Difference between revisions of "Logs:FIGHT! FIGHT! FIG- Wait, no."

They said that they were going to come out here, so here they are one day. They've come by after dinner when there's a decent crowd of people milling in and around the bar. The place isn't completely packed yet (if ever) but it's lively and the patrons appear to be more or less friendly. It's a smokey haze inside and the smell of badly burned food wafts out from the not so clean looking kitchen. Z'ian's already taken care of ordering the beer, something slightly less nausea inducing than what's readily available. With two mostly clean glasses and a pitcher, he winds his way through some haggard looking cotholders and settles in at their table. He slides K'del's mug across to him, sloshing the booze into the other rider's and then his own before dropping down into his chair. "My father used to drink here when we lived outside the Hold proper growing up. It's not a bad place, more run down than it used to be." He comments idly, glancing overhead at the beams.

Dressed casual, no leathers or bronzerider's knot in sight, K'del rocks back on the slightly uneven legs of his chair, and looks utterly content. "Kinda like the rundownedness. Rundownness? Whatever. Feels comfortable. Cheers for the beer." He grasps his mug, lifting it into a lazy salute before taking a pull. "Guess I'd rather not see it fall to pieces, though. Hope it's not because times are tough." That seems to be a sobering thought, one that turns his gaze more thoughtfully around the structure of the bar, as if he can determine this from a single glance.

"It's broken in. Like a pair of boots that you've had for a long time." Z'ian agrees, his eyes drifting around to catch some details that may only be apparent to him. "I hope not too. But then that's just it, the times. Time, really. It's sort of like the ocean, unrelenting and always moving. I guess it'll take this place too eventually." It's a notion that carries a certain wait of futility and sadness, but with a shake of his head, he ends up grinning. "Anyway, I suppose that we better it enjoy it now. We're here anyway." He lifts his beer and then takes a long draw from it, dropping his elbows onto the table.

"Shells. Depressing, much?" But K'del can't seem to help himself: he, too, carries that sense of futility and sadness, and an almost wistfulness that he struggles to lose even when he matches Z'ian's grin a moment later. "Hate the idea, of things I remember from childhood disappearing. That much change. But - inevitable, I guess. And yeah. Enjoy it while it lasts. Enjoy everything we can." He turns his mug in his hand, then uses the other hand to actually lift it to his mouth for another gulp. "Much too melancholy a subject to waste on a decent beer."

Z'ian laughs at that, "Sorry, I guess I got out of bed on the wrong side today or maybe it's the change in seasons." He's apologetic as he sets his mug down, running his fingers along the top of the glass. Attempting to change the subject around into something that's at least relatively positive, "There are other things to replace the old. And that's not so bad, sometimes it's better. I'm trying to think of it that way. Makes me less suicidal." Grinning crookedly, he takes another sip from his beer. More conversationally, "You get any of the new transfers into your wing?"

K'del's expression is wry. "Change is hard. But no - it's fine. It's totally not your fault that I'm inclined towards melancholy myself." His beer gets his attention before the other rider as he considers the more conversational turn of what is said; after another careful sip, he shakes his head. "Not in mine, no. Hear you got that bronzerider-- the Istan one who seems to be in it to fly Hraedhyth." From the sound of his voice, he is not terribly impressed with the Istan, or his intentions. "Stereotypical bronzerider type: all bluster and ego."

"Great, we can be depressing together. Like old men that yell at kids not to run too fast in the tunnels." Z'ian rolls his eyes and pulls his mug in again, keeping it close to his chest as he occasionally takes a swallow from it. "Yeah, we got him." He begins before taking a more generous draw and wiping at the corner of his mouth. "I think of myself as an alright sort of guy. I tried to talk to him the other night but he made it clear his attention was elsewhere when Azaylia came along to say hello." It's not exactly a topic that one would expect from him and he looks distinctly uncomfortable bringing it up at all, but they're in the right place for it. "Do you think he was really transferred because of problems? Or do you think they sent him here to give Ista a chance to put their foot in our door?"

