Logs:Impermanence - Revision history

K'del at 20:51, 9 November 2015

2015-11-09T20:51:15Z

R'hin at 22:45, 19 September 2015

2015-09-19T22:45:49Z

Varied: Varied moved page Logs:Impermenence to Logs:Impermanence without leaving a redirect: Spelling

2015-09-19T21:54:57Z

Varied moved page Logs:Impermenence to Logs:Impermanence without leaving a redirect: Spelling

Alida at 08:26, 19 September 2015

2015-09-19T08:26:33Z

Alida: Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, R'hin |what=Alida 'barges' in on R'hin with some questions, and some omni-present booze. |where=Homestead Built For Two Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |involves=Hig..."

2015-09-19T08:23:55Z

Created page with "{{Log |who=Alida, R'hin |what=Alida 'barges' in on R'hin with some questions, and some omni-present booze. |where=Homestead Built For Two Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |involves=Hig..."

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{{Log
|who=Alida, R'hin
|what=Alida 'barges' in on R'hin with some questions, and some omni-present booze.
|where=Homestead Built For Two Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Area
|day=2
|month=11
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.09.15
|quote="Holes, digging, yadda, yadda..."
|weather=Chilly, cloudy, intermittant drizzle.
|type=Log
|ooc=Somehow, I missed the latter part of R'hin's 5th pose. If you have it, R'hin, please feel free to edit it back in. I lost it. :(
|icons-new=Icon alida determined.jpg, Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon alida ilicaeth professional.jpg
|log=The contact from Ilicaeth is polite yet firm, the genial blue's usual rasping baritone perhaps oddly restrained, serious as his sands scour at Leiventh's mental door. << Leiventh. R'hin have some time ta talk with Alida? >> Was it him or his rider who was kind enough to give the bronzepair a cushion of a half-hour after they'd returned home to let their communal hair down? No matter; if the blue receives anything like a 'yes,' the two of them will show up on their ledge within 5 minutes.

Leiventh has never much been good at being R'hin's door-keeper, and tonight is no exception; perched up on the rim, the angular bronze is still, though the stirring of winter winds suggesting he's awake. Maybe he's considering; maybe he's forgotten that she even asked; maybe he's just being his usual taciturn self, since there's no forthcoming response. The ''lack'' thereof could be taken as invitation by the bold, however. R'hin's weyr sports ''two'' doors, one left and one right, both as non-descript as the other.

No answer? Well...yeah; Ilicaeth is at least passingly familiar with the aloofness of the bronze. But not even a gust of those icy winds sent his way leave the blue both strangely reticent and honestly curious. Another 5 minutes pass beyond when they first intended to leave, but Alida's need to converse apparently trumps her other need not to intrude on others - most especially anyone she tends to feel some respect towards - has the bluepair alighting upon said ledge, anyway. Once she's slid down from her lifemate's neck to stone - bottle firmly in hand - there's another obstacle to surmount: doors. Left or right; light or dark. Locked or unlocked? The lattermost is what finally makes up the blonde's mind, left tried first, then right, if the previous is locked. Whichever's (hopefully) open is the one she'll start down first, boots striking softly upon stone, though her alto calls out politely "Wingleader; I'd like ta speak with you, if possible."

She's in luck; the left is open. It's not overly bright, but the hearth is already going, not quite taking the chill out of the air inside, yet. The glowbasket nearest the table sheds the most light, falling over the hides, the full glass of something dark, and the man seated there, regarding the hide in front of him with a distant, incautious expression of consternation. It's less the voice, and more the strike of boot against stone that earns R'hin's attention, pale eyes flickering towards the door, taking in the arrival with a surprise that's quickly flittered away under well-practiced, genial expression. "Bluerider," he intones in turn, voice amused, and clearly only using that address because of ''her'' formality. He's not unaware of the bottle, and it makes his lips twitch upwards, as he turns over the hide he was staring at, starting to rise.

