Difference between revisions of "Logs:Brawling Bronzeriders"

It's a pleasant autumn day, just after lunch High Reaches' time, when Leiventh's mental touch stretches out to greet Cadejoth with his usual polite restraint. Straight to the point, he invites the bronze and his rider to join them at Tillek for drinks -- the accompanying descriptor of, 'wine, boats, and sunbathers', surely provided by rider, not dragon. The bar attached to the winery has an outdoor area, overlooking the docks -- men are hard at work, loading or unloading ships, and several, too, taking advantage of what's turned out to be a pleasantly warm afternoon, without the usual autumn rain. R'hin's settled comfortably, his jacket resting over the back of one of the chairs at his table, a couple of glasses and two bottles of wine already at the ready, admiring the view.

There's amusement, and a friendly rattle, in Cadejoth's reply: they'll be there directly. They'll be there delightedly. Indeed, it doesn't take long for the bronze to appear above Tillek, or for him to make his landing in the courtyard so that he can send his rider off towards the winery. K'del's casually dressed on his arrival, not even wearing his knot although given the locale, he's likely recognisable enough without it. "R'hin," he greets, as he approaches, shucking off his own jacket so that he can drape it over the back of another chair once he's close enough. "You picked a good day to come north."

Pale eyes immediately note the lack of knot, and it twitches R'hin's lips up into a smile of amused greeting. "K'del," he returns, with a welcoming wave at an empty seat, leaning forward to pour a second glass for the Reachian. "It wasn't by hapstance that I chose a nice day. Ships don't set sail in bad weather." With a shrug of shoulders, he nudges the glass across the table, then leans back. "Thought it was a good excuse to check out the competition, too," a slight tip of head indicates the winery, with a rueful chuckle. "How are things going? Have you planted yet?"

"Suppose they don't," allows K'del, glancing out towards the ships as he settles into a seat, his long legs stretching out in front of him. "Not that I know much of sailing, for all that I lived here for a time. Not long enough to pay attention, I suppose. Grapes were always our business, not boats." He reaches for the glass, thanking the other rider for it with a dip of his head before he takes a sip. It's not until after he's enjoyed that first taste of the wine that he adds, "Not until Spring. Been doing research. Planning. Rather hoping one of the queens goes up and settles matters before I get too far into anything. B'sil's reluctant to... dig his teeth in to anything."

To his palate, it's a decent wine -- fruity, even -- but probably hasn't been matured for quite long enough. R'hin's taking his own sip of the cold liquid, studying the other bronzerider as he speaks, grimacing in sympathy for the latter. The Monacoan's interested, of course, and doesn't go to much trouble to hide this fact: "Do you think Cadejoth will chase?" A beat, "Do you want him to chase?"

K'del leans back in his chair, and laughs. "That's the hundred mark question, isn't it? I'm twenty-eight turns old. I liked my job. I miss it. But..." He exhales, keeping his gaze out on the water rather than the bronzerider across from him. "Depends which it is, too. Though... I don't know. Don't know if I want to be Brieli's Weyrleader. Don't know if he'd chase Hraedhyth or not. It's hard to tell." He sucks at his lip, then lets it go in order to take another sip from his glass. "Guess we'll see."

Perhaps he can feel the touch of the Monacoan's gaze, before R'hin, too, glances at the water. "We dragonriders are slaves to the randomness of such decisions. It's enough to make one feel powerless." Except the light humor in other bronzerider's voice suggests anything but. "Not Brieli, because her dragon's of Monaco? Or because...?" he leaves it vague, with a tip of head. Over at the next table, a group is settling in with a pitcher of beers. Judging by their clothes and accents, they're a group of local dock workers.

"Because she doesn't especially like me, as far as I can see. She's... polite. But." K'del shakes his head, apparently unable to properly quantify what he's talking about; it rather sounds like it's more of a gut feeling than anything. He exhales, then turns his attention back towards R'hin. "Slaves to randomness sums it up pretty well. I've no idea if Cadejoth would chase either of them. Hraedhyth's his daughter, but that's not stopped him before. Isyath-- with Isyath, it wasn't just because she was rising. He wanted her, specifically. So. We'll see. Throw the dice, pick a card; who knows."

