Difference between revisions of "Logs:Mutual Disrespect"

>---< Sanctuary, Fort Weyr >-------------------------------------------------<

  Once a complete weyr, buried beneath the mudslide, this awkwardly-shaped  
  chamber has now been cleaned up and protected from the elements by a set  
  of proper doors where the ledge might have been. It's a cozy little spot, 
  all funny little shelves and nooks in the warmly-painted walls, various   
  ornaments sat in each space in the wall, from collections of tealights to 
  elaborate carvings.                                                       
                                                                            
  A third of the cavern is occupied by a large, rectangular storage unit    
  fronted by glass to make a counter-top, behind which lie a series of      
  wooden shelves stacked with crockery and various bottles, a proper yet    
  small built-in oven and a short, stocky cupboard. A selection of cakes,   
  biscuits and pastries are usually available throughout the day, set out on
  the countertop alongside a board detailing the variety of warm drinks     
  available. Small groupings of mismatching furniture sit scattered         
  throughout the remaining free space, lending the place a quaint, homely   
  air. Usually on-duty is Molly or Joy, kitchen girls known for their baking
  skills.

X'vin's preferred haunt is well-known to be the Fountain, but that doesn't stop him appearing any and everywhere. It's part of his charm. It's been some time since Lilah's confirmation as...well, unconfirmed and absent, but most assuredly gone by unanimous dragon vote, and X'vin, mostly unruffled by all outward appearances in the sevens since, has currently put himself up at a table in Sanctuary, with a glass full of some sweet smelling liquor, a platter of tarts that look like they are from the morning batch, and a little black ledger with a narrow gold ribbon attached to the spine, to act as a bookmark. He's flipping through the pages idly.

He's spent much of his evenings on the inner bowl wall stairs the last few weeks, usually sitting on the landing just in front of the broom closet, only lately starting to not frequent the spot as much. He watches because Zymadiath watches. The dark bronzeling that circles and circles above, being able to go longer and farther slowly day by day. Today, Ka'ge completes the climb up the stairs for old times sake- eavesdropping with a shot of liquor on the side. He stops as one of the kitchen girl passes him by on the way to another table- almost all of which seem to be occupied now. It's a slick thing, his gloved hand slipping to tap her arm, to draw her attention back to him without being utterly obnoxious about it. There's a brief exchange between the two, a painting of confusion on the face of the girl that becomes a flush of pink as Ka'ge speaks to her, his grin drawn in seductive full and his head tilted just so. His hand even falls to somewhere it probably shouldn't before the girl turns back for the storage bar-like area instead of wherever she'd been intending to go in the first place to retrieve Ka'ge's request. The moment she walks away, however, that manner evaporates and those blue-green shaded eyes of his scan the room. "Sir." Is supposed to be a greeting as he sits at the wingleader's table, a couple fingers tipped in a salute belatedly after he's already seated. "Change of scenery?"

By the time the younger rider has approached and claimed a chair X'vin is flipping the pages back quickly in search of something, though there's a small smile turning the corner of his mouth up, inexplicably. He draws his eyes up very briefly at the sound of the chair moving, one brow going up to evaluate the lack of propriety, but in the end he doesn't ask him to leave; rather, he suffices, "Weyrling," as his own greeting, then, "Ah, there," before he moves the golden bookmark into place and uses his fingers to close the book with a loud clap. "Always. Being predictable is always a bit of a shame. For example, I'd never be caught sitting on the same steps in front of the same closet regularly. Though I understand the comfort of developing habits in the wake of disaster."

"Disaster." The word is tested in his mouth, an uncaring to his tone that seems more a matter of character than a shame on the circumstance. "To Zymadiath, I guess." He leans forwards over the table with elbows set on it. Ka'ge doesn't seem to give much credit nor take any sense of offense to the short on his selection of locale, instead just considering his sentiments and eventually sliding to an inappropriate hint of amusement. "But you would be caught in the Fountain on a regular basis, and always in the same... what is it-" a pause, a motioning of his hand as if the word is really hard to find, "Oh yeah, wing." His gloved hands fall to the table, one settled over the other with an accent of a finger tapped on the table once, twice, "A little hard not to be predictable in a Weyr, wingleader." It's ultimately dismissive as if his unnecessary combativeness on the subject is not entirely of his own make.

"Is he alright? Losing a dam is a difficult thing, for dragons. More, if you don't even know why she's lost. I wouldn't know, really; Besmernyth's is still alive and well, with plenty of years and clutches left in her, so long as her rider doesn't get it in her mind to...cease." In response to Ka'ge's lean forward, X'vin leans back. It's not a retreat so much as a counterbalance, the bronzerider draping his arm over the back of his chair, his languid posture a direct contrast to the somber teen. "Certain things are rote," he acknowledges, but there's an odd amount of certainty when he says, "but not everything. It's an interval. Things will change."