It's perhaps a good thing that R'hin's given pre-warning of the blonde's impending arrival before Alida can get a full glimpse his odd expression of surprised consternation. The woman does manage to catch the tail-most end of the shuffle of expressions, though, and finds her mind all-too-typically flicking towards a guard's curious inspection as her free hand waves off his rise to meet her, while her lips open to utter, "Pardons. Ilicaeth bespoke Leiventh, but..." Obviously nothing was communicated. "Brought a lil' lubrication ta hopefully make the surprise a bit easier ta bear." Smirk. The surprise of an unexpected visitor *and* that visitor being Alida.

Leiventh's rarely shown interest providing me the benefit of preparedness," R'hin says in that all-too-familiar mix of fondness and exasperated acceptance common to partnerships of rider-and-dragon. Despite the fact she waves off, he straightens all the same, taking a step towards her, away from the table. He doesn't bother to hide the curious tilt of head, though he bears the suspense well enough, with infinite patience: "Glasses are over there," he gestures towards the liquor cabinet in invitation, turning back to the table to pick up his currently full glass, and make it not-so-full, presumably in preparation for whatever she's brought.

"Whereas Ilicaeth keeps me as informed as possible...*most* times. Guard thing." Like R'hin, Alida's words of her own lifemate are wighed with that same admixture of fond exasperation. With the man's rise and pointed move away from his table, the woman's curiosity only increases, and what lies upon that tabletop now occupies a greater portion of the 'cop's' mental focus. Sniff-sniff. On the *outside*, however, another portion of her mind continues on with 'business as usual,' 'lida grinning thinly at R'hin's patience (and at what she believes is his artful misdirection) while she putters over to his cabinet to fetch up the proper glasses for the clear liquid in the bottle she bears. Over her shoulder is inquired, "Have any kinda' tonic on hand? Mixers, maybe? You c'n drink it straight, uv' course, but it's even better with the right additions." What *is* 'it?' While she's politely rummaging about in the man's private stash, the bluerider quietly starts in on her reason for being here in the first place: "I've little doubt you've already heard the rumors about certain Wings..."

With a twitch of lips, R'hin counters, "''Dragon'' thing." The Wingleader is, undoubtedly, well-aware of the former guard's interest in his things, and so it's with a deliberateness that, after he's finished the contents of his glass, he moves over towards the couch, away from the table, and nearer the liquor cabinet. It's nearer the hearth, too, and the flicker of light plays across his face as the bronzerider settles down one end, regarding the bluerider. His, "Mmhmm," seems to be assent to her query of mixers; his cabinet is well-stocked, and she'll probably find something similar to what she's looking for, even if not exactly. "Ah," he exhales at her latter, but little more: waiting for ''her'' to continue, no doubt.

*There's* that infamous eyeroll so many have likely been exposed to, Alida's greens flying ceiling-ward for a moment as R'hin speaks of dragons. Snert. Out of habit, her gaze seeks out the bronzerider at periodic intervals, noting where he is, is moving to, ends up at. Yes; she knows that he knows that she knows...and the mental circumlocution is managing to amuse the bluie this time, given the faint twinkle in her eyes. Ah-ha! Here's what she's looking for! The mixers found after another cabinet door is opened, 'lida mulls over various choices, finally plucking forth a half-handful of them, then standing up to settle her finds...somewhere. Oh; look! There's a table nearby that can handle her quite-literal double armful of booze and additions. And then the bronzer's moving to his couch...and the low table before it. Damn! Her excuse to move towards the much more intersting 'goal' suddenly evaporates, and it's with a mix of small consternation and perhaps impishly-dark perseverance that the blonde makes for the 'proper' table: the boring one. Along her way, the now-quiet-faced blonde murmurs low, "Not gonna dance around it: heard Glacier's the first one on the potential choppin' block." Though her expression is utterly neutral, there's a throb of carefully-controlled anger and pain underneath her words.

