Difference between revisions of "Logs:Transferable"

Rider's Lounge
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.

After Rogzaith's injury during maneuvers the day before and the pronouncement that emergency maneuvers will be a focus for the next month, H'vier has set up in the riders' lounge after returning from sweeps and the wing has been informed that anyone looking for some not entirely formal one on one time with him is welcomed to show up. Unsurprisingly, Iceberg's wingleader is sitting at a table by himself, looking over reports from earlier in the week while he enjoys a drink.

Lythronath was there, closeby, when Rogzaith went down. Lythronath helped. A'rist has been receiving some congratulations, though he's not seemed fully at ease with them. And of course, Rogzaith's hide is bearing the mark of Lythronath's eager 'assistance.' Maybe, with all that, it's not a surprise to find that comet-blazed bronze taking the ledge of the rider's lounge when he and A'rist return from their scheduled patrol. Maybe A'rist's approach and greeting of, "H'vier," at his table, is to be expected.

"Afternoon, bronzerider," H'vier greets A'rist without looking up right away. After a few moments, he marks his place in his reading before reaching for his drink and sitting back. He's ready to give his wingrider of the hour, though he himself has not been generous with any particularly congratulating words, his full attention. "What can I do you for?" is asked as he gestures to one of the vacant seats around the table.

A'rist takes that acknowledgement as invitation to sit, scraping a chair into place, and settling. "Hey," comes as a sort of secondary greeting, once he's settled, once he's ready. He pushes his fingers, ungloved, through his hair. He leans his forearms on the edge of the table. He looks square on at his wingleader. "Me and Lythronath are transferring." Straight to the heart of the matter, why not.

For this news, there's no overwhelming reaction visible in H'vier's expression. Curiosity, perhaps, at best, but this is clearly the first he's heard of it. "Oh? Have you found another wing that suits you better?"

"Dunno," A'rist answers, sincerely, in a bit of a tumble of syllables and a lift of one shoulder. "Going to trial with Taiga for a while." He glances toward those reports in front of H'vier, then back up to the older rider. "See how that goes."

"Reisoth will be disappointed to lose Lythronath," muses H'vier as he studies the younger man. He doesn't seem possessive of the reports, though, so there must not be anything important in what's visible.

"Will he?" It's not fully believing, though the arch of A'rist's eyebrow seems more philosophical than actually surprised or worried. He leans back in his chair, features going more to a rest position, with focus fully on H'vier once more. "You gotta know it makes sense, though."

"He thinks your lifemate is rather fascinating." And H'vier sort of sounds like he's paraphrasing the bronze. "If you want to transfer, A'rist, I have no interest in stopping you. To be honest, I've considered requesting your transfer out of Iceberg on more than one occasion. I think it will work out well for both of us." There's a brief, polite smile from H'vier. See? No hard feelings.

A'rist bobs his head a little, looking almost reflective, eyes darting off to one side for a moment. "Good. Well, thanks." He doesn't specify for what. He does stand up, and swing away from his chair, so that he can push it back into the table.

"Clear skies, bronzerider." H'vier's attention stays focused, thoughtfully, on the younger man. "I hope you have better luck with Taiga," is added as A'rist rises from his chair.