in that. “Never been the type to seek others out. I don’t make friends.” He heaves himself upwards, glancing at his nakedness and then slips out of the bed to go and fetch his pants to tug on. He pauses once they’re settled on his hips and glances at N’rov, lost in a thought of his own before he looks away and goes to find his shirt to tug on.

All the more sheets for N'rov, and he isn't even three to the wind, though some might not be in a condition to be ''wanted''; he goes about sitting up, but winds up just comfortably sitting. At the glance, however, "Hm?" It's as unhurried as, "Toss me a towel, would you."

M’vyn’s got his shirt pulled on when N’rov makes his request. “Sure,” he says as he makes his way across the weyr to fetch a towel. He doesn’t throw it at N’rov, choosing instead to walk it over to the bronzerider and offer it. He looks like he almost wants to say something but opts not to. With little to no reason left to linger, he gathers his boots and sits to pull them on, preparing to leave.

"Thanks." N'rov's glanced at M'vyn's wrist on the way to the towel; it's the latter that he takes. There's a slight smile crooking his mouth, one that suits the slant of brows. This time he doesn't ask; if the greenrider wants to escape that, or the other questions being turned back on him, he'll let him get away with that much. But not, unless the other man's quick, the clap on the shoulder and the push off once N'rov's abruptly swung himself to the edge of the bed, the better to get going and gather his own gear. After all, M'vyn could've gone after ''his'' boots!

M’vyn seems caught off-guard by that clap on the shoulder and gives N’rov another look. He isn’t one for lingering goodbyes. With his boots on, clothes straightened, and a resigned glance towards the door he begins to head out. It may be out of respect (or simply habit) that he turns and gives N’rov another look. He taps two fingers to his temple and flips his fingers out in a semi-salute. “See you on the mats in a day or so,” he offers before he heads out to face the remainder of the day.

"Next time," N'rov agrees with apparent simplicity, and an over-the-shoulder flash of grin that doesn't slow him any. Not that he's in a ''rush'', just thorough; even once he's clean and changed, he gets back to searching the room. There's hardly any dust, and definitely not that still-missing die... but he does come up with a shiny stone button wedged in a crevice, too pretty to be theirs. The bronzerider sets that on the corner of the bed in plain sight, the lift to his mouth distinctly ambiguous, and leaves.
|Categories=Flight Logs
}}

Logs:Accidents Happen

2015-08-23T20:28:03Z

Aleudre:

{{Log
|who=N'rov, M'vyn, Cece, Y'ral
|what=Elsyth is caught by Vhaeryth
|where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=6
|month=25
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.08
|mentions=Aishani, Ali, Hattie, Kyouri, N'dalis, N’muir
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon M'vyn Main.jpg, Icon n'rov.png,
|log=M’vyn doesn’t often show any signs of proddiness and those that he does have are generally reserved for Nala. Elsyth is not nearly as discreet as her rider. The green is not known for friendships and she certainly is not keen on seeking the company of others. The last few days she has actively been seeking places that put her in public view - especially for the males to notice. Today she’s lingering by the lake, her hide steadily glowing towards richer shades and hues of greens as the day progresses. Her thoughts are sharpened points of ice, a radiating of her contemplation of the sky, and she broadcasts it to all who may listen.

Ice. More ice. Because they haven't had ''enough'' of it, these last seasons. Vhaeryth was gone in the morning, drilling with the refurbished Hematite; this afternoon, though, he's been lurking. Not by the lake, exactly; by the feeding pens, on any of half a dozen ledges above them, scoping out the beasts he isn't supposed to have just any old time. There's one in particular, wily ''and'' juicy-looking (just his type) yet he hasn't made up his mind; to pass the time, he starts batting at those ice-javelins that happen to veer his way, not sending them right back at their source so much as ''deflecting''. That sleeping, ancient green? She wakes in a froth of disgruntlement, staring blindly around in surprise.

Does Elsyth notice Vhaeryth and his deflecting techniques? It would seem so as she amplifies the direction of her thoughts towards him. A fierce array of cold is gathered and jettisoned towards him in a swirling mass of ‘’cold’’. That cold seems to signal something else as she rouses from her lounge and pushes herself into the air. It’s a short enough flight to the feeding pens, one that doesn’t warrant circling about the Weyr as much as Elsyth chooses to do. She angles herself against the sun to draw whatever attention her action may bring. She toys with another lazy circle over the feeding pens, taunting whatever male may be watching her. Will she or won’t she? A beast (is it the one Vhaeryth is eying?) is singled out and she slams her wings against her side and dives down into the feeding pends to slice her claws into it’s back. The creature barely has time to bleat it’s distress as she breaks its neck and begins to greedily gulp at the blood that begins to pool in the dirt.

Vhaeryth doesn't dodge that one; he shivers and shudders and judders at the blow, shaking his wings as though shaking off ice crystals. Of ''course'' it's his beast; now he'll have to go through all the work of finding a new one... or just grab the nearest. ''That's'' what he does, and drink where he hadn't before. Around them, others circulate and steal and slay. The dirt is becoming mud, and worse when entrails fall and get trampled on. Time to get out of town! He flexes his hindquarters in preparation to do just that, and never mind how he'd abandoned his rider on someone else's ledge.

Mud is ‘’beneath’’ Elsyth and as it slowly begins to spread out in clumps of blood and gore. The grotesquely created mud-strewn grounds are thick with piles of dirt slickened to an eerie and darkened black from the mauled and half-gnawed on corpses of the creatures being dispatched for nothing more than a few, hot, throaty-gulps of ‘’blood’’. Elsyth has rendered another beast to pieces, its body broken and splattered against the bones of her previous victim. She toys with it, eying the males and sizing up those that have come for ‘’her’’. It’s only when she’s certain enough are there to please her that she flings that last carcass towards blue Oryth and takes to the skies with a throaty bellowing challenge for the males to ‘’follow’’. The guest weyr is full of most of the riders and is a hazy image in the link Elsyth shares with her rider. She takes M’vyn up with her, drawing him into her mind to experience the thrill of the air billowing beneath their wings as he makes steady progress upwards.

As long as N'rov doesn't have to walk on it. Or ''run''. He barely makes it off Oryth's neck in time, hurrying (and cursing) after Y'ral while the blue scrambles with limited success to avoid the carcass and get into the air. Vhaeryth's already up, accelerating after Elsyth. N'rov's got to ''catch'' up. Somehow in the confusion he gets the wrong ground weyr on the first try, surprises a couple people who didn't want to be surprised and high-tails it out of there. By the time he gets to the right spot he's speeding, ''skidding'' inside.

Y’ral shouldn’t be laughing - but he is as he and N’rov finally make it inside the right weyr. “S’what we get,” he drawls as he elbows N’rov and gives him a wolfish smile. “Good thing Oryth has the patience to take us!” The rest of the men and women in the weyr shoot various glares at the entrance of two more competitors and then narrow their gazes on the man sprawled out on the bed. “Cece’s here,” Y’ral grumbles as he eyes the blonde brownrider. “She’s always trying to hold a claim.” Cece has no words for her wingmates as she remains focused with her head tipped back against the nearest wall and arms folded in front of her. Above, Elsyth’s made progress through the scattering clouds. She doesn’t always keep her body angled up, choosing to even out now and then to save her strength and fly a straighter path with the air currents. There seem to be no males that are near to her at this time, her earlier launch having maintained a certain distance and an edge of time for it from the others.

Not to mention the inherent distractions in removing other males from their territory, in which Vhaeryth happily engages now that they're far above the ground; sometimes it's subtler, wider wings stealing updrafts or gauging risky spaces, sometimes more physical with a swipe of his tail intended to foul another male's path as irrevocably as can be. The only thing is, the last one may off-balance another bronze enough that a particularly savvy blue further upsets him with a body blow and sends him falling... but in the meantime, another couple of blues have gotten past Vhaeryth himself. Well past him; his recourse now is, other than getting back to the straight flight that suits his larger size, keeping a better eye on Elsyth and attempting to predict her future maneuvers. Speaking of maneuvers; N'rov's been muttering back at Y'ral and, increasingly, at his dragon; it doesn't stop him from, as they reach Cece's wall, splatting a hand in the air in front of her face with a suddenly-loud, "Boo."

Elsyth must be taking notes from her fellow greens - especially those that fly in Jasper. She’s full of stunts and tricks, her wing-beats and maneuvers strong and sure. A few blues have gotten near enough to make attempts at catching her, though savvy they may ‘’seem’’ they are not savvy enough to twine with ‘’her’’. Thwarted, one blue barrels down past the remaining males with the intent of bumping a few from their paths as he goes. Elsyth twists to the left and peers back at her at her remaining suitors and bugles a challenge at them. << Still trying? None of you are worthy! >> Her mental blast of ice is meant to disorient any that are weak enough to such a tactic. Cece slaps N’rov’s hand away without flinching. Clearly she is used to such behavior from her wingmates. “Dunno why you bother coming,” she challenges as her eyes open and she leers at Y’ral and then N’rov. “You two aren’t suited to win this one. Call your boys home and lick your wounds with someone else.” The others that are lingering near the wall glance at the Hematite riders and mutter amongst themselves. M’vyn seems to be unphased by any as he lounges back on the bed with his hands tucked beneath his curls. Eyes closed, he encourages his green to soar ‘’higher’’.

''That's'' disappointing. Not Elsyth's maneuvers; ''those'' are more exciting than they used to be (and if much-larger Vhaeryth can't match them, he'll concentrate on predicting where each will take her). Not the blue, whom Vhaeryth wouldn't bother to dodge if it weren't for that pesky momentum business (after which the bronze has to dodge all over again, thanks to one of the blue's earlier victims that had been slower to fall). Definitely not the ice blast, his portion of which rattles and sizzle as though on now-heated metal, amplified back to her and the rest of them; jocular on the surface, << You're worth ''trying'', aren't you? >> Maybe he's in the wrong flight? Maybe they all are! No, it's Cece's not spooking that's the downer. Just because they've all been doing that sort of thing to each other for ''Turns''. "Shells, Cee. No licking wounds for you?" is all about the implications in N'rov's low drawl. "What if I poured salt in them? Or a dusting of salt. A sprinkling." He glances at M'vyn. "Rimming the very edge of the glass."

Elsyth doesn’t even bother to reply to Vhaeryth. That rattling and sizzling of heated metal is interesting. It’s a shiny, distracting, sparkly-sort of object that draws Elsyth’s mind further against the bronze’s. She angles more of her ice towards it, flicking it casually as she flies further into the clouds. Her mental focus being on Vhaeryth, she narrowly misses being caught from a brown that has surged up from beneath her. She snarls at him and shoves his reaching claws away as she banks hard to the left and folds her wings to barrel downwards. She’ll lose some height but hopefully in the attempt she’ll put some space between her and the others. Cece’s smile is laced with Oryth’s more wicked humor as she taps a finger against her lower lip. “Salt in the wounds? Licking? Me? Hm. If I’m going to lick ‘’anything’’, I’ll coat it in sugar and make it worth the other person’s time.” She gives a wink in answer to Y’ral’s guffaw at her lewdness. One of the other rider’s hisses at them, “Be quiet! Some of us need to focus!” That earns him a laugh from Y’ral as he elbows N’rov. M’vyn in all this? Still draped on the bed.

That's the spirit! Vhaeryth snarls ''too'' and swerves, taking advantage of all the lost height he can (rattle-ping-ping!); if he can't intercept her yet, he's (still) working on it, and if her attention on him remains a problem, he (still) doesn't seem to mind. As for his rider, "Cee... she... likes it sweet," N'rov of the not-injured-enough ribs recites all singsong, Y'ral getting the smirk he might otherwise have lent the poor hissing rider. "Flights for her are such a ''treat'', suckling on a little tea--"

Elsyth has pulled her mind from Vhaeryth in a snap - one minute she’s draping him in the cold, the next she is simply ‘’gone’’. That loss of height has done more damage than the green anticipated as she finds herself battling for space between her and a steady group of males. Her focus shifts down to snarl at them, leaving someone who may be waiting for such an opportunity to swoop in and claim her. Cece can’t help but laugh and Y’ral’s got a cocky-smile directed towards the bronzerider before he murmurs encouragement to his blue. M’vyn growls, lifting up from the bed to swing a glare in the direction of the riders. “Don’t,” he warns, clearly voicing Elsyth’s warning.

This time, it's the warmth Vhaeryth shudders at, or rather the cold's lack, ''her'' lack; as to M'vyn's warning, though N'rov turns, it's less that the bronzerider rebuts it as that it can't possibly apply to ''him''. To them. To ''them'', because Vhaeryth's already swooping, aiming, the better to take her and make that group take it.