"Mm," is R'hin's initial response to his assessment of the Reachian goldrider. "I imagine after Tiriana you're after a break from not getting on well with your Weyrwoman." Fingers drum against the table. "If the queen wants him to be there -- and in my experience most queens want every suitor possible -- I doubt you'll have much chance. Unless you time it right." To be away from the Weyr, presumably, and not the other sort of time, though he doesn't elucidate that. A low-throated chuckle, "I'm sure many people were relieved that you didn't win Isyath's flight. The Fortians, from what I hear, don't seem to think too well of you." The group nearby is murmuring quietly, though there are some looks being shot in the direction of the bronzeriders -- or more specifically, at K'del.

K'del has, probably deliberately, not paid much mind to the group at that other table, up until now. It's hard to completely miss them, though, and now, he glances briefly in their direction, offering a polite, but disinterested, smile before he turns away again. "No," he agrees. "It would've been a stupid thing. An awfully stupid thing. If he'd caught her. I'm glad he didn't. And-- for more than just the initial stuff." His expression darkens, but only for a moment. "Azaylia and I could work well together, I think, but it's hard to see that she's ready. So. We'll-- see. Intended not to be there for Iovniath, the first time, and we all know how that worked out."

The nearby murmuring becomes muttering as K'del glances in that direction. Not all of the words are audible, but 'heir' is definitely one of them. R'hin follows the other bronzerider's gaze in that direction, more casual, less acknowledging, leaning forward to refill the other man's glass. There's a sympathetic chuckle, familiar, "Not too many people plan to be at a flight. Even the ambitious recognize the chance involved in such a decision. Never been a big fan of B'sil, myself -- I'm sure the feeling was mutual -- but I suppose he'll keep things going in the short term."

"B'sil's a good rider," insists K'del, though he doesn't seem too devoted to the idea, not now. "He's... maybe not the best Weyrleader, really. Maybe it's just that it's not really his Weyr. Or - well, it hardly matters. He's old; he doesn't expect to keep the position. It's his last hurrah before retirement, probably." He shifts, slightly uncomfortably, as he reclaims his glass. It's obvious he's heard that reference to the 'heir', and it's not exactly pleasing him, for all that his expression remains neutral.

"Mm," for the other's comment of B'sil; R'hin himself waves that away. "I'm sure he'll work to make it his Weyr in what time he has." It's a not-so-casual thought tossed out there for possible later consumption. A little tip of head, studied, as the Monacoan oh-so-casually comments, "You know... you're not a Weyrleader anymore. You don't have to just grin and bear it." It is getting harder to ignore that muttering at the next table.

K'del seems much more concerned with the muttering than with B'sil, right now. Even so, R'hin's remark has him pausing-- and his expression tightening. "You mean, I could tell them what I think about their accusations without creating an incident," he supposes. "Or - a diplomatic incident, anyway." It's almost casual, though there's something in his expression that suggests he's giving it serious thought. Maybe that's why he takes a bigger-than-a-sip swallow of his drink, followed so quickly by a second. What a waste of good wine.

A little smile curves R'hin's lips upwards. "You're just a rider. The worst they can do is put you on dawn sweeps for a seven or two. I don't know about you but, the satisfaction of actually being able to call out fools like that far outweighed the punishment for me." He tugs a hand through his hair, another causal glance in the groups direction, then back to K'del. "I've got your back."

K'del takes in a breath, and lets it draw his shoulders back until he's sitting quite straight. Then, he nods. "Just a rider," he agrees. "Being provoked, while trying to mind my own business. Who do they think they are? Like to see them--" He breaks off, glancing at R'hin for a moment before he slowly nods. Just once. And then he turns, rising from his chair to amble, purposefully casual (such a contradiction!) towards that other table. He sounds relatively calm as he says, "Can I help you?"

There's something of satisfaction glittering in R'hin's gaze as he rises along with K'del, shadowing him over to the table -- settling in a casual position just to his right, no coincidence, that. However the folks at the table only have eyes for the ex-Weyrleader, the tallest immediately piping up, "Yeah, actually. Maybe you can tell us just why you let them pirates steal our heir, eh?" He's nudged by one of his companions, guffawing, "Good one, Dirks!" The other two at the table are snickering, too, and one pipes up, "Not so fancy now he's not Weyrleader anymore, eh?"

