Logs:The Visionary and the Wise Man
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| RL Date: 22 June, 2012 |
| Who: R'hin, M'wen |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Old friends catch at an Igen Gather and talk of the goings on at Fort and High Reaches. |
| Where: Igen Hold |
| When: Day 18, Month 1, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| The day has been warm at Igen Hold -- the festivities of a gather including the usual frivolities. The desert cools quickly, however, and by sundown most people stick to the large tents that have been set up, occasionally ducking outside and bracing the cold winds as they move from tent to tent. Earlier that day, Maxeoth received a tantalizingly familiar touch of a certain bronze's thoughts, a simple image of Igen's resplendent colors, and little more. Backwinging with the expertise of a dragon repeating a manoeuvre done hundreds of times before, Maxeoth lands in the designated area on the outskirts of the Igen Gather. M'wen slides off the browns back, giving the dragon an affectionate slap on the side before turning to walk towards the many tents set up on the grounds. Behind him, Maxeoth lifts off to clear the landing area and wings off towards the best sunning grounds the hold has to offer at this time of year. Holding his jacket tighter around himself, M'wen sweeps his gaze around the grounds, searching. There's nothing obvious at first -- the gathered crowds hurry past the Fortian brownrider without a second glance. Finally, though, a young boy comes racing up to M'wen, blue eyes bright as he reaches up to tug on the rider's sleeve. "You should try the Nabol liqueur. It's really popular!" It's weird in an of itself for a boy to know that, let alone be able to repeat it. With a wink, the young boy points vaguely towards a grouping of tents, then skitters off through the crowd without a second glance. "The Nabol Liqueur?" M'wen asks quietly to himself, shaking his head slowly at the boys impudence (and retreating back). "Where is he?" is added, this time quiet enough only for himself. With a newfound vigour, the brownrider shifts his direction of travel towards the grouping of tents that was gestured at by the boy, going on the only lead available thus far. As he passes each tent, a quick glance is given inside, the twist of his lips getting more pronounced at each failure. It's the second-to-last tent that he sees... a familiar figure. It's the way he stands, the way he holds himself, so that even after all this time, R'hin's recognizable from behind purely through familiarity. He's chatting with the woman serving behind the bar -- a bottle of a orange-brown liquid and a couple of full shot glasses on the bar between them. "It's no fun drinking alone-- at least take a toast with me to Nabol, hm?" It's hard to resist that look, and the insistence of the bronzerider finally wins out, as the pair throw back a shot each after a dutiful clink of glasses. "Ah, now that is a good drink," he murmurs, appreciatively. Upon seeing the familiar figure, a slow smile starts appearing on M'wen's face, though he looks to be trying to contain it. A hesitant step is taken, a glance given to the serving woman before the brownrider resolutely wals forward, the smile on his face only partially hidden, despite his best efforts. A hand is drawn back as M'wen attempts to clap the bronzerider on the back in an effusive greeting as he approaches from behind. His only words spoken with the action are a, perhaps too loud, "R'hin!" R'hin can't quite conceal the slight wince -- either at the clap of his back or the loudness of M'wen's greeting isn't clear -- but he's all smiles as he turns to look at the brownrider. "M'wen, my friend. Just in time -- another glass please, Mirri," to the barmaid with an appreciative glance, before he focuses on M'wen, smile twitching his lips. "You're looking well, old man." M'wen takes the title in stride, shifting himself to be directly facing the bronzerider. The remark for another glass is met with an approving nod, a look given around the interior of the tent. With an obvious glance down and up to look-over R'hin, it is not unexpected when M'wen quips, "It doesn't look like I'm the only old man here, and I daresay the turns have treated me better." The laugh that comes from the ex-Weyrleader is familiar: a dark, acknowledging chuckle. "Touche, wise man. Here, another toast -- you're a doll, Mirri," R'hin directs to the barmaid with a friendly smile, lifting his glass and nudging the other towards M'wen, "To old friends." He lets the liqueur rest for a moment on his tongue before he swallows, the alcohol still rough in his voice as he continues after a flick of his gaze over the brownrider, "So, you're at Fort, of all places? Never thought I'd see the day..." "To old friends." M'wen intones solemnly as he takes the offered drink, swallowing the drink with little flourish. The comment gets a rough laugh from the brownrider, the laughter creeping up into the corners of his eyes. "I don't yet know why I was transferred. I dare not pry too hard lest they think I'm some sort of nefarious spy. I had a weyrling accuse me of just that, though in more words, just a few sevendays ago. All I wanted to know was why their Weyrwoman was scarred and relinquishing her position to a barely trained young woman." A shrug. "Though I've so far decided not to bring up their illustrious history, so I may be safe yet from a tongue lashing." Dropping a few marks on the bar, R'hin grins at Mirri. "You won't mind if we serve ourselves for a moment or two? Promise I'll come back with the bottle... personally." The barmaid flushes and murmurs an agreement, as the bronzerider grabs the bottle with one hand, gesturing towards a table in the far corner of the tent. "A weyrling, really?" the Monaco rider seems surprised. "Maybe the Fortians have grown more balls since the last time I ventured there," he gives a careless shrug as he sinks down into his seat. "Interesting," he adds, at M'wen's summation. "When you find out," not if, "I'd be curious to know, too. Can never hurt to be up on the latest politics of any Weyr, let alone the most illustrious," he echoes M'wen's own tone with a wider smile, and a tip of the bottle that appears to be an offer to refill the other rider's glass. Following behind the bronzerider as if the intervening turns since their last visit were but days, M'wen takes his seat only moments after R'hin. "Yes, a weyrling. I don't think he realized that I am the M'wen." He gives a small