Elsyth’s fury is a blast of ice that sharpens into razor edges as Vhaeryth’s aim is true and she finds herself tangled within his grasp. There’s enough clawing of denial from the green as she attempts to break free of his clasp to no avail. She finds her anger ebbed by pleasure and finally submits to the ichor-marked bronze. M’vyn’s there, of course, and not as he is subsumed by his green and her desires. Unlike his green, he opts ‘’not’’ to mark his partner and finds his time better spent in simply enjoying.

Ichor-marked and all too proud: the bronze claims not merely submission of her but ichor-deep satisfaction, hunting up that rare warmth of once before. Even after, after they've all four worked it well out and the dragons have found stone to settle upon, his rider's still ''there''; braced only barely upon an elbow, he traces the different sort of marks on the other man's neck with that lazy gray gaze and, only after M'vyn seems to stir, his thumb.

Elsyth toys tiredly with that warmth, allowing enough in to melt the surrounding ice into a slush-coated state. Content, she drowses near the bronze. Near enough to solicit Vhaeryth to curl around her. She’s pleased, that’s clear. M’vyn slowly comes into his own awareness once Elsyth’s mind begins to recede into her own space. He stirs beneath that tracing and he shifts enough to lift his head up to twist a glance at N’rov. This reaction is far different than that ‘’other’’ time. Their relationship has some foundation in agreement (if not friendship) and he stretches languidly beneath the bronzerider. “Satisfied?” he queries, genuine enough in the question as he settles back amongst the crumpled sheets.

She's pleased, Vhaeryth's certainly pleased, and indulgent to boot: not only curling about Elsyth (there's a forearm for her to rest her head upon, much more comfortable than stone) but idly grooming any stray splatters of ichor as well as his own drying wounds. N'rov's less with the licking; he's got a slow grin for M'vyn, though, one that loses what focus it had when the other man moves. He laughs then, low; he rubs his jaw, where the stubble's started to show. "You... Yeah." Then, "Better?"

Elsyth rumbles at his grooming, that borderline of contentment and annoyance there as she decides whether or not she ‘’likes’’ his attention in that manner. She decides to tolerate it as she moves to rest her head upon that offered forearm. She will not be returning the favor of helping Vhaeryth with his wounds. Instead, she eyes them with a sense of pride. She marked him. She chose him. M’vyn shifts, moving to the side and not caring for the moment that in doing so he reveals his nakedness. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. A glance is given to that stubble and another glance towards N’rov’s chest and torso in appreciation. He finger-combs his hair into some sort of order as he lounges back against a pillow. “You’re better than others,” he tells the bronzerider with a sly tilt to his lips. “But yes. Since that first…, I don’t…,” he shrugs. “I’ve learned to let her be my focus.” He pauses then, looking away from N’rov and towards the entrance. “You could choose not to… with men. So… why do you?”

As he adjusts, N'rov half-absently does as well to make it easier. Once settled on his side, he contemplates M'vyn, though his gaze doesn't roam as far as the greenrider's had; indeed, though he doesn't take shelter in any way, there gets to be a flush to his ears that only deepens at the other man's remark. All he can do is swallow a laugh, and touch two fingers to his brow by way of a provisional salute. In the end, "Think you might underestimate Vhaeryth's powers of... persuasion." Or of just doing. The bronze's amused and possibly even ''entitled'' rumble lingers about the pair of them, deeper than Elsyth's and the warmer for her so-great tolerance; could be he likes that edge of hers. In that rumble's echoes, his words ring as all too genuine. As might the question that emerges after all; "You think we can?"

There’s something about N’rov’s blush and his accompanying amusement that serves to lower M’vyn’s inherent defenses. Still languid from a flight, he considers the bronzerider in a lazy, thoughtful, way that he rarely shows to others. “I do think some can,” he reasons, lifting a brow at N’rov, “I’ve never seen N’muir allow his bronze to chase a green, much less one that’s ridden by a male.” He shrugs, moving an arm to tuck back behind his head. “I figured you all had some pull and say on whether or not you let them chase.” He angles a glance towards the bronzerider with the barest hint of a smile. “Unless you like the thrill of it so much you don’t care who you tumble?” A push to see if that blush of N’rov’s will remain or deepen. “I know you’ve won your fair share of goldflights. So it isn’t as if Vhaeryth has no choices.” Elsyth has made her choice and for now seems content enough to slumber beside the bronze, her ice slowly reforms around her as she sleeps, but when she wakens it may be easier for some to make way in the face of the bronze’s warmth.

"''Bijedth's'' all swoony over Elaruth," N'rov can't let that pass without saying; he manages to survive without interrupting the rest, but it's a near thing. Vhaeryth can watch over Elsyth; he... he's there and yes, the flush travels a little further despite the rueful hook to his mouth. Yes, it's different for him too, right now. For now. And still he asks as part of his answer, "Would ''you'' be... satisfied... with three tumbles in your lifetime?" To quote the man over and over again.

M’vyn allows a smile, however small and short lived, to show his enjoyment as he watches N’rov’s reaction. That question earns N’rov a surprised guffaw. “I hadn’t,” he manages to say, “quite thought of it that way.” He shakes his head, holding back a laugh that somehow etches its way into the tone of his voice. “I’ve only recently started to find some sort of… joy in a flight. Earlier, I would’ve been glad for having few.” He shrugs, “Now? I suppose they’re worth having more of.” He slides a sidelong glance at N’rov as he asks, “Don’t you get some outside of a flight though?”

That guffaw gets a grin, quicker than the rest but no less lasting; N'rov starts to speak, then holds off for M'vyn... only to wind up grinning all over again. He reaches back, rubs his neck; the easy humor in those gray eyes, though, that doesn't go away at ''all''. "Sometimes after a flight, even," he imparts the forbidden knowledge. "No, but I want him to be happy. He gets tense, I get tense. He ''likes'' the chase, yeah? It's going all out and you just don't get to do that in drills, though losing's a big ball of suck." It prompts him to lean up a little, enough to poke his pillow so it's more fluffy when he leans back down. "It was hard for a while there, though. After our first flight," he stops to look more fully at M'vyn again.

There’s an infectious quality that N’rov has that continues to lower M’vyn’s defenses, Not fully, for he stiffens at the mention of ‘after a flight’ but slowly relaxes again rather than react otherwise. “I suppose if you came to and truly - ah - well,” he struggles for a moment there, the slightest hint of redness there against his cheeks, “you’d want to go again.” N’rov’s movements has M’vyn equally straightening on the bed, though he eventually settles back down and angles himself to the side. He rests his elbow on the pillow and places his chin in the palm of his hand as he appraises N’rov. “Elsyth is fond of the males that chase her. But, she’s a different creature entirely.” He pauses for a moment, then prompts, “What happened after your first flight?”

"'Course she is," has assured warmth rather than otherwise, like 'different' is a fine way to be. N'rov hadn't called M'vyn on ''his'' blush, though for a moment temptation might have lurked; he holds off, similarly, on Elsyth's first. After a deep breath, he doesn't hold off any longer on what he'd put out there himself. "Imagine, if you will," here his look at M'vyn turns distinctly wry, "us as a new pair. Vhaeryth's started sniffing around. I'm even looking forward to flights half the time. But who does he set his sights on first? Elaruth." Near-whispered, "''Elaruth''."

M’vyn lifts a brow and smirks at N’rov’s assurance over Elsyth’s quality but otherwise doesn’t do anything to downplay or disagree with the bronzerider. His other brow lifts in response to the sharing, more on the comment of looking forward to a first flight than to the punch-line. “I guess I don’t understand what’s wrong with that? Other than the fear of being tapped a Weyrleader shortly after completing weyrlinghood. Wouldn’t it be obvious that - ah, Vhaeryth’s youth in that department, would’ve made it unsuccessful?” He rubs his thumb along his jawline. “Unless,” he muses, “in losing you ended up out of your mind and tumbled the first person you laid hands on.” He tries for a joke, though it may come off less than humorous, “was that the first time you slept with a man then?”

"Accidents happen," N'rov says to M'vyn and those raised brows. "Point is, though..." He breaks off, not-quite-laughs. "Ah, no." The bronzerider's smile lingers, private but soon explained. "First time I ''slept with a man'' was thanks to Suraieth, and that was significantly later. You know Dal?" More than just a hello, presumably.

“I suppose they do,” M’vyn replies with a twitch at the corner of his lips as he holds back a smile. His amusement still shows in the ease of his features and a spark in the glance he gives N’rov. “Dal? No,” he replies, shrugging as that seriousness descends upon him. “I don’t socialize with all that many riders.” He at least is honest in that. “Never been the type to seek others out. I don’t make friends.” He heaves himself upwards, glancing at his nakedness and then slips out of the bed to go and fetch his pants to tug on. He pauses once they’re settled on his hips and glances at N’rov, lost in a thought of his own before he looks away and goes to find his shirt to tug on.

All the more sheets for N'rov, and he isn't even three to the wind, though some might not be in a condition to be ''wanted''; he goes about sitting up, but winds up just comfortably sitting. At the glance, however, "Hm?" It's as unhurried as, "Toss me a towel, would you."

M’vyn’s got his shirt pulled on when N’rov makes his request. “Sure,” he says as he makes his way across the weyr to fetch a towel. He doesn’t throw it at N’rov, choosing instead to walk it over to the bronzerider and offer it. He looks like he almost wants to say something but opts not to. With little to no reason left to linger, he gathers his boots and sits to pull them on, preparing to leave.

"Thanks." N'rov's glanced at M'vyn's wrist on the way to the towel; it's the latter that he takes. There's a slight smile crooking his mouth, one that suits the slant of brows. This time he doesn't ask; if the greenrider wants to escape that, or the other questions being turned back on him, he'll let him get away with that much. But not, unless the other man's quick, the clap on the shoulder and the push off once N'rov's abruptly swung himself to the edge of the bed, the better to get going and gather his own gear. After all, M'vyn could've gone after ''his'' boots!

M’vyn seems caught off-guard by that clap on the shoulder and gives N’rov another look. He isn’t one for lingering goodbyes. With his boots on, clothes straightened, and a resigned glance towards the door he begins to head out. It may be out of respect (or simply habit) that he turns and gives N’rov another look. He taps two fingers to his temple and flips his fingers out in a semi-salute. “See you on the mats in a day or so,” he offers before he heads out to face the remainder of the day.

"Next time," N'rov agrees with apparent simplicity, and an over-the-shoulder flash of grin that doesn't slow him any. Not that he's in a ''rush'', just thorough; even once he's clean and changed, he gets back to searching the room. There's hardly any dust, and definitely not that still-missing die... but he does come up with a shiny stone button wedged in a crevice, too pretty to be theirs. The bronzerider sets that on the corner of the bed in plain sight, the lift to his mouth distinctly ambiguous, and leaves.
|Categories=Flight Logs
}}

Logs:Accidents Happen

2015-08-23T20:27:09Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=N'rov, M'vyn, Cece, Y'ral |what=Elsyth is caught by Vhaeryth |where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=6 |month=25 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gameda..."

{{Log
|who=N'rov, M'vyn, Cece, Y'ral
|what=Elsyth is caught by Vhaeryth
|where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=6
|month=25
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.08
|mentions=Aishani, Ali, Hattie, Kyouri, N'dalis, N’muir
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon n'rov look.png, Icon M'vyn Main.jpg,
|log=M’vyn doesn’t often show any signs of proddiness and those that he does have are generally reserved for Nala. Elsyth is not nearly as discreet as her rider. The green is not known for friendships and she certainly is not keen on seeking the company of others. The last few days she has actively been seeking places that put her in public view - especially for the males to notice. Today she’s lingering by the lake, her hide steadily glowing towards richer shades and hues of greens as the day progresses. Her thoughts are sharpened points of ice, a radiating of her contemplation of the sky, and she broadcasts it to all who may listen.

Ice. More ice. Because they haven't had ''enough'' of it, these last seasons. Vhaeryth was gone in the morning, drilling with the refurbished Hematite; this afternoon, though, he's been lurking. Not by the lake, exactly; by the feeding pens, on any of half a dozen ledges above them, scoping out the beasts he isn't supposed to have just any old time. There's one in particular, wily ''and'' juicy-looking (just his type) yet he hasn't made up his mind; to pass the time, he starts batting at those ice-javelins that happen to veer his way, not sending them right back at their source so much as ''deflecting''. That sleeping, ancient green? She wakes in a froth of disgruntlement, staring blindly around in surprise.