K'del is so, so easily led into this - and now that he has been led into it, there's something dangerous in his expression, as though he's finally going to let out some of the anger that has been festering beneath the surface for so very long. "Maybe," he says, his voice not quite as even as he'd probably like, "You'd like to tell me why you managed not to protect him. Too busy to notice one lost little boy, were you? Or was it just someone else's job?"

The tall man, Dirks, goes red at K'del's words, his expression suffused with anger, immediately pushing up with a scrape of his chair as it clatters over behind him. The laughter of his companions, too, ceases, the others stand as well, as Dirk faces off against the Weyrleader. K'del probably has an inch or so of height on the dock worker, though that doesn't seem to intimidate the man over much. "Whaddid you just say, boy wonder?" There's a moment of silence, and R'hin's sharp exhalation of breath, "K'd--" is all he gets out as Dirks' left hand rises in a sharp upper cut, aimed for K'del's chin.

"I sai--" But K'del doesn't manage to finish that, either - and nor does he manage to move out of the way of that upper cut, which connects, and has him staggering backwards for a moment. When he regains his footing a moment later, both of his fists are up, and there's a definite hint of pain in his expression. Nonetheless: "You heard what he said," he says, through gritted teeth. "And I stand by it." He throws a punch of his own, then, aiming for the man's nose.

There's a brief, steadying hand at K'del's back -- it's very possibly that's a grin on R'hin's face -- before things start to get very, very hectic. K'del's punch lands squarely on the man's nose, and there's a definite crack that could only mean a broken nose. Dirks starts to wail loudly, his hand cupping his nose and starting to gush blood. Immediately, his friends weigh in, all three advancing -- one from the left and two from the right. R'hin weighs in, grabbing the arm of the nearest on the right and jerking him away, the sounds of scuffling faint underneath the throbbing of adrenaline. Like he's moving in slow motion, K'del can see the fist from the guy on the left sailing in like it was in slow motion, and the hands of the other guy on the right reaching for him.

K'del's prior training has been rather more focused on self-defense than brawling - but that doesn't mean he hasn't learned a thing or two here and there. His smug satisfaction at Dirks' fate doesn't last long; both fists lift again as he steps sideways, ducking in the hopes of evading both that fist and those reaching hands. Dragonmen don't fight be damned: K'del takes a glancing blow from that fist, but he avoids those hands except to shove back at them with a powerful thrust.

The man on K'del's left stumbles back, tripping over Dirks, who is still wailing at a rather loud pitch. The noise is bound to be bringing the guards soon; indeed, he can probably already hear yells calling for them. Meanwhile, the guy on the left is still up and about, and he advances a shade more warily on K'del, now. It doesn't take him long before impatience gets the best of him; he makes a jab towards K'del's head, but it's a feint -- aiming instead for the bronzerider's kidney. Behind, there's a loud crash -- R'hin and the other guy having smashed into the table they were sitting at until recently. Sadly it looks like the table's the biggest loser in that particular battle -- not to mention the wine. R'hin struggles to his feet, a cut on his forehead gushing blood, though his assailant doesn't get up, earning a grunting kick for his trouble.

Sadly, it is not a feint K'del is prepared for: his fists go up to protect his head, and his kidney is left quite unprotected. The resulting impact sends him doubling over, his gasp one of unquestionable pain. Again, he staggers, but instead of dropping to his knees, he uses a burst of pain and adrenaline fueled energy to shove throw his body weight into his assailant and - hopefully - send them both toppling forward. "Fuck," he says between laboured breaths, "you."

"That," thud, "-was my," thud, "-wine!" A rather disgruntled R'hin's making sure that guy knows just how upset he is about this. Of course the blood pouring down over one eye probably doesn't help him much as he straightens to check on K'del. One guy with a broken nose, another scrambling to pick himself up, and the third... being pushed over and wailed on by a certain ex-Weyrleader. The Monacoan starts to stride in that direction -- although when the yelling of the guards becomes more audible, that turns into a run, and a reach for K'del's shoulder that hopefully won't get him punched, either: "Might do to absent ourselves," comes the wry tone of the other bronzerider. A glance over his shoulder, "Soon."

