Logs:Of Things Past
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| RL Date: 14 April, 2007 |
| Who: B'yan, Priya, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 21, Month 8, Turn 11 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 22:38 on day 21, month 8, Turn 11, of the Interval. It is a summer evening. You stride towards a hidden archway that leads to a set of stairs up. Abandoned Ground Weyr(#7315RJ$) Obviously vacated, this expansive weyr should have been snatched up turns ago, if not recently, by someone who enjoys large spaces with odd little nooks and crannies. Every wall has at least one inset, and some of them boast more than that; a couple little half-walls of stone block out more corners and make the layout cumbersome, like the room was only half-hollowed out. Perhaps it's this strange, uneven shape, so incredibly difficult to furnish, that turns potential occupants off, or perhaps it's the constant barrage of scents that travel up the installed dolly window from the kitchens. Like many weyrs at the Reaches, a hearth has been worked into the walls by ancient stone cutters, and the in the cavern lingers the scent of polish, cleaning agents, and a general gleam of much attention and cleaning. Available: +view, +lhelp Contents: B'yan Obvious exits: Ledge Lower Caverns It's much later in the Reaches, with most gone on to their respective quarters. Among those lurking about is B'yan, slowly pacing the length of the room close to the exposed ledge. His riding jacket and gear is slung lazily over the comfortable-looking chair in the room, and he has an open bottle in hand which he brings to his lips when he halts near his things. Lurking is not what R'hin does. The bronzerider moves as if he owns every inch of the Weyr, his oft, latenight pacing of the remote corridors probably noticed by few, and remarked on by fewer still. Tonight, he has company: the sour-looking greenrider Priya, whose pacing the Weyrleader in a way that makes it seem that she's not welcome, aware she's not welcome, and just as blithely ignoring it. R'hin turns and heads sharply towards the staircase with a set expression, the greenrider talking after him. "But, R'hin," Priya's saying, "Why? Esrieth's so much faster - you know that." It's the dull footsteps that has B'yan quick to snap attention to the fact that he was about to have his space invaded. Tightening his hold on the bottle, he immediately looks toward the other way out, the ledge, considering it for a few moments before he turns back towards the voices he could now hear - and halts. Perhaps familiar to the bronzerider, a small quirk upward to the corners of his mouth brings him hovering near the chair, his sudden need to disappear gone from him. He simply stands by the chair, narrowed hazel eyes trained at the staircase in bemusement and never letting go of his drink. "It's not my decision to make, Priya," R'hin explains with the brittle tone of one whose patience is being tested. Unaware or deliberately ignoring the tone, Priya replies sharply, "But you're the -Weyrleader-." Halfway into the room, that stops the bronzerider dead, turning to deliver level look towards the greenrider. "I -had- noticed," he answers after a beat, Priya's eyes locked on him with a tightening of expression. Concession comes in the flickering away of eyes, which allows her to note B'yan's presence as he stands. "Ah, great," she mutters, as R'hin turns to follow her glance with a flicker of brow. "B'yan," is all R'hin says by way of greeting, whatever his expression was schooled to polite curiousity, eyes flickering to the bottle, silently, deliberately. "Good evening to you too," B'yan is brisk to interject in dryly once Priya takes first notice of him with her words, raising the bottle briefly as if in a toast. Teeth almost bared in a near-smirk, and hazel eyes flicking over to the R'hin, "Weyrleader," he drawls out the title lazily and with non-chalance as he moves to lean against the chair. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything," he adds in a tone suggesting quite the contrary, noting R'hin's study of his bottle with a raised brow at it. "We interrupted -you-," R'hin notes with patient amusement, gesturing towards the room at large, "Since you were here first. So, not at all." Priya rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, though it's difficult to tell if it's prompted by B'yan's comment or R'hin's response. "I'd had to let it be claimed I was the sort to interrupt a man's... company," pale eyes don't touch the other bronzerider's bottle this time, though the implication is clear, "So we'll leave you to it, shall we?" Hands going wide, "No need to leave on my account," B'yan drawls, his own amusement clear - though it could be the bottle talking more than him. At R'hin's admittion, "You, the sort?" he echoes with a light sort. "Can't be as bad as me. The only company I have.." and he makes a show of looking around the large room before bringing his attention back to