Logs:The Budding Bromance
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| RL Date: 14 October, 2014 |
| Who: V'ros, A'rist |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros and A'rist discuss their bromance over drinks. |
| Where: Rider's Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 13, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy, cold as balls. |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Fayla/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end, nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the stone as it is. Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a collection of mismatched tables and chairs. Towards the back, there's a bar made out of old, recycled wood, manned during peak hours; there's plenty of alcohol on display behind it, though most of it tends towards the cheaper end of the range. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a variety of other spirits ready and waiting. A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking. Zmeyth greets Lythronath with the clink of glasses and his customary smoky haze. « Is yours busy? Does he want a drink? Mine is buying. » Succinct, to the point, delivered with an image of the rider's lounge high above the bowl, and a vacant seat at a table. Lythronath's acknowledgement is, at first, just a heavy lean. He's heard. Silence follows, waits, and then, finally, « Drink. » It's like a yes. Probably, they're even on their way. In fact, in about fifteen or twenty minutes, A'rist even walks into the weyr-turned-lounge, clearly on the lookout for someone specific. Oh, hey. That one. Snowfall may have ceased, for now, but it's still cold as between, especially high up at the rider's lounge. Every cold gust of wind finds its way to the repurposed weyr, making the inner sanctum a chilly place indeed. Few riders are occupying the out-of-the-way bar today on this winter's evening, but V'ros is there, seated at a creaky old table in a creaky told chair that may give way soon. He's nursing a glass of something golden, sans ice; the half-full bottle is in the middle of the table along with another glass, for whomever the weyrling is waiting for. A couple of Hailstorm riders are crowded near the bar, talking in low voices, and there's snoring coming from the couch, where someone else has set up their own nap zone. But the overall feel of the lounge is quiet and subdued. V'ros'll look up when A'rist enters, lifting a hand like that's needed to identify himself, and huddles deeper into his jacket. Cold. A'rist opens up his jacket, despite the cold, revealing a sweater that he must've found in the storerooms. A sweater that doesn't fit him overly poorly, even if it's a bit loose in the chest. A sweater that looks warm. A sweater that, it turns out, has sleeves long enough that they can be tugged to poke out past the cuffs of his jacket, and offer extra wrist-warmth. "Faranth," says the bronzerider as he settles into that empty chair at V'ros's table, "we'd just got the weyr all warmed up, too. Should've had you over." But there's a grin for his friend anyway. Even here. V'ros has a grin to return A'rist's. "Ours is always warm. It's right next to the hatching sands. Feels like.. what I imagine being on the sun would feel like." He reaches over and slides the bottle, with glass, towards the bronzerider. "I didn't know what you.. liked, so I just got this. Hope it's okay." Picking up his own glass, he frowns and settles back against his chair, looking at A'rist with a chagrined expression. "I've been wanting to apologize for.. that time." The awkward time. That time. "I didn't know she had planned that," he mumbles. "You bought the whole thing?" It's probably impressed, that look, the way his eyes have gone a bit wider, and he reaches for the offered bottle, bringing it in a little nearer him. "Yeah, ours-" and whatever he had to say about his own weyr, it stops, and he's focusing in on V'ros, poised to lift and poor the bottle, but having, as of yet, done neither. "Huh. There's lots of that going around." Dark eyes go down to the glass, where he does now portion himself out some of that golden liquid. Hopefully it won't be insulting when the glass is brought up and he sniffs at it. "It's fine. It's all... dealt with." "It was only half," V'ros says sheepishly, rotating his glass back and forth. "If we don't drink it I can save it for.. another time." He lapses into silence at he listens to, and subsequently watches, A'rist's side of the story; his drink is brought up to the mouth for a slow drink. Swallowing, he shifts, stretching his shoulders out. "I don't.. understand. Her." He scrubs at his head with a hand, exhaling loudly, but Edyis is just that - an uncomfortable subject. So onto something else. "I heard you got a new Wingleader. That