Logs:B'yan Takes Over Snowstrike
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| RL Date: 12 February, 2008 |
| Who: N'thei, B'yan |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day 11, Month 4, Turn 15 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'len/Mentions |
| Wyaeth> Jaireth senses that Wyaeth, in his inimitably abrupt way, « N'thei will see B'yan in the council chamber. » He doesn't say 'now,' not directly, but the gruff-and-dusty extra word might as well be tacked on. Wyaeth senses that Jaireth returns a frosty silence, but it is punctuated with a sense that the message was well delivered to its intended. Wyaeth> Jaireth senses that Wyaeth prods no more; he has every expectation that his will be done! B'yan strides in from the Weyrleaders' ledges. B'yan has arrived. N'thei sits. Unsurprisingly? He's taken the weyrleader's chair and filled it with his bulk, made of the weyrwoman's chair nearby an unlikely footrest the way he has hooked his heels on the arm of it, big boots hanging over the delicate embroidery of the cushion. Work litters his end of the table, work and a flask that glints in much-used silver against the pale glowlight. He reads, positioned in such a way that he can watch the entrance easily. There's enough lingering time in between the receiving of messages between the dragons before B'yan saunters into the chamber. He's in his full riding leathers to suggest that he's been out of the Weyr, along with his gloves slowly being pulled off as he pauses on the threshold. The front of his jacket gets unfastened, deftly slipping fingers in the stuff back in a visible sheet of hide that pokes out. He stuffs the gloves right in its wake, zips back up, then takes slow, halting steps towards the weyrleaders table and just stares at N'thei with barely a smirk in place. "I'm disappointed." N'thei says this casually, without the tone to match the words; what he sounds is dryly dryly entertained. He lowers his hide gradually, sets it aside so he can lace his now empty fingers across his belly, no bother made to sit up straight and greet B'yan. "I hoped in the back of my mind that you wouldn't show up at all." A look to an empty chair, a half-smile; "I'd invite you to sit, but I don't suppose this will take long. --How's Snowstrike?" B'yan's lips twitch at an odd angle, briefly. "And I was hoping I would walk up in here and see that it was all but a bad dream," he slips in without a pause, crafty non-chalance in his tone. Taking a look around, "A pity I was wrong, for here you are. I imagine Snowstrike is fine," he continues on, not showing interest in the act of sitting as he shifts weight to another foot. "C'len would be the one to ask, I'd imagine." And finally, there's a smirk. A big-shouldered shrug leaves N'thei to follow B'yan's look around the cavern, his expression quick to become harder and harder to read: amused but similarly mild. "I am the stuff of your dreams, you say? What does that say about you." He sniffs to clear that thought, head cocked aside. "Would he? Well, he isn't here, so you'll have to do. You know he's been looking to resign-- I'm taking it as a compliment." "Fishing for compliments where there are none already?" Hazel eyes coming to rest on the Weyrleader, "My, my. And barely filled out his seat in a turn. You cracked a new record over the last one." B'yan's head cocks slightly to the last, a brow lifting before he answers, "C'len hasn't said anything to the effect." Bare teeth showing through now, "Sucks to be you, eh?" Arms coming to a fold, "So then. What is it that you want from me?" N'thei asks with his head still cocked like that, "Asking because you can't guess or you'd rather hear it from the gift horse's mouth?" The barbs aside, waved at with fingers that dismiss the whole give-and-take aspect of the conversation. "The weyrleader brings in a wingsecond to discuss the retiring of a wingleader. What could he possibly want, I wonder." Droll bat of his eyelashes. It's slow, considering that it wasn't much there to begin with, but B'yan's smirk loses both its mockery and joy. "Then that tells me you're either delirious or begging to be tortured," he quips in, bemusement evident in his voice. "You must be joking. Surely there's someone else," and his brows furrow in a disbelieving prompt. N'thei's eyebrows climb slowly, pulled upward and upward till there's a furrow in his forehead to match their resting point. He waits a few extra seconds after B'yan's spoken to weigh the man's words with that half-confused look on his face; "Does that mean you don't want the job?" It's a guess, a doubtful one. "That's not a response I was prepared for, so you know." "I'm unconventional. Why me?" The words come unbidden from B'yan's mouth, his own bemusement still evident. "You'd give a whole wing to a man you don't trust?" Pause. "Didn't say anything about not taking it. Just, well...." he pauses once more, eyes slightly narrowing. "That wasn't an offer I was prepared for along with its source. So you know." Bland; "There are only two men at this weyr I do trust; need more wingleaders than that, don't I?" N'thei's patience is stretched to judge the gradually mounting abrasion in his voice, gone is the casual half-mockery that greeted B'yan and made the offer in the first place. "I know exactly how far I can't trust you. That's a lot better than I can say for most. You already know Snowstrike. That's two in your favor." Two in his favor showed on his left hand, one against on his right. B'yan lifts his chin, "And so, like the other one, you take a gamble," he drawls this out, the tone sounding more in wonder than in haughtiness. "Atleast you -have- two to trust. I don't trust you and you don't trust me. I'd say it's the perfect dysfunctional relationship between a Weyrleader and a Wingleader, wouldn't you say?" It's as much consent to the position that he gives, the lopsided grin returning now. N'thei files his teeth over his lower lip in a thoughtful expression, the corners of his mouth turned up again though his humor seems strained. "Not exactly ideal, but what is. You'll be working more with Shanlee anyway, at least for threadfall, and maybe it will finally make some peace with the woman." Right between the words some and peace there's a pause exactly long enough to put in a certain four-letter-word profanity. "You'll take Snowstrike tomorrow then. I'll let C'len know tonight. Let them know at drills tomorrow." Even between men who don't trust each other, have tried to beat each other senseless, compassion about the fairer and more confusing sex is welcome; "Women." Enough said! N'thei is quickly back to business, prompt to shake his head and turn his eyes toward the exit. "No, you can go. Before we run the risk of having a hate-free conversation. Congratulations." Flat as the plains of Nerat. Indeed, between men with little but the barbs of wire between them, there's an understanding that appears when it comes to fairer sex. B'yan gives a faint nod on that, then briefly lifts his brows at the hate-free comment. Turning, "Don't want to risk that at all, sir," he tacks on the last like a rambunctious teen, adding an equally flat "Thanks" before he's gone. N'thei: Nothing more. Must have been less painful than he expected. |
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