K'del is breathing hard, and with audible pain, but that doesn't stop him from throwing another punch at the now-defenceless man he's pushed over. His immediate reaction to R'hin's hand is to turn around and aim a punch, but he's thankfully able to stop himself just in time. A deep breath later, and he's nodding, drawing himself up off the ground with a wheezing sound. "Rather not have to deal with--" His gaze takes in one man after another, his mouth drawing into a crooked smile. "I need a drink."

A defensive hand is lifted in response, though dropped just as quickly as R'hin sees K'del drop his. "A quick escape, then," the other bronzerider agrees readily, a hand wiping at his bloodied eye, before giving a quick gesture towards the porch. "Have Cadejoth fly in from the ocean side. Around here." He leads the way around the far side of the winery -- one gets the feeling he might have done this before -- where a low dip of the railing leaves a spot easy enough to climb over. A cannily positioned dragon would make it a rather short drop from the railing. There's a dark chuckle for the other man's desire, one shared by the Monacoan it seems, given the companionable slap of his shoulder, "Something stronger than wine," he agrees, "But first, I think I should get you home. Sounds like you might've cracked a rib."

"I think your head is going to need looking at, too," points out K'del, fastening his gaze on R'hin's wound for a moment before he follows the bronzerider, moving stiffly and cautiously. "Fucking ow." He doesn't glance back at the group of Tillekians; moreover, despite his pain, he seems quite pleased with himself, and grins brightly as the Monacoan slaps his shoulder. "I've got whisky." His eyes widen, approval obvious, as he makes sense of R'hin's plan; a moment later, Cadejoth is on his way, dropping into a carefully lowered position just beyond the railing. "I've never done anything like that before," he admits, as he - very carefully, wincing - lowers himself onto his dragon. "It was-- exhilarating."

"Probably. Think it'll need stitches? Chicks dig scars -- I hear," R'hin takes it in stride, a glittering pleasure creeping into his gaze at the mention of whisky. "Count me in. I'd never turn down a good drop of the stuff." And he of course assumes K'del has the good stuff. He watches carefully as K'del mounts his dragon, but doesn't lean into assist unless he looks like he needs it. "Never? Faranth, K'del. So much to teach you." Voices, nearer their corner of the porch this time. "See you back there; Leiventh will get direction from Cadejoth." Not that he needs it, especially, but trained habits, even ones reluctantly learnt, are hard to break. Only when Cadejoth clears the railing does Leiventh swoop in, R'hin dropping over the edge as the guards' voices sound overhead. There's more than enough space down here to between, however, the older bronze settling easily on Cadejoth's right.

"Like you need a scar to get chicks," retorts K'del, mirth as audible in his tone as it is obvious in his expression. Evidently, pain is secondary: hurray for adrenaline. His nod is all that confirms the rest of what the other bronzerider has to say; he leans forward, holding tight to Cadejoth's neckridge as the bronze lifts from the ground, and, a moment later, goes between. Successful escape! At the other end, Cadejoth leads the way to his ledge, landing carefully upon the stone so that his rider can slide down to the ledge with a sigh. "Fucking ow." But he doesn't sound upset.

R'hin doesn't bother to do up his straps -- just takes a tight hold -- and a beat behind Cadejoth slips into between. And while Leiventh follows Cadejoth down, it is a pointedly slow and careful descent, during which he can be heard making himself known to the watchdragon. If there's a bit of tension in the Monacoan's posture at landing here, and walking towards there, well, it can be easily attributed to the after effects of the fight. Leiventh, for his part, seems comfortable enough, used to his rider's exploits so that the grunt is barely acknowledged. "I'll say. Nice right hook, by the way."

The polite, cool tones of Leiventh can be heard moments after he and Cadejoth appear above the Weyr; the Monacoan can be heard -- for those listening closely -- announcing himself to the watchdragon, before following the other bronze down to a landing. (Leiventh to all High Reaches dragons)

K'del's weyr, these days, is nothing like as fancy as the Weyrleader's Weyr, but it's comfortable enough: as K'del lights glows, they show eerily through the pale glass 'moons' that decorate various parts of the walls. The younger bronzerider has half an eye on R'hin, but it doesn't linger; instead, he busies himself finding the whisky bottle and a couple of glasses, which he sets down on the table. "Thanks. It was-- fun getting to actually use it. That was-- " He just grins, well pleased. "It was awesome. The fuckers. Fuckers."

