Logs:No Other Options
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| RL Date: 18 January, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, Reston |
| Type: Log |
| What: Chatting over wine. |
| Where: Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Riva/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Relaxing: it's Healer's orders, and apparently that Healer is intending to actually follow up. Reston is much more reliably at breakfast than at any meal that happens after he starts working, though frequently only long enough to grab a pastry, a biscuit, something carb-y, maybe a piece of fruit to take with him. This morning, one other errand--dropping by D'vro's table long enough to offer an invitation to grab a drink that evening? He even manages to deliver the request like a totally normal human being would do. Look at him, being functional and sociable, Riva would be proud. Of course, come that evening, he arrives at the Glass Fountain early, only to settle in at a table with a barely-touched beverage and a book. He may not, after he's gotten into reading, even recall that he's expecting company. D'vro is neither late nor early when he comes to the Glass Fountain that evening. He's quite punctual, coming first to the table where he finds Reston so he can address the healter, "I'm going to get a bottle for the table. Do you prefer reds or whites? Or something else?" The last is almost an afterthought as he glances at the beverage already on the table, like he's only just remembering that some people don't like wine at all. "What?" It's real surprise, although maybe it's for the topic of this suddenly-arrived conversation, rather than D'vro being there at all. Or maybe Reston really is just surprised to remember that there are other people alive. He eyes his glass--wistfully?--and frowns. See the gears turn: what's he supposed to do in this situation? "Either. Red. Red would be fine." Perhaps some vague cultural memory. Is red wine supposed to be good for you? Something like that. Then: "I wasn't sure if you might wind up... busy, so I thought I might as well get something to tide me over." It's fortunate that Reston continues speaking because D'vro looks as though he's about to repeat himself, no doubt word for word. "Red, then. I'll be back in a moment." The bronzerider even offers a brief smile before he's continuing on toward the bar. He returns with an opened bottle and two wine glasses. "Did you really think I'd simply not show up if something else required my attention?" He sets a glass down in front of where he'll be sitting in a moment, sets the other down near Reston and then pours a small amount in each. Then he settles himself in across from the healer. "I assume you're a busy man. I..." Reston pauses for a moment to regard the glass, sip from it. At least he doesn't make any kind of a displeased face. It must at least be tolerable. "I used to be. Riva gave me a firelizard egg so I could let her know if I was going to be late. I tried to keep it, but eventually it stopped coming back. What I mean to say is, I wouldn't have held it against you. Your work is important." Another sip. "Though I'm never quite sure what a wingleader does, in this day and age?" It could be an insult, but the end is prompting. "Busy," D'vro repeats that word, considering it even as he starts to nod in agreement. "Yes. But that's no excuse to be inconsiderate." He picks up his glass, swirls it a moment, then takes a small drink. "In this day and age, a wingleader's primary purpose is to find relevance for their wing. We don't all define relevance the same way, of course, and that's probably for the best. You were quite ill, yes?" He already knows the answer to that. "Were you present enough to make that experience useful?" "What one can do when there are no other options is... remarkable. Though there are swaths of time I remember only from my notes." Reston is now much more solemn, talking about it. "I would be examining patients while dictating correspondence, with a young journeyman who was thankfully able to make me sound properly coherent." A pause. "Until we lost him. Boll was a bad place to be." He turns back to his wine glass, and this time it's a longer drink; maybe he is properly enjoying it, now that he's had the chance. "I'm lucky Riva lets me go anywhere alone, now. She seems to think I might relapse just from too much time spent compiling data." "It's fascinating." D'vro seems fascinated. At least that's probably his fascinated face, studying Reston with a certain sort of curiosity. "I'll admit I'm thankful you survived for somewhat selfish reasons. I'm not sure what we would have done with Riva had the case been otherwise. She seems to care for you a great deal." It's kind of a question. At the very least, open to being educated otherwise. When Reston colors, it's mostly his ears going red. "Yes, well." It is a