Nowhere You'd Be Interested In, High Reaches Weyr
About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end, nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the stone as it is.
Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a collection of mismatched tables and chairs, with a trolley at the far end that contains a prodigious amount of liquor. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a variety of other spirits ready and waiting.
A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking.
Arekoth's buzz resulted in a brief exchange between browns; Bovinath is a conneseur of the curious-but-not-inclined-to-ask mentality, and didn't press for information. What he did do was pass on a meeting time, and a location. It's a little... well. How often do you get told that a ladder will be waiting for you, reaching up towards the rim? At the agreed upon time, there is a ladder there, providing an easy climb down to the empty ledge, and from there, into the weyr. D'nis is inside, reclining in a cushioned chair with a drink in one hand, and a set of someone's abandoned dice in the other. He rolls them, idly, onto the tabletop: a six, two fours, a three, and four ones.
Bordering between the thrill of cloak and dagger, and exasperation with the same, Arekoth is impatient in his landing on the rim, and once H'kon has dismounted, he sets to shuffling from side to side, and peering sharply down, and then around, over and over. What could be so important as to need a ladder instead of the impressiveness that is Arekoth, really? H'kon is the opposite, still even in his motion, climbing down the ladder with purpose and control, and striding into that once-weyr. He gives his eyes time to adjust to the new surroundings while he pulls off his gloves. Soon they've adjusted right onto D'nis. "I appreciate your meeting me." Nod.
« We always land on the ledge, » admits Bovinath. « D'nis doesn't like the ladder. But I think the ladder is more fun. » If admittedly silly, he acknowledges. After all, it's not as though his rider has rushed out to put it away again - though, as the brownrider explains, "F'manis' old weyr, this one. Used it for secret meetings between wingleaders, for a little while, last turn." And now, D'nis uses it to drink in, apparently. "Happy enough to. Funny; was it a turn ago, just more, that you gave me my knot? We were both in different positions, then. Have a drink?"
« I could land on the ledge, the very edge, » Arekoth points out. « With my eyes closed. » And yet on the rim he stays, words grating beneath whatever authority or sentiment it is keeps him there. H'kon steps forward, shoulders held back and at attention, though his stride is not rightly a march. "I more affirmed a correct decision than anything," isn't without its hint of sourness. "For the worst, that not all could see it as such, beyond their own egos." He strides to a seat across from the other brownrider, sitting straight up, as if the chair had no cushioning to speak of. But the offer of a drink earns a sharp nod, at least.
"At least there's only one wing she can enforce her will on, now," says D'nis, who has sourness of his own - and who drowns it with another gulp from his glass. Empty glass in hand, he rises, turning towards the trolley of alcohol to refill his, and then ask, "What's your preference?" Bovinath is amused for Arekoth's answer, but neither argues nor confirms what the other brown has to say.
H'kon simply rounds off the talks of Taikrin with a deep nod, not untroubled. "Whiskey," is a much more prompt answer. « The good kind, » is Arekoth's self-appointed job to add, and the addition comes with no little bit of... pride? Entitlement, perhaps. The dragon continues his hawkish leering, otherwise. H'kon allows the other brownrider time to fetch his drink, still sitting not-fully-comfortably, before he pushes, "I'd ask you of your wing. As it is now."
D'nis should not be surprised... and he isn't. Whiskey really is the drink of choice around these parts. He returns, sliding one glass towards H'kon, and nursing the other in his large, wind-chapped hands. He's much more comfortable, having abandoned those dice to their pre-destined numbers, and focused all of his attention upon the other brownrider. "My wing? My wing doesn't exist, H'kon. Fayla's wing attempts to be a copy of Glacier, unsuccessfully. They still look to me, more often than not, but what can I do? Sisha's not rushed out to give me my wing back."
