Logs:What's Going On
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2014 |
| Who: Ali, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali and N'rov have a... discussion about the outcome of the Dice Tournament. Ali delivers an ultimatum. |
| Where: Bowl / Ali's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'dalis/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions, Sh'raz/Mentions, Iska/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| If it hasn't technically been a /long morning/ with the dragonhealers, they and N'rov may have nonetheless found it so, though Vhaeryth freely soaked up the attention until he got bored. No, the bronze hadn't ripped out his stitches /again/. No, there weren't signs of infection. /No/, they weren't cleared for sweeps (not a problem) or flying and flying and flying around with Isyath (problem for Vhaeryth) or even /betweening/ (problem for both of them). Finally N'rov thrusts his hands in the air, "You tell him!" and pivots, stalking outside towards the dragon who's staring up through one single-lidded eye at the lightning, "...like a damn fool." The flying with Isyath /is/ particularly problematic, especially when Isyath has fairly little mind for what Vhaeryth /shouldn't/ do, over what /she/ wants to do. After all, the thermals /are/ excellent this afternoon (as they are about every day), and Bijedth refused to fly with her again (something about Elaruth, go figure), and Rasavyth is busy and Cadejoth is busy and why can't /he/? (Why, yes, he's borne quite a lot of this over the last seven or so. Poor Vhaeryth.) "You talking about Jasper, or talking to yourself again?" Ali, coincidentally, is emerging from the human side of the infirmary only moments behind N'rov. Behind /her/, a couple of candidates scurry out and away before she can collar them again. It's horrible, really, really horrible, and also unfair. It's not like Vhaeryth popped more than a couple stitches the last time around. N'rov wheels back to look at, "Ali. Want to talk Vhaeryth into staying put?" Vhaeryth, who is now looking very still indeed, and also smug. Never mind how his tongue is sticking out at his rider; that's a human gesture, surely, nothing unusual in dragons. Then, "What's going on with Jasper now? I thought Dal was supposed to be a good influence." Moving closer, Ali stretches past N'rov for Vhaeryth's muzzle. She's grimacing, and there's guilt in there too: "I suspect half the convincing will have to be for Issy. You know what she's like. But, Vhaeryth," she leans closer and drops her voice, though his rider can still hear clearly enough: "You have to ignore her. Well, not ignore her, because /that/ will just encourage her. But, you know- /distract/ her. But," with a warning glance over her shoulder at N'rov, "Don't tell anyone else. Our little secret on how to handle Issy, okay?" A huff of breath expresses her exasperation at the mention of Jasper. "Blowing off steam in some bar down south. Mostly bruised egos, I think. N'dalis- is still new to the wing, and they're adjusting under a new Wingsecond." Her jaw tightens. Does she disapprove, perhaps? Apparently Vhaeryth's desire to resemble a statue, or perhaps a demented five-Turn-old's sketch given how dragon necks really aren't supposed to bend like that, is not immune to petting (or maybe it's secrets?) where Ali's concerned; he stretches out that muzzle with a pleased rumble even though the rest of him remains more or less motionless. "He says he wouldn't dream of sharing it," N'rov reports sourly, possibly /more/ sourly for the work involved in staying that way. "South, huh? Interesting way of 'adjusting.'" Someday, Ali may disapprove /out loud/, and possibly N'rov will still be alive to see it. "I suppose there are worse ways of doing it. Though... here, let's get you out of the open before I say that again and lightning strikes us for it." Squinting again at the sky turns into eyeing his own ledge, but he turns abruptly away in favor of the caverns, the ground weyrs (the one Hematite had 'won' among them), any of those. "Of course he wouldn't," Ali agrees with a pleasant murmur, pressing heavily against Vhaeryth's muzzle in an attempt to elicit a stronger response. She shrugs at N'rov's mostly rhetorical question; the dark-haired woman definitely doesn't have any more idea than N'rov does, especially when it comes to wing traditions. With a last, fond pat to Vhaeryth's hide, she regards the bronzerider somewhat uncertainly, though seems to content to let him guide her away. "Is something-?" she begins, but doesn't finish it. It may not be 'strong' as such, but Vhaeryth does lip contentedly at Ali's hand; he doesn't use teeth, even