Logs:The Benefits of Being a Bronzerider
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| RL Date: 1 November, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex and V'ret catch up for the first time since the latter's impression. |
| Where: Lake shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Yesia/Mentions, X'lar/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions |
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The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but
here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening
and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions
to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides
warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced
off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water
there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows
drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge
undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be
bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge
divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky
outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one
-- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly
tempting stairs.
Brilliant light plays off of the dunes of snow as a cloudless winter day
brings with it extreme cold. For once, the skies are clear, though it's by no means warm -- the snow covers the ground and there's a distinct chill in the air. Still, it only serves to encourage the more adventurous Weyrfolk out onto the frozen ice of the lake, laughing and yelling. Drex, for his part, seems unconvinced, huddled into his thick winter coat, standing on the sidelines and watching with a frown. Zoth not being yet as tall at the shoulder as his rider, the progress the two of them make down the edge of the beach is not swift. But it's fresh air, and good exercise, and if V'ret appears to be looking around like he's expecting to see someone, what of it? That someone was probably not Drex, but it does mean that he lays eyes on the man easily. Hands in pockets, he approaches, while the bronze hangs back inspecting a rock. "So, you're still hanging about. Wondered. Not really your kind of a body of water, this, is it?" Drex is too caught up in... whatever he's thinking to take notice of the approach of the weyrling pair, at least until he hears a familiar voice. "Aint," the sailor allows, half turning with a rueful grin, "But still, kind of wish it weren't frozen over," he admits. His gaze sets on V'ret, for a moment, then skips past towards Zoth with a visible sort of wariness, although the tenseness of his posture is probably largely hidden by his bulky cloak. "So... V'ret, is it now?" With a grunt, Drex seems happier with, "Ev, then," than his friend's new rider name, it seems. Drex is, perhaps mercifully, saved from a never-ending staring contest with Zoth by V'ret's words, which draw his gaze and an inhaled breath to boot. "No alcohol?" he echoes. "And no girls? What is that, a torture camp in there?" he waves towards the barracks. "I mean... Quinlys seems like the sort who'd like nothing better than dress-ups and whipping, but," the horror, man, the horror. It's written all over sympathetic and horrified expression the sailor wears. "Basically." It's apparently been long enough with this torture that V'ret can, worse, say that with an utterly cheerful air. "I'm not sure if Quinlys just doesn't like men or doesn't like me in particular, but I don't think I ever got quite that impression from her. I think they just made all the rules back when the weyrlings were all twelve-year-old boys, but here we are. Months of it. Still, when they lift, I'm not going to have any trouble getting female attention." Because, look at that dragon, all shiny. Zoth finally heads over a little closer, still sizing Drex up as V'ret runs a hand over his neck. "It's not like, say, having a kid." Eyebrows raised, there. If Drex is in anyway jealous because of Zoth, it certainly doesn't appear so, judging by the look he gives the dragon, all wary and uncertain. "Maybe." He's silent a moment, then says, "Just don't turn into a dick, ok? Aint found a bronzerider that's not been one yet. Maybe you can break the trend?" It's the latter that makes him shift his shoulders, let out a little, if somewhat awkward, grin. "Yeah, well," he exhales. "This time it's for real." Unlike, you know, the first time. "No more than I ever was." Amusement, from V'ret, for that. "I'm hoping I can break a few trends where it comes to bronzeriders around here lately. I intend to behave like a decent human being," or as much as he ever did, "avoid