Difference between revisions of "Logs:Wings of the Future"

R'hin's normal hours tend toward the later than the earlier, by both habit and choice. Earlier in the day, when they passed each other in the living caverns, the Savannah Wingleader casually invited K'del over for drinks 'sometime after dinner'. While a vaguely unspecified time, Leiventh is present and awake on the ledge - as is Saindyth, though the green is far less watchful than the bronze. Two doors lead off to weyrs, one left and one right; it's not really obvious which is which.

K'del's dropped his daughter off in the nurseries, now, and finished with the last of his business for the day; he's casually dressed when he and Cadejoth arrive on the ledge Leiventh and Saindyth share, and quick to head indoors against the chilly evening air (though not before he's given both dragons a quick nod). Inside, however, he hesitates, adjusting the bottle under his arm and turning from left to right. The polite response, apparently, is for Cadejoth to ask, « Which door is which? We wouldn't like to-- » Intrude.

There's certainly enough room for Cadejoth, and Leiventh offers a low rumble of greeting that is more felt than heard. Saindyth, in turn, issues a lighter-toned greeting of her own. There's a beat or two of silence, moments before Leiventh's chill winds behind to wind around Cadejoth's chains, rattling them as his thoughts brush past. « They are-- » and then he stops, silent. A moment later the right door opens, R'hin greeting cheerfully, "Ah, my good man." The door is closed behind him shortly before the rush of warm air rushes over them. "Come in," he entreats, pale eyes taking note of that bottle with an approving grin as he ducks into the left weyr. It's not quite as warm here, but the hearth has been burning low for long enough to drive off the chill. The inside is rather spartan, a few hides rolled up on the table, the bed neatly made. "Red or white?" he asks, heading for the side cabinet.

Cadejoth lets those winds rattle his chains, and adds in the faint drill of bone upon bone, though he's buoyant and relaxed, more inclined to settle down upon the ledge than - for once - seek other amusements. K'del's expression turns amused as R'hin opens the door, and he meanders in, gazing about thoughtfully as he takes in the surrounds. "Red," is his answer. "And here's another for your collection - something my brother-in-law produces. Only in small batches, for now, but he's looking to expand. Thought you might find it interesting. It's not strange, sharing your space like this? Such as it is, granted."

The right glass for the right wine is important enough that R'hin waits for the answer before he selects two of the larger ones, moving towards the couch set in front of the hearth, setting them on the low table. "Interesting," he's certainly eyeing the other bottle with interest, as he gestures for K'del to presumably do the honors of pouring. "How is your own vineyard coming along?" At the mention of sharing space, he rubs at his chin, chuckling a little. "It is and isn't. It's always nice to have one's own space," a brief nod to the room at large seems to indicate this is his, as spartan as it is. "And sometimes just the option."

"My vineyard was doing much better before I took this job on again," answers K'del as he pours the wine. He takes his own glass, giving it an appreciative sniff (he's learnt something about wine in the past few turns, it seems) as he settles down to a seat. "But my brothers and brothers-in-law are helping out, and some of their children, so... This turn, we might have a reasonable harvest, I'm hoping." He glances over his shoulder, back towards the now-closed door, and laughs. "The option. Suppose I can see that. Our winter's not driving your wing too crazy, I hope."

Taking his own glass with a grateful nod, R'hin leans back on the couch, swirling the wine in the glass and holding it up briefly, before bringing it to his nose. Finally, he takes a sip, looking thoughtful, "Good," he says by way of approval, nodding. "That's helpful, having family help out." He's chuckling at the last: "Mm. Some worse than others. I know a fair few spend their rest days back at Monaco. The dragons forgot quicker than the riders; we've got a couple of native Monacoans who haven't ever really seen snow before. Speaking of new riders," which he so smoothly segued to, "I wanted to talk about the weyrlings."

K'del is obviously pleased by the approval, though subtly so; he focuses his own attention on his own glass, and on considering it for a long time before he gives any answer to the other bronzerider. "Got to be some advantages of having six older brothers," he murmurs, smiling wryly. "Imagine the riders we sent down your way are feeling pretty smug, about now. Still, spring's not so very far off. What about the weyrlings?" This has certainly caught the Acting Weyrleader's attention: he straightens, turning his attention onto R'hin more directly. "Be interested in what you have to say."