though he /could/, so the worst might be a touch of dragon-slime. It's only after N'rov's offered his elbow to Ali and it looks as though the humans might move on that the bronze crouches to leap, but even that isn't soon enough; N'rov bends a look back at his dragon and after a moment Vhaeryth relents, not crouching quite as low, not leaping as high. It might seem for a moment as though wingtips might actually smack the muddy ground, before quicker, shallower wingbeats than his wont finally take him up into the safety of height. N'rov relaxes, visibly, and it's then that he can glance at her and ask, "Something?" Towards the ground weyrs, then. It's subtle, but Ali might well take the opportunity of N'rov's elbow to slide her hand through and possibly deposit some of that Vhaeryth-contentment on his sleeve at the same time. As he looks back (presumably to scold Vhaeryth), the dark-haired woman can't help but laugh, then presses her other hand over her mouth, trying not to look /too/ amused. "Sorry, but I- he's so much like Issy sometimes," the words hold a certain fondness, both for his dragon and her own. The amusement fades gradually, but she doesn't object to the direction (because surely he's guiding them to /her/ weyr), before she says, "I know what it's like, not being able to go where you want," a grimace, briefly, her voice dropping. "I'm /sorry/ that she did that to him. She's never- ever that- violent." No doubt N'rov would applaud her scheming if he knew, if it weren't /his jacket/. He's smiling when he glances back at Ali, too late as he is; "Only in the best," most contrary, "of ways, I'm sure." It's not a long glance, but the next one is. "I'm sorry," for not being able to go where she likes; it comes out nearly at the same time as hers but he's quick to at least verbally stop. "I don't hold it against her. Against either of you. I won't say I didn't wonder /why/.... Listen, want to stop by our weyr, there? See what Sh'raz is looking at doing with the place?" Perhaps the junior misinterprets /his/ apology, because she's looking at him sideways, oddly. Certainly, not even Ali expects N'rov to apologize for her being sands-bound, so the uncertain look lingers. After a few steps, she exhales, "I'm- glad. She doesn't remember any of it, of course. To be honest, she barely remembered Rasavyth until he reminded her-" there's a flush, briefly, though whether it has to do with the naming of the High Reaches dragon or the words that follow from the bronzerider is debateable: she stops dead. "/Your/ weyr?" she echoes, blandly, chin lifting to look at him. N'rov doesn't elucidate, though he does chuckle a couple moments after that naming; then, of course, he's stopping to look down at her. There gets to be a crook to his mouth as he surveys the lift of her chin and all that goes with it; even when it's touched with amusement, he can do bland too. "Well. Not yours and mine, anyway. But I figured you knew that." "E'ten won the weyr," Ali says, flatly. "I thought the Weyrleader would have-" she exhales a sharp, annoyed breath. She doesn't tug her arm free of his, but it looks like she considers it in that downward glance of hers. "It's not yours to go to; if you want to talk, we'll go to mine," she says, finally. She's the one holding on; N'rov doesn't exactly offer to let her go. "Tell that to Sh'raz," who's better at gambling at any of them, except maybe the fellow who'd lucked out at being at Ali's own table. Evidently Ali's own weyr will do for now, too, for he veers them that way, taking a shorter route than one that best navigates the various mud-paths. It might even do for talking, given how he doesn't further speak. "Well, if Sh'raz had won /fair and square/ it'd be his now," Ali says, pointedly. She, too, seems content not to speak for the time being, concentrating on where she's stepping. N'rov's exhalation might be audible, just there, but he doesn't /say/ anything. Not until they're heading up her stairs. Not until they cross her ledge. Not even until they enter her weyr, and he's scraped off his boots, and he's hung up his jacket with its sticky sleeve. Ali doesn't speak, either, heading inside and going to fill up the pot before setting it on the hearth to boil. /Isyath/ is a different story: she's telling Vhaeryth all about how wonderful the southerly winds are in particular today, and wouldn't he like to join her? Surely he could come up for one or two turns around the bowl... Vhaeryth would like. He very much would like. He bends a wistful look up in her direction from the overhang of his ledge, /so/ wistful. It's enough that N'rov gives the ceiling a dark look on his way to sit at the table. "Distract her, you