Difference between revisions of "Logs:All's Well That Ends Well"

Time to get out of Fort. Bitra's a fine place to be, no queens there, and the sort of good food one can get for a low price by way of attracting people to eat and then gamble. N'rov's given his plate over to the server at the non-self-serve buffet, eyeing the different kinds of food on its many platters. "How's the porcine look to you?" he asks his wingmate.

Away from Fort also means away from those murmurs that will undoubtably surface from Adiulth's near catch. Near enough that the bronze is still sporting some injury from Elaurth's 'love tap'. Holding on to his own plate before handing it over to the server, there's an absent shrug of both shoulders as he remarks, "Looks good. But, I'm sticking to the wherry and the roasted tubbers. Maybe some of those greens..." Hungry much?

Hungry definitely, if the way N'rov's getting his plate piled up is anything to go by. The rolls with the orangefruit glaze are a big hit, if taste-untested, and after a grunt he nods to the server to add the porcine after all. /And/ some wherry. After he's paid his share, he tracks down a booth whose only prerequisites seem to be a flat, moderately clean surface, places to sit, and a location that's not where just everyone's going to overhear. Oh, and beer, but he takes care of ordering that along the way. He'll wait until E'ten's situated to smirk at him. "Almost calling you Weyrleader. Reesa disappointed?"

The greens are added along with the orangefruit glazed rolls as an afterthought - the more to E'ten's lament when he gets the idea for more later. Paying for the dinner, the booth doesn't bother him. It's more the question that gets a reaction out of him. First, a shrug of both shoulders followed by the tray being set down. "It's the 'almost' that has Reesa not holding it against me or Adiulth. Injury notwithstanding. The fact that it was so close? That makes her feel convinced that he truly could succeed." Next time, not being said. Setting to making a combination of wherry and tubers onto his fork, the all too obvious question on his mind is, "What do you think?" Being in Bitra, there may be no surprise to the almost poker-like expression on the rider's face.

"No pressure," says N'rov dryly; he's already started in on his meal and now doesn't pause longer than it takes to speak. "I think it worked out right. What'd you think I'd say?" He leaves a beat before adding, "But you've got a face on you, like you've got something on your mind. Lay it out." His own, uninjured bronze isn't exactly full of oats but is finding a certain cheer in eyeing the distant corrals with an eye to what he'd take first.

"I think it worked out for the best too." 'But'. There's always one with that tone of voice from E'ten, who finds himself looking at the crowds at other tables before looking back to the plate rather than up. "If it wasn't for all the pressure from Hattie before and after Elaurth went proddy, I'd probably be like you. Not wondering or caring whether or not I could be Weyrleader. But, don't get me wrong. I respect N'muir and think that it's good for them that Elaurth and Bijedth are together again." Adiulth is content to watch the corrals but he's not hungry. Instead, he'll be the voice of reason. Don't go after the herds. People will be angry with us. Things like that.

"You really think that." N'rov's been looking across the table rather than at his food, for the most part, and right now is no exception. He doesn't elaborate, though, his gaze level on the slightly shorter bronzerider. "Pressure from Hattie? More than expecting you to dance attendance?" Adiulth meanwhile gets a gusty snort from Vhaeryth for his forbearance. He wasn't /going/ to. (Probably.) What, Adiulth doesn't trust him? Perhaps the ruddy bronze even takes a certain pleasure in that, his tail picking up a slow sweep across the ground.

E'ten snorts over the matter of dancing attendance and finally looks up. "Not dancing attendance but implying that I didn't have what it took to be Weyrleader. Among other things." Things that he's not likely to mention at this point. "I don't know of anyone who goes into the Weyrleadership /wanting/ it, N'rov. And I don't know of anyone who knows everything immediately after the flight and taking on the knot. With all that's happened at the Weyr lately, it was becoming a possibility. With Elaurth asking for Adiulth's company and the occasional times that Hattie and I spoke?" It might look like it really was that close. "I don't know what goes into the leadership flights. Some day it's the Weyr. Some say it's just the flight, but I couldn't tell you. We think it's the right thing for Hattie and N'muir, but what about those who aren't happy with him right now in light of knowing his renegade past?"