compliment he's being paid, of a kind, isn't it? "Do you have sisters? Brothers? I have one younger sister, in her twenties, but she's off, has a family of her own. I suppose Riva and I mostly have each other." Whose fault is that, Reston? "I did make the attempt," he adds, "but it didn't work out." He talks as though that's all ancient history, of course. "A handful of half-relations," D'vro offers dismissively. "None of whom I know any better than I know you." That doesn't bother the bronzerider, though. Sentimentality doesn't appear to be one of his vices. He takes an idle drink from his glass, then, "Didn't work out. Is it safe to presume she didn't pass from illness, in that case?" "Oh, no. No, thank heavens." Whatever might be said of Reston, he doesn't seem inclined to wish that on even an ex-wife. Either he's a saint, or he takes his job very seriously. Probably more the latter, since being on this subject has him through the first glass quicker than he might have intended, and he eyes it reproachfully, and then thoughtfully, but he doesn't actually move to pour another. "She married a Harper. They're very happy. I think. I don't speak to her anymore." Look, over there, an excuse to change the subject! Wait, never mind, there isn't one, so he'll just have to do it anyway. "So, if your job is to find relevance--what kind of relevance are you looking for?" Work. Work is safe. "By all means, help yourself," he says after he's watched Reston finish off the rest of his wine. D'vro is kind enough not to press for further information about either the wife or the Harper, and in fact probably even prefers the change of subject. "A dragonrider's duty is to protect Pern from the many dangers of Thread. And, as you well know," or at least he assumes he ought to know, "an Interval leaves something to be desired insofar as our usefulness is concerned. Upholding our traditions is important, of course. They need to be carried through the hopefully countless generations until the Red Star's return. But we need other avenues of usefulness to maintain both our livelihood and our relationships with Holders and Crafters." He adds a vague gesture toward the Healer, one such crafter. Once it's offered, Reston still delays, but only for another thirty seconds or so before he reaches for the bottle to freshen up his glass. Just another half. That's all. His attention is more on the glass than on D'vro as he's talking, but when he does look over--at first, it's appraising. Then, though the smile is a modest thing, approving. "In light of recent events, I can't help but think that swift transit and reliable remote communication are invaluable in emergency situations." "Swift transit seems to be our primary source of usefulness to those outside of Weyrs, in emergency situations or otherwise. Communication is rather straightforward, depending on the dragon. Unfortunately--" D'vro pauses, internalizes for a moment, then continues more diplomatically, "Well, the Weyr is rather protective of its dragons and putting them or their riders in situations of unnecessary risk, like proximity to a fatal illness, can be somewhat controversial." Judging by his expression, the irony of their primary purpose during a Pass being inherently risky hasn't escaped him. "If you could have avoided being ill by not being in Boll, would you have?" "Of course not." As though there's no other possible answer Reston could give, but his face doesn't exactly show surprise for having been asked. Perhaps it's come up before. "I might have ended up there in either case. The possibility of infection was always there. We didn't expect it to be so bad, but--what else would I have done? I've certainly been careful, but I've had firehead. I've had one awful gastro infection that we thought was spreading from kitchen contamination but turned out to be in the water. Things happen. If I don't go, who will?" D'vro finishes off the rest of his glass while Reston speaks, sets it down carefully on the table, but doesn't refill it. "It's admirable, actually. I'm glad a man like you found his way to the Healer craft. There are times when having another mind connected to yours can be somewhat... limiting, I suppose." "I am an asset to my craft. To Pern." To which Reston makes a face, as though he's been told this before, and doesn't care for it one bit. "They always say that," he explains, "just as they're trying to convince me to leave the work in the field to others, and go back to the Hall to teach. This is the compromise, of course. Four shifts in the infirmary a week, and the rest of the time writing, and I put off the inevitable a few more years. I don't care for teaching. I don't feel qualified to teach. I hardly know anything, at this point. Boll proved it." "You are an asset to your craft, Reston. Undeniably." There's no way the Healer could convince D'vro otherwise. "But I can't fault you for wanting