[M'try] M'try and T'rev talk of things Istan and Flint... an? Flintly? Flintish? Wing stuff.
RL Date: 2/25/20
IC Date: 1/19/22
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
Hey, guess what! It's totally snowing outside! Which means, of course, that half the Weyr's crammed inside, and it sometimes seems like better than half of those people are jam-packed in this one little room. It's stuffy, it smells like wet sweaters, it's loud with some kids playing a board-game on the floor in front of the fire and some aunties dozing off on the sofa. And there's a brownrider just packing up his stuff of one of the tables, smiling deferentially to the sewing-circle of women who've come to commandeer it. No, M'try can't even stand up to the needle-bearers.
Speaking of snowy, here comes one snowy Weyrleader, cheeks reddened by wind, snow caught in the edges of his hair and still speckling his jacket. Basically, he looks chilled and like he was just out in this mess. Probably blown in ahead of the full fury of he storm about to unleash. A distracted hand sweeps through snowy curls and T'rev scans the room, clearly looking for someone. Who he finds though is M'try and his gaze halts there for a moment, before he changes his course to draw near the brownrider. "M'try. G'day."
"Is it?" M'try asks, glancing up briefly to take in the snowy state of the Weyrleader, his brows knitting. "It seemed like a snowy day to me. So I suppose it comes down to your definition of 'good.'" He mulls that over for a second or two longer before settling on a shrug, eyes tracking toward the women who would very much like 'their' table, though they show a little more patience with T'rev around. Him being the head honcho and all. "But hello, sir, since I think that's where you were really going with that."
"Good enough in spite of bein' snowy as all get out," T'rev says with a little grin and rubs his hands together, staving off chill. "Got a few minutes?" Though he slants a look towards covetous looking aunties. "Could go for a hot drink m'self, if you want to shift over to the Fountain. I'll buy?"
In an undertone, a stage whisper, M'try inquires, "Are you as afraid of them as I am, then? Heartening." Looping his satchel safely closed, slinging it over one shoulder, snagging his coat off the back of his chair to fold it over his arm, he stand with a gratified smile. "I've certainly got a few minutes if you're asking for them, sir, and I won't say no to a free drink. If you ladies will pardon us?" Seeing as they've already slid themselves into the chairs and spread out their work... "I assume you will."
Laughter: "Not so much, just better to be comfortable, right?" More snow swept from hair and T'rev grimaces at the melt-water on his fingers, wipes it off on his trousers. "Enjoy the space ladies," he directs to the aunties with a charming smile for the lot of them then hitches his head towards the bar and heads that way. "Yeah, got a thing or two to bring you up to speed on."
Just so the whole Giant Coward Theme isn't broken, M'try points out, "It worries me when important people say things like that, sir. Especially tandem with 'let's go some place less crowded,' if you'll pardon the paraphrase." But he trails along like a good boy, both sounding and looking less worried than he pretends.
T'rev laughs all the more. "Not sure how much less crowded the Fountain'll be on a day like today with a blizzard howlin' in from the north, but I'm willin' to bet it smells better in there," he notes with a wink and keeps on walking bar-wards.
T'rev heads around the corner into the inner caverns.
You head down the hall to The Glass Fountain.
The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$)
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.
"More like liquor, less like damp wool," M'try remarks upon entering, adding a delicate sniff. --Wait, a manly sniff. Manly. "Arguably less crowded. At least, there seem to be fewer old aunties here, and, as they take up more space per person, it seems less crowded." Considering his burdens, it might make sense that he hopes for the former when he asks, "So, sir, is this a table conversation or a bar conversation?"
"Beer, whiskey and rum," T'rev confirms with a friendly wave towards the barkeep. His path is already curving towards one of the last booths still open, towards the rear of the room. He eyeballs M'try's stuff. "I'm thinkin' to be comfortable, we can sit back yonder." Sasha's already perking up seeing who's come in and is tugging her blouse down a little, patting at her hair as T'rev steers a course for that booth and flops down into it. "Mostly, aimin' to ask you a little more about Ista and also feel you out about doing more lookin' around for the Weyr and the wing in particular."