bronzerider. The asshole." And he can say that, being mostly wingless. No one's throwing insults about Quinlys.. yet. "Less than half now," A'rist offers, raising his glass, a toast of sorts, surely, before he takes his own first sip. A pause is taken to try and figure out that taste, as if he were some sort of connoisseur. He's probably not, perhaps why he keeps any thoughts (or lack thereof) to himself. "I don't think she's all- I think she works so hard on- I don't know. She's got lots of parts or something." Followed by a smirk. "Well, not parts, but you know." More drink. And then, a much flatter expression. "Yeah. He had me go for beers with him to tell me he didn't trust me or something. That was before, though. Before he got the knot for real." Instead of savoring the liquor, there's a lengthy drink taken and then a loud lip-smacking sigh of satisfaction - because that's what you're supposed to do, clearly. V'ros sets his glass back down and wraps his hands around the arms of his chair, face thoughtful as he considers Edyis' parts. "I think she.. sticks her nose where it doesn't belong. Do you know what she did to me? She came into the barracks with my clothes and told everyone that we-" He drops off to give a hand gesture; that kind of hand gesture that teenage boys giggle about when no one's looking. But he looks annoyed about it, not mirthful. As for H'vier-- "Do you like him?" Genuine question. A'rist blinks once, eyebrows shooting up on the rebound. "She what?" But he leans back into his chair once the initial surprise wears off, apparently not overly concerned by that gesture. But then, he's been a dragonrider for a couple turns now. "Why would she do that? If you didn't." It starts as certainty, but there's a more pointed look to follow afterwards. Just to be sure. And as for H'vier: A'rist shrugs. "I don't know. I like going out with Iceberg for drinks and all that. That's pretty much what he does, I think. I don't know." "Yeah." Let that settle in. It's he look after that has him shaking his head vehemently and holding up his hands in deferral. "No. I wouldn't.. with her. I think she did it for fun. That's all I can think of." He's frowning, his eyebrows knitted as he, too, gives that some extra thought. Fingers are tap-tapping on the arm of the chair, an idle gesture that ceases with V'ros' next question. "What do you know about.. the wings? They say I need to think about.. which one, I want. Not yours. Not him." Not H'vier, not Iceberg, sorry bro. "About Savannah?" Specifically. 'Wow,' says A'rist's face. "Shards," says A'rist's mouth. And then, he laughs, and reaches up a hand to scratch a finger along the bridge of his nose. "Here I thought I was being all hands-off for her." He raises his glass, drinks more, and hunches forward in his seat. "I didn't want Iceberg either. After shadowing with them. But," shrug. "Don't know if I'd want Savannah, either." A serious look, now, pinned on the brownrider. "They don't, like... it's all hush hush and whispers. Pretending. Keep running into that. Shadowed with them and it was interesting, but... I don't know, they're not upfront about anything." "Sorry." V'ros is ducking his head, grabbing his glass to drown his woes in; woe woe woe. His hand arrests a couple inches from his mouth, eyebrows lifting at A'rist's admission of where his hands have not been. He'll just glance away at that one, taking a long, slow drink. When his eyes come back around to the bronzerider, there's less awkwardness. "We start shadowing soon. Still, I want to.." pause, exhale "know what I'm getting into before I get.. into it." He keeps fidgeting. "I met with R'hin a couple times. This.. last time.. he said I wouldn't want to do sweeps the rest of.. my life. What else is there?" Turbulent eyes coming to rest on the younger, yet more knowledgeable, man. "Spying," offers A'rist, suddenly a bit louder, a bit angrier, a bit more Lythronian. "Manipulating. Pretending to be what you aren't. Lots of stuff." It all makes him sound younger, indeed, that harshness. Knowledgeable? Well. The bronzerider takes a page from V'ros' book, and finishes what's in his glass, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand quickly, where liquor has encouraged the corners of his lips to leak. "There's always more than sweeps anyway," is a bit calmer, more focused, "just depends how you want to go around doing it." V'ros is quiet while he digests what A'rist is saying. He looks somber, frowning and staring at a spot off to the bronzerider's left. "K'del and Azaylia let.. him? Them? Do all that sneaking and shady stuff?" His voice is strained, worried, but it relaxes with a quick exhale and he tries brandishing a weak, wavering smile. "What about you? Just sweeps? Do you ever want to be.. you know, more?" All those unspoken