Difference between revisions of "Logs:A'zan Brings Brandy"

Weyrleaders' Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#480RAIJLs)

A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprawl and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs.

Wyaeth senses that Kevruth is suddenly there in Wyaeth's mind, a presence far from tenative. There is no sense of image or music or other frippery, perhaps the palest sense of an expanse of water beneath the words. « Mine wishes to see yours. » More statement than question, there is nonetheless a hint of request in his tone.

Wyaeth> Kevruth senses that Wyaeth acknowledges Kevruth sort of, a sand-blast response, a dust-devil kicking dirt right into the foreign bronze's mental eye. Then there's a long pause, long and longer. Abruptly; « N'thei says he wishes for a lotta things, most of 'em'll never come true, so how's that for wishing? What do ya want? » --Further pause. « He's in his weyr. » No hint giving where that might be in the grand scheme of the Reaches bowl.

Wyaeth senses that Kevruth doesn't flinch, or even really acknowledge the perhaps harsh response. Instead there's some amusement in his tone for a beat before he is gone - the telltale nothing of *between* - and then suddenly /there/, closer, at High Reaches. Aww, he asked for permission. Sort of. « /I/ want a lotta things myself, but it is not about what I want. A'zan says where the hell is his weyr, and thanks for being so obliging. » Both the use of 'a lotta' and the bit quoted from his rider are inflected almost identically to the original speaker, a drastic change from his own carefully metered cadence.

Wyaeth> Kevruth senses that Wyaeth exudes ownership, the moment he's aware that Kevruth's in his territory he makes damn sure we know just who runs the show around here, all pomp and arrogance. « Reckon if you fly around long enough, you'll find it sooner or later, eh? » Hard to tell where that response comes from, N'thei or his better half. Mind, Wyaeth's perfectly visible on his ledge, sprawled in that diffuse winter sun-- a tumbleweed in a snowfield.

There is no more contact from Kevruth, and in fact what contact is there cuts off abruptly. Then he can be seen winging down out of the cold blue sky, a no nonsense decent that is nevertheless graceful on landing. Said landing is a few spare meters from the Weyrleaders' ledge, and A'zan makes equally short work of dismounting and heading up the steps toward the tumbleweed bronze. At the top step he pauses, a bottle in his hand, and squints up at Wyaeth. "You aren't going to eat me if I try to pass, are you? I brought this for him, but didn't think to strap a carcass on Kevruth for you." With 'this', he lifts the bottle, wiggles it around a bit.

As promised, easy to spot as a cactus in noon sun, Wyaeth sprawls possessively on the outer edge of his shared ledge where he can command a fine view of the comings in the bowl, where he can watch Kevruth touch down with a sandy grumble. "It's no use talking to him." That from the shadows at the edge of an in-bound tunnel, N'thei just unfolding his arms and straightening up from the too-casual lean to step from shade to sun. "He doesn't bite, much as it might come in handy." Tone cold as the weather, he eyes A'zan with a blank-slate expression.

Kevruth gives a little bass-note of a rumble of his own, but once A'zan has mounted the steps he leaps upward, intent on finding a spot in the heights to sprawl out in the sun. So much for backup. A'zan flicks a glance after his 'mate, then turns pale eyes on the Reachian Weyrleader. "Lucky me, unfortunate for you," he murmurs. Where N'thei's tone is cold, A'zan's is as carefully neutral as his expression but the way his free hand fumbles with something in a pocket belies a lack of comfort. "This is for you." Gruff, he thrusts the bottle toward the much larger man. Brandy, and good stuff if the label is correct. "I thought maybe we could reach some sort of truce, manage not to have fists fly if we end up in the same place at the same time."

"Is that what you thought." N'thei's slow to take the bottle, slow to make any gesture that would arrest the palpable restraint brought to bear for meeting A'zan. "Why? --Don't get me wrong, it's a fine gesture and all." He takes the bottle at that, collects it by the base and turns it on his palm till the label's perusable. "But why make it." There's a trick to his voice, less asking questions, more demanding answers.