"He would say yes. His exhaustive watch over the Weyr says otherwise." Ka'ge gives, looking away to glance across the different collections of weyrfolk and riders. He doesn't remark or adjust to the Flint wingleader's posture adjustment, fine- if not even approving- of the counterbalance of it. The response of change gets a crooked grin, "Eventually." The word has a particular certainty about it amidst his humor that taints it and the rest of his words, "With a push or two in the right direction perhaps." Lazy tone gives what could be a very serious statement minimal weight. "Some would argue." Says the devil's advocate, "That there's been plenty of intervals before, and tradition's still been just that."

X'vin is unreadable at the suggestion of Zymadiath's behavior. "Some dragons just watch. It may well have happened without losing Eliyaveith, even. Maybe he is just the sort, and the correlation does not, as such, equal causation." He seems keen on Ka'ge's answer, if dismissively so; the sharpness is in his eyes and nowhere else, lighting them and touching his smile at the mention of objection. "And others would argue that the tradition in an interval is the change. It's all about perspective. Certain traditions - alienating the holds when we're not earning our meals, for example - are probably ones we could afford to do away with."

Ka'ge doesn't explain his bronze's eccentrically vigilant behavior further, listening pseudo-intently in the feign of accepting an older rider's wisdom. His drink is delivered in this interim, his fingers curling around the handle of the mug as he returns his hood-shrouded gaze to X'vin. "A repeated change isn't really change." The thought is immediately if casually dismissed. "That's just routine." But the actual substance of his comment draws a little more of the weyrling's attention beyond the semblance of generalized boredom. "You think someone could do something about that?"

They balance each other, the pair, because even Ka'ge's slight pique into interest meets only X'vin's ennui; the wingleader explains in just the fashion one does when they anticipate being countered, and don't care a lick for the dissenting opinions. "With the right person, in the right place, with the right connections at the right time can change paradigms. It just has to fit, and every piece needs to be there: you can't have the right person, in the wrong place; the wrong person with the right connections; the right place but the wrong time." His fingers flip absently. "Until then, we'll repeat ad infinitum, weyrling. Don't let the harpers tell you otherwise."

It's fortunate that Ka'ge's typical callous demeanour could care less about the way things are said, making it indeed a well-matched moment. "Sounds great in theory." One of his hands flicks his gloved fingers, a clip of a chuckle caught in the breath that follows that sentiment. He tips that drink back, long enough to down a good third of it in one pass. He exhales as he puts it back to the table. "But that's a hell of a lot to put to chance. Might as well just go play dice and save yourself the effort." Although there seems to be something he wants to say on the concept of harpers, it amounts to no more an eyeroll that is, fortunately for him, mostly covered by that hood of his.

X'vin moves then, enough to reach over for that dark liquor and nudge the pastry dish towards Ka'ge, though he doesn't wait to see if the younger bronzerider will take anything. A swallow of his drink, a contemplative swirling of it, then, "I wouldn't leave anything to chance."

Ka'ge clears his throat in what is likely a curtailed chuckle, taking another drink as he obviously buys time before his next selected response. "That's funny." Is eventually what he comes up with, playing to his youth in the lack of a more eloquent thought to share. Although he doesn't reach for the pastries, too involved apparently in the liquor he doesn't get near enough of in his current status, he does manage the effort to look from the plate back to X'vin. "You'll have to tell me your secrets then, if you can manage that when you ain't got nothing but variables to mess with." Although his tone is arrogant, his expression flickers slightly at his wording, as if disapproving of something that left his mouth. "Anyway," follows shortly after in repair, "None of my business."

The smile that blooms on X'vin's face is entirely too toothy, lacking any real kindness. "Sure enough, it isn't, weyrling," he intones lightly, though he doesn't seem affronted save the sharpness of his smile. "But the difference between variables and the big picture -" He clears his throat, as if he regrets it immediately. "I don't expect you to be any better than anyone else in this place, at any rate; let the holds tithe themselves to starvation, let them squabble amongst themselves while we reign supreme a'dragonback. That's fine - I imagine it's what you're learning in your weyrling classes, and I would never say anything against what I imagine is Ebeny's fine curriculum." The wingleader shifts forward then, resting both elbows on the table and holding the glass in both hands. "You can dismiss yourself, now." It is, in the end, not forceful - a suggestion, however gentle it isn't.

Ka'ge finishes the drink as the wingleader talks, and as the mug is set down for the last time, his thumb and forefinger rises to pull down his hood at its peak. The tug is as symbolic as it is useful to hide his eyes. What it doesn't hide his damnable cocky smirk that seems to grow through the duration of the biased lecture. "Sure, holdbred." The darkly attired young bronzerider states, and perhaps in a combination of the fact that he was outright disrespectful to a wingleader and that X'vin dismissed him directly, he slides from his seat to stand. His posture leaves enough of a turn that he can glance back over his shoulder. It's to the comment of him being no better than anyone else that supports his farewell, "Good, then you won't be disappointed." The hand that had fussed with his hood tips a salute before he begins his departure. As if that makes up for any of it.

Disrespect meets disrespect, and cockiness meets cockiness. He doesn't get a salute back, or a farewell. There is only a laugh, low and persistent at Ka'ge's back as the weyrling departs, like he's truly told the funniest joke. X'vin will be on his heels shortly, book in hand and tarts abandoned on the table as he carries on about his day - but only after he's made a note in that ledger.