Whatever hopes H'kon may have had coming into this, they certainly were not for what D'nis has answered. The smaller brownrider scowls, and his glass is received in a meditative, two-handed embrace. Despite best efforts, H'kon's staring into the amber liquid yields nothing overly insightful. "Fayla was one of yours, was she not?" He's even aware enough to turn green eyes from whiskey to D'nis.
"She was." It's a 'was' statement, and yet - "In a way, she still is, I suppose. She still looks to me, half the time, and seems to be bothered by the fact that I don't approve, and then goes ahead and does what she likes, anyway. The wing don't like it. Half wonder if she's not wishing she'd done things differently, by now, but she's too proud to back down, even after everything that's happened." D'nis lifts his gaze, and gives H'kon a bland glance. "What are you chasing, H'kon? Lay it out for me. If she quit, if she were fired... that would change everything."
H'kon's frown is almost sad, and he sits a bit back in his chair, and lifts his glass to his lips. It's a civilised sort of sip before the thing is left to the table once more. "Whatever authority I had vanished when Taikrin and Aishani proclaimed themselves acting leaders and went uncontested." Unsaid, 'by those who might have done so.' "Things may be on the mend, but I'm no more of rank or influence than you. Less, perhaps." He shakes his head. "But Sisha took my refusal to acknowledge those two as a refusal to acknowledge /her/. A new wing is in order, regardless my feelings on her new appointment."
D'nis is sitting up, straighter, and more interested. He looks, suddenly, far less bitter... and younger, in a way, as though having something to focus on has relit the fires within. "And the Iceberg that was interested you," he concludes, abandoning his glass to the table, now, so that he can press both hands to his thighs. "But not the Iceberg Fayla is attempting to create."
"The Iceberg that was did, yes. I wondered at possibility in this new one." The second comes, not sharp, precisely, but certainly with a firmness of correction. "My intent was never to divide the Weyr through my actions," comes with the heaviness of confession, and the most convenient penance at hand would seem to be another drink of his whiskey. "There is future to be considered, and a whole Weyr might serve us well. Sisha was not appointed by irregular means, and Azaylia is worthy of trust, if inexperienced." The glass is put down, and instead he rubs at his face.
"Sisha has experience enough for the both of them, if in leading wings and not Weyrs," agrees D'nis. He seems dismissive of H'kon's confession, head shaking as if to tell him to abandon such thoughts and focus, instead on-- on what? "The future. That's what we've all got to look to, yes. Iceberg is broken. You'd still be interested... you'd be interested again, if things were different. To be honest, I'd given up, but this is a whole new world, isn't it? And Iceberg is broken."
H'kon twists the glass in its place on the table, but does not lift it. "I'll not lie to you D'nis, not tell you I find myself tired of this - all this." The sweep of his eyes, out toward the bowl, is expansive enough that hand gestures would seem to be moot, and so are not given. "Yet we find ourselves in an interval, with few resources of any kind. Broken things need be mended." He sighs, sits a bit farther back still in his chair. "And rather I'd be challenged than find myself too comfortable and forgetting the place Arekoth secured for me so long ago." Now, he waves a hand before him. "You know your wing as I cannot. I would hear your thoughts on it. I've not yet been given a deadline in finding a suitable place, and it must suit. And be a means of moving forward."
"Can't just throw them all out again, and have new, as nice as new things are." As a metaphor, it works as well as any, and D'nis seems... not pleased with it, not as such, but content enough. Blue eyes seek out his glass, then turn away from it: back to H'kon. "I'm not saying that Iceberg would instantly be the wing it used to be, without Fayla. It's never that easy. It'd be difficult - a challenge. We're a heavy wing, big on the browns and bronzes. We've taken in two new browns, out of this recent group, and Fayla doesn't seem sure how to use them, yet." Then again, it's scarcely been more than a few days. "We keep the old traditions alive; we did, anyway, under my stewardship, and B'sil's before me. But we're not stuck to only doing the old things. We work hard. What is it you want out of a wing, H'kon? What would suit?"