"Among other things, yes." A'zan simply waits through N'thei's slowness, holding the bottle hovering there between them, and when it is taken, that hand finds a pocket like the first. It lends a bit of a slouch to his stance, a casual air that wars with the too-smooth lack of expression so carefully crafted on his face. "Why not?" A beat, and then he shrugs, a slow roll of shoulders that are broad but not so broad as the other bronzerider's. "With things resolved between our Weyrs, resolution between the two of us seemed in order." There is perhaps something more in the glint of his eyes as they lift to N'thei's, but it too is quickly veiled, leaving not a whole lot of anyting for the Weyrleader to go on.

Blunt; "Bullshit." Maybe N'thei caught that momentary glimpse; maybe he doesn't trust A'zan on his own merits. Whatever the case, the laugh he exhales is heavily derisive. "What seems in order between the two of us is that I kick your ass again, and you run off like a girl again." Hard words, yes, but no indication that he'll suit action to them. "You little bastards poked a stick at me while I was stuck in a cage, and you think brandy makes it better?" With a thumb across the vintage, he can't help but add, "Very nice brandy maybe, but there's a principle here."

The deliberately wrought facade slips as N'thei's assessment of the situation brings a faint smirk to A'zan's mouth. Lopsided, it tugs one half of his lips upward and he pulls a hand from a pocket to run long fingers through his hair. The gesture might serve to further highlight the dichotomy between them - it leaves unrumpled waves just as neat as they started. "Ran off like a girl did I? So happy to know that's how you rewrote your little history." He pauses then though, drawing in a deep breath and letting his gaze settle on the bottle. "Yes, that might have been... uncalled for. But there was principle involved in my actions too. The brandy isn't meant to make ammends, because I think we were both in the wrong. Me on a personal level and you on a much broader scale. But both of us were also in the right. So I thought perhaps we could find a way to clear the slate." Threats or no, he's still standing there with one pocketed hand and no backup, watching N'thei warily.

N'thei hand-waves, history rewritten, who's going to argue with him about it? There are no extraneous gestures to match A'zan's hair-mussing, no fidget, nothing but a cool regard that lifts from the label to the visitor with an easy-looking smile. "On a broader scale. You still think I did Crom wrong." This comes as news to the man, not surprising news but brow-raising news anyway. "Come inside. Best settle this, you're right." Bottle by the neck, he leads in with every expectation to be followed; good time to cut-and-run if courage is wobbling.

You walk into an archway leading into the Weyrleader's weyr.

N'thei's Weyr(#1765RJLs)

A'zan meanders in from the Weyrleaders' ledges. A'zan has arrived.

If there's a beat before A'zan's feet begin moving, the sort of beat where a person would eye the tunnel that leads to a place less public, where less people are there to witness and help - well, it's negligble. And N'thei's already moving so he can't actually see the brief hesitation if there is one. A'zan's boots are nearly silent as he slips along behind the Weyrleader, and he stops just inside to take an assessing view of these private chambers. The querying glance turns to an appreciative one if only for the span of a breath. "Nice place," he offers, then arches a brow. "I think there are two sides to every story, but if what you were doing wasn't /wrong/ you wouldn't have been skulking around doing it in the dead of night. Still-" he breaks off, mulls the words over and decides to say, "I don't think it was right for the 'Reaches to be going cold either." It's begrudging, but it's something.

N'thei looks around at the nice-place comment, glancing impersonally across the furnishings, neglecting to respond to the compliment. It's glasses he's after, a pair of them set on the table, the bottle seal broken inside his fingers. "We were skulking because it was illegal, not because it was wrong." He splashes the bottom of the two glasses, attention on A'zan rather than the drinks. "Have you ever seen people cold and demoralized? I'm pretty sure it would get you off your high-horse damn quick, mate."

While the Reaches' senior queen doesn't speak, per se, her displeasure with his presence in _her_ Weyr casts dark clouds hovering at the fringe of Kevruth's mind. An unspoken combination of, 'what are you doing here and get out,' flare in lightning strikes in the distance. Good thing it's unspoken; good thing it's not a command. (Teonath to Kevruth)

A'zan is quiet, watching the splash of brandy against glass as though it's a precise motion he should take notes on. He remains this way until the silence hangs heavy and is finally broken by the clearing of his throat. "Like I said, I think in some ways you were right." N'thei's not likely to get all that much more out of him, and even this is spoken coolly. "You could have asked us though... and by that time you'd already been given much of the tithe." He shakes his head, finds a bit of wall to lean one shoulder against. "I'm not here to rehash the past though, N'thei. I'm here to move past it."