chuckle, the last remark clearly meant as a joke. "At Fort, something was going on between them and Boll, the Weyrwoman was attacked and someone or a group of people are trying to either murder riders or make it look that way. Asking others to explain this to me was met with either wide eyed innocence or suspicious belligerence." M'wen leans his glass towards the bottle, a faint nod in agreement for a refill of the liqueur. "I discovered at least 2 firelizards have been killed, also. On the positive side, I convinced the weyrling through my wonderful charms to bring to me any information he finds about these events in the Weyr. He claimed initially to not be a spy, but agreed to do just that." "And that your reputation should proceed you?" R'hin says, laughingly. "It's been a long time since we were in their position, wise man," the bronzerider says, refilling both glasses and setting it aside, leaning forward -- pale eyes fixed on the other rider. "Some things never change," he murmurs, but there's something amused, pleased, even, and definitely approving in his tone. "You dislike the shackles of authority but you play so well." A small smirk plays on the corner of M'wen's lips at the bronzeriders usage of his old title, "It used to be all bowing and scraping, and now it's become a-" He puts on a higer pitched false voice, "-who are you and why should you care what's happening in the Weyr." He lets out a short bark of a laugh, before adding, "And before you accuse me of anything, I convinced the boy by telling him only the truth. Information is worth much more to me than marks and it should to him as well. He seemed to feel that his offer to share any information found extended to me telling him as well." A thoughtful look crosses his face, as he adds more quietly, "I guess I shall see how much he ends up needing to know from me." The last comment gets palms raised in denial from the brownrider, "It's not that I dislike the shackles of authority, just that-" His words trail of into a frown, "-well, I guess when you use words like -shackles-, I can't go and say I don't mind." "Apologies," R'hin gives a low-throated chuckle, "Shackles is perhaps too harsh a word?" His apology -- such that it is -- is accompanied by a refill of the other's glass, perhaps to further smooth things over. "I've spent a lot of time away from the Weyrs over the last decade or so. It gets harder and harder to continue to adjust to the authoritarian nature of the Weyrs. Though Monaco, at least," there's a twist of lips that is perhaps closer to a grimace, "Is content to use me, when they must." He lifts a hand to rub at his chin, thoughtfully, something sad and wistful in his voice as he says, "I went to High Reaches, for the first time since..." a pause, and he doesn't bother even trying to continue, "A lot has changed, and a lot has stayed the same. Their Weyrwomen," something bright and fond creeps into his pale gaze, "Still cause trouble. Though I can't honestly say if that thought pleases me or terrifies me." "How the mighty have fallen," M'wen offers, a sympathetic look on his face to show no insult was intended. "The Weyrs do what they feel they must. How could the Weyr's remove their tiers when there are riders and weyrlings who still believe that it is a virtue," He hits the table with a palm of his hand in emphasis, "a virtue to obsequiously obey whatever commands come their way." He takes another drink, this time with no hesitation as it goes down his throat. "the High Reaches... I haven't been for more than a few moments in probably 10 turns now. I lost my only reasons to stay. It is-" He pauses as if considering the word, "-good to hear the Weyrwomen still have fire in their bellies." "Mm. Well that remains to be seen, given they currently have no senior." Try as he might, R'hin can't hide that hint of interest, that gleam of gaze from one of his oldest friends. He's intrigued. Intrigued enough to return to the High Reaches, though? That seems doubtful, after all this time. He takes a moment to studying M'wen, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a smile. "I've missed your guidance," he says, simply, honestly. "I've missed..." M'wen lets out a low sigh, eyes downcast. "After I transferred to Southern, I was a normal wingrider. I did my duties, paid my respects to the Weyrleaders and mentored those young ones who would seek me out. It was all so passive." The last word is spot out as if poison. "I almost can say that I miss the drama, as macabre as that is with how things turned out." He forces out a smile, small but genuine, "I missed your company also. I have yet to meet another who really makes me to want to aim for the best, and not just accept things as they are." He shakes his head with a self deprecatory grin plastered foolishly on his face, "But what are we but too old fools reminiscing about the good ol' days." "Tutoring the young is never passive. Finding the gems in the rough, teaching them their potential... that is worthy work," R'hin says, leaning forward, eyes bright and intensity filling his words. He chuckles, lips twisting wryly as he says, "It's probably been for the best. I'm sure you've gotten punched less, gotten thrown out of far less Weyrs, not being in my immediate presence." Another gulp of liquid, and he leans forward to clap the other rider on the back. "What are you talking about, wise man? We're in our prime! Youthful ideas have not yet left me, and my body remains a fount of energy through which to fulfill my grand visions of the future." There's a gleam of gaze from the lean bronzerider, amused. "That sounds- familiar." M'wen replies, idly playing with the glass between his thumb and forefinger. "While I trust you, I see leaders say a similar thing when they give busywork to the drudges." A palm is pushed outward as if brushing away that thought. The last remark is met with a grin, despite the appearances of it being attempted to be hidden, "You never did seem the one to give up on a dream. I won't either." Standing to his feet, suddenly it would seem, M'wen gives a half smile, the regret obvious in its appearance, "Alas, I must return to my Weyr and my duties. I answer to the Weyrleader now and cannot stay out on my whims. Clear skies R'hin and I hope that our next meeting is not so long in the making." "It won't be," R'hin says, with a quiet certainty. A last tip of his glass is his farewell, and salute, to M'wen, before he rises and ventures over towards the barmaid again. |
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