With another sniff; "I think it might mostly be the beer." The cheapest drink, sounds about right? M'try has absolutely no shot in hell with Sasha, so he only gives her the kind of polite smile that patrons spare for tenders, unburdening himself into the booth before sliding in across from T'rev. There's a very brief pause-- feel him out, /out/, the preposition he hoped for but maybe wasn't real sure about-- and then he takes a breath and a following-along nod. "I'll assume you don't mean looking around Ista? I think I might be a hair's breadth from banned."
Once sat, T'rev peels out of his jacket and piles up wet gear off to the side of the bench, unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls up the cuffs halfway. "Shells it was nasty out there," he says feelingly and rolls his head to and fro and shoots M'try a brief look from across the table. "No. Not looking around anymore, not there anyway. But maybe some other places. We'll be lucky yeah, if you don't get your ass kicked out of Ista, given they've been askin' for a meeting about you for a couple weeks now. Been puttin' them off a little in light of what you've brought back." Sasha being Sasha, M'try's chances might be better than he thinks as she sashays on over and reaches over to tousle the Weyrleader's hair. "Shells you got wet, sir," she says with wide-eyed expression. "Bet you boys could use something to warm up, hm? What'll it be?" And yeah, she probably doesn't mean /just/ drinks. "Hot buttered rum for me, please, Sasha," T'rev says with a friendly smile though he lifts her hand out of his hair, kisses the back and then releases it. Flattery, but removal of hand from person all in one.
Flat; "Well, if they weren't lying their asses off, they wouldn't have to worry about kicking mine out." And, though it's on T'rev's nickel, M'try still adds a simple, "Just a beer, please." He watches Sasha go for a second, shakes his head to clear whatever thought he was entertaining for a second there, and it's back to, "I don't think I necessarily handled the Ista situation with the delicacy that I should have, but I can, contrary to past evidence, not give away my entire hand right away. I just wasn't expecting a bald-faced lie. From the Weyrwoman. Of all people."
"Yeah, I know, M'try," T'rev says quietly, coin on the table for Sasha as she sashays away and for all he was doing the whole 'please don't get so familiar with me' thing just now, he shoots a like look after the server's behind. "Mm, understood. And I think generally you've had all that delicacy training from harper, and that's something I'd like to use some in Flint as we do a bunch of outreach stuff and also, maybe to help ome of your wingmates to /learn/ it."
Speaking of delicacy-- "Which wingmates?" M'try may not lay out the list of people he hates, but there are obviously some reservations there. "To some extent, I'm not sure how much you can teach it, but I'm not opposed to trying. Though, to be fair, I think you might get better results if you engage the Hall. There are men who have spent their whole lives studying etiquette and politics. I spent most of mine drawing butterflies and..." ...the other stuff that T'rev knows about, indicated in a wave of his inky fingers.
"The ones who're going to be focusing on this kind of thing. The whole wing won't be - some of our riders aren't really suited for it and they'll continue to do other things," T'rev explains and rests his elbows on the table. "Yeah. Could. My father for one," he notes with a wry grin. "But consider something for you to learn about too. Teaching. Two way street."
M'try looks ceilingward for a moment, his eyes rounding while he thinks, while he searches again for that delicacy. Though why he bothers searching since he seems permanently stuck with it... "Would it come across as particularly vain if I remarked that I think I'm already a good teacher? Or, at the very least, better than middling?"
"Then ... why say you don't think you'd get good results?" T'rev points out, gaze steady on the brownrider's face. An interruption presents itself in the form of Sasha's return with hot rum for the chilled Weyrleader and prosaic beer for M'try. "Here you go boys! Just wiggle your fingers if you want more!" And she's off once T'rev's slipped her a tip.