Here's the rub, the part that makes N'thei sure to catch an eye-to-eye look at A'zan; "We shouldn't have had to ask." His smile is light but adamant, brows raised as though he still invites argument to his certainty. "Besides." He draws a big breath, fills himself up with arrogant stupidity, raises a glass toward A'zan invitingly; "I got pretty damn rich out of all that, so cheers." The second glass, his own, drains in one swallow.

It's enough to make A'zan stop and blink. Hardly ever caught speechless, without some witty quip to toss back, in this instant all he can do is return the gaze levelly. And then he takes the glass, swirls the contents and takes a slow sniff. Finally there's a bit of a nod, the closest thing to agreement he's likely to see, and then A'zan lifts his glass. "And now you're a Weyrleader as well, so here's to silver linings." It's wry, cooler than the words call for and he too tosses back the brandy. The tip of his tongue snatches a stray drop from the corner of his mouth and he swallows a second time but there's no gasp or cough as he offers the empty glass back. "Bygones are bygones then?"

Bygones. Frankly; "No. Got a long memory." N'thei tibbles more into the glass, the crook at the edge of his mouth kind of like a smile, more wry than silver-linings call for. He's unimpressed by that particularly, the glaze over his eyes far from flattered. "But I'm not thinking about my whether or not I'd rather cut off your fingers first or your toes, so it's a step in the right direction." The questioning way her raises his eyebrows afterward has nothing to do with the conversation, much to do with whether or not A'zan needs a refill, neck-bottle hesitant at empty glass. "There's no such thing as bloody water under the bridge, mate. I don't hate you, but I wouldn't want you watching my back."

Teonath senses that Kevruth might even appreciate his good fortune in this situation. At the very least the wash of his waves is lacking in strength or storm. A vague image of N'thei and A'zan drinking together is offered, a hint of a placating lap of water against the sand.

A'zan's tongue runs over the point of his eye tooth, sucks back into his mouth audibly and then he nods. "Fair enough." He shakes his head then at the bottle, and moves to set the empty glass down on the nearest horizontal surface instead. "I brought it for you, not to drink it all myself," he says with a nod toward the brandy. He leans his hip against whatever he's just set his glass on, eyes N'thei. "My memory isn't as short as my dragon's either, but I would rather there be less bad blood between us. If I can stop watching my /own/ back whenever a tall sillhouette is glimpsed, that's good enough for me." Beat. "And honestly, you're probably right to not want me protecting any side of you. I'm not much good in a fight." Amused, the words drop from lips that have found a smirk once again.

N'thei's overly surprised, dramatically so. "Get off it. I'd never have guessed." He sizes A'zan up in a glance, busies himself with his own glass before the full-blown amusement at the Telgari's looks has a chance to settle in. "I still don't quite get why though." He takes a moment to breathe out across the taste of the brandy, to watch the liquid splash about the glass when he swirls it, then a look back across to A'zan. "Either you're a really big coward-- I'll grant that I peg you as having a yellow streak, true, but not that wide. Or there's something else. Why, when it's pretty obvious that I haven't been chomping the bit to beat you senseless, do you show up to bury the hatchet?"

Unmollified by what the Telgar bronze shares, but unwilling to tread where Wyaeth has apparently allowed, Teonath retreats. Her tempestuous storm clouds linger, crackling to life in sporadic reminders that this is still her Weyr. (Teonath to Kevruth)

The smirk fades, drawn in to tightness that is nearly a purse of A'zan's lips, and he slowly nods, an eyeroll a near thing. "I know, it's a big surprise, yeah?" But then there's the question, and it's a fair one. It has A'zan's eyes narrowing into slits of palest grey scrutiny, sizing up the larger man in turn. "You got a bottle of brandy out of it, and if you aren't hellbent on beating my brains in, you didn't lose a damn thing in the process. So what do you care?"

"You know." N'thei raises the glass, looks through it like he's enjoying the color as much as he is the drinking. Refined gestures don't suit him much, and pretense is gone when he knocks it back a second later. Around the hoarseness; "If you'd have just said 'pangs of conscience' or 'nothing better to do,' I probably could have left it alone. But you didn't, so you may as well square. What gives." He settles the glass next to the bottle and leans his weight on his hand next to them, curiosity sent toward A'zan in a questioning frown.