Does Elsyth notice Vhaeryth and his deflecting techniques? It would seem so as she amplifies the direction of her thoughts towards him. A fierce array of cold is gathered and jettisoned towards him in a swirling mass of ‘’cold’’. That cold seems to signal something else as she rouses from her lounge and pushes herself into the air. It’s a short enough flight to the feeding pens, one that doesn’t warrant circling about the Weyr as much as Elsyth chooses to do. She angles herself against the sun to draw whatever attention her action may bring. She toys with another lazy circle over the feeding pens, taunting whatever male may be watching her. Will she or won’t she? A beast (is it the one Vhaeryth is eying?) is singled out and she slams her wings against her side and dives down into the feeding pends to slice her claws into it’s back. The creature barely has time to bleat it’s distress as she breaks its neck and begins to greedily gulp at the blood that begins to pool in the dirt.

Vhaeryth doesn't dodge that one; he shivers and shudders and judders at the blow, shaking his wings as though shaking off ice crystals. Of ''course'' it's his beast; now he'll have to go through all the work of finding a new one... or just grab the nearest. ''That's'' what he does, and drink where he hadn't before. Around them, others circulate and steal and slay. The dirt is becoming mud, and worse when entrails fall and get trampled on. Time to get out of town! He flexes his hindquarters in preparation to do just that, and never mind how he'd abandoned his rider on someone else's ledge.

Mud is ‘’beneath’’ Elsyth and as it slowly begins to spread out in clumps of blood and gore. The grotesquely created mud-strewn grounds are thick with piles of dirt slickened to an eerie and darkened black from the mauled and half-gnawed on corpses of the creatures being dispatched for nothing more than a few, hot, throaty-gulps of ‘’blood’’. Elsyth has rendered another beast to pieces, its body broken and splattered against the bones of her previous victim. She toys with it, eying the males and sizing up those that have come for ‘’her’’. It’s only when she’s certain enough are there to please her that she flings that last carcass towards blue Oryth and takes to the skies with a throaty bellowing challenge for the males to ‘’follow’’. The guest weyr is full of most of the riders and is a hazy image in the link Elsyth shares with her rider. She takes M’vyn up with her, drawing him into her mind to experience the thrill of the air billowing beneath their wings as he makes steady progress upwards.

As long as N'rov doesn't have to walk on it. Or ''run''. He barely makes it off Oryth's neck in time, hurrying (and cursing) after Y'ral while the blue scrambles with limited success to avoid the carcass and get into the air. Vhaeryth's already up, accelerating after Elsyth. N'rov's got to ''catch'' up. Somehow in the confusion he gets the wrong ground weyr on the first try, surprises a couple people who didn't want to be surprised and high-tails it out of there. By the time he gets to the right spot he's speeding, ''skidding'' inside.

Y’ral shouldn’t be laughing - but he is as he and N’rov finally make it inside the right weyr. “S’what we get,” he drawls as he elbows N’rov and gives him a wolfish smile. “Good thing Oryth has the patience to take us!” The rest of the men and women in the weyr shoot various glares at the entrance of two more competitors and then narrow their gazes on the man sprawled out on the bed. “Cece’s here,” Y’ral grumbles as he eyes the blonde brownrider. “She’s always trying to hold a claim.” Cece has no words for her wingmates as she remains focused with her head tipped back against the nearest wall and arms folded in front of her. Above, Elsyth’s made progress through the scattering clouds. She doesn’t always keep her body angled up, choosing to even out now and then to save her strength and fly a straighter path with the air currents. There seem to be no males that are near to her at this time, her earlier launch having maintained a certain distance and an edge of time for it from the others.

Not to mention the inherent distractions in removing other males from their territory, in which Vhaeryth happily engages now that they're far above the ground; sometimes it's subtler, wider wings stealing updrafts or gauging risky spaces, sometimes more physical with a swipe of his tail intended to foul another male's path as irrevocably as can be. The only thing is, the last one may off-balance another bronze enough that a particularly savvy blue further upsets him with a body blow and sends him falling... but in the meantime, another couple of blues have gotten past Vhaeryth himself. Well past him; his recourse now is, other than getting back to the straight flight that suits his larger size, keeping a better eye on Elsyth and attempting to predict her future maneuvers. Speaking of maneuvers; N'rov's been muttering back at Y'ral and, increasingly, at his dragon; it doesn't stop him from, as they reach Cece's wall, splatting a hand in the air in front of her face with a suddenly-loud, "Boo."

Elsyth must be taking notes from her fellow greens - especially those that fly in Jasper. She’s full of stunts and tricks, her wing-beats and maneuvers strong and sure. A few blues have gotten near enough to make attempts at catching her, though savvy they may ‘’seem’’ they are not savvy enough to twine with ‘’her’’. Thwarted, one blue barrels down past the remaining males with the intent of bumping a few from their paths as he goes. Elsyth twists to the left and peers back at her at her remaining suitors and bugles a challenge at them. << Still trying? None of you are worthy! >> Her mental blast of ice is meant to disorient any that are weak enough to such a tactic. Cece slaps N’rov’s hand away without flinching. Clearly she is used to such behavior from her wingmates. “Dunno why you bother coming,” she challenges as her eyes open and she leers at Y’ral and then N’rov. “You two aren’t suited to win this one. Call your boys home and lick your wounds with someone else.” The others that are lingering near the wall glance at the Hematite riders and mutter amongst themselves. M’vyn seems to be unphased by any as he lounges back on the bed with his hands tucked beneath his curls. Eyes closed, he encourages his green to soar ‘’higher’’.

''That's'' disappointing. Not Elsyth's maneuvers; ''those'' are more exciting than they used to be (and if much-larger Vhaeryth can't match them, he'll concentrate on predicting where each will take her). Not the blue, whom Vhaeryth wouldn't bother to dodge if it weren't for that pesky momentum business (after which the bronze has to dodge all over again, thanks to one of the blue's earlier victims that had been slower to fall). Definitely not the ice blast, his portion of which rattles and sizzle as though on now-heated metal, amplified back to her and the rest of them; jocular on the surface, << You're worth ''trying'', aren't you? >> Maybe he's in the wrong flight? Maybe they all are! No, it's Cece's not spooking that's the downer. Just because they've all been doing that sort of thing to each other for ''Turns''. "Shells, Cee. No licking wounds for you?" is all about the implications in N'rov's low drawl. "What if I poured salt in them? Or a dusting of salt. A sprinkling." He glances at M'vyn. "Rimming the very edge of the glass."

Elsyth doesn’t even bother to reply to Vhaeryth. That rattling and sizzling of heated metal is interesting. It’s a shiny, distracting, sparkly-sort of object that draws Elsyth’s mind further against the bronze’s. She angles more of her ice towards it, flicking it casually as she flies further into the clouds. Her mental focus being on Vhaeryth, she narrowly misses being caught from a brown that has surged up from beneath her. She snarls at him and shoves his reaching claws away as she banks hard to the left and folds her wings to barrel downwards. She’ll lose some height but hopefully in the attempt she’ll put some space between her and the others. Cece’s smile is laced with Oryth’s more wicked humor as she taps a finger against her lower lip. “Salt in the wounds? Licking? Me? Hm. If I’m going to lick ‘’anything’’, I’ll coat it in sugar and make it worth the other person’s time.” She gives a wink in answer to Y’ral’s guffaw at her lewdness. One of the other rider’s hisses at them, “Be quiet! Some of us need to focus!” That earns him a laugh from Y’ral as he elbows N’rov. M’vyn in all this? Still draped on the bed.

That's the spirit! Vhaeryth snarls ''too'' and swerves, taking advantage of all the lost height he can (rattle-ping-ping!); if he can't intercept her yet, he's (still) working on it, and if her attention on him remains a problem, he (still) doesn't seem to mind. As for his rider, "Cee... she... likes it sweet," N'rov of the not-injured-enough ribs recites all singsong, Y'ral getting the smirk he might otherwise have lent the poor hissing rider. "Flights for her are such a ''treat'', suckling on a little tea--"

Elsyth has pulled her mind from Vhaeryth in a snap - one minute she’s draping him in the cold, the next she is simply ‘’gone’’. That loss of height has done more damage than the green anticipated as she finds herself battling for space between her and a steady group of males. Her focus shifts down to snarl at them, leaving someone who may be waiting for such an opportunity to swoop in and claim her. Cece can’t help but laugh and Y’ral’s got a cocky-smile directed towards the bronzerider before he murmurs encouragement to his blue. M’vyn growls, lifting up from the bed to swing a glare in the direction of the riders. “Don’t,” he warns, clearly voicing Elsyth’s warning.

This time, it's the warmth Vhaeryth shudders at, or rather the cold's lack, ''her'' lack; as to M'vyn's warning, though N'rov turns, it's less that the bronzerider rebuts it as that it can't possibly apply to ''him''. To them. To ''them'', because Vhaeryth's already swooping, aiming, the better to take her and make that group take it.

Elsyth’s fury is a blast of ice that sharpens into razor edges as Vhaeryth’s aim is true and she finds herself tangled within his grasp. There’s enough clawing of denial from the green as she attempts to break free of his clasp to no avail. She finds her anger ebbed by pleasure and finally submits to the ichor-marked bronze. M’vyn’s there, of course, and not as he is subsumed by his green and her desires. Unlike his green, he opts ‘’not’’ to mark his partner and finds his time better spent in simply enjoying.

Ichor-marked and all too proud: the bronze claims not merely submission of her but ichor-deep satisfaction, hunting up that rare warmth of once before. Even after, after they've all four worked it well out and the dragons have found stone to settle upon, his rider's still ''there''; braced only barely upon an elbow, he traces the different sort of marks on the other man's neck with that lazy gray gaze and, only after M'vyn seems to stir, his thumb.

Elsyth toys tiredly with that warmth, allowing enough in to melt the surrounding ice into a slush-coated state. Content, she drowses near the bronze. Near enough to solicit Vhaeryth to curl around her. She’s pleased, that’s clear. M’vyn slowly comes into his own awareness once Elsyth’s mind begins to recede into her own space. He stirs beneath that tracing and he shifts enough to lift his head up to twist a glance at N’rov. This reaction is far different than that ‘’other’’ time. Their relationship has some foundation in agreement (if not friendship) and he stretches languidly beneath the bronzerider. “Satisfied?” he queries, genuine enough in the question as he settles back amongst the crumpled sheets.

She's pleased, Vhaeryth's certainly pleased, and indulgent to boot: not only curling about Elsyth (there's a forearm for her to rest her head upon, much more comfortable than stone) but idly grooming any stray splatters of ichor as well as his own drying wounds. N'rov's less with the licking; he's got a slow grin for M'vyn, though, one that loses what focus it had when the other man moves. He laughs then, low; he rubs his jaw, where the stubble's started to show. "You... Yeah." Then, "Better?"

Elsyth rumbles at his grooming, that borderline of contentment and annoyance there as she decides whether or not she ‘’likes’’ his attention in that manner. She decides to tolerate it as she moves to rest her head upon that offered forearm. She will not be returning the favor of helping Vhaeryth with his wounds. Instead, she eyes them with a sense of pride. She marked him. She chose him. M’vyn shifts, moving to the side and not caring for the moment that in doing so he reveals his nakedness. He stretches his arms over his head and yawns. A glance is given to that stubble and another glance towards N’rov’s chest and torso in appreciation. He finger-combs his hair into some sort of order as he lounges back against a pillow. “You’re better than others,” he tells the bronzerider with a sly tilt to his lips. “But yes. Since that first…, I don’t…,” he shrugs. “I’ve learned to let her be my focus.” He pauses then, looking away from N’rov and towards the entrance. “You could choose not to… with men. So… why do you?”

As he adjusts, N'rov half-absently does as well to make it easier. Once settled on his side, he contemplates M'vyn, though his gaze doesn't roam as far as the greenrider's had; indeed, though he doesn't take shelter in any way, there gets to be a flush to his ears that only deepens at the other man's remark. All he can do is swallow a laugh, and touch two fingers to his brow by way of a provisional salute. In the end, "Think you might underestimate Vhaeryth's powers of... persuasion." Or of just doing. The bronze's amused and possibly even ''entitled'' rumble lingers about the pair of them, deeper than Elsyth's and the warmer for her so-great tolerance; could be he likes that edge of hers. In that rumble's echoes, his words ring as all too genuine. As might the question that emerges after all; "You think we can?"