"I'm sure Polaris enjoys the regular beach cookouts," and there's a note that suggests the Monaco-based rider might well be jealous, but it's brushed over swiftly enough as the topic focuses on the weyrlings. "You didn't have them shadow Savannah," R'hin says, lowering his glass enough to keep his expression visible as it lights curiously on K'del. "I take it to mean you don't intend to allow any of the weyrlings to join us, either?"

Something in K'del's expression suggests that he might be, too, but it's quickly washed over by something more thoughtful... and surprised. "Didn't think on it too much," he admits. "You'll be headed back to Monaco, in time, and... not opposed to the idea, though." His expression is measured, considering R'hin in a way that suggests he's trying to work something out, but hasn't yet determined it wholeheartedly. "Got someone in mind, then? Even temporarily?"

A shift of shoulders, casual. "It's a while away yet. And I was just thinking about Polaris, when they return. Is it fair to deprive... whats-his-name of some of the new crop?" It might help his argument if he actually mentioned the Polaris Wingleader by name; but then this is R'hin, so it's a likely deliberate choice. When asked if he has someone particular in mind, the bronzerider shakes his head. He certainly doesn't mention A'rist, who's been seen hanging around Polaris-now-Savannah's table at meal times once or twice.

"Polaris," answers K'del, without needing to pause and consider this, "is likely to undergo some... changes, when it does return." In other words: why yes, we did round up the troublemakers and put them into a single wing in order to get rid of them for a turn. "Not sure they'll be the best place for new riders, at that point." It's studiously casual, the way he adds, after a moment, "Did A'rist ever come and talk to you? He's one I did send your way. Full of questions."

R'hin does not look in any way surprised by this not-so-revelation; in fact, he laughs. "It'll keep 'em on their toes. I'd counter and say that's the perfect place... for the right sort of person, anyway." Taking a slow sip of the wine, he nods at the question. "Mm. Nosy thing," seems to be his agreement with K'del's assessment, if slightly more frank. "Wanted to know what High Reaches' and Monaco got out of the swap. I assume by his questions you didn't tell him." And of course it's unlikely R'hin would, because where's the fun in that? "Gotta keep that one distracted," he says with a knowing sort of grin. "I've forgotten what it was like to be a teenager and so sure of everything. Now I'm just old and sure of everything."

Of Polaris, K'del has apparently not much more to say - just an enigmatic smile, really. "Pretty sure I was like that, myself," he admits. "At least until I won my knot, and then... Well. That's enough to shake anyone's surety, I should think. Now... kind of hard to get it back." Even so, he's got a thoughtful expression all over again. "No, I didn't tell him. The whole point of it was to try and make him think about the possibilities. Why would we accept this trade? He's supposed to report back... but we'll see. Do you want to shake that confidence of his, or sculpt it?"

There's a shrug for the reporting stuff; R'hin doesn't know, doesn't care, or both. Instead of answering specifically on the subject of A'rist, he instead leans forward, dramatically pronouncing with a spread of arms, "Give me your troublemakers, your wayward children, your rebels, and I will give you a rider in return. In good time." A beat, as his arms drop, before he leans forward, abruptly, pale eyes interested, "Six brothers. Do any of them look like you enough to pass for you?"

K'del snorts into his glass, that dramatic pronouncement setting the corners of his mouth to twitching. "Could just do that, you know," he murmurs, but it's an idle thought. The glass gets set down again, his hands resting idly upon his knees afterwards, and he confirms, "Six of them, all older. Ander, maybe. And he's the harper, so he's got the skills to back it up. But he's far too serious to every try. Besides, I'm far too young to be imitated by a man of thirty-six, surely. Those five turns make all the difference."

"It's always a harper." R'hin snorts, but he's certainly no less interested in the information. With a dark chuckle, he says, "Sorry to break it to you, my friend, but after you turn thirty, no one younger than you can tell the difference; you're just old." He reaches out with the intent to clap K'del on the shoulder, not-very-comfortingly. "Drink up; welcome to the club." He does just that, himself.

Comforting or not, the words, and the shoulder-clap that accompany them, make K'del laugh - and he reclaims his drink, taking a hearty swallow from it (wine or no). "To old men, then," he says, with a cheerful enough roll of his eyes. "And the careful training of younger men, too, so that they might be as wise as us, when they... shells, double their age or more."