Teonath senses that Kevruth tries once more, though still somewhat passively and with an air of not wanting to tangle with desert lightning. Again without words (a rare thing for him), he expresses understanding, and a desire to be out of HER Weyr just as badly as she wants him gone. And then, « Soon. »

After a glance at the furniture he's got his hip propped up against, A'zan makes a lazy amble over to the chairs grouped around the fireplace. He settles himself down in one, leg stretched out and hands rested on the chair's arms. If he's going to get grilled he might as well be comfy doing it. With a flicker of a grin he quips, "I was bored," but shakes his head soon after, knowing that isn't going to fly. "You know, we aren't the sort of close friends that share secret hopes and dreams, N'thei." A slow breath is taken in and his eyes fall on the flames flickering in the fireplace. "Several things. It's getting cold again and I went to the stores for an extra sack of coal." He doesn't elaborate but the way his eyes refuse to meet N'thei's speaks miles. "And just like I think you should have settled this with us, /we/ should have settled it with you. And... more than fearing for my hide I'd rather avoid the complication of any further inter-weyr tension." Now his eyes flicker up, the words all carefully chosen, metered, and lacking in emotion. "I've been thinking, you could say."

N'thei, amused; "People have friends like that? Hmn." He stays where he is by the table while A'zan goes on and makes himself at home, little to say for him except that he splashes his glass once more and then seals the bottle with a smudge of cork-against-glass. "Bad idea, that. Thinking. Never leads anywhere good." He indicates this particular den as an example, a half-screw of his glass to take in the surroundings. "But what it boils down to-- you feel bad." Asking or assuming?

The last flash of light lingers in the space between them, whirling eyes, dark against the backdrop of creamed gold, lift to seek out Kevruth in her skies, on her Starstones. The possessive nature entwines a smear of gold and splash of bronze together in the sky, smug satisfaction, that segues into a flare of crimson against raven, her rider, though no shape emerges from the ever shifting colors; it's a feeling. But when she speaks, a return of his word to him, it's the soft rasp of a low traveling desert wind against granules of sand, whispered agreeably in this, « Soon. » (Teonath to Kevruth)

A'zan takes in the surroundings once more when prompted, thoughtful. "I never was very good at staying on paths that only lead to pleasant places. Pity that." For all that his posture is comfortable, one foot kicks up to rest on the opposite knee even, his face is still too blank for him to actually be at ease. "I no longer feel like you were the only one who should have handled things differently. I am not apologizing, but I've realized you might be worth the effort of a visit and a bottle of brandy. I know, it's a subtle thing, but do try to grasp the concept." The words slip out and then he pauses, a wince hinted at but not reaching fruition. "Your queen is getting testy, I think we should be off." So saying he stands, arms folded across his chest.

"Subtle." N'thei plays around with the word, his head tilted, then straightened, then a big shrug to summarize his thoughts on grasping the concept; apparently, he hasn't. "Is she." That's the first genuine amusement shown so far, the crease of his smile frankly admiring while he puts away his three-times-empty glass. "Thanks for the brandy." It's an attempt to be charitable, put while he walks toward the exit to show the way. You know, in case A'zan is an idiot and can't remember how to get out.

Wyaeth> Teonath senses that Wyaeth, snicker; « Just can't leave well enough alone, can ya? »

Wyaeth senses that Teonath has no idea what Wyaeth is talking about, except that glimmering thread of an image that isn't wiped clean quickly enough of gold and bronze entangled blobs, the bronze which is clearly not the Telgari. Otherwise? She has no idea.

"You are welcome." It's the first time A'zan seems less than tense, those words at least genuine. "Is the grin for her or for me," he asks with a glance toward the sky, unseen through meters of rock. His eyes follow N'thei's trek to the entrance before his feet do and he simply shakes his head, wry amusement flickering. "Enjoy the rest of the bottle, offer Satiet a glass on me." And without further ado he slips back out into the cold as Kevruth comes winging down to take him out of this place.

Wyaeth> Teonath senses that Wyaeth's response is an enigmatic mental rumble, might be amused, might be angry. Any rate, his thoughts dissolve like smoke on the wind.

N'thei doesn't answer to his grin. It's enough to say that they'd have to be getting along /reallllllly well/ for him to look at A'zan like that. Gentlemanly, he waits till his company's departed before going back to whatever he was doing all that while ago.