Difference between revisions of "Logs:Backup Plan"

Electricity, too dark for the visible spectrum, flows. It's when their times intersect, Leiventh and Vrianth's, that she descends for his ledge. Rain slants off her wings, off Leova's shoulders, off the greenrider's hood as she walks directly for the weyr itself.

Rain has rarely bothered Leiventh. He is near invisible, in his perch up on the rim of the bowl, though bright eyes and cold winds surround Vrianth in answer, the green's descent undoubtedly getting his attention. There's no protest, however. Bristia's weyr is dark, but R'hin's is lit, visible from the outside. The door is not locked, and the weyr's warm, the hearth burning low to keep off autumn's chill. Hides are spread across the table, but R'hin is seated on the couch, carefully oiling a set of straps, a familiar routine for a rider, and a familiar, welcoming scent, too. He doesn't look up; maybe Leiventh warned him. Maybe not. "I hope you come bearing gifts," he says, attention still on the straps.

"I don't." Leova walks deeper in, not without looking around. She's slower to sit, on the couch's opposite arm. "But I can help with the work." Amber eyes slant the other rider's way, even before she discards her coat. Before she'll reach for the leather. Vrianth had looked in, before she'd closed the door. Whatever the rangy dragon's nosing at now depends on what's there. She might even stay just for stone.

With a noise that is partway between snort and grunt, R'hin says, "Luckily for you I'm not a lesser man, or I'd turn you back out into the rain." Her voice is familiar, and recognized, and so he doesn't look until she draws nearer, slanting her a sidelong glance, pale eyes surprised, perhaps, at the offer. He doesn't protest, and the slight tip of head seems to be acknowledgement. Neither Leiventh nor Saindyth seem the sort to keep any knicknacks or keepsakes; the wallows however are comfortable and scented of the familiar dragons.

"Wouldn't be here," wry like she's quoting. Leova leans to choose a strap without the fresh-oiled sheen, finds it attached to the one he's working on, picks another. A rag's worth of oil, that's next. She doesn't say more just yet.

Another noise, this time more obviously amused, as R'hin settling into a comfortable silence, like Leova just showing up randomly to help him oil Leiventh's straps happen all the time. That or he's used to exercising patience, even if there's an obviously curious flicker of pale eyes in her direction as she settles in.

She works for a while, meticulous. Might be, it takes a while for Vrianth to settle. "The Teris thing," she says at last. "Don't reckon that it's over."

He quirks a brow at her, inquisitively.

"This 'training program.' Haven't heard anything about abiding by a rider's wishes. You?" She's taking her time with the well-used leather. She doesn't stop even when she speaks. "This 'committee.' Even with Madilla heading, they say."

"Doesn't matter," R'hin says, with an air of easy dismissiveness. "Isn't their choice, or their jurisdiction."

"Don't want another Miska, allowed to do that."

He looks at her, steadily. After a beat: "She had choices available to her."

Amber eyes lift, dark on grey. "Finally."

A pause; a minute shake of his head. "I offered to take her. She didn't accept." A beat. "Couldn't," he amends, after a moment. "But she had the choice."

"'Couldn't'?" The leather stops within her palm, wider than Vrianth's.

Lips thin, and pale eyes return to the leather he's working on. His voice changes; darker, reminiscent. "Sometimes, after, they can't stand to be near the Weyr. Near riders. Their dragons."

She doesn't look away. "Right after?"

A flash of something briefly in his expression, before he looks at her steadily, questioningly.

"When they can't stand it. That right after, already?" She loosens her grip. "Or when there's been that delay."

"Sometimes both. It depends on the person." Despite her clarification, despite his answer, there's still that quizzical expression when he regards her.

"Mm." Then, "We didn't see much Fall. Didn't work, much, in the dragon infirmary until after." She considers him, settled as though she really did show up to help this way all the time, settled and yet not at ease. "U'sot. Well."

Pale eyes take in her demeanor, and, after a moment, R'hin pushes up, walking towards the sideboard. He takes a moment to make a selection, a small, dark bottle. He opens it as he walks back towards the couch, offering it to her, first.

She receives it, opens it, all with a quiet near-ceremony. Her eyes are on him when she drinks. A second sip later, she passes it back. "Sweet." Sweeter.

He grins, like he's pleased with her reaction, and accepts the bottle, taking an easy gulp, too. He recaps it, but sets it between them within easy reach.

It lasts her. "Came to say," she says. "Want you to help us, R'hin, if ever it went down that way."

His brow twitches upwards, betraying surprise. Maybe he's playing dumb; maybe he's thinking it over.

She has straps to oil. She does so.

He looks at her, steadily, while she works, pale eyes unblinking. "Yes." None of his usual bargaining, seeking favors or questions. Just that grave, single, syllable of agreement.

For that, her gaze turns back to the other rider. She inclines her head, deliberate. "Chose you," she says, "to count on."

He, too, nods, pale eyes unwavering on hers, expression unusually grave.

Her brows lift, this time, subtle as the angle of her head.

"He'll hate me, you know. More than he does now, your boor."

"Yes." She's quiet, that moment. "Would regret that much, if I could."

"I wouldn't. Won't, if it comes to that." Is that reassuring?

"Wouldn't tell on you, if you did." There's that slight lift to her mouth, one corner's worth.

A faint, more familiar, glitter of pale eyes answers, as he offers her the bottle, again.

She accepts, again. She drinks, again. It's only after he's had his turn, if he does, and after some time. "Wrote a letter, for Madilla, for my file, for him." Her loved one. "Better not come to that. But. You should know."

He does, of course, like it's expected. She drinks; so does he. His brow furrows at that, but he nods. "The kids?" Does she want to leave them something?

"Not that kind of letter." In the next breath, "Mostly." Immediately, "But not. Not, '...'" becoming just, "'....' No last words."

That, apparently, is worthy of offering the bottle again. "Can always change your mind on that later, as they get older. Via's not far off apprenticing, if she wanted to. Few turns."

"Can do," dry even before she drinks. Before she gives him a look that's just as much, there on her daughter's name, considering through another draught.

"Hard to let 'em go," he says. "Heard mine came and saw you." If there's rancour about that, it isn't visible in the bronzerider's expression.

"Always good to see them," she says, that plain. More rueful, "Not have to chase them down."

"Mm." Beat. "Isn't so easy when they get wilful and independent."

"No." That one-cornered smile, once more. She drinks, sighs, hands it back. "So busy at Igen, that one. But." Slow, slow. "Long as there's not another bout of skin falling off, like to think she'll do all right. All those changeovers less contagious."

R'hin's expression tightens, like maybe that's news to him, and he doesn't seem particularly happy about it, either. "They have bigger things to worry about at Igen than disease," he says in a dark tone. "She oughtn't linger there. Last time I saw that many guards in a major hold..." his jaw tightens. But he does, after a moment, drink, in an obligatory fashion.

"Aye?" She'd let the oiling go. Now she leans to re-soften the rag.

"Anywhere but Igen," is all he says, finally. Surely she can pass that message on, and with more weight than if it'd come from the wayward harper's father.

She nods. Yet it comes with, "'Last time'?"

He doesn't explain, despite prompting, only says, "Only scared, precarious or ambitious Holds make such a show of force. All of those are dangerous."

"Mm." The movement stops. "Not saying anything aught new, R'hin." It's mild.

"For Suireh." It's not quite pleading, but not far off it, either.

She exhales. "Of course."

Perhaps it's with gratitude, now, that he offers her the bottle again.

Surely not to keep her from prompting again. She doesn't ask. She takes it.