There’s something about N’rov’s blush and his accompanying amusement that serves to lower M’vyn’s inherent defenses. Still languid from a flight, he considers the bronzerider in a lazy, thoughtful, way that he rarely shows to others. “I do think some can,” he reasons, lifting a brow at N’rov, “I’ve never seen N’muir allow his bronze to chase a green, much less one that’s ridden by a male.” He shrugs, moving an arm to tuck back behind his head. “I figured you all had some pull and say on whether or not you let them chase.” He angles a glance towards the bronzerider with the barest hint of a smile. “Unless you like the thrill of it so much you don’t care who you tumble?” A push to see if that blush of N’rov’s will remain or deepen. “I know you’ve won your fair share of goldflights. So it isn’t as if Vhaeryth has no choices.” Elsyth has made her choice and for now seems content enough to slumber beside the bronze, her ice slowly reforms around her as she sleeps, but when she wakens it may be easier for some to make way in the face of the bronze’s warmth.

"''Bijedth's'' all swoony over Elaruth," N'rov can't let that pass without saying; he manages to survive without interrupting the rest, but it's a near thing. Vhaeryth can watch over Elsyth; he... he's there and yes, the flush travels a little further despite the rueful hook to his mouth. Yes, it's different for him too, right now. For now. And still he asks as part of his answer, "Would ''you'' be... satisfied... with three tumbles in your lifetime?" To quote the man over and over again.

M’vyn allows a smile, however small and short lived, to show his enjoyment as he watches N’rov’s reaction. That question earns N’rov a surprised guffaw. “I hadn’t,” he manages to say, “quite thought of it that way.” He shakes his head, holding back a laugh that somehow etches its way into the tone of his voice. “I’ve only recently started to find some sort of… joy in a flight. Earlier, I would’ve been glad for having few.” He shrugs, “Now? I suppose they’re worth having more of.” He slides a sidelong glance at N’rov as he asks, “Don’t you get some outside of a flight though?”

That guffaw gets a grin, quicker than the rest but no less lasting; N'rov starts to speak, then holds off for M'vyn... only to wind up grinning all over again. He reaches back, rubs his neck; the easy humor in those gray eyes, though, that doesn't go away at ''all''. "Sometimes after a flight, even," he imparts the forbidden knowledge. "No, but I want him to be happy. He gets tense, I get tense. He ''likes'' the chase, yeah? It's going all out and you just don't get to do that in drills, though losing's a big ball of suck." It prompts him to lean up a little, enough to poke his pillow so it's more fluffy when he leans back down. "It was hard for a while there, though. After our first flight," he stops to look more fully at M'vyn again.

There’s an infectious quality that N’rov has that continues to lower M’vyn’s defenses, Not fully, for he stiffens at the mention of ‘after a flight’ but slowly relaxes again rather than react otherwise. “I suppose if you came to and truly - ah - well,” he struggles for a moment there, the slightest hint of redness there against his cheeks, “you’d want to go again.” N’rov’s movements has M’vyn equally straightening on the bed, though he eventually settles back down and angles himself to the side. He rests his elbow on the pillow and places his chin in the palm of his hand as he appraises N’rov. “Elsyth is fond of the males that chase her. But, she’s a different creature entirely.” He pauses for a moment, then prompts, “What happened after your first flight?”

"'Course she is," has assured warmth rather than otherwise, like 'different' is a fine way to be. N'rov hadn't called M'vyn on ''his'' blush, though for a moment temptation might have lurked; he holds off, similarly, on Elsyth's first. After a deep breath, he doesn't hold off any longer on what he'd put out there himself. "Imagine, if you will," here his look at M'vyn turns distinctly wry, "us as a new pair. Vhaeryth's started sniffing around. I'm even looking forward to flights half the time. But who does he set his sights on first? Elaruth." Near-whispered, "''Elaruth''."

M’vyn lifts a brow and smirks at N’rov’s assurance over Elsyth’s quality but otherwise doesn’t do anything to downplay or disagree with the bronzerider. His other brow lifts in response to the sharing, more on the comment of looking forward to a first flight than to the punch-line. “I guess I don’t understand what’s wrong with that? Other than the fear of being tapped a Weyrleader shortly after completing weyrlinghood. Wouldn’t it be obvious that - ah, Vhaeryth’s youth in that department, would’ve made it unsuccessful?” He rubs his thumb along his jawline. “Unless,” he muses, “in losing you ended up out of your mind and tumbled the first person you laid hands on.” He tries for a joke, though it may come off less than humorous, “was that the first time you slept with a man then?”

"Accidents happen," N'rov says to M'vyn and those raised brows. "Point is, though..." He breaks off, not-quite-laughs. "Ah, no." The bronzerider's smile lingers, private but soon explained. "First time I ''slept with a man'' was thanks to Suraieth, and that was significantly later. You know Dal?" More than just a hello, presumably.

“I suppose they do,” M’vyn replies with a twitch at the corner of his lips as he holds back a smile. His amusement still shows in the ease of his features and a spark in the glance he gives N’rov. “Dal? No,” he replies, shrugging as that seriousness descends upon him. “I don’t socialize with all that many riders.” He at least is honest in that. “Never been the type to seek others out. I don’t make friends.” He heaves himself upwards, glancing at his nakedness and then slips out of the bed to go and fetch his pants to tug on. He pauses once they’re settled on his hips and glances at N’rov, lost in a thought of his own before he looks away and goes to find his shirt to tug on.

All the more sheets for N'rov, and he isn't even three to the wind, though some might not be in a condition to be ''wanted''; he goes about sitting up, but winds up just comfortably sitting. At the glance, however, "Hm?" It's as unhurried as, "Toss me a towel, would you."

M’vyn’s got his shirt pulled on when N’rov makes his request. “Sure,” he says as he makes his way across the weyr to fetch a towel. He doesn’t throw it at N’rov, choosing instead to walk it over to the bronzerider and offer it. He looks like he almost wants to say something but opts not to. With little to no reason left to linger, he gathers his boots and sits to pull them on, preparing to leave.

"Thanks." N'rov's glanced at M'vyn's wrist on the way to the towel; it's the latter that he takes. There's a slight smile crooking his mouth, one that suits the slant of brows. This time he doesn't ask; if the greenrider wants to escape that, or the other questions being turned back on him, he'll let him get away with that much. But not, unless the other man's quick, the clap on the shoulder and the push off once N'rov's abruptly swung himself to the edge of the bed, the better to get going and gather his own gear. After all, M'vyn could've gone after ''his'' boots!

M’vyn seems caught off-guard by that clap on the shoulder and gives N’rov another look. He isn’t one for lingering goodbyes. With his boots on, clothes straightened, and a resigned glance towards the door he begins to head out. It may be out of respect (or simply habit) that he turns and gives N’rov another look. He taps two fingers to his temple and flips his fingers out in a semi-salute. “See you on the mats in a day or so,” he offers before he heads out to face the remainder of the day.

"Next time," N'rov agrees with apparent simplicity, and an over-the-shoulder flash of grin that doesn't slow him any. Not that he's in a ''rush'', just thorough; even once he's clean and changed, he gets back to searching the room. There's hardly any dust, and definitely not that still-missing die... but he does come up with a shiny stone button wedged in a crevice, too pretty to be theirs. The bronzerider sets that on the corner of the bed in plain sight, the lift to his mouth distinctly ambiguous, and leaves.
|Categories=Flight Logs
}}

Logs talk:Transfer of Protection and Responsibility

2015-08-20T02:39:39Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Transfer of Protection and Responsibility]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (19:39, 19 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Too bad E'dre doesn't have time to create a master piece for Dee ;) - really great scene ladies.

Logs:A Sour Evening

2015-08-19T00:28:44Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=Nala, M'vyn |what=Nala comes to M'vyn's (Their) weyr and a fight ensues |where=M'vyn's Cosy For Keeps Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=27 |month=7 |turn=38..."

{{Log
|who=Nala, M'vyn
|what=Nala comes to M'vyn's (Their) weyr and a fight ensues
|where=M'vyn's Cosy For Keeps Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=27
|month=7
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.18
|mentions=Aislara, Cece
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon M'vyn Main.jpg, Icon Nala Back Off.png,
|log=Of late, Nala has not always shown up to stay for the days and nights she usually does, her ‘attendance’ erratic at best, but this evening Jynth has chosen a spot on Elsyth’s ledge to occupy, and his rider has bypassed any attempt at formality to move straight through the weyr as if she owns it. Maybe that’s something of the point she’s trying to make, her clothes discarded too obviously here and there in a trail that leads towards the bedroom. Nala’s gone and curled up in the bed, shoulders peeking out from the bundle of blankets, the straps of her black nightdress visible. Tippetarius has claimed one of the pillows and sleeps soundly, though whether the bluerider actually sleeps is not so clear.

Elsyth lands on her ledge with the barest of glances given to Jynth. She waits until M’vyn has dismounted to make her way into the weyr itself, choosing to keep distance between them. She doesn’t reach out towards the blue: which, given her temperament, may show more than if she were to acknowledge him otherwise. Once M’vyn has Elsyth settled, he moves inside and begins to notice the trail and it’s direction. He pauses, frowning, as he eyes discarded clothing and then glances towards the bedroom. He doesn’t follow that telltale trail right away, choosing to pour himself a glass of whiskey and then refills his while he gathers one for Nala. With this in hand, the greenrider strides into the bedroom and moves forward to offer her the glass. “This reminds me of another time entirely,” he drawls to Nala as he perches on the edge of the bed, his eyes shifting towards the straps and whatever else may be visible to him.

Either Nala is well on her way to sleep, or she’s unwilling to be rushed into responding, for she’s lazy as she turns to stretch out on her back, to look up at M’vyn, before she rolls onto her side and reaches out to claim the offered glass. Her nightdress is not exactly demure, yet nor is it too provocative, and though low of cut, it serves more to cover than entice. “Do share,” she murmurs over the rim of her glass just a little bit darkly, though she cannot be ignorant of what he means. “I’d hate to presume.” If her words are tainted by a biting edge of sarcasm, her expression betrays nothing.

M’vyn’s eyes narrow slightly in answer to her sarcasm as he lifts his glass to take a sip from. He’s edged off the need for too much of a temper with the earlier glass he’s indulged in so he doesn’t immediately comment to her. “Finding you in my rooms, under my covers, and nearly asleep or pretending to be,” he decides to clarify, shifting to set his glass on the ground so he can untie and shuck off his boots. “Simpler times, I suppose,” he comments, wriggling his feet for a second before he reclaims his glass to sip.

It’s after another mouthful from her glass that Nala pauses for a moment, then asks, “Has ‘’she’’ been in this bed?” in a slightly more even tone than before. She doesn’t watch M’vyn as she waits for an answer, but sets her glass down beside the bed and stretches her arms high over her head, then settles down on her back now, blankets tangled around the base of her ribcage. Though outwardly calm, she’s betrayed by Tippetarius, who wakes with a disgruntled chatter of sound and promptly takes herself off Between.

‘’That’’ question draws forward M’vyn’s anger in a flash as he shoves to his feet and strides away. He pauses near the entrance of the room, the opening and closing of his fingers indicating his battle with himself. He keeps his fists tightened as he turns to face her, the darkness of his gaze leveled on her. “She has,” he delivers that answer with no further explanation. He rolls his shoulders to loosen the tension riding there and then returns to the bed long enough to retrieve his glass. He eyes her for a moment, considers his glass, and then adds, “She ‘’did’’ last night.” The barb delivered, he looks up at her and awaits her reaction.

Nala makes a sound better befitting a furious, wounded animal, the snarl she delivers as she kicks herself free of the blankets like they’re infected a near inhuman noise. She may well knock over her glass in the process, not that she apologises or appears to care, for she no more watches its path than she watches M’vyn as she bolts from the bed and begins to stalk her way from the room, collecting up her abandoned clothing as she goes. Her boots, she finds near the couch and presses atop the bundle of creased fabric of her garments, no intention to actually ‘’dress’’ apparent as she moves for the ledge.

M’vyn follows after her, watching the reaction he created with no readable expression of his own. He takes a few casual sips from his glass and then sets it on the table as she reaches for her boots. He doesn’t rush after her, though he does eventually make his way ahead of her path for the ledge. It isn’t meant to be an effective blockade as he stands there, arms folding in front of him as he narrows his gaze down at her. “Really?” he questions, a brow lifting. “This is really the reaction that I’ll receive? Shall I toss her aside and all others to suit your needs? If I dismiss Cece from pursuing me, you must dismiss Aislara.” Again, he sets his trap and watches with renewed interest for her reaction.

“I will not lie in the same sheets that she has fucked you in,” Nala says too clearly to be simply, logical argument. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to push past him. “You have summed it all up quite nicely, have you not? ‘Dismiss’ and ‘all others’. At least I keep it to ‘’one’’. Pleasing us all – or ‘’not’’ – must be such a chore for you.” The bluerider shrugs a shoulder and looks towards the ledge, still clinging to her clothes. ”I have no way of knowing that you would do as you say even if I agreed. I have no wedding band. Aislara is not ‘’something’’ to dismiss – and at least I can believe her heart is in it.”

