Logs:Blank Slate
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| RL Date: 9 January, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov sets D'vro up with the blank Slate he's looking for. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Blume/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions |
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| N'rov had asked D'vro to come in before the back-to-being-regular wing meeting that morning; there's still a drudge going about tidying up breakfast (for more than one, at that) by the time the older bronzerider gets there, though the teenager ducks his head and is quick to get himself and his transport platter out of the way. N'rov's had a container of klah and some bread-wrapped sausage left, though, so there's that, and some easy conversation to see if D'vro's awake. It's early. D'vro arrives just when he's supposed to, neither too early nor too late. "Weyrleader," he greets the other bronzerider in their somewhat more professional setting. D'vro nods to the drudge as he passes but spares him little other attention while he makes his way toward one of the chairs near N'rov. Fortunately he's quite awake, and probably has been for some time already. Early to bed, early to rise and all that. Not early to bed for N'rov; he might look tired to one who'd seen an objective picture drawn of him, but he's shaved and that antic energy is very much with him. "Wingleader. D'vro." He spreads his hands: welcome. "Where are you at with your final thoughts? It's not too late. You could forget indoctrinating ex-weyrlings and go hermit it up atop a mountain instead." "That only sounds appealing if the mountain is a warm beach and I don't have to single-handedly entertain Colsoth for his every waking moment." It might sound nice to other pairs, but not so much to D'vro. He relies on other dragons to socialize with his lifemate for at least part of the time. "I believe there a handful of wings that would serve my purpose, but it seems to me that the smallest of them would be easier to start with. Unless you have other ideas?" "Smallest but mine," N'rov deadpans of his as yet tiny Onyx, after a nod of appreciation for D'vro's situation with his dragon. "No, Agate's fine of the survivors. With that cleared up, we'll be bargaining over Obsidian's remains today." Dark humor but it gets them by; he'd given the current wingleaders a heads up over that wing's dissolution, a chance to identify whom they do and don't want (and who they'd trade) before the divvying begins. "Looking forward to it?" D'vro has a nod for Agate and a polite, but also genuine, smile for the humor. "I think they'd probably like to move on, get settled into their work." Or is that just him? Maybe so, given that he continues with, "And, yes, I am eager to have a proper wing again. Proper duties. I think this is the closest thing I've had to a vacation for some time." And he's clearly not sure that he entirely enjoyed it. "Here's hoping." N'rov nods to D'vro and those duties, with a slight hook of a grin for vacation. "At least you shouldn't need another too soon," he supposes. "Nor should we be short on watchriders for the next decade. We could fill out a good crop of minor holds if we had to, if only they would provision them. And, of course, if their dragons didn't need entertainment." D'vro helps himself to a mug of klah while they talk. "I think that would be nice sometimes. Having a small hold to tend near the Weyr." Then he wouldn't have to worry about his dragon's entertainment. "I certainly hope, at least, that the population stays steady. But at this rate, we might overtake the poor holders." His own dark humor might not quite hit the mark, but two close clutches are something in a Weyr who lost too many riders. "In any case, there was a greenrider in Agate who had an idea. It's quite clever. She seemed enthusiastic about all of this." "If we didn't need you here, I'd hand you the broom right now," N'rov says, a gleam in his eye; he might even like to see his friend at such a task. As for overtaking, "We might indeed. If Taeliyth had given us any warning, we could have brought them over by the dragonload, and gotten ourselves a fresh crop... as it is, she didn't leave us enough time for Zaisavyth's to be birthed. Plus a month or two," he supposes all generously before sitting forward with renewed interest. "Tell me about it. And her; wingsecond material?" His smile then is slightly more broad, not so worried about politeness. "So long as you didn't hand me a skirt to go with it." D'vro takes a drink, considers for a couple of moments, then nods his head. "She could be, certainly. If she were willing to take the responsibility." There are plenty of riders who aren't, after all. "She suggested, if I joined Agate, that we change the name of the wing. Slate, she said. Since we'd be starting over with something of a blank slate." N'rov smirks, and glances over the other bronzerider before settling back into listening; he'll drink while he's at it, too. "Huh," he says for that idea, and takes a guess at the name of said rider: first one, and then to cover a different base, a second. Regardless of whether D'vro signals he got it right, "I could see it. There's that pun, but it's not a bad one, and..." he half-closes his eyes, lips moving. When he comes up for air, "Yeah, you could shout it, and it's not too like any of the others. Flint's the only other with one syllable, discounting the weyrlings," which clearly he does. "That's her," says D'vro when N'rov guesses with the second name, and he seems pleased that the man is familiar enough to be able to take a guess at all. "She seems bright. Don't get any ideas about slipping her away into your little Onyx, hm?" Quite a compliment coming from the Southern bronzerider. "I think, if anything, it sounds a bit like the name it would be replacing when you shout it." "What?" Would he do that? asks N'rov's smirk. "I won't," he says. "If only because it's better to have someone gung-ho over there, and especially better if you go and change the name. Coming from her, it's not you going in and changing everything and all that, you're 'leaving room for them to make a difference.' How's it like Agate, though?" It might be his drawl. D'vro has a short but knowing laugh, but there's no actual worry that someone will be scalping his promising wingriders before he's had a chance at them. "When you're shouting things, people have a tendency to focus on the last sound more than the first. It's a hard T in both cases. The G helps, of course, but only if they're paying enough attention." And now that he's shared that, he adds, "I think my wingriders and I will get along quite well. If there's anyone who really isn't suited, we can handle that when it comes up." "Yeah?" is entertained; being N'rov, he's now got to give it a try. Even sotto voce, his version of, 'Hey, Agate!' puts the emphasis so strongly on the first syllable that the second all but disappears; then he gives it a go D'vro's way, though he might block off that 't' even more firmly than the other wingleader ever did. His resulting shrug is as easy as it's amused. As for the more prosaic matter of the wingriders, "Sounds like a plan. Talk to the headwoman," no mention of 'if you're sure it's what you want,' it's D'vro, "she'll square it and see that someone gets you a few mockups for badges, too. It might be a while before they're actually sewn. Anything else you need, before the rest troop in?" D'vro purposefully doesn't hide the roll of his eyes in response to N'rov's antics. Ha, ha. Very funny. "I'll let her know," he assures the Weyrleader. "Perhaps we ought to have the wing sew them," is almost certainly a joke, given how one might want those to look at least somewhat professional. "I believe that's everything. Thank you, sir. I'll take one of these, though," he says, reaching for a breaded sausage, since they won't last long once anyone else starts showing up. N'rov's smirk over the sewing lingers as the man leans back in his chair, hands spread in welcome: have one, have them all. |
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