R'hin's posture is relaxed, at ease; he's in his element, and perfectly content with silence that might otherwise, in other circumstances, make recipients nervous. Undoubtedly, he's aware of her consternation, and he doesn't try to hide it either, with a low-throated chuckle. The Wingleader makes another noise at her latter words; interested, perhaps? Encouraging? Hard to tell. "Taikrin can hold her own," is all he says, somewhat blandly. "Unless," with a considering look, at ''her'' rather than her armful of drinks, le

Both riders are indeed at home in silence, though this is not Alida's weyr, of course. Finallym with R'hin's chortlem the blonde gives in in a certain respect: making a child's face (along with stuck out tongue) at the bronzer, then apparently abandoning her pursuit of that special table as she moves most of her attention to the booze she now sports, settles atop that low table. As ingredients are carefully set out, observed by astute greens, the woman nods very firmly to word of Taikrin. R'hin's latter observation, however, has the bluerider's gaze flicking up like a knife to meet greys, holding them with hints of implied anger and mulish determination. Flatly stated: "Glacier's my *home*." The bottle she brought is lifted in a shapely, yet strong hand, considered for a few moments before the blonde murmurs, "I'm also pragmatic. *If* it winds up bein' true..." That stare again seeks to lock with the man's eyes. "I don' wanna be left adrift without a harbor 'r two." So, she'll go down with the ship...but she won't be left to the ravages of the storm.

R'hin's lift of hands, palms upwards, seem less like placation and more to emphasize the point that follows: "Homes are impermanent. Especially for dragonriders. You could as easily be transferred to Benden as transferred out of Glacier." Or, in fact, the hands mean entirely different things, he's pointing to the bottles, now: "You going to serve that, or just ''tease'' me with it?" His pale eyes meet her gaze, but he doesn't respond to her latter question, not directly, anyway. Instead, he says, "When I become Weyrleader, I reorganized the wings, too. Closed Blizzard. There was this one greenrider -- mm, let's call her, Shelly -- she spent months, and ''months'' bitching about the loss of her wing. Drove everyone fucking ''crazy''. Then came to me asking for the ''favor'' of transferring her to a different wing that ''she'' wanted -- you can imagine my reaction." His, "''Don't pull a Shelly''," seems to serve for his advice, while leaning forward, expectant of a drink in return, it would seem.

"I think we *both* know that..." Alida lips off with cool firmness to R'hin, her gaze holding his unblinkingly until she finally looks down at that bottle in hand, mixers beside it. "Yeah yeah..." is groused out a little to the man's insistence of her getting on with the concoction, the bluie finally utilizing jigger and measures, various bottles and parephenalia to mix up what looks like a potentially autumnal cocktail. As she does so, keen ears take in all the former Weyrleader has to say about 'Shelly,' and how he reacted to the greenrider...green eyes taking on a hard-headed look as the bronzerider continues. It's only after she's done mixing both their drinks - after taking time to get her head of steam under control - that the blonde finally looks up from her prep to pass over the first drink to R'hin. Again noted flatly, "Do I seem like a person ta bitch ta everyone in earshot about my woes?" Stare. Then, cautiously, "Would ya even consider me at all fer Savannah, if my ship sinks?" She's proud; that's obvious. Less obvious, though still there for the astute to hear, are the woman's glimmers of fear, determination, and that seemingly bottomless - if carefully controlled - anger.

If the Wingleader's aware of Alida's reaction to his story -- and it's likely that he is -- it certainly doesn't show on his face; R'hin's expression is easy, expectant, leaning to take the offered glass with a mute nod of thanks. He doesn't drink, not immediately, but his lips twitch at her flat words: "Mm. You seem like the sort to bitch ''at'' K'del, which isn't going to help your case either; that sort of thing didn't help you any at Pars, and won't ''now''. Holes, digging, yadda, yadda," he blithely waves off the harper phrase. When she asks about Savannah, his expression turns -- for him -- serious, giving her a careful, if neutral look in turn. "You're a guard," he says, after a moment. "You ''look'' like a guard, ''talk'' like a guard, ''act'' like a guard. You haven't shaken that. Besides," with a twitch of shoulders, "You're ''Glacier''. I've lead both Wings; they were built for different purposes, for different personalities, meant for different ''people''." He hasn't taken a sip of the drink then, but then, neither has she.