M'try waits until Sasha's come and gone to answer the question, using his beer as a way to half-hide his smirk when he reports, "Because I've met most of the men in the Wing by now, sir? It's one thing to teach a Harper etiquette-- or a child to paint, for example. It's another thing entirely to teach a grown man something like that. But." He tips the mug faintly. "I'm certainly willing to try, sir." Drinks to effort.
"Man or woman," T'rev says with a loose grin of his own and curls his hands around his drink, not sipping yet. "And yeah. Wouldn't put say, T'zam on this because he's pretty set in his was and likely lookin' to step out of active wing duties in the next couple of turns, for instance."
"I find it prudent to pretend I don't notice women most of the time. Something about 'if you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to gouge out your eyes, you creepy little pervert.'" Another drink. "Tell me who, sir, and I'll be happy to give it a try." Note that M'try makes no promises about the end results.
"Given how many of your wingmates are women ... something else you might need to work on," T'rev says good-naturedly and finally lifts his mug to drink. Then he lists off riders, including Y'nolek. "Might check in with At're about this too. Him being Blood and all and trained as a guard, though his area of diplomacy is a little bit different. Like making prisoners talk," he notes deadpan, has another drink.
M'try doesn't argue. Exactly. But he doesn't jump right on the 'sure, I'll work on that' wagon. Then comes the remark about At're and he snickers, wipes his chin with a swipe of his index finger before he speaks again. "You are aware that At're doesn't like me, right? Not in the 'making prisoners talk' sense. I hope. But he only tolerates my presence because people would think he was being a bully if he beat me senseless."
That does lift T'rev's brows upward. "Uh - no. I hadn't gotten wind of any disagreements between the two of you. Hm. Well then, something else that might need managing. There's ... some things I was hoping you two could do together," the Weyrleader notes.
"There haven't specifically been any disagreements. Certainly not any that would come to the attention of the Weyrleader." M'try thinks back through all those borderline interactions with the bronzerider, then decides he's right and nods at his own summary. "But unless 'some things' involves him drowning me, which I'm assuming it doesn't..." Also, since it bears mentioning, he leans over a touch and adds, "I don't think he knows about Isobel and me, by the way. So if we could keep that from ever coming up. Ever. That would be great for me."
"Gotcha," T'rev drawls out slowly and his face does quirky things at 'drowning me'. "No, no drownin', just keeping up good relations with our neighbors and tryin' to avoid issues like what we had with Fort Sea. Was hoping that with his connections to Gar, he could do that there and Jiella some for Fort Sea though that's it's own barrel of fish and Dashaya with Peyton of course. Other folks with other places." Another swallow from his mug and T'rev nods at that request. "'Course. Can't have the two of you comin' to blows over that."
Truly a touch confused about it, M'try asks, "Who would be whose keeper, in that case? Frankly, I think I'm better behaved than At're, but I may have a negative bias." And he's okay with that!
"Neither, the idea would be to balance each other out," T'rev says slowly. "Overcome differences I guess, since there are some. But ... maybe what I've been thinkin' around won't work out," he muses thoughtfully.
"What, precisely, were you thinking? Because I do think we could manage not to kill each other." Another calculated pause. "At least, I'm fairly sure I won't kill him." Not capable of killing him. M'try cocks his head to return to the question, has another swallow of beer in the interim.
"Hold visits, checking in on folks, asking about how they're doing, taking up some of the official kind of visits to places like Gar or Ruatha River," T'rev ticks off on his fingers. "If that's interesting, and something you'd feel comfortable with, of course." Pause. "And of course, there's whether or not the poking around at Ista might reflect poorly or not. But that should get sorted out in a few days when Cirse and I go there with Hattie to talk things out with Ista's Weyrleaders."
M'try's brow twitches tellingly, Gar? But he doesn't argue about it, just nods and comments, "I've never been to Ruatha River and wouldn't mind an excuse." After T'rev's pause and the remarks that follow, he twitches both brows and finishes his drink promptly. With a breath out; "Why would 'poking around at Ista,' with which term I'm not wholly comfortable, by the way. But why would it reflect poorly? On Fort? Because there are ways around that. On me specifically? I haven't technically done anything wrong."
