NorCon MUSH - User contributions [en]

Logs:A Change of Pace

2014-10-04T01:59:10Z

N'vad:

{{ Log
| who = V'ros, Azaylia, N'vad
| where = Rider's Lounge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = V'ros is stolen away during his down time and Azaylia is introduced to a new transfer, N'vad.
| when = Day 13, Month 12, Turn 35
| gamedate = 2014.09.30
| quote = "Not an ego so much as he hasn't got the good sense of a box of rocks."
| weather =
| categories = 
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = v'ros sideeye.jpg, azaylia happy.jpg, n'vad really.png
| log = '''Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr'''

''About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end, nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the stone as it is. ''

''Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a collection of mismatched tables and chairs. Towards the back, there's a bar made out of old, recycled wood, manned during peak hours; there's plenty of alcohol on display behind it, though most of it tends towards the cheaper end of the range. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a variety of other spirits ready and waiting. ''

''A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking.''
----

Ominous clouds hang low overhead, cloaking the spires, as snow falls steadily into the bowl on this winter's eve. Smart people would be sheltering in the warmth of the inner caverns, but there's a poker game in the rider's lounge, so obviously, there is a crowd inside the re-purposed weyr. Tension looms above the poker table, where a handful of riders are holding out for the championship. Another circle of onlookers rings the table, talking in hushed voices, and wagering on the outcome. Still, there's some who aren't to be bothered by the game. V'ros is hunkered down beside one of the assembled couches, listening to an old Istan regale everyone with his stories of the freak comet 'fall. Next to him, one of the weyrling greenriders, perched on the lap of a bluerider, keeps giggling despite the subject matter of the story. "Ne'er seen so much scorin' in my life," the oldtimer says with a flashy wave of his hands.

Good mood when cradling ''any'' cards is quite the poker face. Too bad there's more to the game, or else Azaylia would have lasted longer than one or two hands. Instead, she's bent and leaning on a brownrider, hands folded atop his shoulder as she watches him and the rest continue to play. The gruff man doesn't seem bothered by the cheerful good luck charm, although he otherwise doesn't try win her favor. Busy. Cards. Grunt. Dressed even more comfortably than usual, and without anyone making a fuss, it's easy for the Weyrwoman to blend in. There's a smooch offered to the stony faced rider's brow before she straightens and drifts toward the liquor. Daring only a splash, given the whiskey's quality, she catches a bit of the Istan's story. Though her (favorite) couch is occupied, she finds a perch on the arm of it, next to V'ros. It's after a sip that she recognizes the weyrling, a warm though silent smile offered.

The problem with the place where everybody knows your name: At some point, you have to have entered that space a total stranger. Well, apparently N'vad's managed social enough since his arrival to find out that this is a place, so there's that. Out on the ledge, his dismount process is not so graceful as some, but once he's on solid stone the cane can be of some use to get him inside. With one hand so engaged, he can't start peeling off his coat without pausing in the entrance, but that process gives a chance to give a look around the crowd. If he drifts in the direction of the storyteller, perhaps it's just more familiar territory. He'll just--hold up a wall for a moment, there, before observing, gravel-voiced: "Don't see as it's anything to titter about. Happened once, stands to reason it could happen again." Cheery.

"No body asked you, cripple," the Istan sneers. But his focus changes when Azaylia moves to their group, and he's just ''too happy'' to indulge the Weyrwoman of the Reaches by spinning a wild tale that involves more holes than swiss cheese. Someone calls him out on it and it results in the two men getting chest to chest, arguing in each other's faces; Azaylia isn't the only one imbibing tonight, obviously. V'ros has watched the goldrider's arrival into his corner of the lounge with a tight-lipped frown, one which stretches into the fakest smile ever when she graces him with one first. "Ma'am," he mumbles, standing up from his crouch and giving the proper salute. Curious eyes flick, briefly, to N'vad,

Azaylia looks startled behind her tipped glass at the Istan's bad manners. Her eyes flick to N'vad, down to his cane, then back to the storyteller with pursed lips as she swallows that halted sip. The moment passes, although she's not ''as'' warm while continuing to listen-- until the peacocks start flashing their feathers. Rather than seem bothered, the Weyrwoman is reaching to tug V'ros down if he's not already sitting, "No no no no. None of that. We're at the ''lounge''. Which means," and she's happy to explain with a soft laugh and fingers ticked, "No ma'ams, no salutes, no sad faces." Had she caught that earlier frown? "Only ''fun''." She follows the weyrling's gaze to N'vad, offering a gentle nod and smile.