Not always mule-headed, but most-often angry for some reason or another, Alida also doesn't sip from her own drink as she listens in stony silence to the wisdom which R'hin imparts. In the end - caught between reaction and restraint - Alida finds silent, if bitter-sweet solace only in the man's excellent delivery of his 'sentence.' Everything he says about the bluerider, about her past and current life, is weirdly reflected in a dark expression that shifts into one of isolated bitterness. Observed in tight, brusque tones, "Why would I *wanna* be anything other than a guard...who's also a rider? I was born ta be one, an' I enjoy it." Utter truth, if only one of many. As for Glacier, "Did ya hate leadin' Glacier, then?" Given his utterly different tactics with Savannah, now. Sigh. "At least I know where I stand, then."

And throughout it all, the Savannah Wingleader's eyes observe, though there's no judgement in pale gaze. "Why would you, indeed," R'hin agrees, blithely. "You wouldn't be happy in Savannah." Perhaps he's feeling generous enough to answer; it doesn't seem like an answer borne out of pity after his bland assessment. "I liked leading Glacier. It was -- it suited who I ''was'' then." He gives a quick, wry sort of smile, as he amends: "I hated leading the ''Weyr''." He lifts the glass, now, as if ''that'' deserves a toasting. "To finding your place, wherever it may be, and however far the path to get there takes you."

That blithe assessment of his earns the woman's squint of eyes as she defensively reacts, but it's R'hin's open and uncomplicated words of how Alida plus Savannah would equal unhappiness that have her settling back down again, looking at the colors of the drink in her hand. After some moments of silence for reflection of a sorts, the blonde turns her gaze aside to her couchmate, asks directly, "What was the younger R'hin like, back then? When 'e led Glacier; led the Weyr?" Through her dark mix of emotion, there's still enough room for curiosity about the person across from her to partially pierce the bluie's self-contained bit of melancholy. For a moment, it looks as if the woman might not lift her own glass in a likewise toast, her expression clouded. Finally, however, a long expelling of breath seems to break some internal loggerhead, allows the bluie to heft her own concoction to the air - if not enthusiastically - and nod her head before sipping. Blink. "Well...at least the fuckin' *drink's* not bad." Snerk.

Only once ''she''s taken a drink, does R'hin; he doesn't say anything immediately, concentrating on the taste of the drink, before he's nodding in silent approval. Her question about the ''young'' R'hin earns an odd reaction: he's laughing, abruptly; hard to tell at what -- her, himself, something else? The mirth transforms him, pale eyes glimmering as the older bronzerider rests the glass on the arm of the couch. "''He'' was angry, a lot. Frustrated by a system mired in useless tradition. Farthest thing from a diplomat, forever looking for one to replace him." A beat, as his gaze goes skyward. "An ass, too. So, not everything's ''changed''."

A little roughly to his sipping only after she does, "Poison ain't my style." Eyeroll, sip. Something Alida might have added dies a silent death behind her eyes and unparted lips, squashed not only by the woman's slowly (oh-so-painfully slowly) developing sense of equilibrium, but also by R'hin's sudden laughter. His reaction brings her at least partially out of her disillusioned funk, green eyes lifting to note glimmering greys, her mouth actually twithing just a little towards a faint smirk, instead of an almost-habitual line. And what he has to say about the younger 'him' finally has the guard in rider's clothing inquiring bluntly, "So, what'd the young R'hin do ta deal better with the anger, frustration...the 'system?'" And for the young *and* older man's admission of continuing 'ass-dom,' there's a loud snort and a baring of teeth that tries for a grin, only partially makes it. "'Least yer a palatable ass, most uv the time." Unlike her.

The sudden sharpening of pale gaze, not to mention the fact that he doesn't yet take a second sip of her concoction suggests R'hin might well be on his guard around ''the'' guard -- but then, that too, is probably habit more than anything. Of her question: "Fucked, a lot. Fucked ''up'', more." He's pragmatic about it, ''now'', with the passage of time and hindsight. "Had people who were -- who could help me get my head straight. You ought to go find some of those, yourself, if you haven't, already."