"No you haven't, but it depends on how it gets spun by Ista, if they do," T'rev says quietly and looks down at the table, pushes his mug back and forth between his hands. "That's something I've been dealing with a lot this turn. How things /look/ or how they get said instead of you know, the truth. What /is/." Breath out. "My intention is to defend you of course. What a rider sees by accident when he happens to go somewhere isn't his fault."
"Except it wasn't an accident, and I'll happily admit to spying on them just as soon as they admit that there was a good reason for it." Certain, M'try adds, "No matter how they spin it, sir, the Weyrwoman still lied. If I have to take a slap on the wrist, so be it, but I would still like to know why. Because, frankly, if you really start connecting the dots..." He taps his index finger on the table in front of him, dot to dot to dot. "...it doesn't look good."
"That's something we'll be lookin' into figuring out yeah," T'rev says with a little nod. "But all I'm saying is that if we don't have any ground to stand on and Ista registers a complaint, it could get out and people might get to know you as a spy, see? Most spies, I guess half the point is that you don't know they're spies until it's too late, right?" He lets out a quiet sigh and lifts his mug drinks deep, then sets it down. "Either way, no, things don't look particularly good. And it's kind of baffling."
M'try, in a really-now tone, points out, "If I was a spy, sir, why would I have gone directly to the Weyrwoman about it? At least some part of me hoped she would be truly baffled about the involvement of her bronzeriders, not that she'd fabricate the most transparent lie I've ever heard. Ever." Briefly, fingers threaded through his hair from front-to-back, scalp scratched with the ends of his fingers, he exhales a long sigh of frustration. "I hope you get to the bottom of it, sir, I really do." Just not banking on it.
"I know M'try," T'rev says with a laugh. "But you said it yourself that you'd say you were, and the implications in the letters from Ista are along those lines," he adds and makes a face, sets his mug down and shoves both hands up through his hair in a funny perhaps, mirroring of the brownrider's gesture, though he tugs, rather than scratching. "Yeah. I just don't get why Ista /would/ be covering for riders who were doing something shady." One hand drops, scrubs at the side of his face. "I'll let you know how it shakes down of course. And we wouldn't hang you out to dry, either way."
With a short laugh, M'try notes, "I'm not particularly worried about it, sir." Being hung out to dry. "What's the very worst that could happen? My career in intrigue is cut short? It would certainly leave more time for painting, and, frankly, I'm starting to think it would be a more productive way to pass the time." His eyes roll before he reiterates, "It was a very bad lie, Nenita's. That I didn't see what I think that I saw?" /Him/?
"Good," T'rev says for not worried and then laughs. "Well if you've got more time for that, I'm not going to complain," the Weyrleader continues jovially. "And painting portraits around Pern could be a lot easier with a dragon," he points out further. The last purses his lips and he shakes his head. "Sounds ... really bad."
Like it's only just occurring to him, M'try notes, "I actually hate painting portraits. But." Breath. Shrug. "That's where the money is. The big money, that is. What I do is just pocket change." What purses T'rev's lips flares M'try's nostrils, has him point out, "It was insulting more than anything. /My/ eyes don't play tricks on me."
"You do? Huh. Well then, maybe I shouldn't be askin' you to do it again?" T'rev queries about M'try's 'artistic' tendencies. His head tilts to the side though as M'try gets just a little hot under the collar. "Did she say that? That your eyes were playin' tricks on you, or did she mean that what you saw wasn't necessarily what it looked like, as in, maybe they weren't really makin' a deal, but were trying to flush out the raiders. 'Course, the Weyrwoman's behavior might put the lie to that. But from what I gather, Nenita's got a lot of pride about Ista."