It's sort of hard to tell how much of a rise that comment gets out of N'vad--his face doesn't darken much, but then it wasn't terribly cheery to start with. Bit of a twitch around the corner of his mouth, bit of a brow-furrow. But he lets someone else do the calling out, and peers after them. But they're strangers, and what has he got? A stick--well, maybe it could be of some use, but all he does is lean on it as he heads off in the direction of the bar, not quickly, but apparently no conversation here seems worth tolerating entirely sober. He seems manifestly unconcerned about the quality of the drinks, so long as a glass ends up in hand relatively promptly.

"I.." V'ros can't finish that statement, someone is grabbing him by the back of the jacket and hauling him off, laughingly, towards the bar. There's a "sorry, Azaylia!" from the perpetrator, but they've already made the weyrling disappear into a crowd of solid dragonrider bodies.

Startled for the second time that night, Azaylia decides that her little splash isn't going to cut it tonight. Once her glass is emptied, she buys some time just in case V'ros and his friend intended to avoid the Weyrwoman. She knows she isn't as young and cool anymore. She instead chooses to watch those posturing riders, small curl of amusement on her lips when it seems like they aren't going to come to blows. Finally she stands, walking back toward the bar and refilling her glass, curious glance dragging her back to N'vad, "You're the Benden transfer, yes? Liardith's rider?" She's not stalking him, honest.

If a woman not yet thirty can't count as young and cool, where does that leave N'vad? Nowhere terribly complimentary. Probably wouldn't even if he was a decade or two younger, though; something about him suggests that he was probably looking like someone's dad long before he was really old enough for it. "Ma'am." What did she say about that word? Doesn't seem to have sunk in. "I'm... from Benden. Needed somethin' in the way of a change of pace, though I reckon... well, some things seem just like home already."

"Azaylia." She corrects, however gently. "Let me ''pretend'' that I can be off duty, sometimes." It's a light tease, smile bright as she leans back and takes the transfer in. She's not good at hiding her curiosity, but at least it's tempered when it comes to conversation. "I hope you're settling in. Ah... and I'm sorry if Hraedhyth decides to welcome Liardith in her own way." That is, invite herself onto his ledge for a proper cuddling. "If he's ''really'' unhappy, I can get her to move." A practiced warning for all new riders along with her bubbling excitement, "I'll have to send a welcome basket your way, won't I? Any preference in liquor? Cheeses?" With the Weyr doing well, it's a habit that she's able to indulge in once more. Likely nothing fancy, but well meant.

"Pretending--" No, N'vad doesn't finish that sentence, he just shakes his head and takes up his glass, lifting it. Not quite a toast. "If you like." If he remembers. "Not sure as a full-grown queen would fit on our ledge. Or why one would taken an interest in--oh, shut up." Surely by his age the habit of talking aloud should have been broken, but apparently not. It's clearly not directed at his esteemed company. "Bourbon, if I'm allowed my pick."

"No? Is it one of the smaller..." The goldrider trails off at N'vad's distracted speech, ducking her head to try and stifle a soft laugh. "I'll call her away before she does any real damage to ledge or wallow." But Faranth help them if she ''does'' miraculously fit. "Hraedhyth is a social dragon. No matter what color." Now she can't help but grin, "Though it sounds like she might make ''someone's'' ego worse?" Azaylia isn't subtle in her fishing for tidbits about the bluerider's life mate. Standing taller, she gives a little bounce on her heels as her own drink warms her belly. "Bourbon it is. Not the best, but... it won't be the worst." Fair warning.