"Oh fer..." is noted with some impatience...and perhaps a little nasty humor at R'hin's pause in sipping, Alida continuing around her ragged little half-smirk, "I'll sip from it, if yer delicate sensibilities need ta be soothed." One hand offered out for *his* glass is addended by a low snert for those first words of how he dealt with his own problems. Head-straightening is finally given a wizened look of mixed mistrust and cautious consideration before the blonde allows, "Ain't many who've earned that level uv' trust with me." Has *he*, since she's actually speaking to R'hin about some very touchy issues?

R'hin waves off her attempt to purloin his drink with a flippant gesture, though he still doesn't immediately drink. "Ought to work on that, then," is the bronzerider's oh-so-helpful advice. "Even the ''anti'' social need someone now and then. To, you know, give them a reality check, remind them not to be a dick, etcetera." If he's aware of the implication of her sharing that -- and let's face it, it's ''R'hin'', and little escapes his notice -- there's no change of expression to acknowledge it. Instead, he takes a gulp from his glass.

There's only a lofting of one pale brow allowed for the man's continuing refusal to drink, Alida then sipping from her own glass of the autumnal concoction, following it with a gusty sigh. A slightly pinched expression and a shake of her braided head presage a low alto, "I am." Beat. "*Ain't* anti-social. More 'a-social,' 'r so the 'Healer fancied it." Snert. For some extended moments, the blonde's willing to take in the quiet of the atmosphere about them as she mulls over what's been discussed, what's on her mind...and what might be on R'hin's. Rather uncharacteristically, the bluerider murmurs in her typical, speedy fashion, "So, what does R'hin believe Alida *is*, then?" Mumbled even faster after, "An' what's R'hin think *he* is, fer that matter." Snert.

"Potahto-potatoh," R'hin sing-songs, never one to back down from the challenge of the synonym game. "Healers like to put things in categories, but they're all the ''same'' category. It's about making you feel better. Not an outsider. Surprised you ''bought'' that," he adds, with a twitch of lips. Her questions earn a low-throated laugh. "''R'hin'', believes that ''Alida'' is here for some other purpose she has yet to," he gestures to ''her'' drink, "Give herself the courage to address yet. And R'hin thinks ''he'' will be heading down to watch the Savannah and Glacier game soon, so ''she'' has a deadline." Pale eyes stay on the bluerider throughout his response, amused.

"You think I'm gonna call the whole thing off?" Alida alludes to that song with a wry wrinkle of nose, the woman then shaking her pale head in a lazy negative. "I'm tellin' you what she told me, nothin' more 'r less. Frankly, I think *I* am *me*." And more than the sum of her parts, if the cocky, slightly challenging gleam in green eyes says anything about it. As for their 'purposes,' well, did she really think that the 'King of (Verbal) Swing' would ever give her a direct answer? Apparently not, for the bluie is looking over to her couchmate with level eyes, something of mixed emotions in that regard, though inner weariness is the largest. At length is ventured in a subdued puff, "Yer wrong; I got what I came for." A faint twist of lips is soon hidden behind the last of her drink, R'hin's amusement mirrored by 'lida's continued, silent study. "Always some kind uv' game with you, ain't it?" is ventured just before she polishes off her own cocktail, the glass settled down upon low tabletop before the woman slowly pushes up off the couch. Her words aren't accusatory at all. "Thanks fer the time." And the firm 'no' about Savannah.

"Mm," R'hin, apparently, doesn't believe the bluerider's assertion, if the words that follow are any guess: "Self delusion gives you a bit of... mm, ''glow''," with a wave of his hand in her direction. Her accusation earns a low-throated chuckle. "As you are you, I am ''me''," the bronzerider replies, easily, apparently choosing to take it as compliment rather than criticism, regardless of the intention. Pale eyes track her as she rises, lips twitching at her thanks. His, "See you at the game," walks the line somewhere between invitation and flippant order, polishing off ''his'' glass in a toast.

