View source for Logs:N'thei is Evasive During a Sitdown With I'daur

{{Log
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|type=Log
| who = I'daur, N'thei
| where = 
| what = 
| when = Day 1, Month 11, Turn 12, Interval 10
|day=1
|month=1
|turn=12
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| gamedate = 2007.07.22
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = 
| icons = n'thei.jpg
| log = Even just a couple of days after the hatching, I'daur is busily setting up meetings with his new weyrlings. A couple of them have been in to seem him already in the morning, and after his lunch break, he's back at his desk, toying with paperwork he has little intention of doing just now. At least there's no alcohol out in sight just now, as he has Zunaeth request his next appointment: Wyaeth's.

Wyaeth's answer is laden with the drowsiness of siesta-time, mental yawns amid his assurance that N'thei is on his way. In a matter of moments, the weyrling rouses himself with a yawn hidden behind his knuckles, the other hand busy smoothing down his hair. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Maybe it's just the way N'thei is, but he approaches even a routine meeting with a vestige of dodginess.

"Have a seat," says I'daur, gesturing to one that's still pulled up in front of his desk. "I'd offer you a drink, but." He smirks slightly, and then leans back in his chair comfortably. "So how are you and Wyaeth settling in?" he gets to business.

Quickly at his ease with the joke, N'thei cracks a droll smile and drops into the same seat he occupied as a candidate but with much less trepidation; "You just had to bring it there." With his elbows akimbo, resting on the arm of his chair, he laces his fingers across his front. "We're all right, sir. One barracks to another."

"Sorry," says I'daur, without even the pretense of meaning that. "Like I said, it gets better--eventually. Which is not a lot of comfort now, I know, but." The answer to his latter question earns N'thei an arched brow, I'daur apparently not entirely satisfied by it. "No change between them?"

N'thei accepts the apology about the way it was offered, without sincerity to his smile. In response to I'daur's arched brows, he raises his own and leans forward slightly, ear turned toward the weyrlingmaster. "Between barracks, sir? Aside from the obvious..."

"Aside from the obvious," agrees I'daur with a nod, a wry smile. "I think we can all figure out you picked up a dragon--or he picked you up, whichever, from what I've seen. But I expect you've figured out by now there's more to it than just the--feeding, the washing, all that. So I wanna know--how's the rest of it going for you?"

All evidence to the contrary, N'thei might be dense. He continues with his head cocked to the side and his expression questioning; "You're going to have to come a little clearer, sir. So far, there doesn't seem much to it aside from the feeding, the washing, all that. Am I missing some integral thing the others are doing and I'm not?"

I'daur shrugs. "Guess not, then. My mistake," he answers dryly. "Wyaeth, then," the weyrlingmaster shifts topics slightly. "He seems... Was he carrying the rushes too?" His tone is slightly dubious, as if he's only gotten that on hearsay and doesn't quite trust it.

N'thei laughs a tolerant laugh, still honeymooning with Wyaeth so the little difficulties are delights. "He thought that he was. He dropped more than he carried, but it made him happy to be doing it for himself. And who am I to criticize self-sufficiency?" Ended with a shrug of helplessness. "Word certainly travels fast, doesn't it?"

"One of the other weyrlings was snickering about it, earlier," remarks I'daur, bemused as N'thei confirms what he heard. "If he wants to, might as well let him. You'll have to make sure he doesn't overexert himself if he keeps that--independence up. Which, I expect he will--they only get more trying as they get older."

N'thei's brow twitches fractionally, words on the tip of his tongue, but then he just takes a breath and carries on with the conversation, unfettered. "I expect it won't be easy for Wyaeth to grasp the idea of limitations, sir, but I'll keep the advice in mind. We nearly had a row over why his meat is pre-chopped, but we've worked it out."

I'daur snorts. "Must be a character," he answers dryly. "I'll take it you won that one. I'll trust you'll be able to impress at least enough of them--limitations--on him to keep him from getting into /too/ much trouble, anyway. At least until he's in the wings, please."

"I make no promises, sir." But N'thei smiles confidently while he speaks dubiously, fingers relaced across his chest now. "Except to do my best. I've no intentions making this any more like an ordeal than it has to be."

"Well," agrees I'daur, with another of those wry smiles of his. "I appreciate it. In fact, wish somebody's impress that notion on a few of the other ones--don't think they got quite the same grand ambitions of getting by."