"Not an ego so much as he hasn't got the good sense of a box of rocks." N'vad keeps his voice down, there, like the dragon's going to overhear. From his own ledge. Like he probably hasn't heard the same things in N'vad's own head plenty of times; it sounds like a well-practiced sentiment. "Anyhow, we got enough space for our purposes. Takes a bit to get settled, but it'll be all right."

Another laugh at N'rad's muttered insult which is quickly followed by a sip. "Good. I know I'm busy and it doesn't make sense for me to say," Whiskey has seemed to have burn a hole in her tongue, "But if you need anything, just let me know. Or the, ah... Headwoman. Yes. She's probably... but I'd ''like'' to help." The sentiment seems genuine, for all that her good intentions are getting muddled. There's a mix of cheers and hissed oaths from the poker table that has Azaylia standing straighter. "Up for a game?" An invitation, as well as making her intents known. He might actually get some peace, should he decline.

"Um." It takes N'vad a moment to actually evaluate this offer, glancing in the direction of the card-players, lips pressed into a thin line. "No, thanks. Think--I might get back to that dragon after this drink. Been a long few days." He's not really rushing it, of course, even if it's not really a beverage that takes well to sipping. "Watch the fellow in the green," quieter, like he could be talking to himself. He's barely spared more than a few glances in the direction of the game since that initial survey, of course.

Azaylia accepts his answer with a nod, "Alright then. It was nice meeting you..." Her beaming smile falters as she stumbles, deciding on, "Liardith's." Not as embarrassed as she should be, the Weyrwoman turns and joins in the cheers for not-brownrider-from-earlier. She's an equal opportunity celebrator. If she lasts more than a few hands this time, it could be due to her subconscious wariness when it comes to those in a particular hue. Luckily, Hraedhyth doesn't choose N'vad and Liardith as her company for the evening. They're safe... for now.

}}

[[Category:RP_Logs]]
[[Category:General_Logs]]

Logs:Difference of Opinion

2014-10-04T01:58:27Z

N'vad:

{{ Log
| who = L'sha, Rafevan, N'vad, Z'riah
| where = Snowasis, HRW
| what = Four men share a brief introduction.
| when = D10 M12 T35
| gamedate = 2014.09.29
| quote = Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?
| weather =
| categories = 
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = l'sha L'sha1.jpg, rafevan.jpg, n'vad really.png, z'riah.jpg
| log = Winter--is this the smartest possible time to move to High Reaches? Probably not. It probably says things about one N'vad-formerly-of-Benden that his arrival is timed for now. Some of those things may not be complimentary. Never mind. He's evidently gotten settled in enough to figure out that there's an establishment that serves alcohol, and now here he is, at the bar, perched on a barstool with an old-fashioned glass in front of him. There's a cane--not too fancy, but a nice piece of work, the sort of thing one expects to be using for some time--propped up against his stool. At present, he is in the process of trying to wave the busy bartender back down for a refill, despite there being another two fingers of liquor in the glass, but not having any great level of success. "Yeah, uh... hey... can I get... right." A lot of gravel in the voice.

Another recent transplant, not even a ''legit'' transfer quite yet, Z'riah would have very much preferred to make his debut in High Reaches during the summer months that are much more reminiscent of his home. His old home. But the greenrider will certainly do his best to make do with the scenery he has. Which means he's scanning the Snowasis for friendly-ish faces. Or maybe just faces. He'll start there and work his way up as he's able. It brings him to the bar, close enough to the bluerider to accidentally knock his cane with a careless foot as he leans over to try to do the exact same thing; get the bartender's attention.

L'sha wanders into the Snowasis after a long, hard day of drills and sweeps, waving to a few of his friends as he enters. He walks to the bar and finds a space next to the older man with the cane. In contrast, he seems to attract a bartender almost immediately, so he must be a regular around here. He orders his usual, an enormous blue-colored concoction with a tiny unbrella and various fruit slices stuck in it. "And bring this fellow another of what he's having, can't you see he's trying to get your attention?" He grins and winks at the man behind the bar.

"Watch it!" N'vad is paying enough attention to catch the cane before it goes clattering to the floor and causing any seriously undignified scrambling. Not quick enough to handle it smoothly, though. "Damn fool--" But there's other stuff going on here, right? The distraction is itself subject to distraction, apparently. "Oh, hey. Great." No sign of begrudging that it took someone else's intervention, but the intervenor still gets a side-eye. "You even old enough to be in here?"