“If there were others, it should be of little or no issue between us,” M’vyn defends, straightening shoulders and tightening his hands in response to her words. “Are we not ‘’dragonriders’’?” His tone is condescending and his lip twitches. She isn’t pushing and he isn’t moving out of the way as he continues to keep his gaze locked on her. “Back to the band,” he says, “a contract is not enough? I will brand you with a band if it means you’d do as a wife ‘’would’’.” He tilts his head slightly, eying Nala with another lifted brow. “Her heart is in it but yours is not? I don’t love Cece,” he informs her, “I find her amusing and comforting. If I told her I was done she would not not cry about it. She’s not that type of woman.”

“Were or are? Male or female?” Nala knows exactly what nerve she’s aiming for there, if her faint smirk is any indication. “You cannot have it both ways, ‘’husband’’. Either we are ‘’dragonriders’’ or I am your wife. What example have you of real wives? Do you know how many women are locked into marriage to conceal their husband’s... preferences?” Another shrug. “What expectations can you possibly have of a wife, beyond claiming your own enjoyment?” Whether to unburden herself or to attempt to twist the knife, she states, “I love Aislara. She is not disposable.”

M’vyn’s reaction is likely what Nala had hoped for as he scowls at her and moves his arms to fold in front of his chest. He holds them there for a count of ten and then releases them once more to his side. “Men aren’t so bad,” he holds his tone as flat as possible, “if they know what they’re doing.” Mention of women locked up draws no anger from him, if anything the beginnings of his defeat begin to mark his features as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. He looks away from her then, not wanting to look at her and so does not show his reaction as once more she reminds him of her love for Aislara. He could find words for her and continue the fight but he does nothing further. He steps to the side, making it clear he’ll permit Nala to go if she wishes.

What she wanted or otherwise, Nala is at least a hypocrite, for she looks faintly sick for M’vyn’s comment about other men. Still, she makes herself stand taller and begins to move past him. “I mean it,” she turns to say. “You go on about wanting me to stay here and be here, when you are sleeping with other women and men in the bed that was ours. At least my weyr is only a place where I sleep.” She bites down on the inside of her lip. “...I thought things would be different when I came back. I have tried to do as you asked. Be here. Spend time with the children. And, in the end, you behave as if ‘’I’’ am the one you are ashamed to be seen with. ‘’I’m’’ still the dirty secret. I know it excites you... but sometimes it would be nice to be the wife and the husband.”

“Tell me Aislara never sleeps in ‘’your’’ bed. I have to keep a separate space as well? We have to have three places to live?” M’vyn shakes his head and flings his hand towards the ledge. “Go, then. Go to ‘’your’’ weyr,” he tries but fails to hide the bitterness in his tone, “I don’t sleep in this bed with ‘’men’’. I am a fucking greenrider and I have ‘’no’’ choice. Would you rather, or perhaps I should, return to feeling so vile for that reality that I--,” he cuts himself off. He surely missed Nala’s look of disgust and though he was ready to play his contentment with that, now it isn’t sitting so well. “Go home,” he tells her, turning from her. “You know you were never a dirty secret. I’m tired of this argument.” He heads back towards the bedroom without further comment.

“You sneak in and out of my weyr as if you wish no-one to see,” Nala replies with another shrug. “I have the decency to change the sheets,” she remarks. “Though I see why you would not, since it is easier to use me to have your fun in empty corridors and dark rooms.” When she glances through the weyr, it’s not after M’vyn, but at the various surfaces. “...I will return for my things when you are next at drills,” she murmurs, unwilling to claim what few things she’s left over the months she’s spent nights. When she moves off, she plainly cares little if anyone sees her dressing on the ledge, behind what shielding Jynth can provide, and rather than drift across to their ledge, when they leave, it’s to Between.
|Categories=Fight Logs
}}

Logs:Hematite Bonding

2015-08-19T00:15:52Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=N'rov, E'dre, Cece |what=Hematite hangs out at The Glass Fountain |where=Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=24 |month..."

{{Log
|who=N'rov, E'dre, Cece
|what=Hematite hangs out at The Glass Fountain
|where=Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=24
|month=7
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.17
|quote=All we need is for him to piss his pants.
|mentions=X'vin, Hattie, Ebeny, Eden, Eryn, Elayne, H'vier, Lilah, C'stian
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Hah.jpg, Icon N'rov boa.png,
|log=Summertime is supposed to be happy times: the roads are clear, and if the harvest isn't in yet on the northern continent, fresh provisions are an easy flight away. As it is, even without keening for a queen, even this long after their disappearance, not knowing can be ''harder''. Hematite's been roaming tonight in pairs rather than in one big boisterous bloc, stopping by this group and that, keeping it as low-key as they get. N'rov's been making the rounds with Cece; now the bronzerider breaks off to pause by E'dre, staying on the outskirts at first as though there's no hurry after all. Maybe there isn't.

E'dre's been settled at a table close to the bar. With no children to go home to and a weyrmate who is often as busy as he is, E'dre seems to have no problem with staying out a bit later than he has in the past. He's got a glass of whiskey in front of him that he's been idly sipping at as he watches his wing move about the place. Hematite hasn't had the heart (or perhaps those transfers have worked) to do anything too out of line. E'dre offers N'rov a twitch of a smile as he shifts back in his chair. "How's it going, wingsecond?"

"Hanging in there. Like a new-hatched firelizard in the littles' pictures," N'rov's got one of his more elongated drawls for this one, "clutching a branch all dewy and rainbow-eyed, not shrieking out of hunger at ''all''." He's also got a discreet nod for one of the transfers over there by the bar, who hasn't yet gotten used to living it up wth his Hematite counteparts; the brownrider doesn't look to be so far gone as to need to be cut off, yet, but there are some occasionally-audible mutterings about ''bets''.

People may be placing bets on E'dre's eventual level of inebriation but for now he's got the ''slightest'' hint of redness to his cheek so he must be nursing the glass in front of him. "Sit down," he tells N'rov, waving to the chair across from him. "I think everyone's finally calmed down," he continues, keeping his voice lower as he leans forward to talk as discreetly as one can in a room full of nosy wingmates. "And hopefully... we can get some normalcy back in the Weyr." He rubs his thumb along the rim of his glass as he glances away from the bronzerider. "If we can, anyway."

Him, the new transfer, they're all betting fodder; N'rov's kept his marks (and favors) to himself tonight, though, and glances at the chair seat out of more than habit before helping himself to it. "Not like our part changes," he supposes, and pauses to catch a server's eye about a beer before looking back at E'dre. "Though I'll be a shell of a lot happier when," a lot of things, probably, but he settles for, "the storeskeepers aren't cranky. When a man needs socks, a man needs socks." She's quick, quick enough that he can drink to that.

Cece seems to have bet heavily on the new transfer as she walks up to him, slings an arm around his shoulders, and convinces him to do shots. E'dre watches this with a smirk. "Cece can drink all of us under the table. He's doomed. What's his name again?" E'dre asks, looking back to N'rov with lifted brows. "I can't remember. I'm a horrible leader." He laughs rather than feeling truly bothered by that as he tips back the rest of his whiskey and slouches back in his chair. "New socks and they gave you issue? Probably because you're ''you''. Send a sweeter face kid to do it for you next time. They'll probably send 5 pairs back."

Which gains her a would-be surreptitious hiss of, "Cheater!" that just isn't quiet enough, but the new brownrider looks thrilled ''anyway''. N'rov just shakes his head. "T'fart," the bronzerider deadpans right into a slow smirk at his boss. "Yeah, yeah, and they'd all be too small. ''Pint''-sized," which means he has to lift his glass again.

"Aren't you pint-sized?" E'dre asks oh-so-innocently as he waves the barkeep over and places an order for a darker style ale. He blinks a few times, essentially having to think that name through for a moment before it ''hits'' and E'dre bursts out laughing. "If I call that man T'fart in public I'm blaming you because now it's all I'm ''ever'' going to think when I see him." He rubs at his eyes, still chuckling as he shakes his head. "They're all working well though, aren't they?" Those new transfers. "I haven't had as many complaints of late. So people must be used to it."

N'rov's got a low laugh for that, holding up thumb and forefinger to mime a still smaller shot glass by way of answer, and that's even before E'dre cracks up and then he's joining the older man. "Seems like. I don't ''think'' we'll have to toss any more back," unlike that late, unlamented rider with an unsavory predilection for, among other things, getting up early and getting them up too. "But we'll see when winter sets in. If C'stian and I can get things squared away before they get to you, so muh the better."

"Thank you for that," E'dre says, meaning it and giving N'rov a serious look. "I needed both of your support these last few sevens more than ever and you came through. I appreciate it. With Hattie back as a Weyrwoman, I should be able to regroup and refocus." He takes a few hearty sips of his ale as he takes a moment to soak in the general atmosphere of the Fountain. He must like what he sees as he looks back at N'rov with a grin. "We're holding it together, aren't we? I think Hematite's improved. I'm proud of us."

Under that so-serious look, N'rov's looking somehow boyish, reaching up to rub the back of his neck; "Hope so," he says. "From your mouth to Faranth's... nose. Better enough to bring your kids back, you think?"

E'dre doesn't hide the flash of pain that crosses his face at the mention of his children. "Ah, no. I think Ebeny and I will let them settle and visit them more, perhaps, if things settle down. When the weyrlings' graduate and a Weyrleader is confirmed...," he trails off, downing what remains of his ale in that silence. "It wasn't fair to them to constantly leave them in the nursery." He clears his throat and glances towards the bar, signaling for a refill. "What's your take on X'vin and Flint?" he asks abruptly.

He drinks, N'rov drinks, with a grunt of acknowledgement and no more questions. "Don't like the way he came in," he says frankly. "Didn't like the way he was taking Lilah in hand, though put him up against her High Reaches bedwarmer..." There's a curl of his mouth for the appellation that might well have been sent his way, over there. "Bit of a gladhander. But then, maybe it's a 'got to know him' and I havent, yet. You?"

"What I know is he rubs me the wrong way," E'dre replies dryly, "It pissed me off, his stepping out of where he should, making political plays." He shakes his head and cradles the ale that's been delivered in front of him. "Wish I could say I've made an effort to know him better but I haven't. I haven't had the time nor the capacity to ''want'' to." He sighs and shrugs. "Can you blame me though?" He sips his ale and then glances over when he hears Cece's cackle. T'fart has sprawled face-first on the bar, limbs loose and askew. "Glad I didn't bet."

"Yeah, no. And," but then N'rov's turning to look, and then he's rising. "Fuck. Watch my beer. All we need is for him to piss his pants," ''before'' he and the helpers he's about to co-opt get the poor man home.
}}

Logs:All He Could Do

2015-08-12T02:25:27Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre |what=E'dre contemplates the reality he faces. Wroth is actually helpful. And maybe kind. |where=Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=6 |..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre
|what=E'dre contemplates the reality he faces. Wroth is actually helpful. And maybe kind.
|where=Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=6
|month=7
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.11
|type=Vignette
|ooc=OOC: If approached since Lilah's absence, E'dre will have been encouraging for the search, evasive of direct answers of 'what he was going to do', sometimes seeming stressed and other times seeming able to handle things. Anyone wanting to scene regarding E'dre at this time please +mail.
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Not Pleased.jpg,
|log=Too many days had passed for E’dre to not acknowledge the fact he was running the Weyr without a Weyrwoman. He had made little to no comment about it in the face of so much uncertainty. All he could do was encourage those who sought Lilah and remain at the Weyr to tend to the daily tasks that were required of him as Weyrleader and those that would have required Lilah’s attention. He didn’t panic. He barely reacted when those around him chose to. He kept silent. And watched. And waited. And ultimately, when search after search returned empty, he began to dread the reality he was facing.

On the day Lilah left and didn’t return E’dre thought nothing of it. Though the two of them had achieved some sort of professional peace and (at least an attempt of) respect, the Acting Weyrleader was aware of Lilah’s movements without him. He knew that she had chosen to visit the Holds with X’vin and ‘’not’’ him, he knew that Lilah had arranged some deal with Flint’s wingleader regarding the Holds, and what had started to gnaw at his temper was the fact that he didn’t know ‘’all’’ of what she did. So when Lilah went he assumed she was hiding something else from him and let her go. What else could he have done? Stopped her? Demanded answers? The bitter part of him felt like there was ‘’nothing’’ he could have done with the young Weyrwoman to stop her from doing whatever she wished. The responsible part of him mourned his lack of action that might have kept her at Fort. Kept her safe. He may not have always liked the girl, but he never wished her ill.