M'try, with another chuckle, explains, "I meant the 'can you paint this so it doesn't look like I have three chins and a giant mole on the end of my nose' sort of portraits, sir. Though a live model might take some getting used to." He trails off on that thought, eyes briefly glazed to think through all the possibilities-- could be more fun with a hot chick instead of the Weyrleader? Anyway. "She said that it wasn't L'hai that I saw, that I leapt to some conclusions, and that she can't trust my eyes. So I'm very happy that she's proud of her Weyr, that's lovely for her, but she's still a liar."
"They really do that? Shells," T'rev shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck. "Mm. Could be fun though, with the right company." Clearly thinking along similar lines. "Riiight," T'rev drawls out at that last and lets out a small sound of disgust. "We'll get it figured out," he says determinedly, then leans out of the booth to flag Sasha down again. "Hungry?"
M'try waves off the hungry question, just a quick flicker of his fingers before he reaches to collect his satchel and jacket with that same hand. "Not really, sir, but thank you for asking. I really better..." Go do something in a blizzard? Sometimes, M'try's errands are best left undefined. "Good luck with the Istans, when the time comes."
"Be careful flyin' back up to your weyr," T'rev says sincerely. "Take some extra fuel along with in case we get whiteout conditions. The wind was comin' up pretty fierce," the Weyrleader informs helpfully. "And thanks. For now ... I think a bit of something to eat for me. I was down at Boll then up at the Hold most of the day."
To all that advice at once, M'try says a simple, "Will do, sir. Enjoy your lunch." Off he goes, to do M'try-stuff.
IC Date: 1/19/22
Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
While not nearly as large as the living cavern, the commons do serve something of a similar purpose as a gathering point for residents. There are a few scattered tables and chairs, with a section of counter carved from the native granite for general use. The typically cool floors are covered with a handful of rugs, while tapestries serve to blunt the chill emanating from the walls. Lighting is provided through glow baskets for the most part, although some individuals might bring in a lantern if they think to.
It's a fair bit quieter than the living cavern and is designed more as a location for residents to meet and work on whatever work needs to be done -- mending, cleaning, and tending to children are only a small sampling of the things that can be seen going on here. It's most active later in the day, after the bulk of the work is done and people start to settle in for the night, but it's never empty of people.
It also serves as a hub for a variety of useful caverns -- the nursery is located across from the residents' dorms, with the bathing cavern situated between the two. The candidates barracks are somewhat off to the side, closest to the tunnel that leads back out to the inner caverns.
Hey, guess what! It's totally snowing outside! Which means, of course, that half the Weyr's crammed inside, and it sometimes seems like better than half of those people are jam-packed in this one little room. It's stuffy, it smells like wet sweaters, it's loud with some kids playing a board-game on the floor in front of the fire and some aunties dozing off on the sofa. And there's a brownrider just packing up his stuff of one of the tables, smiling deferentially to the sewing-circle of women who've come to commandeer it. No, M'try can't even stand up to the needle-bearers.
Speaking of snowy, here comes one snowy Weyrleader, cheeks reddened by wind, snow caught in the edges of his hair and still speckling his jacket. Basically, he looks chilled and like he was just out in this mess. Probably blown in ahead of the full fury of he storm about to unleash. A distracted hand sweeps through snowy curls and T'rev scans the room, clearly looking for someone. Who he finds though is M'try and his gaze halts there for a moment, before he changes his course to draw near the brownrider. "M'try. G'day."
"Is it?" M'try asks, glancing up briefly to take in the snowy state of the Weyrleader, his brows knitting. "It seemed like a snowy day to me. So I suppose it comes down to your definition of 'good.'" He mulls that over for a second or two longer before settling on a shrug, eyes tracking toward the women who would very much like 'their' table, though they show a little more patience with T'rev around. Him being the head honcho and all. "But hello, sir, since I think that's where you were really going with that."
"Good enough in spite of bein' snowy as all get out," T'rev says with a little grin and rubs his hands together, staving off chill. "Got a few minutes?" Though he slants a look towards covetous looking aunties. "Could go for a hot drink m'self, if you want to shift over to the Fountain. I'll buy?"