L'sha leans against the bar, his elbow resting on top of it. He grins at the older rider. "They're serving me, aren't they?" His eyes widen briefly as he gets a good look at the younger man who just nearly knocked over the cane, then they return to the older one. He extends a hand. "L'sha, green Rillaeth's. I haven't seen you around, are you new here?" He raises his voice a bit so he can be heard above the din of the crowd.

Z'riah shoots a look at the man who barks at him, taking in both cane and oldness in the brief once over he spares before his attention shifts toward the younger man that draws the attention of the bartender. "Hey! Me, too," he tells the 'tender before he can be completely ignored. "They probably only serving you because..." The rest of what he says is sort of drowned out because he turns his head to look the other way. But it probably was not for innocent ears or polite conversation.

L'sha doesn't catch what Z'riah says, but he can guess. And yeah, whatever it is, it's probably true. He grins at the man, then his drink comes. He leans over and whispers something to the bartender, who then moves to take Z'riah's order. "What can I get you? It's on him." the barkeep hooks a thumb in L'sha's direction. L'sha smiles and waves to Z'riah.

Older, yes. Surely there must be some folks around here who balance out the spectrum, but at this particular corner of the bar, N'vad is looking relatively elderly, especially with the way his forehead creases when his left eyebrow climbs. "Not sure I'd say that's what you'd call proof--hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" The latter demanded of Z'riah, possibly without even the faintest clue what was actually said. Finally, an answer to L'sha's question: "I'm... from Benden."

The Snowasis is one of the first places any number of people find early on in their time at the Reaches. Rafevan is no exception, turning up from the direction of the bowl with his collar turned up and heavy coat tucked tight around him on his way to the bar. He fits himself in by the other men currently there, lifting a hand to hail the bartender first and foremost.

Well, even if he's going to talk shit about the person it's coming from, mostly unprovoked, Z'riah won't turn down a free drink. He tells the bartender exactly what he wants, then tips a lazy salute toward the other greenrider with a just as lazy smile. It's N'vad he answers, though, sounding quite pleased with himself, "I ''do'', actually. She doesn't seem to mind." Another nearby body draws Z'riah's attention, but for now he only offers Rafevan the same lazy smile he gave L'sha.

L'sha turns to the older man. "Ah, then High Reaches' duty to Benden! What brings you here?" To Z'riah, he says, "And you're a stranger, too, where are you from?" His eyes are likewise drawn to Rafevan and he catches Z'riah looking. He smirks and sips his huge fruity drink.

Nothing fruity for Rafevan, at least not in the same way as L'sha: he requests a cider from the barkeep instead, with a little nod of thanks when it appears in front of him. One first sip, and then he slants a glance at the others nearby when he catches that look at him. "Evening, gentlemen," he offers.

"This, mostly." N'vad raps the cane against the leg of the stool he's sitting on, a couple firm thwacks. "Weyrleaders and I had a bit of a difference of opinion as to my continuing ability to do everything I've done just fine for twenty-odd Turns and I ain't of a mind to just lay around the rest of my life. Seems like this suits well as anywhere." And what's the temperature outside? Well, with a freshly-refilled glass, N'vad can surely tackle it. "So don't owe nobody no duties just now, I reckon, but s'pose it's good manners. Some of you boys got decent manners." Just a slight glower at Z'riah, there. "Evening," to Rafevan, which distracts him from further commentary on the subject.

"And you're nosy," Z'riah points out to L'sha. But he still offers, "Monaco," because why not. There's at least a thanks to the bartender when he gets his drink, and a tip to top it off. He's not completely hopeless where manners are concerned, even if that might remain to be judged by his peers. The greenrider reaches out with every intention of trying to snatch N'vad's cane away from him. "I'm sure we could have lots of fun with that thing. You actually need it?"