"Ambitious," R'hin replies in turn, after he's imbibed enough of his wine, "To think that they might wait their turn. We never did," he reminds, with a sidelong look and grin. "I often wonder how much S'rist drank because of weyrling-me." He leans forward to reach for the bottle, intending to refill both their glasses. "At least we're drinking because of us. Speaking of which, us deserves the entirety of this whole bottle, wouldn't you say?"

It's a good point, and one that has K'del laughing, and raising his glass - to be refilled, yes, but also to acknowledge the point itself. "Hate to think about that. Pretty sure I'daur laughed about me. N'thei... never really knew me, thankfully. Satiet would've eaten me alive. Tiriana, never. Us deserves at least a whole bottle; I'm sure of that much."

There's something kind of regretful in R'hin's expression when K'del mentions I'daur. "We used to make a point of drinking in commiseration, or possibly celebration, after each weyrling clutch graduated. I've never drunk with Quinlys; think she'd appreciate the gesture?" He's amused at the thought, pushing to his feet and moving towards the hearth. "Then I'd best stoke up the fire a bit."

K'del is too watchful, too thoughtful, to miss the way R'hin's expression changes at the former weyrlingmaster's name. "She's hard to read," is his answer. "Too cheerful by half, most of the time, and then suddenly she's reaming you out over - well, who even knows. I'd rather I'daur than Quinlys, any day. Meara, even. But of course, it's different. We're a generation without thread experience... training weyrlings who don't even remember it."

There's a grunt of noise from R'hin, either at K'del's assessment of Quinlys, his mention of Thread, or both. "Maybe that's not a bad thing," he says, as he pokes at the hearth a bit, stirring the logs inside. "A fresh view to last us until the next Pass. Most people are either one or the other -- Traditional or pushing for change -- but there's room now for both. There'll always be those that prefer Traditions, even amongst young riders -- sons and daughters of Thread-fighting parents, for example."

"And still room for those who... you have to wonder, sometimes, whether the old wing structure even makes sense. Shouldn't we at least consider the kind of work we do, the kind of work we should do?" But," and K'del's expression is rueful as he regards his glass again. "People are attached to their wings. And what happens when the next Pass comes along, even if we're no longer around to care? It came up," he allows, then, "sort of, in passing. With H'kon and Azaylia."

"I did," a pause, "I tried, but tradition is a difficult mistress to buck. Especially when interrupted by a not-so-timely reminder of Thread," R'hin says with a dark tone, watching the fire. "But, maybe it's time to look again. Stir things up -- you might not get another chance, if another weyrling catches Hraedhyth next time," he throws that thought over his shoulder with a low chuckle that fades as he rises to his feet, regarding K'del with a rub of fingers against the stubble on his chin. "It is... relying on future leaders to prepare their wings. But if you keep a few traditional wings and enforce occasional rotation into them on everyone -- no one can forget those skills, then."

There's a scoffing sound, not wholly dismissive, for this prospect of a weyrling catching Hraedhyth; he may well be thinking of A'rist again, right now. But mostly, K'del's silent and thoughtful as R'hin answers, studying first his drink and then the other bronzerider himself. It's that last comment that abruptly has the younger bronzerider leaning forward. "Hadn't thought of that," he admits. "Rotations. It's-- not likely to be easy, if we go down that path. People're-- wings. But. Why shouldn't people be able to specialize? Perhaps we just start small. I don't know. Ideas. It's a pity you'll be headed back to Monaco, though, if I do. If we do."

R'hin, ever practical, says, "You've six months," before Savannah's due back at Monaco. "Trial it out with my wing. If it fails, you can blame it on Monaco, on me, and it won't be your problem soon enough, either way."

That gives K'del pause. He considers R'hin thoughtfully, silent for some long seconds before, finally, and with exaggerated slowness, he begins to nod. "All right," he says. "What do you see Savannah doing?"

"Feel out the locals, subtly and otherwise. Provide the leadership with an idea of how the crafts and Holds are feeling, thinking, on anything from the next leadership flight to how Nabol's Lady is doing, to how well Crom's new marriage is panning out." The way R'hin answers so adroitly and smoothly might well suggest this is not a new concept as far as the management of his own wing's time and effort -- not that he admits as such. "Rotate a few High Reaches riders in with me, maybe one of the weyrlings, see how it goes. You'll reshuffle once Polaris gets back, regardless."