N'thei asks drolly, "May I suggest their mothers, sir? Most of them are still the age to fear maternal retribution." He might be joking; then again... "Who was it that was snickering? By the way."

"Most of 'em," agrees I'daur. "But in lieu of that, there's those of us who're just old enough to be their mothers." Pause. "Or fathers," he amends himself, considering he certainly doesn't fall into the mother category. "They'll learn, eventually. They're adaptable, that age."

N'thei clears his throat, likely about to ask his question yet again before he decides the better of that idea. Instead; "I talked to Shanlee a bit this morning. She seemed a little worried about Madison's age, and it brought up a question to me. When we're all done, she won't be more than what? Thirteen? Maybe fourteen?"

The question that he didn't answer when asked aloud, I'daur certainly doesn't respond to when N'thei bites it back again. Instead, he remarks, "Maybe fourteen. Not surprised Shanlee's concerned, though... Anyway. We don't graduate them until they're sixteen."

Relieved, N'thei ahhhs and nods and weighs the knowledge. "What do they do in the in-between time? She spends an extra two turns as a weyrling?" To Shanlee's concern, he shrugs in much the same helpless way he addresses Wyaeth's stubbornness. Beyond his capacity for comprehension.

"Help me, maybe resupply when she's a little older," answers I'daur. "Unofficial assistant stuff around the place--like Talien used to do for me. I'll find something to keep her busy and out of trouble, anyway."

N'thei drags one corner of his mouth away, an unpretty expression full of sympathy and doubt. "I don't envy you trying to make Madison your assistant, sir, but that's probably better than trying to make her a dragonrider at fourteen." Then; "That's the only question I really had on the whole thing so far."

I'daur arches a brow. "The only thing you wanted to know was about someone else," he repeats. But he shrugs--a very have-it-your-way move--and then notes, with a smirk of his own. "Can't be worse than Talien," he notes of Madison, dryly.

In a moment of rare candor, N'thei explains, "Likely, everything else I want to know is going to come to light sooner or later. And at least a few things I don't want to know about, I'm sure." With his brows pulling together a little, he goes back to the curiously canted head; "What was wrong with Talien? Aside from the inane puns and the fascination with Ayson, I find her pretty tolerable."

N'thei's honest words earn a long look from I'daur, and finally a nod. He moves on. "You mean aside from the locking people in storerooms or the throwing away all their alcohol?" he retorts wryly. "She can be a terror when she wants to be."

"With all due respect." No good comment has ever begun with those words. N'thei smiles, a smile well aware that his caveat is seldom well-received. "Why would you let a teenage girl lock you in a storeroom or throw away all your alcohol?"

"Stupidity," admits I'daur easily enough--no offense taken, apparently. "She's... better now--past that stage of it, anyway, even if she's still about as spiteful as she can manage otherwise." He doesn't sound too bothered about it, though. "Maybe that blue of hers, Swhatsit, 'll help, but don't think we're ever gonna be friends."

N'thei supplies, "Svodriyth." With surprisingly little difficulty in pronouncing the name. "Friends? I was assuming... Nevermind. I didn't get much chance to find out what Svodriyth's like. Have you brought her in here and done this to her yet?"

"Yeah, that one," agrees the weyrlingmaster. And at the latter question, I'daur hesitates, then shakes his head slightly. "Not yet," comes the guilty admission. "I'm going to, though." Defensive much?

Surprised, N'thei halts extra, unnecessary seconds after I'daur's defensive quick-answer. "Of course, sir. I didn't mean to imply that you weren't." Hrm. "I'm sure everything that you two need to work out--" He finds a tactful smile. "--will be resolved."

"Uh-huh," says I'daur, more noncommittally than his usual answers. He studies N'thei a moment, then offers his dry smirk again. "Anyway, if you or Wyaeth need anything, lemme and Zunaeth know. And send in... V'day--I think he was still in there?" He glances at his notes briefly, then nods toward the barracks.

N'thei pushes himself to his feet, then pushes the chair back where it's supposed to be after accidentally scraping it six inches backward. "He was when I came over here, but he looked a little nervous about the whole prospect of a sit-down, sir. I'll see if I can calm him down." Likely off to do the opposite, he nods to I'daur and strolls back to the barracks.


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