children, and live to be ninety-five." Only three quarters of a century to go! "Anyway, I mean, obviously she's really knocked up, it's not like I haven't seen her, but--are you sure?" His interest has suddenly been distracted out towards the water, or away from eye contact. "I'll wager on cards from time to time, but I wouldn't put marks on her." "It's a start," Drex grudgingly allows, apparently mollified by V'ret's answer. "Ninety-five? Ugh. That's so old. I rather die on the seas, fighting some... pirates, or something," is added, a little lamely and without too much passion. At least on the fighting pirates part, because that'd be a conflict of interest. "Aye," he allows, a hint of pride creeping through, "I'm sure. Aint sure it's the best idea, but... we're going to try. See how it goes, y'know?" There's a thinning of mouth at the bronze weyrling's latter words, but he exhales sharply. "It was different, when her dragon got her all, you know, hot and bothered. I'm sure," he repeats, not-quite-angry. But only just. The notion of dying fighting pirates is, to judge from the wrinkling of nose, not up V'ret's alley, as it were. "Ninety-five, ideally in bed with a girl of eighteen. Or two." While he's dreaming, right? Big grin, at that, and that seems to be enough to settle the rest of it. "If you're sure." For the moment. "But you're still going to be my object lesson in why falling for women is a terrible idea, I hope you know that. If she'll still let you out of her sight once I've been let free of my prison camp, maybe we can still get out of here for a proper good time, now and then. There's a place down Ista way that I never got around to seeing before the Hatching, fellow recommended to me, once. Or you still have a problem with dragonback even if it's him?" Zoth lets out a sharp exhale, as though indignant at being possibly thought unreliable. "That's..." Drex shakes his head. "You wouldn't even be able to get it up, man, even if you could find two girls stupid enough to climb into the bed of a wrinkly old man." Drex, reality checker. His fervent defense of Farideh lessens when V'ret seems to accept his stance, and there's even a brief grin. "Oh, aye. I'll be going back to the sea. Not sure when, yet," he glances at the frozen-over-lake, unable to hide the wistfulness there. "But my ship and my Captain are in Ista." Still, he's visibly hesitant at the idea of riding adragonback, eyeing Zoth warily anew. "Aint sure. Maybe." One of those half-shrugs. "After you get me half drunk, first," with a grin. "If I can't pull pretty girls at ninety-five, then the advantages of a bronze dragon have been heavily over-sold to me." V'ret turns, then, to glower at his dragon, not quite successful in keeping a straight face while he's doing it. Whatever exchange happens there, the joke somehow gets lost in the midst of it. Takes a minute to remember where he was going: "I mean, ah, next thing you know, you'll tell me that maybe I won't actually get to be Weyrleader." With a snort that is part-amused, part-disbelief, Drex shakes his head. "I think, as much as you think my falling for Farideh is an object lesson, that you impressing a bronze of all things, is a hundred times worse. I mean, fuck," his eyes go wide, too distracted by the latter though to wonder at the sudden pause and shift in V'ret's thoughts. "You?! Weyrleader?!" And then, even worse, "You might end up fucking Fari if you win her flight." Might, because clearly this is not an idea Drex is happy with, judging by his tight expression. "Better not. Ask X'lar what a mess I made of his pretty face." Sort of. "Believe me, that is at the bottom of the list of things I hope to accomplish with my life. Anyway, it'd be Zoth winning, you know? Maybe someday she'll be Senior," since obviously Irianke is elderly and this isn't something that needs saying, what with her being nearly forty and all, "but could be Jocelyn. Not that Jocelyn's much better. Maybe I'll move somewhere where the goldriders are actually hot." And where winning flights isn't likely to put him in danger. V'ret laughs, there, covering it with his hand briefly before reaching out to pat his dragon. "Maybe he'll stick to greens. Aeaeth, huh, how about it?" Zoth looks exactly as nonplussed by this idea as by any of the golds, but then, maybe he'll understand when he's older. "Maybe," Drex says, doubtfully. As much as he might love Farideh, apparently the idea of her being senior more of a bemusing, distant sort of notion than one he considers with any sort of reality. "Really?" He seems surprised by V'ret's suggestion of moving, as if unsure if he's being serious or not. Because