Logs:Lunch by the Lake
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 18 July, 2015 |
| Who: N'dalis, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov brings lunch... and questions. |
| Where: Ice Lake, Ruatha Area |
| When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, Ebeny/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
  |
| Some of her wingmates fly with him now, even if it's also under Wroth; it's with a sense of them, like fingerprints on nearly-sheer metal, imprinted rather than oily, that Vhaeryth reaches out to contact her. With a star, never mind that it's afternoon. « Suraieth. » A secret. « Over here. » (To Suraieth from Vhaeryth) Things change; day by day, month by month. Moon cycle by moon cycle, too, though there are no moons in Suraieth's thoughts, not today. Instead, the waters of her mind are placid, lit by that newly-risen star, and the effect is pleasing. « Here? » 'Here' is above the fields and valleys, and there, an icy lake: Ruatha. « Here. » (To Vhaeryth from Suraieth) « Here. » (To Suraieth from Vhaeryth) Again: « Here. » The star sweeps in with him, even as flecks of between-frozen rain fly from his copper-chased wings, outspread to translucency and all the more dramatic for it. Vhaeryth's even convinced N'rov to wave, a hyperbolic harper's gesture. « Here, » then. Here. Suraieth circles downwards, hide bright against the bright sky behind it, though not so bright as to encourage warnings (that was last month, as the moons rose high). The turns haven't made Dal any more effusive; his acknowledgement of the bronzerider - the wingsecond! - is in his nod, perhaps barely even visible until there they are, his green gracefully settling upon the shores of the icy cold lake. Now, his eyebrows are raised. « There? » Only when his rider's dismounted, though, and striding over with a sack slung over his shoulder; N'rov's got an eye for staying out of Suraieth's wing range, should she let Vhaeryth encourage her back to the heights. The bronzerider (wingsecond!) wears a grin beneath his goggles. "Hungry?" Suraieth's been on sweeps for hours, but turn down a chance to fly? No. No. Off she goes-- and down on the ground, her rider tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Often enough," is his reply, head tipped slightly to regard the bronzerider in his full wingsecond-ly glory. "Is that part of your new duty set, then? I didn't know I had been transferred to Hematite." "Would you like to be?" N'rov rejoins, lifting up his goggles and blinking rapidly a few times against the sunshine and the wind of their dragons' departure; he heads, unhurriedly, towards the other man and thence along the shore. "No." Perhaps Dal rethinks the bluntness of that because he clarifies, gaze focused on his dragon in the skies above rather than on the other rider, "I've never seen myself as Hematite material. I don't like..." The pranks? The boys' club? He doesn't specify. N'rov, keeping pace, delves into his bag; he offers up a cloth-wrapped sandwich-sized package before asking, "Which?" As though he, too, sees alternatives. "Did you bring a blanket, too? A bottle of wine?" There's a teasing lilt to Dal's tone as he asks those things, though his nod is appreciative enough for the cloth-wrapped sandwiches. "The... culture." He frowns, turning his attention back onto the bronzerider as he says, "There have been behaviors I would not tolerate in my nine-turn-old son." "Flowers," and N'rov's got a definite slantwise smile at Dal: does he need them? As the other man talks, he slings the sack into place before starting to unwrap his own; gravel crunches underfoot without the ice of earlier months, but he doesn't speak. Until, "Hard to believe he's nine, already. Last I saw Jay..." how long has it been? "Lady Ruatha's finest blossoms, I hope," says Dal in reply, sans outright smile but with, at least, a note of amusement. He has sandwiches to unwrap, however; he does so carefully and with precision, if not as much as he might were he to have a table to lay them out upon. "He's grown since then." However long ago it was, this is surely true. "He's going to spend the summer with my parents." "That'll be a change." It isn't so long since the wheat shortage that N'rov is careless about the larger of his crumbs, but the smaller can fall unremarked unless it's on his shirt. His bites are, however, precise. "Getting to know them more? Out of dragon-land?" A glance, "Somewhere safe?" "Fort Hold is quieter, these days. He'll climb trees; pick early apples." N'dalis does not sound especially thrilled about his son going away. He eats, slow and careful. "I ought to congratulate you." "I can feel your enthusiasm." N'rov chews. Suddenly, brusquely, "I wasn't there for some of it. Ebeny. I was in Benden. E'dre didn't want us to stomp on them." N'dalis turns his gaze, focusing upon N'rov with lifted chin and wide, thoughtful eyes. "Why not?" he wonders, low-voiced and curious. "Think he didn't want more of a fuss." N'rov grimaces, even now. "Like that would end it." N'dalis' mouth compresses, tight and plainly less than happy. "I understand the fuss, but... it's not the first time Hematite riders have played 'pranks.'" The inverted commas are audible. "But I take the point. I wish you, C'stian and E'dre luck in changing the culture." His pause is only brief. "A lot of change, lately." "It's not." N'rov chews on that. "A whole lot." He messes with his wrapper. "What do you make of it?" "I try to stay out of politics," Dal points out, this time with the faintest of half-smiles. "I don't know Lilah well. I didn't know N'muir well. It is a strange thing, to be honest, to not see Hattie at the helm. At least if it were Ali, she'd be familiar." He may mean 'predictable.' "If she hadn't gone to Southern," but N'rov shrugs, a tight movement. He doesn't look at Dal when he admits, "Seems strange to say, I miss N'muir. He's there. But we're not supposed to worry him. It's hard, reminding them to report to Wroth." 