L'sha tsks at N'vad. "That's terrible. Well, I'm sure we can find something for you to do if you talk to the Weyrleaders. K'del's a reasonable man." He grins cheerily at Z'riah. "Duties to Monaco!" His grin turns to an open-mouthed look of horror as Z'riah tries to take N'vad's cane. "Don't you dare!"

Also nosy? Rafevan. He makes no pretense otherwise, listening to N'vad with lifted brows while he sips on his drink. "Oh, no, don't mind me," he encourages a beat later, on the heels of the bluerider's words. "I don't mean to interrupt." Cane-snatching? Definitely not getting in on that, though he'll watch with that same curious-judging expression.

N'vad's cane will stay right firmly where it is, thank you. Things he doesn't have problems with: grip. "Faranth... you think I'd be carryin' this around just for my health?" For a moment, the way he holds it, there's some clear thought about whether it would in fact feel better to smack somebody with it, but evidently N'vad is not possessed of enough temper to follow through. Mostly because of the compulsion to turn to L'sha, serious expression on his face, and say, "You're gettin' mighty close to that line 'tween polite and brown-nosin'." And then he takes a drink, because clearly that'll help matters. "N'vad," he finally tacks on. A name, he has one, even if not quite the social graces to figure out where to insert it for the benefit of his collection of new... friends? Acquaintances? Kids in his general proximity?

The Monacoan rolls his eyes at L'sha even as the attempt fails. And of course it needs to be brushed off as only because he let the bluerider keep his cane. Z'riah lifts the same grabby hand up to push through his hair instead, then he reaches for his drink and glances over at Rafevan, "What do you think? I think it coulda been some lame attempt at a fashion statement." And, finally, because everyone is probably so interested, he offers his name, "Z'riah."

L'sha beams at Rafevan again. "Yet another new face! Is there a half-price drinks special for new people at the Snowasis tonight? So, where do you hail from, then? I'm L'sha, green Rillaeth's rider." He pales a bit at N'vad's admonishment. "Just tryin' to be nice," he mutters, then frowns again at Z'riah.

"Or," Rafevan offers after one more sip of cider, "you could just be a moronic asshat whose mother never trained him better than to harass the disabled over the legitimacy of their handicap." Beat. His smile's too nice, a little flat at the edge. "But that's just one option among many. Rafevan. A pleasure, I'm sure."

That glass is not small enough for N'vad finishing it off in one go to be any sort of good sense, but evidently he's at least got the tolerance not to collapse immediately under the weight of it. "Ain't disabled," firmly. "Just givin' it time to heal properly." Right. Speaking of collapsing, when he vacates the barstool he is putting a fair amount of weight on that stick. "If you'll all 'scuse me, there's a blue fella out in the bowl thinks he's getting frostbite or somethin', aim to get him back somewhere warm for the night even if our weyr ain't exactly cozy yet."

It's Rafevan that earns Z'riah's lingering attention, blue eyes narrowing in a way that makes it difficult to tell whether he's going to be upset or whether he's simply thinking. In the end, the greenrider only ''smirks'' at the other man, because N'vad's parting needs some sort of send off. "Careful, oldtimer. Should we send L'sha here with you to make sure you get home okay?"

L'sha smiles and nods to Rafevan. "Welcome to the 'Reaches, Rafevan. Enjoy your stay." He finishes his drink, bids N'vad a good night and walks over to Z'riah, his face slightly red. "And you -- you're really cute, but you're also a big jerk!" The words come out in a rush, then he does an about-face and storms out of the Snowasis.

"Pardon," says Rafe to N'vad, at least as much apology as goodbye while L'sha stomps away in the lead of the breaking-up group.

"Got all the company I need, thanks," and anyway L'sha's storming out, so N'vad would be in a bad way if he was depending on the help, wouldn't he? "Sensitive," the commentary on that, and it doesn't come out quite like a compliment, although it's a mild sort of an insult if it is one at all. "Look," to absolutely nobody, sort of under his breath, "it ain't frostbite if your tail is blue because it was already blue--" Thus beginning half of a muttered argument that persists until he's made his way outside and back to his dragon.

Z'riah won't leave right away, but he'll drift away from the guy who called him a moronic asshat once L'sha is out of his face. There are surely people who will enjoy his, uh, charm.