"Up yers..." is groused out with equal mixtures of tired sigh, snark, and even a tiny dose of her characteristic ire, Alida waggling her middle finger a bit at the bronzerider as she manages to call up a tiny smirk to his toast. Let that be the bluie's temporary farewell, though - as she closes her jacket and pops collar to deal with the chill air outside - a muttering might just barely be heard bouncing off of rocky walls as the woman departs: "Glow... Fuckin' lucky I'm not ridin' a green..."
|Categories=General Logs
}}

@@ Line 3: / Line 3: @@
 |what=Alida 'barges' in on R'hin with some questions, and some omni-present booze.
 |where=Homestead Built For Two Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
-|involves=High Reaches Area
+|involves=High Reaches Weyr
 |day=1
 |month=11

@@ Line 4: / Line 4: @@
 |where=Homestead Built For Two Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
 |involves=High Reaches Area
-|day=2
+|day=1
 |month=11
 |turn=38
@@ Line 12: / Line 12: @@
 |quote="Holes, digging, yadda, yadda..."
 |weather=Chilly, cloudy, intermittant drizzle.
 |type=Log
-|ooc=Somehow, I missed the latter part of R'hin's 5th pose. If you have it, R'hin, please feel free to edit it back in. I lost it. :(
+|icons-new=Icon alida determined.jpg, Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon alida ilicaeth professional.jpg, Icon r'hin leiventh.jpg,
 |icons-new=Icon alida determined.jpg, Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon alida ilicaeth professional.jpg
 |log=The contact from Ilicaeth is polite yet firm, the genial blue's usual rasping baritone perhaps oddly restrained, serious as his sands scour at Leiventh's mental door. << Leiventh. R'hin have some time ta talk with Alida? >> Was it him or his rider who was kind enough to give the bronzepair a cushion of a half-hour after they'd returned home to let their communal hair down? No matter; if the blue receives anything like a 'yes,' the two of them will show up on their ledge within 5 minutes.
@@ Line 33: / Line 33: @@
 Ahh... *There's* that infamous eyeroll so many have likely been exposed to, Alida's greens flying ceiling-ward for a moment as R'hin speaks of dragons. Snert. Out of habit, her gaze seeks out the bronzerider at periodic intervals, noting where he is, is moving to, ends up at. Yes; she knows that he knows that she knows...and the mental circumlocution is managing to amuse the bluie this time, given the faint twinkle in her eyes. Ah-ha! Here's what she's looking for! The mixers found after another cabinet door is opened, 'lida mulls over various choices, finally plucking forth a half-handful of them, then standing up to settle her finds...somewhere. Oh; look! There's a table nearby that can handle her quite-literal double armful of booze and additions. And then the bronzer's moving to his couch...and the low table before it. Damn! Her excuse to move towards the much more intersting 'goal' suddenly evaporates, and it's with a mix of small consternation and perhaps impishly-dark perseverance that the blonde makes for the 'proper' table: the boring one. Along her way, the now-quiet-faced blonde murmurs low, "Not gonna dance around it: heard Glacier's the first one on the potential choppin' block." Though her expression is utterly neutral, there's a throb of carefully-controlled anger and pain underneath her words.
-R'hin's posture is relaxed, at ease; he's in his element, and perfectly content with silence that might otherwise, in other circumstances, make recipients nervous. Undoubtedly, he's aware of her consternation, and he doesn't try to hide it either, with a low-throated chuckle. The Wingleader makes another noise at her latter words; interested, perhaps? Encouraging? Hard to tell. "Taikrin can hold her own," is all he says, somewhat blandly. "Unless," with a considering look, at ''her'' rather than her armful of drinks, le
+R'hin's posture is relaxed, at ease; he's in his element, and perfectly content with silence that might otherwise, in other circumstances, make recipients nervous. Undoubtedly, he's aware of her consternation, and he doesn't try to hide it either, with a low-throated chuckle. The Wingleader makes another noise at her latter words; interested, perhaps? Encouraging? Hard to tell. "Taikrin can hold her own," is all he says, somewhat blandly. "Unless," with a considering look, at ''her'' rather than her armful of drinks, leaning forward, "You're planning to abandon ship over a ''rumor''?"