"If you couldn't handle her implying that, then you really couldn't handle Weyrleader," N'rov reasons early on, but then he's back to listening. At least until his brows go way up in humor. Not that he can't control himself from saying anything further, not until the very end. Then, "They can all blow me." His smirk's wider than it really has to be. "No, N'muir, even better. But seriously, E'ten: she spoke to you, Hattie did?" He clutches at his collar, imitation of a seaholder's wife with her pearls. "I'd better be careful, she's said a word or two to me in passing. Shells, she might have talked to /Y'ral/."

"Really? I think it's quite the opposite," E'ten remarks with a bit of interest. "We both know that I've never really been interested in the knot. And it's never been a consideration of mine, but we're both bronzeriders. It's always a lingering possibility. At least now, if it happens, it happens." And that's that, in his mind. He's not fending it off with a large dragon between them, figuratively speaking. "But, yeah. She did. And she approached you about the possibility of being Weyrleader too?"

"Yeah," N'rov says to that 'really.' He might have said more if there had been more evident interest, if E'ten hadn't gone on with more he presumably wants to hear. As it is, "If it happens, it happens, that's pretty much the definition of happening. But tell me about her feeling you out about the chances, because no, she didn't do that with me. But then, I'm not the very model of an upstanding young bronzerider."

E'ten smirks, "Be glad that you aren't." Upstanding has it's own hazards, he implies well enough. "And really, with it being close to Elaurth's rising? It was obvious that Hattie wanted Bijedth to catch but there's also the possibility that Adiulth might. That nearly happened last time during her flight too, if you remember. But, at least it's not something to consider for at least a few turns." Juicy details? Gossip? Not him. "And hopefully next time, there's nothing like the unrest at the Weyr that we have right now with the wings and rumors."

"Better Adiulth than one of the out-Weyr dragons," N'rov will say, with a controlled grimace that may also have something to do with how his particular chunk of wherry is proving to have resistance to the knife. "They shouldn't have been here. But like you said, a few Turns, less unrest. At least now N'muir can ship them off wherever he wants... not that he will."

"That," E'ten notes with a forkful of tubers hovering above his plate. "Is my agreement as things stand currently. That it would have been better to have Adiulth win, if there was a choice between him and any foreigner. But I doubt that he'd ship them anywhere. On the other hand, we wouldn't be so fortunate to have them leave and request transfers."

"Why not?" N'rov asks, his voice dropped into a certain seriousness. "We wouldn't have to feed and clothe them, after all. If they're that bad, and another Weyr will have them, good riddance."

"But they may want to stay," E'ten notes, devoid of tubers before going the route of wherry and greens to clean his plate - except for the rolls. "If they call Fort their home, I can't see them giving that up and leaving because N'muir won the flight. We'll have to see what happens. On the other hand, I haven't heard anything from Telgar or the Reaches about their riders coming to a leadership flight. You?"

"If they're pissed enough not to work with him?" N'rov shrugs. "They're going to have to deal." Easy for him to say, maybe, who's never known another Weyrleader at Fort and happens to support this one. "Deal, or go." The rest surprises him into something between a frown and a short laugh, suddenly boyish. He takes a moment to compose himself, then says, "Like their Weyrleaders are going to confide in me. Or wait, are you thinking I'd find out via my /special channels/?" Namely, a brunette with long, long legs. "I suppose they could have also sent a train of ominous-looking people to publicly serve up their bronzeriders on a plate. Two plates." He taps his with his knife, makes the ceramic clink.

It may be E'ten's turn to laugh, not because of the subject but the implications that he'd succumb to such things. "Not those 'special channels' but you can hear things I don't. Being known as 'good' doesn't get you all the good gossip and rumors, sometimes. You and Ree," he notes with his own fork bringing the roll closer to center plate. "Have the ability to blend in better at times."

"I don't know that I'd call it /blending/," N'rov says frankly, though he lifts his glass in the direction of 'good' that E'ten allegedly is: that much 'not good' he'll take. "And be careful, don't say that to her. She might not like being joined with me, if only in a sentence."

"I'll keep that in mind," E'ten notes, sampling the roll and finally lamenting that he didn't get more than the two on his plate. The expression might betray him, much like the smile as he turns to stand with a tilt of his head towards the serving line. "I'm going to get a few of those rolls for the trip back." Which might be soon or later - whichever the case, he's going back with rolls to share and hopefully Vhaeryth doesn't get a snack to go.