"Arekoth and I have flown Avalanche since weyrlinghood." Here, he manages to keep any emotion well and buried behind a coolness in his eyes. "The drills do well for focusing Arekoth, and I preferred them. It, too, was more traditional. Arekoth's flight is more that of a large blue," and any mental objections to the seen slight will be shared with Bovinath so much as with H'kon himself, "just in his agility. He has the strength, but it is not his style." Another swallow of whiskey, here. "If Iceberg is heavy as is, I will not force the issue. But there is more than flight performance to be considered, days like these. Thus my questions to you." And now H'kon has very much the look of one waiting, without expectation.
Now, finally, D'nis reaches for his own glass again, turning it in his hands for several seconds as he listens before, finally, taking another sip of it. "Iceberg's always had blues and greens as well, and in the past, we used them to fill in the gaps, as it were-- to be agile, where the larger dragons were not. There's no reason why your Arekoth could not fit in to such a role." The rest, however, is rather more important. "We're a traditional wing in all the important ways, to be honest. We'll side with any properly appointed Weyrleader, and serve... not unquestioningly, but with loyalty. We socialise, but we've no interest in getting all up in anyone's business. Avalanche is a good wing. Sisha's done well with it. L'vae did, too." No mention of K'del... but then, K'del never was much of a wingleader. "We're better."
H'kon absorbs that information with carefully-timed, curt nods of his head. This time, the whiskey is drawn close only for careful inspection while the quasi-homeless brownrider allows his mind to turn. "I do worry that we might upset that. K'tan is Taikrin's man; that was the reason for his appointment, was it not? This would either be an attempt to move forward, or a reason to create some sort of explosion. I should think you'd have a better read o it." Beat. "And on Fayla, and how she might address anything that would arise. My goal here is not to create more strife in a Weyr already torn." Did he just repeat himself? He seems not to notice overmuch.
"At this point, H'kon, something has to change. I admit, I'd stepped back," given up, "but that hasn't really helped matters. The wing's not happy. Fayla... I'm not the person to approach her. I'd be inclined to approach Sisha, and ask her to look at the wing. It's not my place to tell her what to do, though I'd happily offer her my advise. It may be that she'll want to promote someone new from within." This, clearly, is not an option D'nis is especially pleased about... but he seems to accept it. Superficially, at least. "Or perhaps Fayla will pick a new wingsecond, and change her direction. In any case - it's worth trying, isn't it? To save Iceberg."
"Perhaps it is you who should," H'kon murmurs. "Approach Sisha. Sound out those others in your wing as well. I would do better, I believe, to speak with Fayla - my reasoning for considering Iceberg, her willingness to take Arekoth and I on - before I go to Sisha myself. The position I hold on this is not... entirely clear, at the first." The remainder of his whiskey is drained, a bit more than a usual sip all at once. He presses his lips into a line to greet the warmth it brings to his throat. "I fear sometimes that Arekoth's boldness has begun to wear off on me."
D'nis' answers are nods: yes, he will approach sisha, yes, he will sound things out with the wing, yes, H'kon should talk to Fayla. It's the last that he addresses, half his attention on his whiskey, the rest still intently upon the other brownrider. "Not necessarily a bad thing," he says. "A little boldness is useful. Too much... I find it difficult to believe that you would ultimately err on the side of too much."
"As does Arekoth. Much to his chagrin." But it pulls a bit of a smile from the corner of the brownrider's mouth. The empty glass is given a turn, and then a push forward, and H'kon stands. "Do what is best for your wing, D'nis. There is certainly nothing you owe me. And I will endeavour to do what is best for my Weyr first, and then whatever wing I come to." As he has done, though this much goes without saying. "And I thank you again for seeing me."
It's a smile that D'nis shares, however briefly. "Any time, H'kon. I appreciate--" Being useful? Being of value? There are so many things it could be, and D'nis evidently finds none of them precisely right. Instead, he shakes his head. "We'll see what happens, H'kon. In any case, I hope you find a wing that suits."
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