them both, "....is my liquor, which I'll be kind enough to share on the pre-tense that none of you go spreading it about that I did so." He looks pointedly from one to the other on that, the pause lingering. "You know, if this gets any sadder I think I'm going to cry," R'hin says blandly, lifting a hand near his face as if to hide potential tears. Priya's snort could be encouragement or disapproval; either way the greenrider mutters something in an undertone to R'hin before turning to leave. Pale eyes watch Priya's departure with a twist of lips, a hint of amusement visible still in his expression as he turns back, tone deliberately light, "Keep your liquor, bronzerider, and your secret pact. I've no need for more of those - either one." B'yan watches Priya leaves, gaze lingering after her long after R'hin speaks. "Still have a way with women, don't you?" he returns rhetorically, the ease in which he spoke moments eariler now melting away to his familiar guardedness. He turns to face R'hin then, lifting the bottle then and shrugging. "So it is," is all he gives about the decline to the offer, the tone indicating that he was more or less expecting the answer. After taking a decent drink from it, "No word on finding a pattern to these falls yet?" he suddenly asks, hazel eyes studying the man. "You don't think if there was a pattern, I would tell you, tell the Weyr, Faranth-- yell it out to all of Pern from the tallest spire in the 'Reaches?" Frustration is evident in R'hin's sharp tone, obviously a question too-oft asked of late. His hand runs over shaved head, grimace following soon after. "Would you?" B'yan quips dryly, non-plused by the sharp tone. "You're not the only one looking hard for answers." Eyes finding the ledge where some of the sky can be seen, "This has set back everything for me. The records show nothing," and he shakes his head, his weariness leaking through in his voice, "and being without answers is the one thing that doesn't sit well with me." Stepping away, "Do you think you're cut out for this? Running the Weyr when Thread falls?" he puts forth, his tone sounding absent since he's not looking at him. The initial quip earns a long look from R'hin. A heartbeat or two passes, then quietly, "You think I would withhold that information-- for what? Selfish purposes? If you truly think that, then you show yourself to be a fool, Bayan." Curt and dismissive alike, the latter query is waved off in a similar fashion. "Irrelevant. I must do it, and so I shall." Arms folding with the bottle still in hand, "Looks like I'm not the one fishing for an argument this time," B'yan drawls with a note of arrogance, his own mocking demeanor showing when he glance back at the Weyrleader. "Your trust in me shows," he adds, sarcasm heavy in his voice before lifts the bottle for a drink. The last response has him regarding R'hin for a moment, letting a wryness enter his tone now. "You can measure a man in how he faces situations leading to death," he states crisply, chin lifting slightly. "It is more relevant than you know, R'hin." A low bark of laughter emanates from the Weyrleader. "You speak of trust, Bayan, after accusing me of witholding information that could save lives across Pern, not to mention implying I am unfit to lead. And -you're- offended?" R'hin throws his hands up towards the ceiling. "You seem to have lost your perspective at the bottom of that bottle. I took you into -my- wing. That was my choice. I'm sure you can come up with a dozen different reasons why - to keep an eye on you, or to keep you out of trouble. But the fact remains, that up there-" a finger points towards the sky, "-I put my life in your hands. Mine, and Leiventh's. That's more trust than I give many men - and most in this Weyr." "Implying?" B'yan is quick to pick out, lips thinning. "Is that what you really think, R'hin? That I was implying you were unfit to lead?" A derisive snort, low, as he points a finger at him. "When it comes to my opinion, I don't mince words. You best learn that about me. If I thought you were unfit to lead, I would have said it, wrote a record on it, drawn sketches to get the point across." Hand dropping to his bottle, "As for the witholding information, I wouldn't say I know of your intentions. If I were someone else, that would not be so, but this -me- we're talking about here." Turning, "I naturally thought you took me into your wing for those very reasons. If I were in your place, I would have. If not those reasons, I'd be interested in hearing them." Hazel eyes seek out the Weyrleader, a query in them even as the last was spoken. The last words, definitely getting a twitch of interest, is not commented on. "That's funny. Draw a sketch. I seem to recall saying those words to you back when we first met, under Amilin's watchful eye. Haven't any original ideas of your own to share?" R'hin inquires archly, brows flickering upwards. B'yan's interest in hearing R'hin's thoughts looks not to be met anytime soon - the Weyrleader doesn't