say," he finally says. He looks up again; it's not as though Vhaeryth's anything but horrible at ignoring the gold. By the time the pair of them manage to think of something, Vhaeryth's haunches are twitching, but once it's decided on, he's quick to point out that /brown/ over there who is clearly /flying the wrong way/. In the wrong direction, and everything! Never mind that the brown might have wanted to do something else with his day. "What did you want to talk about, N'rov?" Either Ali is oblivious, or trying hard to ignore Issy; given her fondness of Vhaeryth it doesn't seem likely it's purely the latter. Isyath's making a pass close to the bowl wall above where Vhaeryth is; he can practically /feel/ the whoosh of her wings as she passes overhead, feel the teasing trail of stars she leaves in her wake like breadcrumbs. Distraction? Well, yes, that does work. The junior queen swoops across to the other side of the Weyr, and not minutes later the pair can be seen twisting up into the sky one after the other, Isyath's joy and delight almost audible from even this far down. But Vhaeryth /liked/ the attention, focusing more and more on Isyath and her path until... his secondhand scheme winds up working. Normally, that would be a good thing. Here, the bronze sighs as gustily as his massive lungs can manage, even if Isyath's long gone by then and so N'rov's the only one (except maybe half a wingful of Vhaeryth's neighbors) to hear it. But though the queen's successfully distracted, her rider doesn't seem to be. "What's going on with you," N'rov says generally. Oh, yes. Vhaeryth, what Vhaeryth? Isyath's long gone up into the distant sky, but a mere speck. Iska's cot is in its usual position near to the hearth, but it's markedly empty; Ali stares at it while she waits for the pot to boil. It takes her a moment, frowning, before she looks over her shoulder at him. "With /me/?" "With you," N'rov confirms patiently. /He/ looks over at the pot, because that's really going to help it boil, then back to her. At her. "Or we can talk about the weyr, but it's sounding like that's not going to make whatever it is we'll be having taste so good." His smile is sudden to appear, slow to develop. "You can correct me if I'm wrong." Ali squints her eyes at the response, then follows his gaze back to the pot. "I really don't know what you're trying to hint at, but yes, we'll talk about the weyr. First though, you can tell me what you mean. Or what you're trying to /suggest/, since there's clearly something on your mind." That's accompanied by an accusing finger waved vaguely in his direction, without looking at him. The pot is safer. "Yes, ma'am." It's drawled out as only N'rov can. "Just wondering how you're settling, and all. Considering. Iska's off with the minders?" He rests an elbow on the table, the better to set off his slouch. "And a clutch coming up. Cross-Weyr, again. That should be... interesting." Distracting herself with other things - such as seeking cups and getting the appropriate amount of sweetner takes time, and stops Ali's immediate response to that 'ma'am', although it does elicit a tension in the junior's posture. "Iska's with her father for the time being," is what she finally says, "But that's not what you meant either, I think." "That sounds hard for you." N'rov's voice is quiet, peaceable if not tractable. He gives it its own moment of silence before saying, "Why don't you tell me what you think I meant, if it didn't have to do with daughter, flight, fallout or Dice." Ali doesn't seem keen on lingering on /that/ subject, which is probably why her words come quickly enough, "I have no idea. But you've never asked that of me directly before, so I can only assume it's for some particular reason." Tea... helps. It's normal, and the making of it slowly eases the tension in her posture. Even so, she keeps her gaze down when she finally brings the tray over to the table- not that this is particularly out of character, in any way. N'rov gives her open hands; "That's all I've got." For the tray, "Thanks." He knows, by now, not to reach over to try and pour. Good N'rov. As a reward he gets a fresh cup of tea placed in front of him, while Ali takes a seat opposite with her own, sipping it. N'rov takes his, as he usually does, and then he sips, though more slowly. Since they aren't talking, yet, he takes the opportunity to take a closer look at Ali: signs of tension, signs of whatever's there to see. After a little while, he pushes up his sleeves. Ali... looks okay. Tea helps, and whatever tension she was displaying appeared to be as a result of his line of questioning as anything. Eventually, after a few sips: "So. About that weyr. What