Logs:A Dump of Ale
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| RL Date: 2 October, 2015 |
| Who: E'dre, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Area |
| Type: Log |
| What: E'dre takes out some pent up aggression on N'rov. Oh, and he dumps an ale on him. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, B'doran/Mentions, Ebeny/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Kyouri/Mentions, M'vyn/Mentions, Nala/Mentions |
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| E'dre has made his way to the Fountain after a long day of meeting after meeting with riders and holders alike. He looks worn and grumpy enough that those who are in the bar do nothing more than politely hail him. He grabs an ale from the barkeep before sliding into a chair near the back. He tilts his head back against the cushion of the booth and closes his eyes as he allows the sound of conversations around him to lull his mind to nothingness. Somewhere in those conversations is that low, familiar southern baritone. N'rov hasn't frequented the Fountain since his grounding, and the continued diminished stipend can't help; even so, there's his voice, rolling into a chuckle as though he hasn't a care in the world. Those at his table are mostly local: a senior handyman, a recordskeeper of all people, and a brownrider from one of the other wings. N'rov and his table is given a passing glance from E'dre when he reopens his eyes. If he listens a little harder in that direction he hides it well as he sips his ale. The groups that are in the Fountain are seemingly ready for a rotation out as more than one table closes a tab and leaves the Fountain. The cut in pay must be damaging the business and E'dre looks towards the bar in time to catch the barkeeps shaking head as a third group calls it a night. N'rov's might be next; certainly the recordskeeper's rising, the brownrider hunting for his coat, none of them in too great of a hurry. They had been talking casually, the brownrider the closest to the tipsy side. E'dre turns to focus on N'rov and his group, considering them in a rather obvious way as he sips his ale. The company the bronzerider keeps may draw the Acting's focus or it could be the man himself. Obvious enough that N'rov gets elbowed none too discreetly, with a gruff mutter of explanation that has the bronzerider silent in the first moment and smiling in the next, even before he tips his head back up and turns, the better to meet E'dre's gaze. Then he's abandoning the other two, or possibly is being abandoned; at least they don't stick around to play audience when N'rov approaches. "You rang, sir?" E'dre downs the last of his ale and slides it towards N'rov. "Fetch me another and then come sit with me." Not a request and close enough in tone to be a demand - yet something eases about the brownrider's posture as he reclines back in his seat and offers the bronzerider the slightest hint of a smile. N'rov plays along, tugging on an invisible forelock. "Sir, yes sir," he says snappily and saunters off with E'dre's glass. When he returns, he's got his own short dark drink as well, and drops into a seat as though he's making himself comfortable. It doesn't mean he doesn't keep an eye on the brownrider, him and his smile. There's no thank you offered as E'dre takes that glass to sip from. He may remain silent as he turns his gaze out to look at those still lingering around their tables. He sets his glass down and swings his gaze back to N'rov. "Glad to be back in the air?" He queries and then pauses to sip his ale. "Nala's been in the infirmary. What do you make of that?" There's no papers in front of him to mark but he clearly wants to quiz N'rov. "Yeah," the easy answer but stronger than he might intend nonetheless. For Nala, N'rov shrugs. "She has spots, and they aren't going away, and they're catching. Also," here's the kicker, "purple." E'dre is far from amused by N'rov's answer. His flash of irritation he tries to hide as he takes a larger gulp of the ale. "She's our wingmate," he reminds the bronzerider, "that means something. I have not seen one of ours go and see her." If there have been some, he either doesn't know or doesn't care as he tries to make his point. "Our wing seems to do whatever it pleases these days and don't seem to think of the consequences." He narrows his eyes on N'rov. "Just these days?" N'rov inquires. And as long as E'dre's narrowing his eyes at him anyway, "Maybe she's pregnant." There's a tightening of fingers against his glass as E'dre glares outright at N'rov. "You make me wish I hadn't tapped you to be second when you joke like this. I'm seriously concerned about her and the fact you don't seem to mind only adds to the problem. if we don't lead by example then we aren't leading at all." He downs the last of his ale and with that behind him and the one before it he lets slide, "Maybe Ebeny is." "So you really think," N'rov says just as dryly as before, only with more seriousness underlying it, "we should lead at showing up where we aren't wanted. She might lead that way..." "I'm telling you," E'dre interrupts with a fist dropped on the table, "to not make a joke about it! I didn't expect you to go, however instead of it being a fucking joke that she's there you should show some concern." "Look, I don't go around laughing at her," N'rov tells him. "E'dre. She's not going to welcome me showing up. Anyone who she would, is already there. You want me to make her life harder? You think she'd want us wandering around all, 'Poor Nala! Poor, poor Nala!'