To all High Reaches dragons, Hraedhyth's fire burns hot, a beacon to be used by her people, a guiding warmth to bring them back Home. Oh. Leiventh is welcome to some of it, too. She supposes. Polite but crisp, with a borrowed note of a sea breeze, she welcomes both bronzes back before going about her business.

R'hin purposely distracts himself by examining the other rider's weyr -- looking in nooks and crannies, examining any knick knacks -- it's probably a habit more than anything, but it helps somewhat, even if the tension of his shoulders doesn't entirely fade. It's only when he hears the clinking of glasses that he moves back towards the table, pulling out one of the chairs, reversing it, before settling himself down. He's chuckling, too, as much at K'del's obvious pleasure as anything else. "Bet you wish you could've done that to many a holder over your Turns as Weyrleader. Know I did." A beat, "They were talking about Edeline's heir, I'm guessing?"

There's not much that's personal in here - perhaps that's because, after all, K'del's possessions were mostly burnt in Tiriana's fury. But the furniture seems custom-made to fit the space, and there are hangings on the wall, and a collection of empty bottles in different colours upon the mantle above the fireplace. "A lot of them," K'del agrees with a side as he sinks into one of the other chairs, sliding one of the glasses towards R'hin. "A lot of the time. They-- yeah. That poor kid. And she's got another kid now, but that's not-- I wish we'd found him. We tried so hard, and it kills me that they blame me. We did everything we could."

Is that an apology in the edges of Cadejoth's touch? He's alive in a way he hasn't been, so much, these days. It's a rattle and a shake of chains, and a spark of light that dances around them. Home. And happy. (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons)

For Cadejoth, there is a brighter glow and the pounding of her drums to match excited stomping paws at his return. Hraedhyth celebrates it, as well as his happiness and his energy. Good. It doesn't seem like apolgies are necessary, this time. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth)

With a nod of thanks, R'hin takes the glass, lifting it a moment while he considers. "To-- to feeling alive." He tips his glass in the direction of K'del's, then downs the lot in one gulp. It takes a moment after for him to speak, and when he does his voice is rough with the after effects of the alcohol. "Easier for them to blame you than accept blame on their part. Still, don't see why they'd be interested in a Blood, for all that. Assuming there wasn't a ransom." It's idle thoughts, perhaps; his gaze is still roving around the weyr as he speaks. "That stuff-- the stuff you can't fix, that's the stuff that keeps you up at night." A beat, and a smile, as he tips his empty glass, "The stuff that makes you appreciate good whisky."

K'del downs his own whisky a moment after R'hin, having met that toast with a grin. He pushes the bottle in the other bronzerider's direction, encouraging him to refill his if he wants to. "Mm," he agrees. "That's pretty much it. Most of the time, it's-- you just keep going. And then there's the awful stuff, and it lingers, but-- it just is what it is. You can't do anything more than your best. Can't fix it all." He stretches, extending his legs as far as he can, and sinking further into his chair. "You want some water or something? Clean your face up?"

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth is pleased by this response; pleased at her pleasure, pleased at his rider's exhilaration. All is well, then. Maybe it won't be a problem. It's all fine!

Never one to turn down freely offered alcohol, R'hin reaches for the bottle to refill his glass, then does the same for K'del. He doesn't immediately down it this time, thoughtful, gaze drifting again. "Can't fix it," he agrees, "Even if you feel like you should be able to. In some ways, Weyrs' autonomy works against them. It makes you wonder why the ancients chose to do it that way." At least, the intensity of the words suggests that it's something he's thought on in the past. The Monacoan reaches upwards, towards the cut, wincing a little. "Yeah. Might be a bit of glass in there, too, I think."

"You got a better alternative?" It's thoughtful, but also wary: K'del has seen his fair share of people trying to change The Way Things Are, and no doubt that makes him cautious. He grimaces at the other bronzerider's cut, and retreats, abandoning his drink so that he can head behind the hearth, down a passage. When he comes back, he's got a jug of water in one hand, and a first aid kit in the other. "Not much of a healer," he admits. "But I can take a look if you want. Rather than bothering the actual healers. Who may not be as thrilled about the whisky."

