Logs:Of Finding Balance
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| RL Date: 3 October, 2006 |
| Who: E'tyn, R'hin |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 1, Month 5, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 0:21 on day 1, month 5, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring night. Leiventh> Niereth senses that Leiventh's mental tones are red on black, crimson streaks lighting the landscape in rippling effects. « Is yours free? Mine seeks to visit. » Leiventh senses that Niereth's own crimson reaches out, his offset by pure white trimmed by sunlight gold. « He is. » Quiet bemusement lurks heavy in the bronze's mental voice. « You are welcome to visit. There have been many visitors today. » The dragon's last thoughts carry in them the muted mental image of his rider alone, for now. Leiventh> Niereth senses that Leiventh sends wordless acknowledgement, the crisp coolness of High Reaches' weather dissapating as he withdraws. From the South, From the Telgar Star Stones, L'klal's burnished bronze Pteynth rears on hind legs and bugles a greeting to bronze Leiventh and his rider, R'hin of HighReaches Weyr. You fly downwards towards the southern end of the bowl. You land on Niereth's Ledge. You climb down Leiventh's side to the ground, as the dragon rumbles softly. Niereth's Ledge(#5719RJ) Broad and flat, the Weyrleader's ledge is large enough for two or three dragons of varied sizes. A short set of steps leads down into the southern bowl, and much of the conversation and activity drifts up. A few trunks and a small table with two chairs litter the ledge. The evening seems darker than usual behind overcast skies. A few flakes of snow are falling. There seems to be a light breeze and the spring air is cold. The ground is covered with a layer of snow. Contents: Leiventh E'tyn Niereth Obvious exits: Inner Weyr Southern Bowl It's a crisp evening, closer midnight than the evening meal, and while a light blanket of snow has turned has turned Telgar into a winter wonderland in the middle of spring, the evening has still found a bundled up E'tyn on his ledge. One of the two chairs is occupied, a small fire having been built in a stone-ringed clearing, and Niereth's warmth rests circularly around this little scene; a coppery-bronze backdrop for table, chairs, and fire. It's been a long day too, as a bottle of half-finished wine without a cup might indicate. The news has, as these kinds of things do, spread fairly quickly across Pern. The angular figure of the High Reaches bronze cuts through the Telgarian sky, acknowledging and responding to the watchrider's challenge before he angles downwards. Leiventh alights on the ledge with a scraping of ivory claws, the low rumbling greeting he gives Niereth pleasant enough. R'hin, bundled up for the trip between, slides off the dragon's side and touches the ledge, pale eyes focusing on E'tyn. With a nod, the faintest curl of lips, he greets, "Weyrleader. High Reaches' duties to Telgar... and her queens." "Careful," E'tyn notes quickly, his concern for the fire overcoming any of his polite tendencies, or fears for that matter. From Niereth to Leiventh, a simple breath results in a puffy cloud sent in greeting that is soon followed by a low thrum that is felt through the feet rather than heard on any audible level - a protective challenge, no doubt, that goes beyond the trumpeting call of the watch dragon. "Somehow," the young man begins, rising after a quick, slightly baffled look to his dragon, "I expected you to come, sir. Our duties to you and yours, Weyrleader." Leiventh, while he acknowledges the protective challenge, doesn't respond, passivity showing little interest in ownership of this particular Weyr. He settles down, crimson-draped wings folding carefully so as not to fan the fire. R'hin turns his regard on Niereth, quick smile given as he glances back to the rider. "You can assure Niereth, that Telgar is his." There's understanding in the low words as he crosses the ledge, a nod given to E'tyn. "I think," he smiles, "You can drop the sir now, Weyrleader. Shall we sit?" a hand lifts, gestures towards the seats, and waits for the Telgarian's approval. It's strangely R'hin's words rather than the bronze's inaction that tempers Niereth's protective fire, and the bronze resettles his back haunches down, feigning slumber all the while keeping a careful, double-lidded eye directed towards Soraeth's ledge. There's a flicker of unease in the bronzerider's bovinish eyes as he regards the Reachian Weyrleader and his appropriation as the role of host. "Mmm, yes," he's slow to nod, caution transparent in his tenor, "Please have a seat. I'm... in the process of moving my furniture from my cothold at Lemos." His hand drops at the assent, and R'hin steps towards the fire, taking the other chair and sinking into it. After a few moments, he tugs off his gloves, leaving them in his lap, undoing the first couple of buttons of his flight jacket. "One of the benefits of the position is the bigger space," he observes, his arm resting along the chair's side, head cocked so he can view E'tyn's expression. "I'd thought," he pauses, as if choosing his words carefully, "I'd thought, perhaps you'd appreciate a sympathetic ear. I did, when it happened, and it helped. Anything you say will stay between us. Our Weyrwomen," the smile deepens, a hint of wryness, "Have enough power over us, simply by being women." "Would you provide an ear of sympathy and words of comfort, Weyrleader?" E'tyn responds, his own words steady and thoughtful. "Or do you hope that my ear will be sympathetic to you, sir?" There's emphasis for the Reaches bronzerider in that emphasis, a deference rather than mocking inlaid into his tenor. He too claims a seat, sitting on the edge. "People have sent their pretty congratulations." Hidden in Niereth's shadow, the man reaches back to draw up another bottle of red. "Poor comfort for a cold night and an easier way to unwind than the missives that seem endless today." Perhaps the alcohol's already loosened his tongue and relaxed his frame, as there's a distinct lack of shy aversion in his shared thoughts. "Must the two be mutually exclusive?" R'hin returns, pale eyes even, not in the least concerned with the accusation. His tacit response makes the truth of it clear enough. "It is a time of changes. Can you not sense it?" the Reachian queries, hand lifting and gesturing outwards. "We stand at a crossroads. Tradition is being defied, and we are living proof of it. Two