<< Eliyaveith would not have taken risks. >> Wroth’s awareness began to seep into E’dre’s and he braced himself for the temper that his brown was likely to release on him. The storm that raged in the distance of his brown’s mind was a reprieve from the brownrider receiving the full onslaught of his dragon’s rage and sorrow. << No one can locate them. >>

“I will have to tell them to stop,” E’dre decided, speaking aloud as he eased back in the chair that N’muir had so often settled in. He rubbed his hands down the length of worn wood and stared at the desk and the papers spread out on it. The weight of the knot on his shoulder weighed him down as he rubbed his hand across his face. “And I’ll have to consult Hattie… when she’s recovered,” he continued, letting Wroth feel the weight strangling his breathing.

<< We are responsible for them >> Wroth declared, taking perhaps pity, or sharing of the blame, as he eased E’dre’s mind with the calmness from his own. << We will make sure the Weyr continues on. We will protect the rest. >>

“We’ll try,” E’dre allowed, lowering his hand to settle on the papers before him. “And we’ll make sure we do what all of the others have done in the past.” He ran his fingers from the papers and along the grain of the desk. “And lead with confidence.”

<< We will succeed. >>

They would. Because there was no other choice. E’dre owed it to N’muir and Hattie, to ensure that the Weyr functioned in their continued absence. He owed it to Lilah to do right by her vision for the Weyr. He’d have to figure out what that was, he realized. But he’d try. It gave him a sense of peace more than anything else had. The knowledge that his continued leadership in the face of all the uncertainty would be the best he could offer his Weyr. He would have to be enough.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs talk:Eliyaveith's Daughter

2015-08-12T01:57:59Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Eliyaveith's Daughter]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==X'vin (14:43, 10 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

I politely request you be weak a little longer, I'm not done with you.
==Ead (18:32, 10 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Aww, Dee! Loved this. And Ead was probably there. Not for the hugging, just for the lurking. Because Caidelyth cares.
==Aleudre (18:57, 11 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

:(

Logs talk:Harriet

2015-08-12T01:54:39Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Harriet]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Aleudre (18:54, 11 August 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Sweet and sad <3

Logs:Fly far, my love

2015-08-10T01:39:53Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, Ebeny, |what=Laurienth rises and Wroth catches |where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=22 |month=6 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2015..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, Ebeny,
|what=Laurienth rises and Wroth catches
|where=Guest Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=22
|month=6
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.08.09
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Hot.jpg, Icon Ebeny Reach.jpg, Icon Ebeny Laurienth.png,
|log=The timing of a greenflight is often not ideal and Wroth rarely finds call to follow the many flights that occur at the Weyr. E’dre is used to ignoring them as well and with the amount of workload he has shouldered as Acting Weyrleader he has not noticed any proddy behavior from his weyrmate or Laurienth. Wroth has noticed and has been keeping a not-so-subtle eye on ‘’his’’ green. When Laurienth does take to the skies, Wroth gives E’dre no option as he follows her into the feeding pens. E’dre’s eyes widen and then narrow as he shakes his head and refocuses on the small group of Holders’ he had been meeting with. “Gentlemen,” he interrupts one’s tirade about requiring additional sweeps and rider support with a cutting gesture as he rises. “We’ll have to continue this meeting another time.” He looks to the bronzerider at his side and points towards the skies. A nod is exchanged between them as the Acting Weyrleader heads out into the bowl and the bronzerider rises to begin giving excuses and setting up another meeting. Wroth calls to Laurienth as he downs an aging beast and shreds it beneath his claws. << Fly far, my love. I want to see these other males falter trying to catch you. >>

Ebeny knows herself well enough to understand that she’s in no way, shape or form a good example for the weyrlings when Laurienth gets so close to rising, and so she has no class or students to hand over to anyone else once her green launches for the pens. It’s a short walk from her weyr and to the flight weyr, head down all the way, as if it could hide her uncharacteristic scowl, and when she gets there she puts herself as far from the male’s riders as she can, more for their sake than hers. It’s the least and maybe the most she can do. << I won’t go easy on you, >> is as much for Wroth as it is for the others who’ve dared to join Laurienth in the pens, her muzzle bloody and paws already well and truly stained. It’s carnage: she downs beasts more for the sake of it than to drink, and when the angular green gets bored, she just abandons the ground for the skies, leaving a roar of challenge in her wake.

Wroth has barely blooded the beast beneath his claws when Laurienth launches into the air. He’s been poised for this and so is already coiled for the spring into the air when she goes up. He sends a thunderous chuckle her way, the darkness of a gathering storm swirling around his mind. << You’d better not. I don’t need my win ‘’given’’ to me like some. >> He snarls at a blue who has moved beside him. That blue will feel the error of that as the brown angles his wings and slams his side into the blue’s shoulder to unsteady him. His laugh echos out to the other dragons’ as he straightens and carries himself upwards to pursue Laurienth. E’dre’s not far behind the others filing into the guest weyr and he’s got a stony expression for any that happen to look his way. It is noticeable that no Hematite riders’ aside from himself have answered the flight. The brownrider settles against the wall and folds his arms, head-tipping back against the wall to rest as he closes his eyes and wills Wroth onward.

It could be Wroth’s words or it could be what he does, but Laurienth twists her voice into a high screech as she glances back and swings rapidly right to avoid an over-eager blue. << I surrender to no-one, >> she reminds him and the others, however true or untrue it is, her mind still focused on blood and sport more than the end result of her inevitable capture. Her path is a difficult one to follow, its intricacies designed to keep her out of reach and have those who pursue gathered too close together for comfort, and what she doesn’t do by way of knocking any from the skies, their proximity to each other might. “’’Stop it!’’” Ben snarls, raking her hands through her hair, before she turns her frustration and fury to the furniture and launches forward to grab the back of a chair and curl her hands around its top to smash its legs into the ground. It doesn’t break. Yet.

Wroth knows better than to continue throwing out ‘’any’’ comments towards Laurienth. He follows behind her in a strategic way, allowing the more eager males to pass him by and ‘’fail’’ for their efforts. He doesn’t mimic the intricate movements she makes, keeping his path more steady and changing it when needed to keep him as in line with her movements as he may be. Above, he watches as another brown and blue tangle against each other and knock themselves out of the flight. He gloats as they pass, sending his thunderous laughter after them as he continues on. E’dre’s attention shifts to the room at Ben’s snarling and he watches her grab for the chair with a frown. He doesn’t move to pull it out of her grasp and so will merely witness its destruction like the rest that are still remaining in the weyr. Another brownrider steps towards Ben with the intention of grabbing the chair (or her) but is met by E’dre’s no-nonsense grab of the elbow. “Don’t move any closer,” he growls, grip tightening for emphasis.

There is very little that is sensible about Laurienth when the urge to fly eradicates what control she has over her darker impulses, and it’s these impulses that allow her to strike out at a smaller bronze who scoots over the pack of males and reaches to ‘’grab’’ her by whatever means he can. Laurienth kicks out and catches him near in the mouth, just as Ben slams the chair into the ground again and snaps, “Enough!” just as wood begins to splinter. Her lifemate is too busy twisting to evade that bronze, losing some of the height she’s pushed herself to, all a tangle of shadowy wings and defiance, and neither care for the ichor streaming from the bronze, nor the rider who holds his own jaw, mirroring his dragon’s pain. In the end, the green fights to regain that height, near clawing at the air, but it makes her an easier target.

Wroth takes his opportunity to strike after the bronze is rendered incapable of continuing the pursuit by Laurienth. He shoulders his way past the ichor-coated bronze and twists in the air to swoop up beneath Laurienth. He slides below her and reaches, his arms quick and secure in their grab. Laurienth is pulled close and held firmly as his tail slinks securely around her own. He directs them down without further thought. He is not gentle in his claim and as he opens his mind to hers, there is no sweet promise offered. He flanks her darkness with a thunderous boom and a crackle of lightening as he seeks to fill her space with his own. She is ‘’his’’. The others within the weyr do not linger when the winner is known. E’dre maintains enough sense of himself to barricade the door. He will not allow another incident to happen. He turns then, stumbling towards Ebeny and that battered chair. He may start gentle with Ebeny as he reaches for her but it may not end that way as Wroth’s consciousness begins to subsume his own.

Laurienth doesn’t go without a fight. She never does. The idea of surrender is intolerable between the moment of capture and the security of twining, and she twists to bite at Wroth’s neck, teeth scraping against hide as claws seek to inflict similar damage, her intent not to harm, but to prove herself and him: she will not be bested by one who cannot take what doles out. The screech of poorly-connected wires echoes after his thunder, sapphire sparks of electricity an answer to lightning, until the maze of her mind absorbs his. It leaves Ebeny almost insensible, the bark of sound she has for E’dre’s mindfulness one full of need and confusion, her eyes a little bit wild. She begins to lunge for him as he reaches her, hands moving to get fabric out of the way by force rather than care, another needy sound spilling from her as her lips find his. She doesn’t care where they end up. The floor, the table, the bed – it matters not.

Skin and teeth rend flesh and leave Wroth’s mahogany hide battered and streaming of ichor. It is more superficial than damaging and he snarls a warning to Laurienth as he tightens his grip on her. She may not ‘’want’’ to submit but she ‘’will’’. Sparks of electricity is further fueled by the crackle of a lightening storm and as Wroth melds his awareness with Laurienth until the darkness subsumes all into nothingness. He lands them safely outside of the Weyr in an abandoned field of withered corn stalks and dusty-earth. He would keep hold of her and curl himself around her if Laurienth permits and rest for a time. Within the guest weyr, secured against others, E’dre’s lips claim Ben’s and then they claim every inch of her as his hands follow in the removal of clothes. That floor, that table, and that bed all seem to be used in some manner during their whirlwind love-making. Once their dragons have settled to the ground, E’dre begins to rouse into his own awareness. The disturbed sheets are the only sign they did in fact ‘’use’’ the bed it seems for they are currently sprawled on the floor beside it in a tangle of sheets. He doesn’t press Ebeny to rouse beside him, he only turns to curl himself about her. He rests an arm over her chest to snuggle in closer as his nose burrows against her neck.

Now that Laurienth has Wroth, or he has her, it doesn’t matter that they sleep in the same wallow at night in any number of curled combinations – she’s not letting him go now. She lets him keep hold of her and twines her tail tightly around his as she settles against the warmth of brown hide, her eyes narrowed to slits as she dozes and watches for anything or anyone who gets too near. Her rider is less aware than she is, and only murmurs something that turns out to be nothing more than a sound of contentment, edged though it is with dull, lazy complaint. Maybe about the floor. Ben isn’t alert enough to do much more than press herself closer to her weyrmate and go still, though the chill of the ground eventually draws another mutter of displeasure from her, not that it’s actually enough to get her to ‘’move’’.

Wroth drowses beside Laurienth until such a time as both are ready to return to the Weyr and their wallow that is waiting for them. No one is likely to disturb the two sleeping dragons’ even if the place they’re resting weren’t at a fair distance from the nearest holding. E’dre answers Ebeny’s muttering draws E’dre away from her long enough to reach for whatever blankets he can find. He tucks them around her and then pauses to press a kiss against her cheek. He stretches his arms briefly overhead and yawns before he scrubs at the back of his neck and gives the room a look. “A mess. We made a mess,” he observes aloud before he pushes himself up to stand and go about collecting his clothes.

“Don’t care,” Ebeny sighs out not so long after E’dre sets about locating his clothes, and it’s the loss of his presence at her side that finally makes her do more than lie there in the tangled sheets. Blearily, she blinks around at the room, then reaches for the edge of the bed and hauls herself up from the floor, to pitch herself forward and tumble across the mattress, bringing the tangle of sheets with her. She curls up there in a dishevelled heap with little regard for modesty, watching the brownrider while actual, sensible thought begins to return, little by little. “Love you,” she murmurs. “Come here.”

E’dre’s got his pants on already but he turns at Ebeny’s beckoning and returns to her without any hesitation. He eases back on the ground to gather her up in his arms, drawing her to his chest as he leans back against the bed for support. “I love you more,” he tells her as he presses his lips against the top of her head. “I wish I could stay longer. I was in the middle of a meeting when Laurienth went up… and I should make sure it was rescheduled properly.” His chest rises and falls with his sigh as he draws her closer to hug. “I wish I could pretend this was in the past… when I had no responsibilities to draw me from holding you for however long you’d let me.” He glances towards the door and the chair he maneuvered to block the entry of anyone. “At least we weren’t interrupted,” he adds dryly. “Though I can’t say we’re unmarked.” He nips playfully at her shoulder.