With a wry laugh, K'del says, "Better buy myself a walking stick, then, so I can whack people with it to make sure they get out of my way." But he's rather more interested in hearing about this new bronzerider, though not in a pleased kind of way: deep lines appear in his face as he frowns, and his air of relaxation begins to dissipate. "Bastard," he says, no beating around the bush. "Don't know, but what I do know is that I don't trust him one bit. The idea of... someone like that waltzing in and taking over makes me feel sick. If I'm being honest."

"If it's any consolation, if someone sent him in to charm his way into her life? They probably could have chosen better. Then again he was pretty far in the bag when I saw him the other night, maybe he's more fun to be around sober." Z'ian doesn't speak with his normal levity, he's completely serious for once. "She didn't seem so impressed." He exhales and takes another long drink from his mug. "I don't like it either, it makes me uneasy. We're so vulnerable right now, I feel like everyone outside of High Reaches can see it." The Avalanche rider opens his mouth to say something more, but closes it again. Instead he looks thoughtful as he pulls his chair closer to the table, his attention focusing almost entirely onto K'del.

Over the rim of his mug, K'del lets out a choked half-laugh. "Good," is his only answer to what Z'ian has to relate about the goldrider and the Istan, and it's a serious, even fervent remark. "We-- are. Vulnerable. Haven't been vulnerable like this since... since Satiet died, I guess, and even then, that was different. Tiriana--" Was different, whatever K'del's personal feelings about the former Weyrwoman are. He breaks off, regarding Z'ian levelly, though with a definite awareness of the focus shared between them.

"It was a different time." They're back again to that then, the passage of time. Z'ian is looking K'del over, a considering sort of gaze. He really only has one question, "Do you want it back?"

K'del's mouth opens. There's no doubt that he knows exactly what Z'ian is asking: it's written in the sudden intensity of his expression, and the faint pink that marks itself upon his cheeks. "Yes," he says, finally, simply. "Eight months ago, I couldn't-- wasn't capable of it. Needed time. But... now. Yes."

There's a sort of relief that passes across Z'ian's expression. "I don't want it." As if that needed to just be said allowed, confirmed for both of their sakes. "I can't stop him from wanting to chase. But I could persuade him to make some decisions that wouldn't be conducive to him catching. We can punch a hole through the crowd for you, he's fast enough and strong enough to do it. Even if he's not the largest." It's here that he takes a breath and brings his mug up to his mouth. "You'll know it's coming, so it should give you an edge the others won't know is coming."

That relief makes K'del smile - a half-smile, maybe, but a smile nonetheless. "Wiser man than I," is his apparently genuine remark, one that indicates he's well aware of his own folly in wanting the job in the first place. "I--" A pause, and then a nod, just a quiet one. "I'd like that. Thank you. Means a lot, that you--" His shrug is probably meant to convey a lot, and make it seem casual and not-a-big-deal-even-if-it-is. You know, because men don't talk that way. Or something. Especially not with beer. "Reckon it won't be long, now. It'll be good to have things-- settled again."

"I'm practically a Masterharper." Z'ian drawls easily and with a good natured smile, teeth just showing as he drains the rest of his beer. The pitcher is within reach so he fills it again, drawing the mug in close again. While the other man gives him the casual shoulder shrug of big thanks, he's giving him the raised hand of 'don't-even-worry-about-it-what-else-could-I-do?'. "Not long at all. I might have wished for it to be Brieli instead, but." Then it's his turn to shrug, things aren't always what we wish for, yeah? "She seems driven. She'll get over the disappointment."