}}

[[Category:RP_Logs]]

Logs:Still Young

2014-10-04T01:57:05Z

N'vad:

{{Log
|who=Edyis, N'vad
|what=Edyis gets to meet a Benden wingleader, and basks in N'vad's considerable experience.
|where=Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
|when=ID16 M12 T35, winter dusk
|gamedate=2014.10.01
|quote="I--no, ain't that old, no."
|weather=
The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little sticks.
|mentions=
|ooc=As usual feel free to add/edit/correct anything I may have missed.
|icons-new=
|icons=n'vad hero.png
|log=

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

Evening--not that late, but at this time of the Turn, days are short, there's a few flakes of snow in the air as the chill sets in. Liardith elects to land not too far away from the patio; there's light there, and alcohol inside, all sorts of things a body might be interested in. At some point. For right now, what his rider is interested in is dismounting, which takes some time. Liardith's not a large fellow--powder-blue, insectoid proportions that make the eyes look all the more bug-like--but his rider has to take some time about this process, clearly disfavoring one leg as he does so. Getting to the ground is step one, step two is retrieving the wooden cane secured to the straps. The red-haired rider is not an old man by any means, but markedly less spry than his lifemate.

The insectoid blue catches her attention first, the dusky skinned woman approaching cautiously as the rider dismounts dark eyes moving over the pair with almost clinical curiosity. "Would you like a pretty escort up the stairs?" She offers with a playful smile, studying the blue for several moments. "You two fought the freak pass didn't you?" Her interest quite plain in the subject, even as she adjusts the coat about her.

Her curiosity is clinical; N'vad's is slightly suspicious. "Depends whether it comes with strings attached, but--oh, yeah, ah. That. The comet... that one." He leans on the cane a bit more heavily. Liardith, on the other hand, draws himself up to sit very straight, wings folded very precisely. The very picture, however many Turns later, of The Fighting Dragon. That gets a scowl from his rider. "Yeah, she knows you were there, you don't have to be showin' off."

Edyis smiles warmly, chuckling as the blue displays him. "Ah but he's earned the right to show off, unlike so many of the hatchlings who haven't seen a wisp of thread." Playing to the blue's ego, as for strings, she smiles even more widely, "How about I buy you a drink, and you tell me about it hm? I'd like to hear the stories of the glory days when the holds had cause to remember the purpose of the Weyr. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you both yet, Edyis of the records room." She offers her arm to the man with along with the most charming smile she can manage.

"You--yes, I see, she agrees with you, that doesn't mean she's right. Lay down. Or go away. Something. I don't care." Grumpy as it comes out, the dragon seems to pay it no mind whatsoever. There's a whuff in the young woman's direction--it comes out in a white puff of air, a child's fancy of smoke--and then, while N'vad's not going to lean on her as heavily as he does the cane, he's not above accepting the offer. Anyway, the leg works, just not spectacularly well. "Edyis--N'vad. I'm--" A beat. "From Benden. Wingleader, for a good long while. Still recoverin' from a bit of a mishap and figured a change of scenery'd do me good and give my replacement a bit more breathin' room."

Edyis can only laugh at the interplay, giving a respectful nod to the blue as N'vad takes her arm. "Most people go to Southern or Monaco when they encounter a ''mishap'' rather than the chill of 'Reaches. Though I may be biased in telling you the company here is better." She doesn't seem to mind one way or the other how much he actually chooses to lean on her, nor does she make any fuss about it attempting her best to allow the whole thing to feel as natural as it would walking arm and arm with a rider whose leg did work properly most of the time. "Benden, ah. Alas I don't get to visit as often as I would like. Best wine of anywhere I've been, even if it is a tad on the expensive side."

Natural. It takes a few moments for it to get to natural, but eventually something of the memory of how one does this seems to settle in, and N'vad seems to relax. "'Fraid I never got quite the taste for it that some folks do," he muses as they walk. "Bit... fancy. Not that I ain't gonna drink it if that's what's served, but I got a more pragmatic sorta taste in beverages." There, that was almost a smile. It's hard to tell. His eyebrows are more expressive than his mouth is. "Not retired. Just recuperatin'. I ain't goin' off somewhere to lay on a beach and get soft. Not yet, anyhow. Another twenty Turns, might think on it."

