Logs:Of Keeping an Eye Out
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| RL Date: 23 October, 2006 |
| Who: R'hin, I'daur |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Your location's current time: 18:36 on day 31, month 7, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a summer evening. You stroll into the weyrling training room. Weyrling Training Room(#530RJs$) This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked. On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which. Views: Couches North Wall East Wall West Wall Measure Marks Contents: I'daur Weyrling Board Obvious exits: Bowl Candidate Barracks I'daur has set his desk up in the office space of the barracks, out of the way in a corner. It's piled high with hides of every sort, along with other odds and ends--a half-empty bottle, sections of straps, and other things--and he's slowly going through everything, sorting it into piles and cleaning up the mess. R'hin's casual of demeanor and appearance both as he comes inside, hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, sleeves rolled up and shirt half unlaced in deference to the warm summer air; no knot to be seen. Of course, casual or no, it's not by hapstance that he chooses this particular room to enter. Lips twitch as he glances about, eyes travelling over walls as if viewing them in a new light. It's to the bronzerider at the front of the room that his attention inevitably shifts, though. "Weyrlingmaster," he calls, low, by way of greeting. "Weyrleader," I'daur replies, glancing up and lifting a hand in greeting to the man. He shuffles through the papers in his hands quickly, then slides them into a drawere and shuts it as he straightens. "What can I do you for?" he asks, leaning up against the desk, cleaning efforts paused for the moment. "Nothing, really," R'hin answers promptly, then pauses, grimaces, and admits with an almost sheepish spread of hands, "I'd imagine I'm probably looking for reassurance, in the wake of Leiventh's impending fatherhood," dry tones suggest the truth's not that far off the facetious answer. "How is everything going? You've everything you need as far as supplies?" "Fine clutch, then," I'daur notes with a half-smirk, sliding onto the one clear corner of his desk. "What, eleven? And a gold. Bodes well. I have everything, yes--I just have to find it. Sorting through some things I brought from Monaco, what S'din left me, what I got from the records here." One hand gestures to the mess-coated desk. "A nice size, for this far into the Interval," R'hin agrees, and it's hard even for him to hide the distinct note of pride from his voice. "--and a gold," he agrees, with a tip of his head, silent a moment at that reminder. "Let us hope the search wings find us an appropriate weyrwoman." An odd choice of words, deliberate, too. Lips twist, the Weyrleader leaning against one of the nearest weyrling desks facing I'daur's. "I've been through the records," he admits, "Not much has changed from S'din's teachings back to the previous Pass." A pause, as if there's an unspoken query for comment on that score, pale eyes thoughtful. "An appropriate one?" I'daur's smirk tilts broader, pulling upward at the left corner in dry amusement. He adds, "So I've gathered." Then, bluntly: "You don't care much for that style of doing things." R'hin pauses, as if having to consider the answer, which seems unlikely: "One that the Weyr needs," he rephrases, with the faintest of smiles. He appreciates the bluntness, if the low-voiced chuckle is anything to judge by. "You'd noticed?" Dryly. "I find it outdated. I think it stifles the creativity of the young. I think new ideas are what will bring us through this Interval as strong as we entered it. I think questions should be encouraged, not stamped upon." "I noticed," I'daur matches R'hin for dryness. Then: "I've no great love for mindless obedience to the establishment," he notes. "But I'd not make the argument we should toss it out wholesale just because it /is/ the establishment, either. But there's certainly a place for questions in my worldview." The Weyrlingmaster's dryness again earns quiet amusement, R'hin's grin unbidden. "I glad to hear that, I'daur." And he is, too: there's a subtle relief in the slight ease of tension, the relaxing in his lean against the edge of the stone desk. "Have you made any progress on finding a suitable assistant?" he queries. "I've talked to a few," admits I'daur, nodding once. "But no one that suits me yet. Amilin was the one you mentioned--it /was/ you, wasn't it? Anyway, I haven't talked to her ye about staying on." "It was me," R'hin confirms. "I'm sure I can find a place for her in the wings, if you choose not to keep her on. With eleven, I'm sure you could manage with just the one assistant?" the words are query, rather than statement, head tipped curiously. "Probably, unless they're a troublesome eleven," I'daur notes, nodding. "I'm going to keep interviewing for now, but she's on my short list, along with one or two others I knew back before I left." "There's bound to be at least one," is R'hin's wry assessment of potential troublesome weyrlings. "If you'd like, I can have the searchrider reports sent to you after I've seen them. And you can always talk with the candidate coordinators to get a feel for who you might end up with. It can't hurt to be prepared." I'daur snorts, nodding once. "There always is," he notes in return, wry. "I'd appreciate that, if you don't mind. And the coordinators--who are they, this time?" "Satiet, again," R'hin seems to find this amusing for some reason, "And M'wen. Which should prove interesting. You've met them, I take it?" He pushes up from the table, walking to one of the walls, examining the sweep area map that's there. I'daur seems to find that amusing himself. "Satiet," he says, smirking. "And M'wen. yes, it should prove very interesting indeed." He falls silent then, watching the Weyrleader's inspection with arching brows. Although R'hin continues to study the board, he's aware of the scrutiny, and it's not long before he says, without turning: "There's something I'd like you to consider including, Weyrlingmaster. The duties of a rider in an Interval. S'din had it in the books, but it was a lecture. I'd like... I'd like to see a discussion group, of the very people whose duties it will become." He finally turns, enough to catch the other's expression, "Whenever you think it would be appropriate in your lesson plan." I'daur tilts his chin up slightly, watching R'hin neutrally for several moments. Finally, he nods, cocking that dry smile of his for the man. "I like that idea," he agrees. "I'll slot it in, then." And he leans over to do just that, making a quick note for himself on his topmost hide. A curl of lips and a pleased glittering of eyes bespeak R'hin's gratitude. "If you don't think I'd be distracting, I'd like to sit in. I'll stay out of the discussion, since I've plenty of my own ideas; I'm interested in new ones." A beat, then, "Thank you, Weyrlingmaster." "Of course," I'daur agrees, nodding again. "You're welcome to sit in on any lessons you want, if you'll not interrupt. Anything else you've got thoughts on, Weyrleader?" Turning so that his back is fully to the board now, R'hin's lips purse at the Weyrlingmaster's query. He silent a moment, perhaps choosing his words carefully. "I'll be very interested in the progress of those with certain skills. A care of tongue. An ability to get across ideas without offending." "Looking for a diplomat?" I'daur wonders, brows arching as he straightens, observing the Weyrleader's back. "More than one, should they present themselves," the Weyrleader agrees. I'daur nods. "I'll keep an eye out, then," he says, leaning over to write this down, too. "Thank you. Well, I should leave you to your cleaning." R'hin nods to the pile on the desk. "You know where to find me, should you need me." He lifts his hand in a sharp salute - not an automatic gesture by any means - and one used rarely by the Weyrleader, if rumor is any guide. "Good evening, Weyrlingmaster." "And you, Weyrleader," I'daur says, sliding off his desk and snapping off a salute to match as R'hin leaves. You wander into the eastern bowl, high reaches weyr. |
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