to focus on your work. There are certainly people who are more suited to educating others. I think I'd perhaps like to be one of them, but I don't think that I am." Reston peers over his glass at the bronzerider before he sips from it. Going more moderately, now. "Surely, leading a wing involves an element of... guidance. I have to admit that I'm more a source of consternation for the apprentices than I am any sort of wisdom." There's enough of a smile that it could be a self-deprecating joke. "You seem suited to it. Riva seems to like you. I mean--professionally, of course." D'vro considers the bottle of wine for a few moments, glancing at Reston across from him before reaching to pour himself another reasonable amount. "There's a rather large difference between educating and leading. I did spend some time as an assistant weyrlingmaster in my youth, but it only convinced me that I'm more suited to the latter than the former in the end." He takes a small drink before touching on, "Thank you. I'm quite fond of her as well. Your sister is a hard-working woman. Very open-minded. It will be useful for Slate, going forward." The way the Healer beams at all of that, one would think the compliments were for him--or for a daughter, perhaps? Something Reston could more reasonably take some personal responsibility for, anyway, virtues which he had labored for or instilled. "She would be pleased to hear that, I think. We share some of the same faults," though he won't at least aloud try to claim the virtues, "but I suppose she manages to find her own way to keep up the pace. She's much more organized than I am. But you'd get all the advantage of that without having to worry about her having fits over whether you've folded a shirt wrong." He seems a bit fascinated by the idea. "I don't think anyone's ever been upset over the way I've kept anything in my weyr." Certainly not out loud where he could hear it. Though one might imagine D'vro wouldn't have noticed even if someone were being critical of something like that. "You don't have a sister," Reston points out, totally reasonable, also polite enough not to point out whatever other potential visitors D'vro might or might not have. "We're both fussy about our own things. I don't often go up to her weyr, though. She's down to see me... most days, seeing as mine is where I do the bulk of my writing. I might wish for a separate office, but then I'd probably have more people wandering in than just her. The Hall has made it clear that they would prefer I manage to publish something, even if it's preliminary, sometime... well, before the next Pass." "That seems reasonably manageable. Do you find that Riva's intrusion is productive? Or do you consider it more of a hindrance to your writing? I've considered promoting her. Perhaps giving her more work would make your life easier, hm? But I'm not entirely sure that she'd appreciate the offer." D'vro seems oddly fond of the idea, like the brownrider is some whimsical creature he could never truly understand because she might turn down the option of more responsibilities. Productive: Reston has to muse on that word. When he finishes the second glass, this time he doesn't seem to even consider refilling it. "I don't know if she would," he admits, finally, after thinking for far longer than one would ordinarily pause mid-conversation. "Appreciate it, I mean. I think it's better to be... seeing more of her. After Boll. Better for both of us. For the moment. Sometimes she seems to be a pest, but there's so much that I don't know how I'd manage without her." "Good, then," says D'vro like it's been decided, in that case. "Very good. It's fortunate that the two of you have each other." It's probably all the man can think to say for a relationship he can't relate to, but he seems genuine all the same. "This has been quite pleasant, but I suppose there are things I should get back to. Would you care to keep the bottle?" he asks with a glance toward it. Faced with that prospect, Reston gives the bottle a look like it might actually be a live tunnelsnake, already raising his hands, palm out, to ward it off. "No, I don't--I mean, I've had plenty, I think." Two whole glasses. "I certainly don't need any more than that. But it's a very generous offer, thank you." Fold them back on the table, suddenly looking self-conscious, then busies them with collecting up his book, checking to see that he's marked his place properly. "It was good to get to talk. Catch up. We should..." He clearly isn't very familiar with the script for this sort of thing. "We should do this again sometime." "We will. Definitely." D'vro reaches for the bottle. He'll just take that with him, in that case. Or give it to someone else along the way. Either way, the bronzerider smiles at the healer, "Until next time. Take care of yourself, Master Reston." |
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