"Mm, does that make you a man for ale or cider, or perhaps you prefer the harder spirits?" Dark eyes sparking with the promise of laughter, she considers his answer. "I would be careful of saying sunny days on a beach could make a person go soft, nothing quite like a good run on the beach, or spending a day climbing the dunes to leave your legs burning for hours. Besides, I think your blue would miss showing off to the younger generations if you were to retire so early, and where would we all be without the benefit of your combined skills? So what happened? With your leg I mean, you mentioned an accident?" As they make their way into the Snowasis.

"Bourbon--well, whiskey generally, will do, bourbon by preference." N'vad is polite enough not to make any fuss over the rest of it on their way in, though he does have to pause once inside for coat-removal purposes. Gloves shoved into pockets, coat off and draped over somewhere convenient. "Bad luck," he explains the injury away. "Fell. Laid up a few months, took awhile longer to get walking, they tell me these things take time. Inconvenient as all get-out but ain't keepin' me from doing anything important, these days."

She removes her own coat when he does, happy to lay it over one of the bar stools before plopping herself atop it. "One bourbon, and once cider please," She orders quickly, returning her attention to N'vad as she waits for their drinks. "Must have been a hell of a fall, you aren't old enough to have brittle bones." She surmises thoughtfully, though perfectly aware she could be reading far too much into it. "All the same, welcome to High Reaches."

When his glass arrives, N'vad lifts it, as though in a sort of toast. Maybe, given the eyebrow-lift, more in the way of an ironic toast. "Hell of a fall," he agrees, before taking a drink. "I--no, I ain't that old, no." He could make some comparisons about how old he is, in point of fact, compared to the girl he's sitting with, but he seems to have sense enough not to do that. "Was quicker back in the Fall days. Had t'be."

"Must have been pretty good at it, I didn't notice much in the way of scarring on your blue. Too bad most forget in twenty some turns what purpose dragonfolk serve." She comments idly bringing her glass back to her lips after the toast. "What was it like? Flying thread? "

That mention turns N'vad's eyes back towards the entrance, briefly, but he stays settled on a barstool, cane propped beside him. "Got a little too close a few times, there, but always got _between_ fast enough to keep it gettin' far. Tricky balance." Another drink. "Ought to say it was serious business, but 'tween you'n me, it was a hell of a time to be a young man with a dragon. Not that discipline ain't important. Still is. But... we got back whole, we felt like we owned the world."

She grins, teeth flashing. "Almost makes me wish I'd seen it, but then again that's what stories do, they glorify the heroes and little by little you forget the horror of what happened until it all just becomes a line in a harper's song." She sighs studying her cider. "You ever felt anything like it since? That feeling of owning the world I mean?"

"Don't know as I see it quite like that. Still remember the bad just as well." This produces a pause, but not one with the drifty far-away looks or anything. N'vad just briefly becomes really serious about his drinking, making sure his cane hasn't spontaneously vanished, that sort of thing. Then, tone still casual, "Few times, sure. Life's not just been eatin', sleepin', and drillin' since then, have managed to have some good times."

"Oh of course not, you remember it, you lived it. You've got entire generations now though; those have grown up without its presence. We aren't likely to see a comet pass like that again anytime in the immediate future." Sipping her cider thoughtfully, eyeing the bourbon as though to measure when she should order a second round. "Come on, give me an example, what is something that compares to that feeling?"

Whiel N'vad isn't precisely rushing through it, he's started to give the glass that wary eye of one considering how it might be empty in the near-ish future. Or maybe that's just an excuse for avoiding eye contact periodically. "Ah, well, you know." Not a lot of talent at this stalling thing. "Personal stuff, mostly. Promotions... whatever."