?" "There's something that happened between the two of you that is outside of the wing. I can't reason out why she'd outright attack you in the first place. She snapped. And no. She believes Hematite despises her. I should probably transfer her but that feels like I'm making her someone else's problem now!" He leans forward, just now catching how loud their conversation may have gotten. "And you saying shit about her being pregnant doesn't help me. I wanted to lean on you as my second but clearly you can't form a proper opinion on it." "Shells if I' know why she snapped. Don't think I haven't thought about it," N'rov says sourly. "If she's pregnant, transfer her to the queens' wing already; it's not like Hattie hasn't popped out enough to know how to deal with her. If that's someone else's problem, at least it's normal." E'dre stands abruptly and storms off towards the bar. He takes a shot and then grabs another ale before he returns to his table. He stands near it with the glass in hand, he's close enough to the bronzerider that it'll be easy enough to dump on him if he feels so inclined. "So is it your habit to catch your wingmates' weyrmates now?" "What?" N'rov swivels for a better look at the brownrider. "Look, I didn't do anything to her. Else. Lately. If she's pregnant, that explains the whole infirmary thing, but that's not my fault." "Answer the other question," E'dre growls out, still standing there. Still holding that ale. "What other question," N'rov more states than asks, all ready to earn that ale. "Why'd you have Vhaeryth chase Laurienth?" E'dre has either lost his patience or is done dancing around the real issue between his frustration with the bronzerider. "Ebeny didn't come home crying," he continues, something flashing in his gaze as he catches and holds N'rov's. Gray eyes narrow; then, Ebeny. Not Nala. "I didn't have him chase her," N'rov says acerbically. "That was his idea. I seem to recall a 'request' not to leave." "What do you mean a request?" E'dre asks as he leans forward enough to rest a hand on N'rov's chair. He takes a casual sip of his ale and then he lowers it to set on the table. N'rov cocks a brow at the brownrider. "Grounded, remember? No 'my weyrmate is proddy and your dragon hasn't flown her ever in however-many Turns but you still better get out' exception. Better watch out, next time it'll be Jynth." "So this is how you'd each find ways around punishment? Chasing my weyrmates?" E'dre's tight lips and stony expression make it clear he has yet to find any humor in this. "Was it you who stole our clothes that day?" "You have another weyrmate?" N'rov's stuck on the plural, smirking. "E'dre. Yeah, absolutely, I came back from Benden," and Kyouri, and B'doran in a different way, "and back to Fort just so I could be an ass." He downs his drink, gray eyes flat on the other man. "You were the one who didn't want me getting on them." It's that plural he hadn't meant to use that causes E'dre to react more strongly than the rest of N'rov's words. "You're always in someone's bed aren't you? Rarely find a time to have your own." Low blow, followed by a real one as he aims a shove against N'rov to force his chair back. That ale is grabbed and dumped as it was always intended to be. There's no dramatic words or storming out as E'dre levels a steely gaze down. He tenses, ready to further the fight if N'rov makes a swing up. Glass crashes to the tabletop, N'rov gripping the latter's edge with one freed hand as the other goes up, ale spilling over his sleeve and head as he twists back upright. "You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you," the bronzerider growls. "Look, I didn't ask to fuck her." Whether due to E'dre's rank or allowance for a pissy weyrmate, there's no swing. E'dre steps closer, glaring up at his wingsecond. He ignores the slosh of ale that's smattered his boots. "What? She asked you to fuck her?" He demands, "because they all come asking for you?" His boots and N'rov's. N'rov's swiping the flat of his wet hand over his wet face, and just eyes E'dre. "It's a flight. It's over. We don't have to think about it ever." That finished assistant's essay, the one he'd intended to turn in to the pair of them along with his wingsecond work, that's still back in his weyr where it's going to stay. "It would've been better if you just fucking took a swing at me," E'dre swipes his own hand across his face and then scrubs up into his hair. He glares out at those looking and waits until they look away before he looks back to N'rov. He should apologize but he won't. He lingers for a moment to see if the bronzerider has any passing remarks to make before he turns and leaves the bar and his tab for the other man to settle. N'rov allows him a mutter about that one numbskull and 'saryth for that. But afterward, even when E'dre looks back, N'rov has nothing more to say except to order another ale, because he can, and drink it right there in the mess. Not that there won't be more muttering later: about tabs, and stipends, and taxes. |
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