Difference between revisions of "Logs:For A Good Cause"

Impressive enough at a distance, up close, the sheer size of the mountain
  is imposing -- to the vulnerable, overwhelming -- the more so as its crown
  of spires, distinguishing High Reaches from every other Weyr on Pern,
  thrusts long fingers of rock into the sky.

  The plateau just short of the Weyr's shadowy entrance can seem very small
  and very flat at the best of times, pinned as it is against the side of
  the mountain, but at least it's a refuge from the narrow, tight-kinked
  road that has to twist its way through the rest of the mountain range to
  reach the rest of Pern.

  A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is
  humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.

It's cold and moist out today, which probably makes it the perfect weather for practicing the use of flamethrowers without damaging too much of anything. Outside of the weyr, there's lingering patches of snow here and there, away from the main road itself, which has turned into a sludge. Drex is waiting, perched on a rock, rubbing hands together for warmth, waiting for the smith.

It's not too difficult for Rafe to haul everything out, at least physically. Explaining to your master that you've bartered away some time on expensive, hazardous equipment to an unknown is a little trickier, and that's probably why Rafevan dispenses with that step entirely. Regardless, somehow he manages, and he arrives at their meeting spot with the flamethrower on his back; he sets it down neatly at Drex's feet. "Evening."

The sailor straightens, and slips down off the rock as soon as he hears, then gets eyes on, the smith. Drex is grinning, clearly anticipating this lesson. He squints at the road, then back to Rafevan, as he starts to reach for the flamethrower, to settle it on his back. "Here ok?" he asks, "Or do you want to walk further around the outside? Doubt anyone's passing by in this weather, but..." better safe than sorry?

Frowning brings the slight lines to Rafevan's features, even at his relative youth. He considers; then, slowly, "We should be fine here. If anyone's fool enough to be out in this..." There's a twitch of a smirk: they're the fools out in it presently.

"Except us," Drex voices the unvoiced, with a smirk that unintentionally echoes Rafevan's. He shifts the weight of the thing on his back, then squints at the wand. "Ok. So is there... something I can try this on? Cook your dinner, perhaps?" he's probably not joking, sadly, but he is at least mindful of the previous lesson as to not point it in the smith's direction, or his own.

And Rafevan is mindful of that lesson, too, deliberately not putting himself into temptation's range. "Only if you want the interior raw and the exterior charred to ash," he answers dryly. A glance about, hands on hips, and he nods his chin toward the rock Drex was just sitting on. There's a fair bit of moss and lichen creeping up over it, and leaves around the lee side of its base, where the wind can't reach them. While it's not much greenery, it's a nice place to start. Better than setting all the trees on fire first thing.

Drex gives a grunt of disappointment at that answer, but dutifully follows the older man's guidance, trailing him around the other side of the rock. He fiddles with the wand, adjusting the settings, to what he thinks are the right ones, making the spray tight, and pointing it at the rock. With a last glance at Rafevan, he depresses the nozzle. Shhhhhhhhhhhhzzzzz, the hiss of the chemical burning gives an audible noise and a rush of sudden heat that melts the snow around them, and effectively burns moss. He has the nozzle setting probably a little too tight, since when he releases it, there's still a patch of grass amongst the green moss. Still, he looks satisfied.

"Mm. Try it with a slightly wider spray, perhaps?" suggests Rafe, studying Drex's handiwork from his distance. He squints as he inspects the little brownish-green winter grass that's trying to poke its nose up. "But you're getting there. Eventually."

Frowning, Drex totally does not overcompensate by twisting the nozzle all the way in the other direction. Except for, yes he does. At least he waits for Rafevan to be safely out of the way before he depresses the nozzle, but this time it's far too dispersed to do much against the rock. With a grunt -- as if expecting criticism, he adjusts the nozzle, a tad sheepishly. "How much of this stuff do you go through? Can't imagine there's much of a call for it these days, but -- can see it being useful." And, well... let's face it, the sailor's definitely enjoying burninating things.

"The Interval is still early yet," is Rafevan's drawled answer to that. "Therefore people are still willing to burn their greenery, therefore we still use a fair bit. Particularly since we've already seen it return unexpectedly." He considers Drex's settings again, but this time doesn't offer correction: he can figure it out himself. "And we must keep the technology at least at its present level for when Thread does return again."