titles - Wingleader, Wingsecond, Weyrleader. Prize and glory. "I dunno," has the sense of washing his hands of the whole situation, coming out almost as a sigh. "I don't know what all they know or don't." A'rist reaches for the bottle, next, and for a brief moment, is entirely focused on the pouring. "At least Savannah's a real unit, I guess, though. Sounds like they're all in on it. Or most of 'em. From what E- from what I heard." Once his glass has another respectable amount at the bottom, he gives a solemn nod. "Lythronath almost won, you know." A whisper, a confidence, for all that many of the Weyr know it anyway. "For Zmeyth's clutch - that was almost his." He presses his lips together, swirls the glass. "Took a while before Cadejoth could fly again." A burst of wind howls through the lounge, filling the void as V'ros soundlessly watches his friend refill his glass from the quickly-emptying bottle. He hasn't touched his drink in a while, just held it listlessly in the one hand. "Do you wish he had?" he asks just as quietly, his forehead crinkled with thought processing. "Do you want to be Weyrleader?" His eyes lift to A'rist. "Can you handle.." At the end, he vaguely gestures to encompass.. everything, nothing, some of the things. Whatever he thinks it encompasses. A'rist shrugs, but it's not an easy motion. It's shrugging under all the weight of that question. Of that everything. "We probably wouldn't've been great at it. Probably would've relied on K'del, lots. Now..." He tilts his head from side to side, wavering, pensive. "I don't know. It's a problem, you know, when you need more, but there's... not." That brings a frown, a frown directed at his drink, for a while, before he thinks to look across again, and almost concludes, "I guess me and Lythronath, we aren't really normal for a Weyr. But what about you? Browns have done it before. Sort of." A'rist shrugs, but it's not an easy motion. It's shrugging under all the weight of that question. Of that everything. "We probably wouldn't've been great at it. Probably would've relied on K'del, lots. Now..." He tilts his head from side to side, wavering, pensive. "I don't know. It's a problem, you know, when you need more, but there's... not." That brings a frown, a frown directed at his drink, for a while, before he thinks to look across again, and almost concludes, "I guess me and Lythronath, we aren't really normal for a Weyr. But what about you? Browns have done it before. Sort of." V'ros drinks to that. He finishes off what was left in his own glass, but rather than reach for the bottle to pour himself something new, he lets his arm back down on the chair; his fingers curl around the glass. "K'del has a lot of experience. He seems to.. know what he's doing." But his lips come tightly together to form a thin line as he gazes passively at A'rist. "I don't want it. I don't want any of it." He scrubs a finger under his nose and leans back, rolling his shoulders in apparent discomfort - with the topic. "I can't.." inhale, "be here when she.." exhale, gesture weakly, "rises. I'm going to.. find something.. an excuse.. a reason.." But hey, that's less competition for Lythronath. "Yeah... When Cadejoth couldn't fly- when," amended, "Lythronath hurt him," and there's a clear point of eye contact, that whole situation firmly claimed, "me and him were taking K'del around. Me and Lynner. Learned a lot..." There's something important there. Important enough to pause for. He rotates his glass, but still doesn't lift it up. "There's lots of riders," comes soft, gentle, a total switch, the voice of the stablehand, calming a jittery runner, "who leave. And unless you're H'kon, leaving's usually a pretty safe bet." A smirk, unsympathetic, for the brownrider he knows only from recent history classes. Picking up on subtleties has never been V'ros' strong point and it's with a vaguely confused expression, eyes narrowed that he assesses the other man's words, meeting the straightforward stare. "You really want it," he says shortly, somehow melting further into his chair back; that can be the only deduction. He flexes his fingers around the glass, saying nothing as he digests this latest news, or what he thinks is the newest news. "Don't burn the Weyr down?" is his only sort-of advice, that has a querying edge to it, as he reaches for the bottle again; his fingers still around the neck, eyes slanting back to A'rist. "I couldn't.. handle that." Not as brave as H'kon. "K'del could put me on watchduty somewhere. Up north. Out of the way." It's A'rist's turn to shift, perhaps not as uncomfortable now as V'ros was a moment ago, but certainly... unsettled. "It's not somewhere we should be. Not yet. And I know that. But I won't- I'm not going to stop Lythronath trying for it." His voice has died to something of