"Not yet." A faint, almost unnoticeable emphasis on the yet, but R'hin's voice remains passionate for all that, "The problem is unification of a common goal, without relying on one single point of failure. Most often, the ego of a single person. It's a... a balancing act." He rubs at his chin, adds, "I think the dragons can do it fine. It's us that gets in the way." Something rueful, accepting, there. While K'del's gone, he's downed his second glass, but not yet poured his third. He rises, heading over to where K'del sets the jug of water down. "Hah, yeah. No, I'll clean it -- get someone back home to look at it. They're used to this from me. Here, they'll--" he pauses, considers. "--well, maybe that's a good idea. Blame it on me. Better for your reputation, if Cadejoth should... it's protection for you, see?" It's possible he's rambling, but it's more like he's jumping from one thought to the next, without quite completing the last.

"Us," repeats K'del, sounding thoughtful. His gaze follows R'hin as he returns, though he abandons his supplies to the other bronzerider quickly, and returns to his glass: he's behind, and it's entirely possible that he's remembering his own pain, now, especially when he slumps into his seat so quickly. "Blame it on you, huh? Reckon I can do that. Just in case. It-- it'll come back to us. To the Weyr, anyway. They'll probably claim it was all our fault; we provoked them."

The thoughtfulness earns a nod, though R'hin doesn't press it for now -- instead, he pours some of the water into the wash bowl, and gingerly -- a faint intake of breath audible -- washing his face. "You have an impartial Monacoan witness," the bronzerider says, something amused in his tone in between the splashing of water. "My Weyrleaders are used to it enough that they're likely to roll their eyes as much as anything. Better that than sour relations with things the way they are -- it was that foreign bronzerider is much easier to accept. Edeline'll understand." Perhaps a trace of something resigned, there, though mostly covered by the wincing hiss as he dabs at the wound.

K'del laughs, though it sounds as though that causes him some pain; he hitches his breath and subsides. "An impartial Monacoan witness. That'll do it. And-- well, so be it. Edeline'll have to understand. Seems like she's pretty wrapped up in her family these days, anyway, so... It'll be fine." He pours himself another drink, focusing on it instead of anything less enjoyable, for now. "Whatever happens, I won't regret a moment of it."

R'hin's face is mostly clean, though he's missed a few spots here and there, touching the edge of his scalp kind of gingerly before straightening, tugging fingers through his hair. "Hold that thought till tomorrow. That's when things really start to hurt." Walking back over to the table, he regards the whisky, visibly debating, before he pours himself another, "For the road. Then I should let you sleep." But there's a grin for that last: a shared moment of delight. "Glad to hear that. Maybe next time we pick somewhere that won't land us in trouble -- if trouble happens to find us."

"Somewhere that's not High Reaches and not Monaco?" K'del seems amused by the idea, but pleased. No doubt he's seen the remaining spots on R'hin's face, but he doesn't comment: he's half lost in thought, still thinking over the conversation at hand. "Guess you should. Tomorrow, I'll go see a healer, make sure I'm not going to die of internal bleeding or anything. Doubt he got me that hard, but-- safe rather than sorry, right." Beat. "But I had fun. Thanks, R'hin. Glad you invited me."

With a chuckle, the Monacoan nods. "Cadejoth will look after you," R'hin says, almost like the voice of experience. He tosses back the final glass of whisky, a sharp exhale of breath following, before he sets the glass down. "I'm glad," he responds, visibly pleased. With a touch of hand to the other bronzerider's shoulder that is somewhat more gentle -- undoubtedly owing to his hurts -- the Monacoan heads for the door, throwing his last words over his shoulder. "You should take more advantage of your freedom, K'del." It doesn't take him long to climb up onto Leiventh's neckridges -- whisky or not, that habit is too ingrained in a rider -- and moments later the hook-nosed bronze is dropping off the ledge with a parting farewell for Cadejoth, winking between moments later.

Left alone, K'del's head tilts to the side - thoughtful. At length, he smiles, and downs another glass. Take advantage of his freedom? Yes. He can do that.