 Both riders are indeed at home in silence, though this is not Alida's weyr, of course. Finallym with R'hin's chortlem the blonde gives in in a certain respect: making a child's face (along with stuck out tongue) at the bronzer, then apparently abandoning her pursuit of that special table as she moves most of her attention to the booze she now sports, settles atop that low table. As ingredients are carefully set out, observed by astute greens, the woman nods very firmly to word of Taikrin. R'hin's latter observation, however, has the bluerider's gaze flicking up like a knife to meet greys, holding them with hints of implied anger and mulish determination. Flatly stated: "Glacier's my *home*." The bottle she brought is lifted in a shapely, yet strong hand, considered for a few moments before the blonde murmurs, "I'm also pragmatic. *If* it winds up bein' true..." That stare again seeks to lock with the man's eyes. "I don' wanna be left adrift without a harbor 'r two." So, she'll go down with the ship...but she won't be left to the ravages of the storm.
-R'hin's lift of hands, palms upwards, seem less like placation and more to emphasize the point that follows: "Homes are impermanent. Especially for dragonriders. You could as easily be transferred to Benden as transferred out of Glacier." Or, in fact, the hands mean entirely different things, he's pointing to the bottles, now: "You going to serve that, or just ''tease'' me with it?" His pale eyes meet her gaze, but he doesn't respond to her latter question, not directly, anyway. Instead, he says, "When I become Weyrleader, I reorganized the wings, too. Closed Blizzard. There was this one greenrider -- mm, let's call her, Shelly -- she spent months, and ''months'' bitching about the loss of her wing. Drove everyone fucking ''crazy''. Then came to me asking for the ''favor'' of transferring her to a different wing that ''she'' wanted -- you can imagine my reaction." His, "''Don't pull a Shelly''," seems to serve for his advice, while leaning forward, expectant of a drink in return, it would seem.
+R'hin's lift of hands, palms upwards, seem less like placation and more to emphasize the point that follows: "Homes are impermanent. Especially for dragonriders. You could as easily be transferred to Benden as transferred out of Glacier." Or, in fact, the hands mean entirely different things, he's pointing to the bottles, now: "You going to serve that, or just ''tease'' me with it?" His pale eyes meet her gaze, but he doesn't respond to her latter question, not directly, anyway. Instead, he says, "When I became Weyrleader, I reorganized the wings, too. Closed Blizzard. There was this one greenrider -- mm, let's call her, Shelly -- she spent months, and ''months'' bitching about the loss of her wing. Drove everyone fucking ''crazy''. Then came to me asking for the ''favor'' of transferring her to a different wing that ''she'' wanted -- you can imagine my reaction." His, "''Don't pull a Shelly''," seems to serve for his advice, while leaning forward, expectant of a drink in return, it would seem.
 "I think we *both* know that..." Alida lips off with cool firmness to R'hin, her gaze holding his unblinkingly until she finally looks down at that bottle in hand, mixers beside it. "Yeah yeah..." is groused out a little to the man's insistence of her getting on with the concoction, the bluie finally utilizing jigger and measures, various bottles and parephenalia to mix up what looks like a potentially autumnal cocktail. As she does so, keen ears take in all the former Weyrleader has to say about 'Shelly,' and how he reacted to the greenrider...green eyes taking on a hard-headed look as the bronzerider continues. It's only after she's done mixing both their drinks - after taking time to get her head of steam under control - that the blonde finally looks up from her prep to pass over the first drink to R'hin. Again noted flatly, "Do I seem like a person ta bitch ta everyone in earshot about my woes?" Stare. Then, cautiously, "Would ya even consider me at all fer Savannah, if my ship sinks?" She's proud; that's obvious. Less obvious, though still there for the astute to hear, are the woman's glimmers of fear, determination, and that seemingly bottomless - if carefully controlled - anger.
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 "Up yers..." is groused out with equal mixtures of tired sigh, snark, and even a tiny dose of her characteristic ire, Alida waggling her middle finger a bit at the bronzerider as she manages to call up a tiny smirk to his toast. Let that be the bluie's temporary farewell, though - as she closes her jacket and pops collar to deal with the chill air outside - a muttering might just barely be heard bouncing off of rocky walls as the woman departs: "Glow... Fuckin' lucky I'm not ridin' a green..."
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