are you going to do about it?" Judging by her expectant tone, she seems to think it a /problem/, and one that he needs to solve. By contrast, N'rov leans back in his chair, mug lifted; to him, it seems it's an /opportunity/. There's a glint in his eye that may be all too familiar, right before he says, "Auction it off to the highest bidder. I'm pretty sure we could turn a sweet profit." Ali, perhaps, knows that look all too well, which is why she gives him a look of her own in turn, ill-pleased. "It's not about profit. It never was. It was /meant/ to be about getting the wings to look past themselves- something Hematite /clearly/ fails at. Even you can't have failed to have heard the mutterings. Or are you going to stick your fingers in your ears and hum a tune like N'muir is?" It's one of the few times she's criticized the Weyrleader, ever. Even if it is only in private. That raises N'rov's brows, and he looks the goldrider over: /Ali/ /criticizing/ /N'muir/. "Well, you know. We also thought about inviting everyone over for a private party in midwinter, what with the bath and all. I'm sure we wouldn't get too loud... but if we did, how long can a party really last." He sips his tea, and goes so far as to grin at her. But he doesn't stay that way, too impatient, too restless; leaning forward instead, "Listen. Ali. If you want us to not try and win? You should tell me. Because otherwise /we don't know/." "I didn't say I didn't want you to win. If E'ten had won fair and square, I'd back him, you know I would. But he /didn't/. You broke the spirit, if not the rules of the thing. And don't try and wave it off like N'muir did, you should /know better/." That's delivered with a stern look from Ali. "If you want me to tell you 'don't cheat so that Hematite wins again' for everything? Then I will. We'll call it... the Hematite rule." N'rov straightens, shoulders squaring. "Like you said," he points out. "We didn't break the rules. You didn't /say/, Ali, that this was a touchy-feely let's-all-be-friends thing. Would you have liked it better if we'd had a rider from another wing in on it, too?" "Probably," Ali acknowledges his latter comment first, rather blandly. Then, throwing her hands up, she says, "You're right. I didn't have a rule saying 'don't pool your resources together because this is a prize for a single winner, not a boudoir for you to party in'. That's my fault; I'll be more explicit next time." She's frustrated enough that she's using sarcasm, now. "A /boudoir/." Why, that's an excuse for N'rov to tilt his brows at a particularly rakish angle. "I didn't even know you knew that word. /Do/ you know what a boudoir is?" "Stop it. I'm /trying/ to yell at you." Ali somehow manages to say this without stomping her foot, though it's probably a close call. "You can yell at me," N'rov promises. "Or, at least you may..." because can Ali, really? He taps his chest. "Go ahead, give it your best shot." It's possible Ali's actually bracing herself before she says, "Stop being a jerk," and she's not just talking about the correction of her grammar, though possibly that as well, "And let someone other than Hematite win for once." "Can it be something boring?" N'rov wonders wistfully. "Like, maybe getting to sit at the /extra special table/ at lunch or something. Or like... no, not like being first in line /at/ lunch; we'd have to compete for that one." There's a noise of frustration, and Ali stands abruptly, abandoning her tea and rushing off into the bathroom nook with a sharp jerk of the curtain. If she had a door, she'd probably slam it, too. N'rov looks all wounded; he was, after all, /trying/ to be helpful. Kind of. With that, though, he kicks back and waits her out. Maybe she has girl-things to deal with, and he wouldn't want to walk in on /those/. It doesn't /sound/ like she's coming out any time soon; there's the sound of water running. And, a few moments later, by absolute total (probably) coincidence: « Vhaaaaaeryth? » Clearly Isyath isn't clued into what's going on; she sounds far to delighted for her own good. « Come and fly with me. » « Iiiiiiiisyath. » Then, as a change of pace, « Isyaaaaaaaath. » And then a third version where the 'th' comes out more as an extended, snakey lisp. /Then/ Vhaeryth gives her the sensation of muffled achiness. « Come and sit with me. » In his pain. That's boring. Sooo boring. So boring, that Isyath doesn't even acknowledge the words. « If you won't fly with me, then we'll play a game. It's called, land up on a ledge and strand your rider. » All the cool kids are playing it. It's funny how that game might even involve some /flying/ on the way to landing. « I am already on a ledge, and already stranded