“You were...” In the midst of turning to curl more closely to him, what he’s said and where he was finally make their way to the more logical part of Ben’s mind and have her staring up at him, half guilty and half aghast. “...You should’ve stayed in your meeting,” she murmurs. “We would... have survived, one way or another. You shouldn’t make sacrifices like that for us.” Though she isn’t exactly moving away to let him go with any great speed. She tips her head back when he nips at her shoulder, another one of those needy sounds spilling from her, but, given another breath or so to compose herself, she lifts her hands away from E’dre and tells him, “You need to go... sort things out.”

E’dre has made the statement of what he ‘’should’’ do and yet he lingers. “I would never purposefully avoid your flight, Ebeny,” he tells her as he loosens his arms briefly against her. “If those I meet with do not understand the reasons behind my need to go, they’d have found something to be upset about from any of the answers I may have given them during the meeting. I’m happy to be here.” He presses his lips against her hair and inhales contentedly. “I’ll go and sort things out in a while,” he tells her, shifting her in a meaningful way back towards the blankets. “If you’re of the mood to dally.” His smile is slow and sensual as he hovers over her. “Or if you’re too tired..,” he trails off and pretends to begin to stand.

“I’m not saying that you would,” Ben insists, “but maybe you ‘’should’’ if it’s a choice between us and irritating a bunch of people who could be useful to you.” She still doesn’t let herself touch him again, intent on not making him feel guilty or seeming to resent the current state of affairs, and begins to see her way to escaping the blankets, only for him to start teasing her. It does away with what self-control she’s managed to exert, and when E’dre pretends to stand she reaches to hook fingers into the waist of his trousers and haul him back down over her, her only answer a fierce kiss that is entirely her desire and not her green’s.

E’dre can’t help but laugh at her hooking of his trousers as he falls back towards the bed. He seems uninclined to rush once they’ve fallen into each other’s arms again. After each are sated again, E’dre curls around Ebeny and allows himself to drowse as their dragons have been doing. It isn’t until E’dre feels Wroth stirring in his awareness that he shifts against his weyrmate and stretches. He murmurs of his love to her as he holds her and then roused enough to collect his clothes he begins to dress. He waits until Ebeny’s collected herself and has her check him to ensure he looks presentable enough to face the rest of the day. Any that are walking near the guest weyr when they exit will likely catch E’dre stealing another kiss from Ebeny before they part for the day. If the Acting Weyrleader is in a good temper and prone to laughing the rest of the day - that’s enough for people to gossip in a friendly way about what they deem ‘good’ for their leader.
}}

Logs talk:Dichotomous Oppression

2015-08-01T03:48:41Z

Aleudre: Comment provided by Aleudre - via ArticleComments extension

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==Aleudre (20:48, 31 July 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Whoa, that man sounds DISGUSTINGLY frightening to look at. And I'm sorry, but this just broke my heart for poor Ka'ge!

Logs talk:Innocence

2015-07-29T04:08:49Z

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==Aleudre (21:08, 28 July 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

Crying!!!!!

Logs:Keroon Hold

2015-07-23T15:00:36Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=M'vyn, Nala, Johan (NPC) |what=M'vyn takes Nala to go and purchase a runner for their children |where=Johan's Beastcraft hold, Keroon Hold |involves=Fort Area, Bend..."

{{Log
|who=M'vyn, Nala, Johan (NPC)
|what=M'vyn takes Nala to go and purchase a runner for their children
|where=Johan's Beastcraft hold, Keroon Hold
|involves=Fort Area, Benden Area
|day=4
|month=12
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.07.22
|quote=We'll be waiting for her arrival
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Nala Glance.png, Icon M'vyn Happy.jpg
|log=Elsyth hails Jynth early in the morning after M’vyn has settled the children in the nursery for the day. Her tone (as usual) is frosty and short, laces of a million, tiny, cracks tinkling out amid a larger iced over surface. << He would like her to join him. He is traveling to Keroon today. I will wait for you on my ledge and once you are airborne we’ll go. >> Is it Elsyth’s assumption or her rider’s of the blue pairs agreement to this plan? Either way, she rests on her ledge with M’vyn comfortably settled on her back and awaits Jynth’s appearance in the sky.

It takes Nala a little while before she can get back to her blue, having flown dawn sweeps and retired briefly to the baths, but she soon emerges from the caverns in the usual dark leathers that she wears for riding, not one piece of the set in less than good condition. She looks up from the bowl as Jynth pads across to meet her, which is when he too glances towards Elsyth’s ledge, considering, yet some agreement must be reached, for straps are put back in place and checked over before they leave the ground behind and return to the skies. << Where in Keroon? >> is a direct question, anything else pushed aside.

Elsyth leaps off her ledge and spreads her wings, making sure and steady pumps as she makes her way higher over the bowl. << A smaller hold where they sell runners >> she supplies with the image close behind: a small holding with a thatched roof, three paddocks, and a large pile of straw draped over a cart. << We go >> she announces to him and then blinks Between. When she reappears seconds later over the hold, she takes her time in descending from the sky. She makes slow and lazy circles over the place before she lands far enough away to not panic the runners nearer to the hold.

Jynth hesitates for long enough that either he or Nala must be a little confused by the choice of destination, but, after studying the image for a moment, they vanish into the void as well. He doesn't have time for circling, and so takes a more direct route down, his dive one that lands him a respectful distance from the hold. Still, either his arrival or Nala's leap down to the ground earns the worried stamping of hooves. The bluerider waits, unsure, until she can ask, "You want to buy a runner?"

M’vyn has not taken Elsyth’s straps off and it seems he doesn’t have plans to as he walks towards Nala and shucks off his own riding gear. “I want to buy one for Nalyn. He keeps wandering down to the stables at the Weyr. All the runners they have - none of them are appropriate for his age. I made inquiries and this place breeds the right sort.” He shrugs and flashes her a rare smile. He turns back towards Elsyth and makes quick strides to hop up her forearm and tuck his gear in a pack on her straps. He hops down, slaps the green’s side, and then makes his way back towards Nala. He offers her his arm. “I thought it only appropriate that his mother helps pick it out too.”

Nala does nothing more than unbutton her jacket, letting it swing free to reveal the white shirt beneath, while Jynth launches back into the skies, climbing quickly to a height where it’s unlikely that he’ll be perceived as a threat by any of the livestock. The news that the (as yet hypothetical) runner is for their son draws a twinge of panic to Nala’s features, which is a stronger reaction as regards the children than she usually allows herself in-front of M’vyn, yet she lowly concedes, “...I suppose I was taught to ride at around his age,” as she takes his arm. “This is probably the point where most women would be heartbroken that /they’re/ not being bought a runner,” she utters dryly.

“You have a dragon,” M’vyn is too pragmatic in that thought to not look at her in mild confusion. “You wouldn’t want a runner, would you?” He shakes his head and glances as Elsyth follows Jynth up into the skies to wander. “I don’t know so much about riding as perhaps caring for it.. brushing it and that sort of thing. If these are as small and as placid as I’ve been told, perhaps we’ll let him learn on it.” He shrugs and continues towards the holding. A man strides out of the holding, shielding his eyes as he watches the dragonriders’ approah. “Hello! I thought I’d heard the dragons. I’ve got a handful selected to show you, sir,” he glances to Nala, “Ma’am.” He brushes his hand off on a dirty pant leg and offers it out to Nala. “Folks call me Johan. This way.” Johan heads off in the direction of a smaller paddock here a handful of smaller runners are milling about. “That’s them all grown. Most don’t get taller than that.”

“What would you do if I said I wanted a runner?” Nala doesn’t permit much of anything to colour that question, even the upward inflection that makes it more of one and less rhetorical a mild thing. Either she doesn’t expect an answer or isn’t prepared to wait for one right now, for the moment that a figure walks from the hold, she draws herself up, tension claiming her frame, most obviously in the harsher curves of shoulders and elbows. She doesn’t seem to notice that she does this, nor that she unconsciously edges closer to M’vyn, though she provides her hand for Johan and murmurs a polite, “Well met.” The bluerider manages to keep her echoed, “’Most’,” almost to herself, as regards the runners, though otherwise she’s all manners.

M'yvn reaches a hand to rest against the small of Nala's back in a comforting gesture to her tension. As they turn to walk to view the runners, he murmurs to her, "I have enough marks to buy you one as well." Joke or not, he seems to be answering seriously enough. Johan slows when he nears the fence and hangs his limbs over the side as he points to the three runners who seem more interested in the grasses at their feet than the humans who have approached. "They barely come up to my shoulders," M'yvn notes as he gazes at the two duns and one black runner before them. "Don't have far to fall that way," Johan notes with a friendly grin. "I suppose not," M'yvn replies with a shrug as he looks to Nala. "Safety over beauty, right?"

"You would be better off buying one for Grace to pet, as she will inevitably wish when she sees that her brother has one," Nala says softly, unwilling to raise her voice and encourage false promise of a second sale. Her response to the idea of Nalyn falling is a rather haughty, "If there is to be falling at all," as if no son of hers will fall from a runner, despite her earlier concerns. She regards the runners with a considering gaze, though, " They are... Cute," doesn't sound quite right from her lips. "But appearance matters little, as long as they are trained to be familiar with people and tolerate tack, and that is not something we must do?"

"The children may share. I don’t want to have them always wishing for two of everything rather than sharing," M'yvn notes as he keeps his eyes forward on the runners. Johan glances towards Nala with a patient smile for her words on her son and her query. "They are not young beasts. Each has been thoroughly trained and the dun mare was my youngest daughter's until she outgrew her. She was called Sweetie but you are free to rename her if that one is chosen. I specialize in training runners for children, as M'yvn was informed when he sought me out." He looks to the greenrider and d gestures towards the paddock. "Would you both like to enter to inspect them? Shall I call one of my children to ride them? My daughter Megs is still small enough in stature compared to me." He glances to Nala. "Do you ride ma'am? You look light enough as well."

That that response doesn’t seem entirely pleasing to Nala speaks of her upbringing in this rare moment, and though she accepts the practicality of it without comment, the fact that she doesn’t speak further on the subject may say enough for itself. She seems ready to answer the gesture towards the paddock, until that last enquiry is put to her, which earns a prompt, “Not for turns,” soon followed unthinkingly by, “not since the day we were marr--.” Married. That remembrance is enough that she lapses back into silence and aims a hard stare down at her feet. “I am, I fear, a little too sturdy for these beasts,” is what she settles for in the end. “Dragonriding may trim the figure, but it puts on muscle too. I would not like to chance it.”

M’vyn may notice that his comment may not sit well with his wife but he does no more than give her a passing glance as he looks back to the journeyman near them. “I would like to go in and look over the mare,” he says as he looks back in at the three runners as they continue to graze without consideration or care for the humans watching them. Johan nods and steps back, opening the gate he had been standing in front of. He waves his hand to include Nala, “The two of you may come in. I’ve got a few of their favorite sugar cubes in my pocket.” He hands some to each of the dragonrider’s. “Flat hands. Though I’m sure you both are familiar enough to watch for their teeth and hooves.” Johan clucks his tongue and then whistles shrilly. The runners lift their head to look at him and then the dun mare dubbed ‘Sweetie’ trots forward to whuffle at the man’s pockets. “She’s got the sweets, Sweetie,” he tells her, nudging the dun towards Nala.

Nala may no longer be much at ease with people, but she accepts the runner’s presence as she would a dragon or firelizard, in that she’s that bit more welcoming, if quieter. Slowly, she reaches to run a gentle hand over the mare’s nose, then, trusting that she hasn’t been poorly received, lifts to smooth her palm along her jaw and touch at her main. “Hello, Sweetie,” she murmurs, features softening as she offers the runner the treat, her palm flat and fingers almost arching back on themselves. She doesn’t look at M’vyn or Johan as she quietly communes with the beast, one hand continuing to move over soft hide as crunching heralds the cube being crushed. If Jynth were the jealous sort, perhaps he would be feeling a flicker of it right now.

M'yvn watches his wife inspect the runner with a proprietary air, his smile small and smug as he remains nearer to the fence. The other two runners trot towards Johan and are met with murmured greeting and redirected towards the greenrider. He breaks from his viewing of Nala and Sweetie to inspect the others and offer sugar as payment. He holds little interest for them as he pushes past their eagerness to approach the bluerider. "What do you think? Is she good enough for our children?" he queries low enough to not startle the marw as he slides his arm loosely around her middle.