She laughs, ordering bourbon perhaps picking up the cue. "Promotions, I see." Something mischievous in her eyes, "By which you mean that I keep asking personal probing questions which you are too polite to tell me to bugger off for?" Guessing, but for all the nature in her words she's quite jovial about it. "Forgive me, I'm endlessly curious about everything. "

A second drink, maybe that will help things? But N'vad doesn't seem to be too perturbed by any of this, just--not handling it in the smoothest possible way, certainly. "Wouldn't phrase it like that, anyhow. I ain't gonna use language like that in mixed company. Anyhow... whatever. You're a sweet girl, sure you ain't got nothin' better to be doin' with your night? I can get this," said pointedly when the bartender's nearby.

There's something mischievous in her expression which brightens at that particular observation. "A kind thing to say, but tonight, I find myself without company or extra work to distract me. But, If I am making a bother of myself, I can probably find some extra paperwork that was left undone." Her cider however is only half gone, and she certainly won't be leaving before she finishes that.

"No! Er. That--you--didn't mean to say you're a bother. Just... not used to this sorta company," N'vad settles on, peering at her for a moment like he's trying to figure out just what sort of company that actually is, like she might spontaneously turn into the Weyrleader and start asking questions about formations. Possibly not. But maybe. Things can happen. "They were bad days, and good days, both, but I reckon you weren't even born yet. Long past."

"Sort of company? I promise I am no threat to your virtue sir." Edyis chuckles softly, grinning around the rim of her glass. "Mm, not quite but close enough I suppose. History interests me, just as the truth of a thing interests me. I like to understand things, make sense of them. Unfortunately most things in life cannot be pinned down to a page."

This objection is waved away with N'vad's glass. "THAT sorta company is easy enough to deal with." Although the how, he is most definitely not going to elaborate on in this particular setting. "Don't reckon I'm used to bein' nobody's history project, though." Is there a little amusement in it? A little.

Edyis laughs, "I never thought of it as a history project, more getting to know someone with more experience than myself in life." Wry as another sip of her cider is taken. "Do you find it offensive or amusing?"

"Reckon--well. Reckon I didn't spend all that time doing all those things just to NOT set a good example for the younger generation, all that," N'vad says after a drink. "Just, the younger generation taking any interest is--" A pause. "Weeird," is the word he settles on, drawing it out a bit. As an afterthought: "Not in a bad way."

Edyis beams, "That I take as a complement. It may be a bit arrogant, but I like to think I'm at least a little more intelligent than most of my generation." Finishing out her glass with a smile and putting down the marks for the drinks she stands shrugging back into her coat. "I hope I get to share the pleasure of your company again N'vad. I'd like to hear more sometime. If you are willing to talk to a young whippersnapper like myself. "

"Not THAT old," N'vad does grumble a bit, still working on his drink, and evidently content to stay here and do so once she departs. "Anyhow--ain't goin' nowhere no time soon. Don't know as I'm the sort of tale-teller can really do any of it justice, but don't mind talkin'. You have a good night." Another glass-lift.

}}
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[[Category:RP_Logs]]

N'vad

2014-10-04T01:47:17Z

N'vad: /* Description */

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== Description ==
About six foot one, on the thin side, fortyish, blue eyes and too much forehead and too much in the way of ears--well, just two, but they're inclined to stick out with his ginger hair cut that short. Most of his facial expressions seem to happen with his eyebrows. Tidily dressed, clean-shaven, with a cane that he doesn't seem nearly old enough to need.

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[[category:Characters]]
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File:Icon n'vad hero.png

2014-10-04T01:45:28Z

N'vad:

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2014-10-04T01:45:28Z

N'vad:

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2014-10-04T01:45:27Z

N'vad:

N'vad

2014-10-01T02:45:04Z

N'vad: Created page with "{{HrwProfile |picture=Nvad.png |position=Bluerider |craft= |birthplace=Bitra Hold |mother= |father= |siblings= |children= |friends= |playedby=Marc Evan Jackson |livejournal= |..."

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== Description ==

== WYSK ==

== History ==

== Relationships ==

== RP Logs ==

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[[category:Characters]]
[[category:High Reaches Weyr]]
[[category:High Reaches Area]]
[[category:Greater Pern]]
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File:Face-N'vad.jpg

2014-10-01T02:42:01Z

N'vad:

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2014-10-01T02:40:04Z

N'vad: