Logs:Of Need
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| RL Date: 25 September, 2006 |
| Who: M'wen, R'hin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Your location's current time: 20:49 on day 31, month 3, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. Leiventh> Maxeoth senses that Leiventh's tones are unchanging as ever, black landscape suffused with crimson flares of color as he touches your thoughts. « Mine requests to see yours, if yours is free? » Leiventh senses that Maxeoth pauses, before returning with a distracted mindvoice. « We come! Where is your's waiting? » Leiventh> I bespoke Maxeoth with « Mine feels the need to get away from the Weyr. We travel to the Icelake of Ruatha. Our thoughts are focused on it now. » Ice Lake Shore(#5888RJ$) A slope of green grass leads to the shore of a small but deep lake; on all other sides of the lake are peaks of rock upthrust some two dragonlengths from the water's surface. To the southwest a rough trail leads out towards Ruatha Hold. Easily muddied by overenthusiastic dragons, the grassy beach has room for only a few of Pern's protectors before becoming crowded. Contents: Leiventh Obvious exits: Rough Path SKy LAke In the sky, Maxeoth emerges from Between with a blast of cold air! Maxeoth wades out of the lake. Maxeoth has arrived. M'wen jumps down Maxeoth's side to the ground, the dragon's sparkling eyes watching closely. M'wen has arrived. The spring weather in Ruatha is mild, more so than High Reaches. And certainly more temperate; even with Rukbat gone from the sky, dimming the area to a dull glow, R'hin has his jacket off and draped on the ground, serving as a comfortable resting place as he's settled with his back against Leiventh's hide. The dragon is, as ever, still and statuesque, the rumbling of his greeting to his clutchsibling more felt than heard. A bottle of wine - M'wen might recognize it as one of the vintage bottles from Benden - and two glasses are set near to him. The bronze's rider is less calm than his counterpart, fingers tapping, pushing up from his seat and pacing a few steps back and forth in apparent agitation. The rumbling returned, though louder, the brown circles in from above, wings neatly held in a slow descent. Landing softly near the bronze, his rider slides down the dragons flanks, forgetting to use the straps and laning heavily on the ground. Stumbling slightly, he strides over towards the bronzerider, a neutral expression on his face. Finding no words, he sums it up with, "Well?" "Well," and the breath R'hin releases with the word is almost like relief at seeing M'wen. "Have a drink with me, friend," he turns towards the bottle, voice oddly uneasy for one so usually full of confidence, and it shows in the jerky movements as he bends to retrieve bottle and glasses, "And then, we need to talk. -I- need to." M'wen reaches out a hand to take the glass when it is offered, not hesitating like he would have before. Sitting down against his own dragon, he runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. "Talk away, I'm here to listen." "I'd thought to keep these bottles for celebration, not commiseration. Ironic, don't you think?" R'hin seems oddly pleased as M'wen accepts the first glass, pouring a second for himself. His restless movement barely ceases, a tilt of his glass given in toast, "To... changes." A deep gulp is given, the sigh of the brownrider not going unnoticed. "Things didn't exactly go as planned. I-- you know all the reasons why I shouldn't be put in this position. I don't know... I feel lost, M'wen." The confession doesn't come easily, and the bronzerider scrubs a hand across his face, looking very little like a Weyrleader. "Funny how things work out." M'wen concedes. "To changes!" He returns the toast with more vehemence then it was given with. "Remember when I said you could do it, you just don't believe that you can? Well now you -have- to do it, and hiding from this fact won't get you any farther away from reality. This may not have been planned, but I assume you will soon find a way to ring it to your advantage." He pauses briefly, the tone of the last part seeming more in jest, though said levely. Draining half the glass in one gulp, he returns his gaze on the bronzerider, willing him to continue. Pale eyes narrow abruptly, and the anger lingering just beneath the surface, fuelled by that uncertainty, bubbles up with a low growl on R'hin's part at M'wen's words, clearly unhappy about the truth of them. He spins about on his heel, stalking away a few paces, taking another gulp of his wine before his voice, a tad more under control, comes: "Now I have to," he agrees. "I can't do it without you, M'wen. There are... politics involved. People are going to be very uncertain about me, and that is why this should never have happened. But I need you to be there, once I have opportunity to make some changes." The brownrider's final statement earns the faintest curve of lips, as the High Reaches Weyrleader looks over his shoulder, the offer unvoiced but still expectant of an answer. M'wen stands up, still leaning against Maxeoth's side, a slight rumble of protest eminating from the brown, doubtful though of it's validity. Draining the glass, he places in on the ground at his feet, smooth steady movements, the thought evident on his face. "This seems to be proof that flights are won by being at the right place at the right time, which really isn't a good thing..." Hw pauses, that tangent of thought forgotten, "When you told me from the beginning what you intended to do, I said I'd do whats needed of me to achieve these ends, that offer still stands, and probably always will until we finish our goals. I will be there." He gives a glance to R'hin, not quite knowing what to say. The Weyrleader's expression seems to darken slightly, though R'hin's voice is even as he says, "Josilina claims," perhaps a hint of doubt still there, "That there is evidence to suggest that Weyrleaders are chosen deliberately. Who the Weyr wants," a quirk of lips, "Or needs to have." The brownrider's agreement, however, is evidently the thing he was waiting for, as there's a visible relaxing of shoulders, anger siphoning away for now as he strides closer, reaching out a hand with the intention of clapping companionably on M'wen's shoulder, the slight pressure of his fingers intended to convey his silent gratitude. "Our path will be more difficult, now. I thought to move from a position of strength, but..." a hint of dry humor, "All your contingencies didn't forsee this, wise man." The affectation is, much like R'hin's title of Satiet, one of respect. "I have never seen a flight where the female has changed her path to be caught by a certain dragon, for the good or bad of her." M'wen points out as R'hin strides near. He drops his head with a small grin on his face at the bronzeriders gesture, then meets his gaze, the faint smile lingering on. "Tell me, do you think anyone expected you to win that flight? I can't plan on contingencies that are based on being at the right place at the right time, even the best would not aim that far." Pausing a beat, he drops his eyes again, "Maybe you -are- the one we need, even if you don't think so." "He was in the right place at the right time," R'hin's assessment agrees with the luck theory, it would seem, his hand dropping from the other's shoulder with a gesture towards the bottle as he reaches to scoop it up. "More wine? Shells, M'wen, -I- didn't expect to win that flight. I think Leiventh was the only one who did." His gaze slides past the brownrider to the dragon in question, with that familiar, unbidden pride all riders have of their lifemates. The latter comment serves, as probably is expected, to draw pale gaze back to the other rider, frown touching his lips. "I don't want to drive this Weyr into the ground. Granted, it's a fix-up job as it is, but it has so much potential. I... maybe. Maybe. Regardless, Leiventh refuses to let me consider standing down. He's... more stubborn about it than anything before." Leiventh> To you, Leiventh's stoic, « You are Weyrleader. That is as it should be. » "Maybe this is a dragon intuition we'd be fools to not listen to?" M'wen wonders aloud, as much for his benefit as R'hin's. In a completely unexpected gesture, M'wen holds out his glass, looking for another glass of wine. "Do you actually believe that you could drive the weyr into the ground? Your occasional misadventures are problematic for a weyrleader, but you have never given me reason to believe it will be -harmful- to have you as leader." "Or, he could just be stubborn. I think he enjoys the roomier ledge." R'hin's tone is wry, full of amusement. "Can dragons be selfish? I'm not really sure. They must be, since they can want things on occasion?" The discussion of draconic desires is, it seems, too much for him, and he refills M'wen's glass, then his own. He takes a slow sip, apparently the better to give him time to consider a response to the question. "Problematic would be magnified tenfold when you represent a Weyr. Practically the first thing Josilina begged me was to be more diplomatic," shoulders twitch, as if all too aware how difficult that is for him. He turns away to shift gaze to the horizon, deliberately avoiding the other's gaze as he adds quietly, "I'm not... I've done things I'm not proud of in the past. I'm not a good man. I want what's best for the Weyr, that's true. But these two things might not always coincide." Seeing the topic of draconic character has been tossed aside, M'wen remains tight lipped, taking the glass with a silent thanks. Taking a small swig, he places it on a handy flat rock beside him and turns to regard the bronzerider, though looking deep in thought. "Put the past behind you, you have changed and you know this, though I still have to mirror Josilina's opinion on this one. This may seem bad advice, but some of the time, no words go a long way, and can difuse potentially bad situations. Whether dragons can choose who wins the flights or not, -tradition- dictates that you have to lead. You could most likely channel your typical conniving into being cordial with those who need it, whether or not they deserve it." He finishes the thought and looks to R'hin, seeking agreement, or at least acknowledgement. R'hin doesn't seem apt to settle down just yet, glass in his hand as he paces expansively back and forth along the shore. "I've changed," he agrees, "But.." he exhales sharply, pale eyes lingering on M'wen as he takes in the brownrider's counsel, looking unhappy about it. "Channel my conniving?" he echoes, with a trace of amusement that quickly becomes a low-throated chuckle. "Well, I guess I can give it a try, at the very least." His humor seems to be marginally improved, though there's a pause as he adds, "Just promise me one thing, wise man. Don't let me go to Bitra, for -any- reason. Personal, or business, or otherwise." A sidelong glance is given to see if he has the other's attention, though he seems apt to look away, eyes guarded. Eye's following the pacing Weyrleader, M'wen cracks a small smile at R'hin's reaction. Settling back witha sigh, he looks up at the sky, deepin thought until: "Bitra? Did you say Bitra? I'm from Bitra, though I don't want to go back there- ever. Whats your excuse?" His attention is fully on R'hin, who probably didn't expect such a tirade of questions after such a comment. Judging by the abrupt halt of pace and the stiffening of back, it's clear R'hin didn't expect the tirade of questions, and seems to need time to answer - unusual for him. He keeps his back to his companion, exhaling slowly. "If you don't ever want to go back there, then it ought to be easy enough to do. As you know I try not to leave the Weyr without you," wry humor, despite facetiousness, is probably not that untrue. "I just.. it would be dangerous for me, for everyone. Particularly now. Don't let me." There's an edge that's very close to pleading in his tone. M'wen nods slowly, knowing better then to ask questions which won't be answered. "I shall make sure you don't." A level tone, a truthful ring to the answer. "This can't be the end of your troubles. Might as well get the out now while you won't be missed." He gives a wry smile, sipping at the wine, looking attentive. Relief is very visible in the slackening of shoulders and the drop of R'hin's head. "Thank you," he murmurs, weary and grateful all at once. He gulps down a mouthful of his wine, finally turning back and striding over to join M'wen. He looks better, less uneasy, more of that familiar self-assurance back in place as he settles on the ground, reaching for the wine bottle to use up the last of the liquid in M'wen's and his glasses. "I'm going to shuffle the wings around. Try to... get people sympathetic to our cause in a better position. There's going to be a lot of screaming. I'm going to have to keep some of the old guard in place, for now, and you--" he grimaces, apology written on his expression, "--you'll end up under Melata, for which I wholeheartedly apologize. But know it won't be forever. When things settle down after the hatching, I think, when people are happy, it'll be an apt time to go riling things up again." His hand lifts, flinging outwards as if throwing away something, expression thoughtful. Giving a wince as his placement is recieved M'wen shrugs whole-heartedly. "If it's for the best, I'm sure I can suffer under Melata for a short while." He pauses briefly, looking to be considering the change, "You made a good decision to not change things up too much, some would say you were geting to big for your knot. If being under Melata is what I need to do, so be it, it can be -all- that bad." His last remark is made flippantly, though the bronzerider has given much to mull over. "Taking it slow is my best advice at the moment. I'm sure you can see why." "They're already saying it. I'm trying to prove them wrong. Being... diplomatic, even," R'hin chuckles, low, running a hand through his hair. An almost apologetic look is given to M'wen at his statement in regards to Melata. "Surely you jest. She's... you know how she is, and how well I get on with her." He drains most of his glass in one gulp, glancing towards Leiventh, still as always. "I see why. I'm not happy about it, but I see why. It wasn't meant to happen like this, you know." "I don't think they specifically dislike you, It's just they have lived here for who knows how many turns, with S'rist as their Weyrleader. It's as much tradition as anything else, you are just the upstart new Weyrleader adn the old-timers don't like that. I'm pretty sure nothing you can do will change that, no matter how good a job you do." M'wen looks to R'hin, a genuine look of concern, "I know you didn't plan this, you're the one who was the most adament on -not- being a leader, and it seems that didn't help in the least." R'hin nods, reluctantly accepting M'wen's words. "I've also, apparently, never flown Fall, which somehow immediately disqualifies me from being able to lead. Faranth knows what they were going to do in fifty Turns when -no one- would've flown it." A beat, then, "It's the new ones I'm concerned about. They'll listen to what they're told... because it's Tradition." A sharp shake of his head. "The new weyrlings... Leiventh's brood," a darted glance to the bronze, then back, "They'll be our future. We have to make sure they -understand-," he says, intently, a grimace following at M'wen's latter words. "It didn't help, and it won't. The changes I can make now are... superficial at best. And next time Lhiannonth rises, they'll probably just change everything back to how they like it." "Hopefully your plan has come to fruition 50 turns from now. If not then it's too late for us and it'll be another invasion of the gate by the holders. Some people will be set in their ways, but thay shouldn't be the one's we try to convince otherwise. How can the new ones follow traditions that aren't followed, aren't accepted, aren't -tradition-. They will understand, you just have to take the effort to make them understand." A beat, "Satiet seemed convinced Lhiannonth wasn't going to rise again, so we shall see what the future has in store and decide on that." M'wen shifts again the hard ground, a smirk to himself, an small twisting of the mouth as he mentions the junior weyrwoman. "It will," R'hin seems confident of that, if nothing else. "In fifty Turns I can do a lot. In the, what, Turn, maybe two I'll be Weyrleader, I'll have just enough time to learn how not to drive the Weyr into the ground." R'hin's tone is facetious, draining the last of his wine and setting the glass beside the empty bottle. "Satiet," he echoes, interest rising anew with a careful look. "You spoke to her?" he seems oddly hesitant for a moment. "How did she seem?" "Unless Leiventh gets a knack forcatching queens, it does seem unlikely you will retain leadership -too- long." M'wen glances over at the bronze, before returning to the rider. "Drunk." He pauses, awaiting a reaction before continuing. "She seemed really torn up that Lhiannonth still rises, and I attempted to console her, but she retreated out for some air when Melata showed up." R'hin, too, glances at Leiventh, the bronze unmoving despite being discussed. "A fact for which -I- at least, am grateful," he murmurs, perhaps giving the indication that his lifemate thinks otherwise. A twitch of lips, not surprised, "I saw her briefly this morning. She looked... the worse for wear." His brow furrows at M'wen's description, and he exhales a breath. "It may be some time before Josilina steps down. It will not be the first time, I think, the lady of the spires will have to put up with such disappointment." A beat, then, "And how did our illustrious," a faint curl of lip indicates derision, "Wingleader react?" M'wen looks slightly downcast, "It seems That our goldrider -will- be needing help home after a drinking binge at the lava lounge, though there's not much I can do to prevent this, however much I do..." He returns a level gaze to R'hin, "Melata seemed to care little, saying the patrons would make sure she didn't get into any trouble." He frowns slightly, and gives a sad nod to R'hin, confirming the events to himself. "Next time," R'hin is amused, pale eyes lingering on M'wen as he continues, "It will be her dragon rising. Perhaps Maxeoth will catch her." His eyes don't shift to the brown dragon, though there is a slight tip of his head. M'wen gives a small smile at R'hin's comment, "We can only hope," 'We' meaning Maxeoth and his rider, judging by the look given in the dragons direction. "We are in for change at the 'Reaches. The old-timers sense it and want to prevent it, though it is becoming more an more pronounced..." He trails off, the thought ending abruptly. A beat of stunned silence, before R'hin's low chuckle bears forth his amusement. "Better you, than someone else," he murmurs, though there's a hint of possessiveness in the way he allows the thought. His brows furrow, staring carefully at the brownrider at his unfinished thought. "It is?" "One thing at a time my dear Bronzerider. You just became Weyrleader, I don't wish to become Satiet's pawn just yet." M'wen chuckles low, a grin given for R'hin's benefit. "Yes it is, though how, I cannot say." His tone gains a slight solemn edge, odd for so recent a flippant remark. "I'd be reluctant to let anyone become Satiet's pawn. She'd eat them alive," R'hin says, though the words sound oddly like praise. Any hint of amusement has vanished pretty quickly at M'wen's solemn tone. Silence for a moment, then, "Keep an ear to the ground, would you? People will be reluctant to tell me things I need to know. I trust your feeling." M'wen gives a full throated laugh at R'hin's comment. "Again, we shall see." Regarding the bronzerider with a respectful gaze, "I'll do what needs to be done, Weyrleader." He mulls the thoughts around his head, though not speaking further. R'hin meets that gaze with a respectful one of his own, the faint curl of lips easy smile, "As always, I appreciate your support, M'wen. It means more than I can say." Scooping up the glasses and wine bottle, he rises and heads for Leiventh's saddlebags to tuck them away. "My door is always open to you, wise man. You know where to find me whenever you need me." M'wen gives a slow nod, "You are the wise man here, I'm just one to give advice and channel your thoughts to make them be able to become a reality." His assessment is sent with a small smile, though for what purpose, it is unknown. He stands up after the bronzerider and gathers his things. A low chuckle comes from the Weyrleader. "I am many things, M'wen, wise is not one of them. I rely on your counsel." R'hin buckles the saddlebag closed, glancing over his shoulder. His expression is even, though his voice is blandly honest, "I found myself troubled before I spoke to you, and now I do not. Whether you realize it or not, friend, you've a great influence on me. I'd thought to resist it, but now I have come to rely on it. I don't know whether that's a good thing, for you or me, but it is what it is." "Shall we had back? If your conscience is clear, then my job is done. We don't want anyone thinking you've died or something and go replacing you, however much you'd like that..." M'wen gives a low chuckle, throwing on his riding jacket. R'hin's gaze lingers on M'wen for a moment longer, noting the lack of comment on his remarks, agreeing easily a beat later, "Certainly. As much as I'd like to jockey for shortest Weyrleader ever, it's probably best not to put revolutionary thoughts in other people's heads... at least, not ones that don't agree with our agenda." A low chuckle follows that statement as he follows M'wen's example in throwing on his jacket, moving to climb atop Leiventh. As always - pure habit or otherwise - he glances towards the brownrider in deference, waiting for the other to give the signal to depart. M'wen hops up on his dragons back, a smile alit on his face, seeming to have appriciated R'hin's comments. Seeing the glance, he lets out a, "Ohhh no, Now that your weyrleader we can't have you taking orders from a lowly bronrider, this time, you take lead, I'll follow." R'hin bestows a long, steady look on his companion. "There is very little that is lowly about you, M'wen. I need you to remind me that I must take your lead, now and then." A hand waves, as if to indicate this is one such reminder. M'wen shrugs and gives a flick of the wrist, Maxeoth giving a baritone warble before launching straight into the air. Beating his wings slowly the brown seems to be just enjoying the wind currents, looking barely contained from doing a rash arial maneouvre. Where the other shrugs it off, it seems to have some importance to R'hin, given the way he nods in satisfaction, the faint exhalation of a breath he probably didn't realize he was holding. Leiventh rises in Maxeoth's wake, taking up his usual position to the brown's right, letting the other dragon be his guide. |
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