Nala is oblivious to any study, too caught up in trying to encourage Sweetie this way and that to ensure that she isn’t apt to bolt or kick when faced with instructions, the hand that she runs along her flank met with nothing but a questing nose that seeks more treats. She’s back at the runner’s head when M’vyn reaches her, and is easily drawn in against him. “I think that she is tame enough to tolerate a child, but it will be down to us to impart to them how to treat her,” she murmurs. “It may take her some time to adjust to new stables and the presence of dragons, so, if you do buy her, I would be wary of telling Nalyn right away.”

“I hadn’t thought of the dragon element,” M’vyn replies with a frown directed at the mare. He rests a brief hand against her flank as he turns to look to Johan. “You don’t get them around dragon often, do you?” he asks, his frown deepening towards a scowl as if this may scrub the entire venture out. “Oh? Dragons? Well, no more than most. They’ve been to a few Gathers. That’s how we humbler folk get there,” Johan meets that frown with an easy-going smile. “And there’s dragons there. I’d wager she’d adjust fine but if it doesn’t seem like she does, I’ll give your marks back and take her home without issue. She seems to like your..w-woman,” he hesitates on the title as he glances towards Nala. “Yes, my ‘’wife’’ has a talent for such things,” M’vyn stresses just enough on his use of ‘wife’ to make that a valid point. He looks to Nala. “If you approve to Johan’s terms, we can give her a try.”

‘Woman’ makes Nala stiffen, and though her expression remains calm and even enough, it doesn’t take a genius to realise that the word has got her back up. Then, M’vyn acknowledging her as his wife to a relative stranger, and holder, doesn’t seem to help much either, but she unconsciously snags a possessive hold on the fabric of his shirt, just shy of buttons. “She will need time,” she insists. “It would not be fair to her to monitor her and send her back if she is not suitable; it would be more stressful for her, for the journey and the changes.” She turns her head a little to lowly say to her husband, “If we take her, then we keep her. If that does not sit well with you, then I will pay half.” If she realises she’s identifying with a runner, there’s no outward sign, save for what evident concern she has for the creature.

M’vyn gives Nala a tiny acknowledgement of her claim on the mare by raising his brows in mild surprise. It’s a flicker of movement, one the journeyman likely doesn’t register. “We’ll keep her,” he murmurs back to her, “as is fit when someone takes on a life.” He looks to Johan and steps forward, breaking his contact with Nala to do so. A hand is offered and Johan meets it with a shake. “We’ll take her. My wife,” he continues to use that possessive as he turns a glance back towards Nala, “will do the dealings on the price. She is more skilled with numbers than I.” He ushers Nala away from Sweetie, intent on walking her into the building where Johan leads them to haggle over the price and settle on an arrangement for Sweetie’s transfer to the Weyr. M’vyn does not interrupt any of Nala’s words on the subject, fully allowing her to decide on what would be best and fair for the transaction. When it comes time for money to be exchanged, he supplies the full marks and offers another handshake with the journeyman. “We’ll be waiting for her arrival,” he informs him as they turn towards the door. “My family will be pleased.”

“Good,” Nala murmurs, reaching a hand to give a final smooth of her palm over Sweetie’s nose. It looks like she’ll be perfectly happy there with the runner while everything else is sorted out, yet, though her eyes widen a little at the news that she’s the one who’s going to be doing the negotiating and dealing with the matter of marks, she lets herself be herded towards the holding, where she tries not to insult her heritage or the Journeyman’s craft in sorting out a price. At the door, she’s as polite as manners demand, but the moment they can step back over the threshold and away, the bluerider secures her grip on M’vyn once again, walking too close with her hands hooked into his shirt, until she relinquishes her hold and tells him, “Let’s go home. I am of a mind to take you back to my weyr and do some riding of my own.” Sounds like his possessiveness has had an effect, whether the desired one or not.

Nala’s possessive return and turn of phrase draw a laugh from M’vyn, followed by a tug for her to fall into his arms. He holds her there with his lips pressed against the top of her head as he watches the approach of their dragons. “I won’t tell you no,” he tells her as he parts from her, his smile brief as he looks to her and then on to Elsyth. “How could I? When this played into a fantasy on another level entirely for me.” He steps closer to press a kiss to Nala’s cheek, moving towards her lips and then pulling back he offers her a wider smile. “Let’s go home.” It does not take them long to ready their dragons nor mount and head into the skies. Elsyth deposits M’vyn to Jynth’s ledge and once she is free of her straps she seeks her own ledge to sprawl on. In doing so, M’vyn’s time spent in Nala’s weyr may go relatively unnoticed by the rest of the Weyr. And that suits the greenrider just fine.
}}

Logs:Weyrleader and Records Keeper

2015-07-22T00:32:31Z

Aleudre: Created page with "{{Log |who=E'dre, Celestra |what=E'dre seeks out Celestra to ask her to do some snooping - er, research! |where=Records Room, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Area |day=12 |month=4 |t..."

{{Log
|who=E'dre, Celestra
|what=E'dre seeks out Celestra to ask her to do some snooping - er, research!
|where=Records Room, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Area
|day=12
|month=4
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.07.19
|quote="No, I haven't had the pleasure"
|type=Log
|ooc=Tentative IC date
|icons-new=Icon E'dre Hah.jpg, Icon Celestra.jpg,
|log=The quiet hubbub within the Records Room might be a slightly different scene from the norm. The persistent rain outside prevents any and all from leaving the confines of the indoors. Where one place is too crowded, some will find refuge elsewhere. And today, it seems as though the Records is the place to be. Hushes voices fill the little alcoves, some with books, some without. Celestra is at least, a staple, seated behind the duty desk, spectacles placed just so on the bridge of her nose. A book off to one side, and a hide before her, pen moving rapidly across it's page. The cabinet behind her is left open, also an unusual sight, though done so strategically for the amount of bodies in the room.

E'dre enters the records with a puprposeful stride. He glances around and notes the amount of bodies present with a surprised tilt of his brows upwards. He shakes his head and brushes his hand briefly through his hair as he makes his way all the way inside. He continues walking along, looking for a specific harper as he moves. He stops when he comes upon Celestra and smiles as he clears his throat. "Ahh..," he gives a glance to the work in front of her, "I suppose I picked a bad time to track you down? Are you very busy at the moment?"

The sound of a throat clearing causes the pen to stop, blue eyes flicking upwards to peer at the source before Celestra's chin tilts upwards to see a familiar face. A small smile spreads across her lips and the pen is placed down on the desk. "Oh, this? No, nothing that I need to rush through." the young Harper replies, removing her spectacles as she does so. To emphasize, she closes the book, picks up the small stack of hides in front of her and then places them on top before giving the Weyrleader her full attention. "How may I be of assistance?"

"You told me that you were interested in the records that some may not find interest in," E'dre begins, sliding into a chair opposite her. He settles his hands on the table in front of him and steeples his fingers together. "I wanted you to dig for one such record. I need information.. or I should say I ''want'' information on.. how this Weyr functioned with the Holds in Intervals before. How much was shared between the Hold and Weyr, if the partnership was equal or not..," he shakes his head, frowning for a moment at his hands and then looking up at Celestra. "I'm tired of digging through the records in the Weyrleader's office. There isn't much there aside from the basics.. I want information from.. people who weren't in charge."

Slender fingers clasp together, eyes observant as Celestra watches E'dre take the seat in front of her. His first sentence causes her head to tilt slightly to one side, expression curious, though she says nothing as she listens. "Ah. I see." She says finally, after a brief moment of thought. Her gaze shifts off to one side before moving back to meet his. "I do believe I may know where to find that. It may take me a few days however." A pause. "From what I remember... from one of the records I have read, most partnerships between Hold and Weyr were never ''quite'' equal. There is usually a bias towards the Weyr side, though the Holds were also apt to withhold information."

"Bias in terms of being kind to our consideration of the Holds?" E'dre queries, leaning back in the chair as he relaxes his posture. "Ah, ''withhold information''," he drawls, shaking his head. "Meaning, they've been known to hide their records from the Weyr." He scrubs his face briefly and sighs. "Do you have time for such a task?" he glances back to her work as he settles his hand on the table once more. "I realize you are a busy woman."

Celestra shakes her head slowly at E'dre's question. "No, not exactly. From what I read, it was more of a bias in terms of authority." Her hands unclasp as she, too, leans back in her seat, relaxing just a tad. One hand moves to rub at her chin thoughtfully, a somewhat rueful smile on her lips when he sighs. "Yes. As I'm sure you're aware, Holders, especially blooded ones, can be especially proud." But does that give them the right to hide their records? Well... "Of course. Like I'd mentioned, it should only take me a few days. I have a general idea of where it might be. This," A wave at her recently abandoned work, "Is just something to do while on duty. Nothing of major import."

"I see," E'dre notes with a small nod. "Well.., maybe if needed, I can ask you to go to Fort Hold and maybe Ruatha to learn what you might from their records. In an- ah- purely educational place? Perhaps you are drafting a book on the history of Weyr and Hold relations." He shrugs, splaying his fingers on the table, "The excuse is for you to find. Let's see what you can find here, though." He draws his thumb and forefinger along his jawline as he looks at her work once more. "Do you ever find such things tedious and boring?" He looks up her with a crooked grin, "I don't mean that to be ''rude'' I'm just.. generally curious."

The smile on Celestra's lips spread wider at his suggestion. "A possibility. I would not object to doing it. And your example of an excuse is a decent one. I may just use that in the event I should have to go." A brief nod. "Shall I come find you when I find it?" A quick inquiry before her gaze flickers to her work. The crooked grin is met with a soft laugh. "On the occasion. Most of the time, it is work I enjoy, otherwise I wouldn't have specialized in archives and instead went for teaching or singing. Not that I haven't done either but..." So many paths she could've chosen to stick to. "I might ask the same of your position. "Though from what I understand, Weyr leadership is not always a choice."

"Do you ever sing with M'vyn? The Weyrlingmaster, Ebeny, has been singing with him lately. I hear he's decent enough to work with," E'dre replies, shaking his head at an errant thought and a murmured, "in that capacity, at least." He lifts his brows and considers Celestra for a moment. "Had Wroth been bronze, perhaps I would've always anticipated the possibility of being a Weyrleader. As it stands now, well... I'm doing my duty by the Weyr. I've been Weyrsecond long enough now that this isn't the first time I've taken on the knot. I hope," he shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck with a grin. "Well. I hope I do a decent enough job of it now that I'm here."

"No, I haven't had the pleasure. It has been a while since I've sung, to be honest. I'm afraid I'd be rusty even if and when I get the chance." is Celestra's response to the former, eyes drifting away for a brief moment once more. For the latter, a nod. "I see." Her gaze shifts back to meet his dark one. "From what I've heard, at least, you have been." Doing a decent job. And there's a reassuring smile for him as well. "I'm sure there's a lot of responsibilities on your shoulder, though I could hardly imagine the stress that must come along with it."

E'dre considers Celestra with a rueful tilt to his smile. "You're too easy to talk to. I could see myself spilling all my insecurities and frustrations at your feet. You perhaps missed a calling as a mindhealer," he teases her, shaking his head. "I thank you for saying I'm doing a fair job. There's been the strike, and the wings not so pleased with their turn in helping, or their new positions." He shrugs. "But at least I'm not screaming and being a prick." He fingercombs his hair. "Rusty or not, if you wanted to, I'm sure we'd all enjoy hearing your voice."

Celestra chuckles at the teasing, "I'm glad for it, at least. I'm always an open ear for anyone needing one." Or a helping hand. She's apparently many things, these days. Her expression does turn somewhat more somber at the mention of the strikes. "Ah, yes. There was that." The corners of her lips turn downward ever so slightly. She certainly remembered seeing the wingriders out and about, doing what normal weyrfolk usually did, and grumbling about it. She, too, had contributed by doing extra work, of course. A shrug, "In retrospect, I am inclined to believe that there would be much more displeasure had they not helped, unwilling or not." Her fingers clasp together once more, though this time in her lap as she smiles again. "When the time comes, I'll make sure to not disappoint."

"Well, I won't keep you from your work any longer. Send word to me when you've uncovered anything of interest and we can have another little meeting, if it suits you," E'dre drawls as he pushes the chair back and stands. He offers her a smile, "I do hope to hear you sing, or find you outside of these rooms one day. Perhaps we can have our next meeting over a glass of wine? I'll supply the finest I can find - or buy, since our stores aren't what they used to be." He gives her a playful bow and a wink before he turns and strides out of the room.
}}

Logs talk:Forty

2015-07-16T19:20:36Z

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==Aleudre (12:20, 16 July 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

<3 <3 <3

Logs talk:Definitions of Fun

2015-07-14T02:26:11Z

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==Aleudre (19:26, 13 July 2015 (PDT)) said... ==

"even if I was going without, it wouldn't need you." - ZING!