bronzes, barely out of weyrlinghood, have won leadership of Weyrs when every thing says it should have been impossible. One," lips twist briefly, "Could have been an anomaly, a fluke. But two?" A beat, then, "My Weyrwoman has said she believes that a Weyrleader is chosen for what the Weyr -needs-. I've looked at some of the records. I'm not sure she isn't right." E'tyn slides the new, corked bottle across the table. "I don't drink enough to be able to finish one bottle, let alone two." Except that he has made good progress on this initial one. For what R'hin says, the younger man has much to think on, little to voice, and in his thought, the young man is silent, though not still. His fingers fidget, twiddling against each other and then lifts to press at his temple. "It's happened before. And in ways," the young man considers aloud, "It makes sense. The Pass has ended, and durin' a Pass stability keeps a Weyr and its own alive." The offer is clearly appreciated, R'hin's head tipping in silent gratitude as he takes the bottle, turning it to examine the label before he takes a sip. He seems to approve, judging by the gulp that quickly follows that, before he passes it back over. "Anything to help out a fellow Weyrleader," he says, with a low laugh. Fingers return to the arm of the chair, pale eyes shifting to the bowl below. "The Pass requires stability," he agrees, "And one could infer from that, that the Interval requires change. But," he lifts his hands, as if halting himself, "I didn't come here to sway you to my cause tonight. If you're interested in that, you know where to find me." He glances, sidelong, eyes flickering over the Telgarian's features. "You seem to be taking it well enough." There's an earnestness etched beneath the lines of E'tyn's face, his brow, the lurking side of him that accepts what R'hin says only visible in those lines and the life of his eyes. But a public persona has long since been wrought, and it's that that forces a purse of the bronzerider's lips. "I've heard people sayin' that an Interval is not of change but of continuing the stability of the Pass so people'll remember." He does not reach for his own half-finished bottle, watchful again of the other bronzerider. Perhaps he finds something he likes, for a wash of relief sags across his face and he remarks low, "Does it seem like that? I'm so tired, I think I could just sleep right here." "People didn't remember last time." R'hin's tone is low - intent - but soft. "How can someone born to a world without Thread remember gratitude to dragonriders when their hard-worked crops and wares are to be given away? When a tithe might mean for them, the difference between a comfortable winter, and one barely survived? Gratitude extends only so far." It's a topic that's all too easy to steer the Reachian back onto, expression animated with belief, sitting straighter in his chair. His gaze is drawn back to E'tyn, lips twisting in sudden sympathy, understanding. "It -seems- like that." The emphasis faint indeed. "Find someone you trust, E'tyn of Telgar. Find your Weyrsecond, and you'll find your balance." He reaches for the bottle, taking another gulp, before he sets it aside and pushes himself up from his seat. Whether he plays devil's advocate deliberately or out of a true sense of belief, E'tyn mulls over the other Weyrleader's beliefs honestly, and after moments of thought, silence where only the crackle of fire sounds against the general blanket of night's noises, he rouses his voice to lift. "I hadn't even thought so far. It's been barely a day since Niereth cau- Soraeth rose. I... too many visitors and not enough time t'think on my own," the latter is accompanied by some of the bronzerider's usual sheepishness. Embarrassed by this sudden resurgence of hisself, the young man quickly returns to a topic of before. "I... All records show all areas of Pern thrive durin' an Interval, 'ceptin' the Weyrs. There aren't, weren't many winters of mere survival in th'Intervals. But sharing that wealth," he pauses, "Aye, I can see sharing of wealth seemingly unearned would be problematic." "You think better by yourself," R'hin concludes, not all that surprised. "I think better talking with someone." It's offered wryly, drawing deliberate attention to the many differences between them. Pale eyes seem dark against the fire's dance, eyesockets shadowed as he studies the other Weyrleader, only the briefest tip of head indicating agreement. Given the Telgarian's comment, he doesn't seem inclined to discuss it further for the time being. "Thank you for the wine. I can't fault Telgar's hospitality." Blithe enough words perhaps, but praise from one who is easily critical of such failings. "I hope," he adds, honestly, "To foster some communication between us, and not simply because we're in very similar situations. I'll understand if you decline, sir." That title added with deliberate wryness, the Reachian Weyrleader turning towards Leiventh. "You're a man of passion," appraises Telgar's new Weyrleader, and it's unclear whether it's praise or simple observation. "I sincerely," and again his earnestness rises up, "Hope we will be able to foster communication, and I'll understand, sir, if you decline at a later date." What R'hin offers to draw attention to the differences, E'tyn accepts as inherent truth, his rejoinder accompanied by the slightest of deferential smiles. "Clear skies, sir," he rises, an arm extended to the other Weyrleader, "And a good evenin' to you and your Weyrwoman." The words, whether praise or observation, are accepted as truth by R'hin, who acknowledges them with a smile and tip of head as he turns back, buttoning up his flying jacket. "I can't imagine why I would. Decline, that is. I hope you'll come to the 'Reaches for our clutching, so that I might share hospitality with you in turn." He shifts his gloves to his other hand, clasping E'tyn's arm with his own, respect visible in the even nod his gives. "And to you and yours." He draws his arm back, pulling on his gloves as he walks to Leiventh's side, only the slight parting of eyelids marking the bronze's attentiveness as his rider climbs aboard. A sharp salute is given by the Reachian, though there is little chance to return it as Leiventh drops soundlessly off Niereth's ledge, a few sweeping wingbeats gaining the pair some height before they disappear between. You clamber up onto Leiventh's back, as the dragon rumbles softly. You leap off the ledge. |
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