him, » Vhaeryth notes. « For now. Do you want your rider stranded? She doesn't look very stranded to me. » But what does he know? N'rov wants to know. Finally, with a heavy sigh and a whole lot of eyerolling since Ali isn't there to see him, the bronzerider gets up and crosses to the curtain, where he bellows, "Coming in!" as warning before making to do just that. « You're playing it wrong, » Isyath tells him. « You're supposed to go higher. » Why yes, she is drive-by flying him right now. And criticizing his technique. He's lucky he /didn't/ fly her or there might be more on that particular point. "I'm naked," Ali calls back. (She's not. She's sitting on the edge of the bath while it fills.) Vhaeryth eyes her. His haunches twitch. Someone said something about 'distracting,' once upon a time, but that was a /long time ago/. « Why? » "Put on a towel, darlin', it's not like it's something I haven't seen before," N'rov hollers in reply, right as he's going past the curtain... with one hand over his eyes, though it's tipped forward at the bottom so he can try and not trip over whatever rugs or whatever she's got down there on the floor. "So, where were we before you ran off." « Because I said so. » Which, in Isyath's mind, is clearly reason enough and then some. An annoyed noise escapes Ali, before she lifts her chin. After a beat of silence, she says, "My seven turn old nephew does what you do when you don't want to do something. Tries to be all cute and distracting. /He/ at least can pull it off. Now," her hand dips into the water, as if to test the temperature. "The six of you need to decide. One of you gets the weyr or none of you does; I'd prefer the latter, actually, because then I can give it to the person who /should/ have won." « Well... » Vhaeryth has to think about it, or pretends he does; the problem for the bronze has to do with how tipping off his ledge (so as not to strain his haunches) just isn't nearly as dramatic and effective as he'd like. Though at least the height lets his wings go to work, as he then proves... and it's his flank that's injured, not his shoulder. As for his rider, N'rov winds up with a smirk beneath his hand. "You're not going to splash me, are you?" he inquires. "And what should I tell the guys, for why you said we shouldn't share it as a hangout? I /suppose/ we could take the weyr sequentially..." Ali gives him a look. "Give me some more credit than that." She rolls her shoulders briefly. "It depends on your answer." Which, judging by the crinkle of her nose, isn't going so well. "Tell them you cheated and you got caught. Tell them exactly what I told you. I don't care. I'm not having you disturbing Elaruth or Isyath by having people moving in and out every two months. The prize was for one person. If you can't decide what to do with the toys..." There's some heat in N'rov's sudden, "We didn't /cheat/." His hand lowers just as abruptly, and there's barely a blink to register her clothed state and what would have, on any other day, been a smile for her ploy. He's just looking at her expression, at her eyes, his own intent and willing her to understand. "Then why did no one else think it was okay to pool resources together?" Ali asks, rising from her perch on the bath's edge. "Why did no one else sneak around and whisper to his wingmates? Why didn't you do it openly if you knew it would be allowed?" "Because no one else was that," smart, "quick-thinking," N'rov points out with strained patience. "If we pointed it out, everyone would catch on. If you all /really/ wanted to foster solidarity between wings, Ali, I'm not sure why you didn't give the larger prize to the pair effort." "Because I'd hardly expect two riders who might not even know each other that well to move in together," Ali replies, with a quick shake of her head. "Anymore than I would expect them to share it for only half a Turn." She glances over her shoulder (is that relief?) as she says, "My bath is ready. You need to go. Make a decision, N'rov, or I /will/." "Now that would be /real/ bonding," N'rov says with a marveling chuckle. "Ali, Ali, Ali. Not that you couldn't have dug up another ground weyr to give the other one; it's not as though there's going to be a queen moving in tomorrow," though there's deliberate slyness in the glance he slides over to her: /is/ there? "Enjoy your," escape, "bath. Don't worry. We'll try very hard not to /disturb/ Isyath." Or Elaruth, but the rhyme makes a far, far better exit line... which is what he does. Leave. Stage right. Why yes, Ali /does/ flick water at his back as he's leaving. It's her way of getting the last word, so to speak. |
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