In an undertone, a stage whisper, M'try inquires, "Are you as afraid of them as I am, then? Heartening." Looping his satchel safely closed, slinging it over one shoulder, snagging his coat off the back of his chair to fold it over his arm, he stand with a gratified smile. "I've certainly got a few minutes if you're asking for them, sir, and I won't say no to a free drink. If you ladies will pardon us?" Seeing as they've already slid themselves into the chairs and spread out their work... "I assume you will."
Laughter: "Not so much, just better to be comfortable, right?" More snow swept from hair and T'rev grimaces at the melt-water on his fingers, wipes it off on his trousers. "Enjoy the space ladies," he directs to the aunties with a charming smile for the lot of them then hitches his head towards the bar and heads that way. "Yeah, got a thing or two to bring you up to speed on."
Just so the whole Giant Coward Theme isn't broken, M'try points out, "It worries me when important people say things like that, sir. Especially tandem with 'let's go some place less crowded,' if you'll pardon the paraphrase." But he trails along like a good boy, both sounding and looking less worried than he pretends.
T'rev laughs all the more. "Not sure how much less crowded the Fountain'll be on a day like today with a blizzard howlin' in from the north, but I'm willin' to bet it smells better in there," he notes with a wink and keeps on walking bar-wards.
T'rev heads around the corner into the inner caverns.
You head down the hall to The Glass Fountain.
The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$)
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.
"More like liquor, less like damp wool," M'try remarks upon entering, adding a delicate sniff. --Wait, a manly sniff. Manly. "Arguably less crowded. At least, there seem to be fewer old aunties here, and, as they take up more space per person, it seems less crowded." Considering his burdens, it might make sense that he hopes for the former when he asks, "So, sir, is this a table conversation or a bar conversation?"
"Beer, whiskey and rum," T'rev confirms with a friendly wave towards the barkeep. His path is already curving towards one of the last booths still open, towards the rear of the room. He eyeballs M'try's stuff. "I'm thinkin' to be comfortable, we can sit back yonder." Sasha's already perking up seeing who's come in and is tugging her blouse down a little, patting at her hair as T'rev steers a course for that booth and flops down into it. "Mostly, aimin' to ask you a little more about Ista and also feel you out about doing more lookin' around for the Weyr and the wing in particular."
With another sniff; "I think it might mostly be the beer." The cheapest drink, sounds about right? M'try has absolutely no shot in hell with Sasha, so he only gives her the kind of polite smile that patrons spare for tenders, unburdening himself into the booth before sliding in across from T'rev. There's a very brief pause-- feel him out, /out/, the preposition he hoped for but maybe wasn't real sure about-- and then he takes a breath and a following-along nod. "I'll assume you don't mean looking around Ista? I think I might be a hair's breadth from banned."
Once sat, T'rev peels out of his jacket and piles up wet gear off to the side of the bench, unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls up the cuffs halfway. "Shells it was nasty out there," he says feelingly and rolls his head to and fro and shoots M'try a brief look from across the table. "No. Not looking around anymore, not there anyway. But maybe some other places. We'll be lucky yeah, if you don't get your ass kicked out of Ista, given they've been askin' for a meeting about you for a couple weeks now. Been puttin' them off a little in light of what you've brought back." Sasha being Sasha, M'try's chances might be better than he thinks as she sashays on over and reaches over to tousle the Weyrleader's hair. "Shells you got wet, sir," she says with wide-eyed expression. "Bet you boys could use something to warm up, hm? What'll it be?" And yeah, she probably doesn't mean /just/ drinks. "Hot buttered rum for me, please, Sasha," T'rev says with a friendly smile though he lifts her hand out of his hair, kisses the back and then releases it. Flattery, but removal of hand from person all in one.