Drex grunts, perhaps a little surprised by the answer. "Well, when we get our ship back," with a little wistful tone, "We should talk about trading opportunities. Bet it'd be easier -- safer -- to transport that stuff by sea than land." A bit more fiddling, and he finds the right setting, destroying the last of the greenery with a satisfied grunt.

Rafevan's brows lift slightly, giving thought to this plan. "Agenothree on a ship seems perhaps not the best idea, but... it's worth a consideration, at least as far as the sea holds go. Do you know, then, when you'll be heading back to sea?"

"Couple more months or so, I hope," and that hope is expressed with some fervently. "Enough time for you to talk to your people." Or Masters, or whatever. Drex leaves that vague. "S'long as it's stable enough for movement, which... it seems to be?" he suggests, as he carefully takes the flamethrower off his back and sets the heavy equipment down.

"It should be," Rafe says. He steps over to the rock to inspect it, brushing fingers over its blackened surface quickly; parts are still warm to the touch, even in the cold winter air. "What is it your ship usually carries again?" Making conversation.

"Whatever'll sell, mostly," Drex says, as he takes a couple of steps away, his back to Rafe as he goes to write his name in the snow, so to speak. Glancing over his shoulder: "Mostly between the major holds, though some of the major trading families, too, if they're looking for unique wares."

"Mm." Noncommittal, as Rafevan checks over the flamethrower idly, resetting it to default for the moment. "I've been considering alternate formulas that might be more effective, but as yet, nothing has come to usefulness."

Though his back is still turned, the interest from the sailor can probably be read in the fact that shoulders shift from a slouching posture, another glance tossed over his shoulder. "Well, when you want someone to test it out for you..." Drex offers, with a sudden grin. With a little shake, he's done with his business, setting his clothes back in order. "Hopefully we can use it one something more interesting than a rock next time," although, he does give it an impressed look when he comes up to inspect the blackened surface.

"Do you want to set the entire forest alight?" Bemusement colors Rafevan's voice as he regards Drex first, then the trees. They're sparse, between the elevation, the rockiness of the Weyr, and the fact that they just don't let too much grow too close. "Because I expect that would draw us unwelcome levels of attention, even if it were for a surely good cause."

Drex pauses, like he's considering it for a beat. "Nah," he decides. "Trees are how we make our ships." Like that's the only real incentive for him not to. Oh, and the attention, yes, with a wry look at the smith. "That too," he concedes with an almost sheepish grunt. "If you trusted one of those riders, you could get us a trip somewhere remote?" he suggests, though not, to be honest, with a great deal of conviction.

"It's a possibility," notes Rafe, with a lift of his shoulders. "I'm sure we can come up with something." Beat. "Or if your ship ever gets attacked by pirates..."

Drex stiffens; it's probably not surprising that he reacts, given the pirates recently in Tillekian waters. "What... you mean, use it against them?" he says, warily. Wary, but interested: "How would that even work?"

Rafevan frowns, glancing sideways at Drex then with one delicately arched brow. "Well, maybe," he admits. "I don't really know yet. But a flamethrower is already weaponized over short distances, isn't it?"

Arms folding across his chest, Drex considers the flamethrower for a moment. "Longer nozzle, maybe? Bigger tank? You could... mount it permanently, you wouldn't need to make it mobile. Have to figure out how not to set your own ship on fire, though," with a chuckle then a dismissive shrug, like he's out of suggestions. "Be willing to try, if you ever figure it out."

"Mm." Noncommittal again, but gears are turning while Rafe studies the flamethrower they've been experimenting with today. "Maybe. We'll see. I'd have to do a fair bit of design work before it would even approach reality, let alone testing. But maybe."

"Maybe," is enough for Drex; he certainly seems enthused by the idea. He doesn't look in the least alarmed by the idea of tinkering, which... well, he doesn't know better, yet. "Same time next week?" he says, instead.

"Same time next week," agrees Rafevan, his tone distracted even as he leans down to shoulder the flamethrower again. The idea's planted in his head, and he doesn't even spare a look back for his companion.

And neither, does Drex -- trekking back up towards the Weyr with his typical slouch, hands shoved into his pockets.