seem inclined to elaborate. B'yan doesn't rise to the barb, jaw working slightly as he levels a ling look at the Weyrleader. Hazel eyes narrowing then with a slow shakes of his head, "He was wrong," he suddenly drawls, voice carefully even. "You haven't changed at all." Longer regard given to R'hin before the bronzerider straightens from his lean and finally sets the bottle down in the chair. He seems to be setting something aside, some issue not coming to his lips, for his demeanor shifts to something cool and indifferent when he looks at the Weyrleader again. "Good memory," he drawls, dry as his eyes seem to take on a small glint. "You'd have to do better than that though, R'hin. You seem free from your line-crossing days." There's a mocking edge to his words, along with a roguish smirk. "No, -you're- wrong," R'hin replies, not the slighest curiousity showing at which 'he' is being spoken of, "I -have- changed - what's important to me has changed. But you don't see it, because all you can think about is yourself - still. Selfish Bayan. Always out for number one. Make sure you survive. Make sure you make the best profit. Make sure you show up that Weyrleader, huh? Well, it's not a competition. It never was, and certainly shouldn't be -now- of all times." Hands spread wide, head tilted to one side, dismissive of mocking tone and smirk alike. "And you know I haven't changed somewhat -how-?" B'yan seems to challenge, a brow raising. "You only speak of what you -think- you know about me. You still don't know me." With a sharp gesture towards the ledge, "It may have been a competition of sorts, then - before I met Jaireth. It hasn't been since. I never questioned the fact you were Weyrleader. I actually gave you the benefit of the doubt." Eyes cold as he looks around the place, "I know my faults. I know of how I was taught," and eyes lighting on R'hin, "And so you think that could not change, right? Perhaps some things that were important to -me- has changed." Then, a derisive snort given, "But that doesn't matter, does it? You had me pegged from the moment you laid eyes on me. I'm still the shady one, the criminal to you." "-You're- the shady one... oh my," bubbled laughter emanates from R'hin at the other's last comment, mirth sparkling in pale eyes. "You think I care a whit about your -past-? One does not puncture holes in a boat that one is also in, bronzerider. Harper's tale, but a truism to live by, nonetheless." The laughter fades, but the good humor lingers in the Weyrleader's voice, posture at ease as he cants a look towards B'yan. "Why do you think I brought so much attention to you back then? Amilin, Maja, Satiet... everyone was looking at -you- B'yan. Not me. And that is how I prefer it." B'yan delivers hollow laughter, short. "Oh, so -you- think to put yourself in the same boat as me, hm?" he drawls out, non-chalance. "That's real funny. I can believe you sent them my way, just so you can be the tunnelsnake I knew you to be from the first time I met you," he notes evenly. "Men of my line of trade can spot easily. I knew you had an odor about you. Why else did you think I provoked you the way I did back then? You honestly think I couldn't swat by those you threw in my way?" Shaking his head, "Only difference between you and I was I hid in plain view with it. I have my own methods of manipulation." Amusement suffuses R'hin's expression at B'yan's words, and he allows, "Ah, you hid in plain view. Commendable." There is, however, the faintest sarcasm in his tone still. He moves towards the unlit hearth, leaning a hand against the wall above it. "Regardless, I'm done with the past. A wise man once told to put the past behind me, and I'm inclined to listen to the wisdom of wise men." Arms folding, "The past has a way of resurfacing regardless," he drawls at the Weyrleader's words knowingly. "Even things long-hidden." Pause. "As for between us, past or present, I suppose this is how it will always be. Blame the whiskey for making me try to reason." The bottle, getting corked, finally lays to rest with his pile of gear on the chair as if it had did him a disservice. [B'yan] "True enough," R'hin agrees with seemingly-even tones. He half turns his head, glancing towards his wingrider with a quirk of brow, and the faintest twitch of lips. He pushes away from the wall, striding in the direction of the stairs. "Mm. Get some rest, bronzerider. The Fortian Gather's starts tomorrow - we're on duty, but we've a rest day the day after." R'hin's words are met with a long silence, B'yan not moving from his spot beside the chair when the Weyrleader turns to leave. Then, "Ofcourse," is his answer, crisp and aloof, before he turns toward the ledge. "The same, Weyrleader," he nearly murmurs, hazel eyes not watching him leave. The words - heard or not - go unresponded to by R'hin, as the bronzerider disappears down the stairs. You wander down a set of long winding stairs into a lower caverns' hallway. |
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