K'del shifts his glass from one hand to the other, without looking at it: all of his attention is focused on R'hin. The slow, careful way he nods, those nods evenly spaced throughout the other bronzerider's words, are indication of his interest; so too is his eventual, "Hm. Can see the use of that." The words are neutral, but his expression is not. "All right," he says, finally, this time with a rather firmer nod. "Go to it." His smile suggests he's aware of, or at least has guessed about, Savannah's pre-existing activities. "Any riders you want to rotate in, just tell their wingleaders I've given you permission. Weyrlings, too - just give me names. They'll be graduating soon, so it's a good time to take them, if you want them. Might as well start with the young."

The smile of R'hin's, almost mirroring K'del's, is not so much affected as genuine and pleased, as he reaches for his glass. What surprises him is, "Any rider?" he, indeed, looks quite thoughtful, as if that was far higher than he was aiming, nodding quickly. "Very well. I'll have them for you in a couple of days." He tips his glass towards K'del in toast. "To... trying out new things."

"As long as they're not personally opposed," confirms K'del, which is - surely - something like a gesture of trust. His words are placid; he's not concerned. He lifts his own glass, his smile broadening. "To trying out new things," he agrees. "For better or for worse, but probably for better. Cheers."

A nod for the first point, then: "Even if it's worse, it's better than not trying," R'hin says vehemently, downing a long swallow of the liquid. "Now, while we imbibe the rest of this lovely bottle of yours, why don't you give me your thoughts on the weyrlings?" he suggests, strolling over and slouching onto the couch to settle in.

"At least then we'll know," agrees K'del, around the rim of his own glass. R'hin's suggestion has him glancing at the other bronzerider, side-long; he laughs. "They're all so young," he says, musingly. "Even the ones who aren't, in a way. Rh'mis, he's one I've no idea what to do with. So angry. Most of the others are easy. Of course, Miravea's my niece. She's been spending time with A'rist, as I hear it. Or was. But shells. Was I really as naive as they seem to be, some of them? Don't answer that."

There's amusement in the other bronzerider's gaze as he says, "I'll be sure to steer clear of Miravea, then," with a wry sort of tone. R'hin rubs a hand over his chin, saying thoughtfully, "I was angry too, a lot, when I was... I remember what it was like." It sounds like sympathy, almost, except that it's brushed past with the barest of focuses. The latter comment makes him snort, but at least he respects the request not to answer it. "Naivety has it's own... benefits. In certain circumstances."

K'del has an uncle's protective look to his expression at that comment regarding Miravea, though it's not as intense as all that, and the roll of his eyes suggests he's equally dismissive of A'rist. Or something, in any case. "Never had the angry, personally. Just... The trouble with naivety is that it tends to get wiped out at inconvenient moments. You can't trust it'll stick around. Still, you want naive, put it on that list of yours. I can give you naive. Angry. Lazy. Former guard? But no, not that one. Some of them are easy to place. And then we'll be back to no weyrlings at all, at least until Hraedhyth obliges again."

"I'll give it some thought," R'hin says, of naive weyrlings. It's the latter that earns a thoughtful sort of musing, lifting his glass and studying the contents a moment. "Until then." A beat or two, then, "If it happens while we're still here, I'll take the wing away. If we can get away in time." With a negligent gesture to K'del, "Then you, and that bronze of yours just need to be faster, this time. I mean, honestly, beaten by a brown." Not that he wasn't there too, but that's beside the point.

K'del makes a face, the kind that suggests he's just barely avoiding sticking out his tongue in a gesture of truly childish pique, albeit not serious pique. "This wine is too good for me to throw it at you in a gesture of disgust," he says, with a short, sharp laugh. "Don't worry, the day Szadath catches her again is the day I am dead and gone. We'll-- just have to do our best. Your absence may be appreciated; she likes you." It could be read as a warning. Instead, though, he just smiles. "Anyway. I need a refill." There is more wine to be drunk.

"Hraedhyth likes many dragons, but definitely not me." R'hin says quickly enough, his voice dry as he pushes forward to reach for the bottle. "Think Bristia would object if we asked her to come in and pour wine for us all night?" Maybe he'll be game to try later -- once a good deal more of the bottle is imbibed by the pair.

K'del's answer is cheerful laughter-- and on the conversation goes. And the wine-drinking.