a whisper, again, and he twists in his chair, to peer out toward the ledge. Where his big, comet-streaked bronze is currently not. "Or just go fly. Or whatever it is you and Zmeyth do to hang out." Pause. "What do you and Zmeyth do, when you hang out?" "I'll support you." Simple statement, loyalty ignited - that's what friends do, right? V'ros tips the bottle, sloshing the liquor into his glass until he's satisfied with the result. Now the bottle is in a poor state. He licks his fingers where some of the liquid splashed back and shrugs. "Zmeyth likes to stick to home. He wants to know.. everything." He takes a tentative sip, not raising his eyes until he's finished. "He's not interested in flights yet. I don't know if he'll fight to chase, but.." He follows the bronzerider's focus out to the ledge. "Zmeyth tells me everything." There's a furtive look as he sinks further in his seat. "Things I don't.. want to know. Things he sees. People, places. He talks a lot." No smile accompanies his description of his dragon. And for that, A'rist will raise his glass, a brief toast - or thanks, maybe - and drink. The very concept of a homebody dragon seems foreign, makes the bronzerider wrinkle up his nose, almost a laugh, until V'ros nears the end of the description. "What sort of things does he tell you? What... what people?" V'ros gives A'rist a disconcerted frown. It says: do you really want to know? But he'll indulge. "Everything.. anything.. he sees. He has opinions on everything. I don't want to repeat the things he says about Quinlys," he mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. "He wants to know what's going on at all times. Where Cadejoth is. What his clutch mates are doing. How Solith is feeling today. Why people are talking about Telgar. Why I'm not sucking up to Azaylia more." He is drained by the mere explanation, shaking his head in the aftermath. "It's hard to get.. silence." "Huh," says A'rist. "Lynner, he doesn't talk. Not much. Doesn't care much, about other dragons or people, unless they're right there with him. He's like... I dunno, he's like this gut feeling that's super strong all the time. And," with another quick sip, "usually isn't about anything I'm doing. Well, except for, like, doing. Or fighting or stuff like that." He raises a hand to scratch at his face, sitting back in his chair, but only for a moment. Soon, the chill has him huddling some. "Does Zmeyth say anything about him?" And, to spare the suspense, "'Cause Lythronath, he mostly ignores Zmeyth, I think." V'ros might be jealous, and it might show a tad when A'rist is talking about Lythronath's lack of talking. He takes a decidedly long drink from his glass. "Zmeyth.." about Lythronath, "..he.." there's a hesitancy here, a slight reddening of his face as he admits to the egregious thought pattern of his dragon's, "..doesn't like Lythronath." But he'll stop there, spare the bronzerider the gory details. If they were both weyrlings, clutchmates, A'rist might be shocked or hurt. But he's been with Lythronath nearly three turns now. He just shrugs, and this one is an easy shrug. "There's not a lot of dragons who like him. Well, other than greens." A beat. "And," with some pride, "Hraedhyth. But I mean, he's kind of a dick. So." Live and let live. A'rist has a sip. Unfortunate that V'ros chooses that moment to take another drink. He comes up coughing and sputtering around a laugh. "I've never called him," Zmeyth, "that but yeah.. he is, too." He sighs and sets his glass down, pulling both sides of his jacket together. "It's stupid cold." Random observation, but with a lead up: "I bet the Snowasis is warmer. Or you've got places to be?" A'rist gets into laughing himself, at his own joke, at V'ros almost roundhousing, at all of it. "Well it's true!" manages to get out in between all the guffaws and stuff. The rest of that drink gets downed in one. "Shells, I got nowhere to be." He jumps to his feet, one hand pressing fingers onto the table to steady himself after the hop. "I told the girl who was gonna let me do her that I wasn't interested, 'member?" V'ros must remember. A'rist thought it, didn't he? Nevermind. "Snowasis it is!"
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Comments
Azaylia (22:22, 14 October 2014 (EDT)) said...
Aaah! *squeal* I loved this! The bromance is so strong, and they need each other, damn it. <3 A'rist and V'ros, my OTP. I loved getting to hear about how their dragons are, or how they feel. Fantastic. :D
Edyis (01:28, 15 October 2014 (EDT)) said...
For the record, Edyis never told anyone she slept with V'ros, and is not an engine to have parts. -sigh- MEN
This was hilarious to read. It was also fun to see into how the pair of them think. Azaylia already said everything else!
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