"Not sure Brieli would be thrilled if Cadejoth caught Iesaryth," remarks K'del, his brow furrowing just faintly. "Somehow. But-- mm. Azaylia'll grow into it. She's a smart woman. Capable. Just needs confidence. Brieli'll-- well. She will. You're right. Reckon they'll still work well together, backing each other up, making up for each other's weaknesses." He can't help the faintly proud, faintly almost possessive note in his voice, though at least he seems aware of it - and rueful as a result. He's trying. Then, he drains the rest of his mug, and adds, "On the plus side, she'll be able to have her boyfriend's bronze in the flight, if Hraedhyth's gone first. Imagine she'd like that."

"I like them both, Azaylia seems like a good woman. For what little I know about her. They're both very young though." Z'ian comments, not unkindly but more matter of fact. "But it's good that they have each other like they do. It can do bad things to a weyr when goldriders are at odds. That relationship makes us less vulnerable." While the talk of intruding outsider bronzeriders made him sound concerned earlier, this part infuses a bit more confidence into his tone. He sips slowly on his beer, cradling the mug in his hands. His smile perks and his lips curve slightly while he listens, detecting that faint hint of possesiveness. "Imagine she would. Maybe that'll help her move past it. Iesaryth isn't due that long after, is she?"

K'del reaches for the beer, refilling his glass as he listens to Z'ian. His mouth twists, "Older than I was," he points out, but that's not disagreement: he nods. They are young. "Wish Lujayn had stayed, you know? More experience, to back them up. But... Guess I can't blame her, either." Drawing his beer back towards him, he wraps both hands about it, allowing himself a wry smile before he adds, "Could end up with two clutches on the sands at a similar time, potentially, if they mature at the same rate. It was, what, three sevens difference, their hatching? Or it could be months and months."

"I know what you're saying." Z'ian agrees on the subject of Lujayn, his head shaking almost imperceptively on the subject of the gone goldrider. Lifting his mug, he takes a generous swallow and finally leans back again. Relaxed, he laughs. "Yeah, wouldn't that be something? I'm sure the weyrling staff will appreciate having two different sets of hatchlings entering into their care mere months apart." His grin suggests that he doesn't really think they'll be so crazy for the idea.

"It'd be like-- like clutches were like before the end of the Pass, I guess," says K'del, who apparently hasn't considered this idea before, and is fascinated by it. "More like it, anyway. That many weyrlings. I mean, potentially. We haven't had two clutches in the barracks at once in as long as I've been here. Poor Meara. Got the impression she was about ready for retirement anyway; this might really prove too much for her. Like having a second baby the moment the first one has started sleeping through the night."

"There weren't any double clutches while I was here, either." Z'ian reminds, draining the last of his mug before letting it settle onto the table. He looks at the empty vessel, satisfied. "She's been the weyrlingmaster since, when? The establishment of High Reaches Weyr?" He asks jokingly, flashing the other man a quick smile. "That's what it feels like anyway. Meara's practically a staple in the barracks. It'll be strange when she does retire. But I guess that's all part of change, yeah?"

K'del's expression flickers, just once. "Since I'daur died, I guess," he says. "After my clutch." It's long enough ago that, probably, the younger bronzerider is right back into the 'feeling old and afraid of change' camp, though he brushes it off with a somewhat rueful smile. "Yeah. It'll probably be good for other people to make their mark. Times change. People move on. She's allowed to retire, enjoy herself for a change." He reaches for the pitcher again, then adds, "Empty, just about. Shall I get another?"

Z'ian winces then, "Was it that long ago?" Long enough for him to be a distant memory in his mind, replaced by the soon to retire Meara it would seem. He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he goes to ruffle the back of his head. It's a moment before he shakes that troubled look off his face, producing his own get back on track smile. "Yeah, anyway. And someday they'll let us retire to. In the meantime, lets get another pitcher." That last is said more enthusiastically. For the remainder, he'll try to be upbeat and avoid bringing up anymore dead people or depressing topics. Beer!

Comments

Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 02:35:56 GMT.

Oohhhhh! You two are a couple of cheater pants! Ooooooh. :o

Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 03:15:46 GMT.

Plans all over.

Varied (Varied) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 05:28:27 GMT.

Beer!

Me: