Difference between revisions of "Logs:Ain't Dead Yet"

It's late evening, and the Snowasis is still fairly busy -- thanks primarily to the knife's edge rounds of darts that have been going on between Savannah and Glacier. With the losing team buying all a round of drinks, the stakes are high and both groups are set on winning, even if there's a familiarity in the jocular teasing going on before, during, and after each individuals time in front of the darts board. This round will be the last to sneak in before the Snowasis closes for the night, and Savannah's player, R'hin, brings them to a marginal lead. With Glacier's next turn being the last, this will be the deciding victory: R'hin, of course, is quick to stir everyone up into a frenzy of chanting -- some boo'ing, some cheering, but there's no doubt there's a lot of attention on the last man standing.

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 10-sided die x 1 by R'hin >--------------------------< 5 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 10-sided die x 1 by N'vad >--------------------------< 1 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

The last man standing needs a cane to do it, for all N'vad is a marginally younger man than several of those here tonight. He's held his own throughout the game, despite that. Nothing wrong with his arm, clearly a bit of trouble with one knee. "C'mon. Shut up, trying to concentrate." Plaintive, despite the fact that his voice runs gravelly. How much impact is that going to have? Precisely none. It's not a good throw, and certainly not enough to overcome Savannah's lead. "Y'see?" It's his wingmates who he turns to, accusing. Attention turns across through to their opposite numbers. He puts a hand out in R'hin's direction. "Good game."

The request for silence, naturally, only earns further noise from the Savannah riders, and it's with a hooting and hollering that they celebrate the victory. For this round; they did lose the last, after all. R'hin's quick to cross N'vad's palm with his own, a low-throated chuckle under his breath. "Do you think it's coincidence that we ended up the last players, with the most pressure on us to win?" he asks, with a knowing look over his shoulder at his wingmates; they don't even notice, they're too busy crowding forward toward the bar to claim their prize.

"I think--" What does N'vad think? He loses track of that hanging phrase as he turns back to the table. Not that he's lost the attention of his own wing already, but some people are more enthusiastic than others about doing an intensive postmortem of some really bad throws earlier, and the bluerider is just going to stay well out of that. "I had a glass." It's not that there are no glasses; there are several. He squints, finally settles on one, picks it up and turns back to R'hin. "Reckon at least Thread didn't come down shouting at folks."

R'hin doesn't, either, seem overly interested in dissecting the game. He takes a step towards the bar, then pauses at the latter comment from N'vad, expression markedly even. "No," he says, heavily, after a beat, "It did not." And then, not a moment later, "Drink?" It has a lilt at the end but it's not so much an offer as, perhaps, a reminder.

Drink! N'vad has the glass, so next for a thing to put in the glass. He isn't big for moving quick, of course, but on the up side a lot of folks are polite enough to give a man with a cane a bit of space, on the way up to the bar. Empty glass is waved at a passing bartender--"Bourbon?" To R'hin, hopefully not presuming too much that there's still a R'hin in proximity to be addressing it to: "Maybe coulda used a couple more of these beforehand. Hell of a day."

The Savannah rider seems content to let the Glacier one precede him, following in the path he creates. At his choice of liqueur, R'hin nods, either content or not too fussed to complain. "Getting one for yourself, then, I hope." He eases into the space next to the bluerider, something suitably quizzical creeping into his expression at the latter comment. "Oh?"

"Two, obviously," N'vad revises with good humor. "Ah, well, weather changes, knee complains. Thought I had a good decade left before I got hobbled by, y'know, every chilly day." Once there are beverages, he raises his newly-full glass before taking a drink long enough to make up for however much he didn't have before. "Lot of cold days, up here, turns out."

"There's always heading south. Couldn't recommend Monaco right now, but," R'hin's laugh is oddly self-deprecating. "But there's always Ierne, or Honshu, or Southern. Warm Turn-round." He lifts his glass, and takes a long, slow sip, savoring the taste, before lowering it to squint at N'vad a moment. "You were at Benden before this? What made you pick High Reaches?"

Even before the question, R'hin's suggestions prompt another drink and a certain wordless grumbling under the bluerider's breath. "Yeah," finally, "reckon I remember that most days. Southern, Ista, everybody had grand ideas of where I oughta take my retirement. Retirement. Screw up your knee and folks get ready to send you between. Ain't dead yet." Is this an answer? N'vad seems to think that's an answer.

"Retirement?" R'hin echoes, incredulously, even forgoing his glass to stare at N'vad in surprise.

Rather than more explanation, N'vad just raises his glass, uses it to gesture at his new compatriot. "I know, right? That's what I said." Or something like that. He sips again, then sets the glass down. "Anyhow, reckon won't be bad forever, getting better every day. Just sore. Bad knee ain't gonna kill me. Just have to keep moving. Got laid up at the beginning, that's worse than between."

The concept of retirement is clearly foreign to the bronzerider, given he's shaking his head, only afterward taking a slow sip of the bourbon. "Taikrin will keep you moving," R'hin says, with a knowing sort of chuckle. And then, "You should see Madilla, if you haven't already. Practical and not judgmental; makes for the perfect Weyrhealer."

"Taikrin," N'vad says with a nod, "seems like a hell of a girl. Can't say she doesn't do plenty I used to do different, but reckon none of it's enough to complain on." Complain, no, but the tone does leave the impression that somewhere in his head there's a list, no matter how respectful. "Yeah, I oughta. Mean to, keep not finding time."

"I like what she's done with Glacier," and there's a hint of pride in R'hin's voice, weighted more in the wing perhaps more than the brownrider. "Oh, Madilla'll find you, sooner or later," it sounds almost like a threat, and yet the bronzerider's chuckling. "She seems to have a knack for it. Better to front up to her, I figure." And that is apparently deserving of a toast, or at least the excuse for another sip that drains the glass. He glances at the bar, but the bartender's already in the process of cleaning up in preparation for closing.

A toast, yes, and N'vad does likewise on the finishing. "Reckon if there'd been a Weyr where I could have gone and not had healers meddling, woulda done that. I'll make do with competent meddling." He sets the glass down after a wistful last look, then says, "Guess that's a night, then. Reckon I'll see you next time, if not before."

"Not a Weyr, maybe a tiny desert island somewhere. Only way you can escape them," R'hin says, with some self-directed humor. "Might as well run into the storm and though it quicker as away from it." He sets his glass down on the bar's top with a clink. "No doubt," with a grin, but no formal farewell, the bronzerider heads over to join the last couple of Savannah riders, as they walk out together.