hot goldriders. "And, Fari's hot." Just, not hot enough that he wants his friend win his girlfriend's flight. He nods, with the kind of lack of understanding of any difference between greens and golds. "Aeaeth?" he echoes, cluelessly. Clearly, he's not one to keep track of dragon names. Eyebrows, again, for the defense of Farideh's looks. "Until recently, she didn't have any curves to speak of, and I mean, you ever seen a woman after she's had kids?" But there's a light teasing in it: What's the alternative, that V'ret says he thinks she's attractive? Discretion is the better part of not getting your ass kicked. "Yesia. Redhead." He seems for some reason amused by that. "Curvy, real nice legs, likes short skirts. I wouldn't really move. I don't think. This time of year, Ista seems really attractive, or Southern. But I can't picture myself as an Istan, somehow." There's grumbling, of course, but at least it's kept under his breath, as Drex bears up under the teasing from V'ret. "Her breasts are getting real big, man," Drex amends, lamely. But also kind of proudly too, as if he made that happen. The sailor's brow furrows at the description of Yesia. "Impressed with Fari?" he hazards. Of course that's the point of reference he uses; all dragonriders start to look very samey after all while, in their leathers. "I dunno," he cocks his head. "I could see you, as a bartender. They've got this cool bar there that's actually partly in the water." "For your sake, will hope she keeps them. Yeah, same clutch. My clutch is incredibly short of women I'd actually like to look at for pretty much every waking moment for months. It's a tragedy, I'm telling you." But probably better for V'ret's clutchmates, and maybe for his ability to actually follow the rules? "Wish, some days, I could keep the dragon but have my old job back, after. Is that weird? Anyway, that seems like it'd be nice. Hot nights, ocean right there, get a couple drinks into someone pretty and talk her into a swim? Good for a break. Just can't imagine living there. Like any life that easy can't be real." "Yeah," Drex replies, after a long beat. "That's kind of weird. I mean, aside from the ability to tap the keg on the sly now and then, which I can understand." He darts a glance towards Zoth, ever wary. "Do you... regret it?" The dragon, presumably. Standing. This gets a shake of head so brisk as to rival his friend's defense of his girl, earlier. "No. I don't regret it. I think it requires wading through a lot of bullshit, but it's going to be worth it. Even if I'm never Weyrleader!" A smile, there, maybe a little rueful, enough to suggest that somewhere in there, that hope is still alive. "Otherwise, man, I might have been thirty before I even got a room to myself. And being a bartender at twenty gets you a lot more girls than being a bartender at forty. We can't all just shack up with weyrwomen," V'ret observes with a smirk. "Can't imagine why the fuck you'd want that. I mean, besides the big-ass weyr." Drex, after all, has had the luxury of sharing Farideh's for quite some months now. "Well... man, tell me when you can drink again, and I'll buy your first." Probably on Farideh's tab. He shifts his weight, rubbing hands together. "Gonna get inside before my balls freeze and drop off. Might want another kid some day, who knows," with a twitch of lips, as he starts to move, hesitating. "Good to see you," he offers a hand. Brief clasp of hand, but firm enough to show that V'ret has some gratitude for the offer. "I'll hold you to that. If there's one thing this is leaving me, it's broke as fuck, let me tell you. Go, preserve your posterity, I'd best get him back for another feeding, because Faranth knows he get through like half a herdbeast a day at this point." That might be hyperbole. Maybe. "Good to see you." Zoth has no such gratitude; he's already started on his way back without waiting for his rider. He may not be hugely impressed so far with V'ret's choice of friends. With a chuckle under his breath, Drex is quick to tuck his hand back into the sleeves of his coat, trudging off across the snow in the direction of the weyr he and Farideh share, with only one last wary look at his friend's dragon by way of parting. |
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Comments
Squishy (21:45, 2 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Curves are overated.
Alida (00:48, 3 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Like Squish said.
V'ret (16:04, 3 November 2015 (PST)) said...
High Reaches, where the men are men and entirely too many of the women are built like men...
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