'Them.' "I don't think that I've ever spoken to N'muir," says Dal, so calm there's certainly no sense in it to suggest he disapproves; it simply is. Why would N'muir have spoken to him? He finishes his sandwich, chewing methodically. Then, "Change is difficult. Especially knowing it will change again, when one of the queens rises." "Yeah. And Lilah," N'rov cuts that off before it can get too bitter, flexing his shoulders. He looks up, but all there is is light. "Lilah?" It's a prompt, but only a casual one. He exhales. "I didn't realize she'd audition bronzeriders quite that... fervently." His brows raise, but Dal doesn't press. "Ah," he says. "She's not... the most diplomatic person I've ever met, as little as I know her." "No." But it's with a grin that N'rov looks over at Dal. Tucking it away, though, "Do you miss any of your wingmates, tossed over to Hematite, all 'hither and yon'? Do you like how it is now? Now that you have some used-to-be-Hematite cluttering up the place." "Miss? I don't know." It's a question Dal seems to consider with due diligence, folding up the remains of his napkin and tucking it into the pocket of his trousers, at least temporarily. "It's different, but I don't know better or worse. Jasper's just a wing." "'Just a wing'?" N'rov repeats it slowly, with reserve, as though that could keep it from seeming as though the greenrider spoke a completely foreign tongue. With surprise, "What? Not everyone feels the same... sense of community you do." "Did you... ever?" Silently, Dal shakes his head. He even shrugs, too. N'rov rubs the back of his neck; then he laughs, and has another bite of his meal. He does glance at Dal again, though, from the corner of his eye. "It's not a big deal," says Dal, firmly. "I've never missed it. Reesa used to try and push..." he shakes his head. "I've just never felt the same way other people do. Truly, I should have stuck with the weyrlings." N'rov has to laugh at that name. "She'll push anything that sat still enough and most that won't," he says. "Why didn't you?" "Being in the barracks, even rebuilt..." Dal trails off. His expression is, as ever, more inclined towards serious than emotive, but there's nonetheless a suggestion of discomfort and disquiet. "Perhaps it would be easier, now. I don't know." "Yeah." It's rough, with a duck of his head. N'rov hesitates further. "I don't know that Ebeny would mind your looking in, to say hello," but his tone suggests he won't speak for that woman. "With the clutches so close, they're bound to be busy, but at least she has a fair few assistants." N'dalis', "Mmm," is quiet, his head turned so that he can stare out over the lake. It's audibly neutral. "Why did you bring me lunch today? Which isn't to suggest I'm not enjoying the company." "Vhaeryth," well, and. "I wanted to check in with you," N'rov says, and shakes out his napkin. A few crumbs fall. He dusts it against his knee, first a slap and then just letting it shake against it as he walks. "We're changing up Hematite; we're changing up the others. We don't know how many months we have to do it in. Mostly..." "Vhaeryth," and now Dal is smiling, as he so often does when it comes to something related to his Suraieth. Still, there's a lengthy pause then before he nods. "Changing things, of course." N'rov glances away over the lake, restless. He's shaved, but the breeze picks at his hair where it's not pinned by the raised goggles, his hood slipped back across his shoulders. "So, yeah, wanted to see where you're at." He looks back. "Part of that's why you didn't come to Hematite; whether you might. Or whether it's better to just go out and have a drink," or a sandwich, "from a different wing." "Better the latter," says Dal, being honest. "Hematite's not for me. Not as long as it's own for what it's known for." He gives the bronzerider a side-long glance, then lets his gaze drift upwards towards the distant dragons. "But thanks." "Yeah." The bronzerider doesn't look so much disappointed as... thoughtful. "Reputation's worse than the reality, I think you'd find. And the reputation isn't that bad in all quarters. But I'll save you the 'you can make a difference!' speech for what there is." "Hematite..." Dal shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but it makes me uncomfortable. The boys' club. The exclusivity. The... pranks, yes, absolutely. I understand it matters to you, but I could never be part of that, even without N'muir." He's still watching the dragons. "We ought to get back to our sweep." "Don't want that, Dal." N'rov's quick to say it, and plain. He doesn't talk over the other man any more than that. "Glad you're doing what works for you. I know it's not different yet. But what I needed to know," and he does now, "was it's your choice." He stops then, as though to turn back, as if the dragons couldn't land anywhere they chose. "It's my choice," confirms Dal. "Switched to Jasper, way back when, and that was my choice, too. I'm good. I do appreciate the thought, though." His nod, solemn as it is, confirms that. And so does the calm way in which he approaches his green, as she returns to earth to collect him. "And lunch." He appreciates that, too. "Next time," N'rov gives him, with a nod in return. Vhaeryth hasn't landed; Vhaeryth will see them on their way, for a while, before they too go. |
Leave A Comment