Flat; "Well, if they weren't lying their asses off, they wouldn't have to worry about kicking mine out." And, though it's on T'rev's nickel, M'try still adds a simple, "Just a beer, please." He watches Sasha go for a second, shakes his head to clear whatever thought he was entertaining for a second there, and it's back to, "I don't think I necessarily handled the Ista situation with the delicacy that I should have, but I can, contrary to past evidence, not give away my entire hand right away. I just wasn't expecting a bald-faced lie. From the Weyrwoman. Of all people."
"Yeah, I know, M'try," T'rev says quietly, coin on the table for Sasha as she sashays away and for all he was doing the whole 'please don't get so familiar with me' thing just now, he shoots a like look after the server's behind. "Mm, understood. And I think generally you've had all that delicacy training from harper, and that's something I'd like to use some in Flint as we do a bunch of outreach stuff and also, maybe to help ome of your wingmates to /learn/ it."
Speaking of delicacy-- "Which wingmates?" M'try may not lay out the list of people he hates, but there are obviously some reservations there. "To some extent, I'm not sure how much you can teach it, but I'm not opposed to trying. Though, to be fair, I think you might get better results if you engage the Hall. There are men who have spent their whole lives studying etiquette and politics. I spent most of mine drawing butterflies and..." ...the other stuff that T'rev knows about, indicated in a wave of his inky fingers.
"The ones who're going to be focusing on this kind of thing. The whole wing won't be - some of our riders aren't really suited for it and they'll continue to do other things," T'rev explains and rests his elbows on the table. "Yeah. Could. My father for one," he notes with a wry grin. "But consider something for you to learn about too. Teaching. Two way street."
M'try looks ceilingward for a moment, his eyes rounding while he thinks, while he searches again for that delicacy. Though why he bothers searching since he seems permanently stuck with it... "Would it come across as particularly vain if I remarked that I think I'm already a good teacher? Or, at the very least, better than middling?"
"Then ... why say you don't think you'd get good results?" T'rev points out, gaze steady on the brownrider's face. An interruption presents itself in the form of Sasha's return with hot rum for the chilled Weyrleader and prosaic beer for M'try. "Here you go boys! Just wiggle your fingers if you want more!" And she's off once T'rev's slipped her a tip.
M'try waits until Sasha's come and gone to answer the question, using his beer as a way to half-hide his smirk when he reports, "Because I've met most of the men in the Wing by now, sir? It's one thing to teach a Harper etiquette-- or a child to paint, for example. It's another thing entirely to teach a grown man something like that. But." He tips the mug faintly. "I'm certainly willing to try, sir." Drinks to effort.
"Man or woman," T'rev says with a loose grin of his own and curls his hands around his drink, not sipping yet. "And yeah. Wouldn't put say, T'zam on this because he's pretty set in his was and likely lookin' to step out of active wing duties in the next couple of turns, for instance."
"I find it prudent to pretend I don't notice women most of the time. Something about 'if you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to gouge out your eyes, you creepy little pervert.'" Another drink. "Tell me who, sir, and I'll be happy to give it a try." Note that M'try makes no promises about the end results.
"Given how many of your wingmates are women ... something else you might need to work on," T'rev says good-naturedly and finally lifts his mug to drink. Then he lists off riders, including Y'nolek. "Might check in with At're about this too. Him being Blood and all and trained as a guard, though his area of diplomacy is a little bit different. Like making prisoners talk," he notes deadpan, has another drink.
M'try doesn't argue. Exactly. But he doesn't jump right on the 'sure, I'll work on that' wagon. Then comes the remark about At're and he snickers, wipes his chin with a swipe of his index finger before he speaks again. "You are aware that At're doesn't like me, right? Not in the 'making prisoners talk' sense. I hope. But he only tolerates my presence because people would think he was being a bully if he beat me senseless."
That does lift T'rev's brows upward. "Uh - no. I hadn't gotten wind of any disagreements between the two of you. Hm. Well then, something else that might need managing. There's ... some things I was hoping you two could do together," the Weyrleader notes.
"There haven't specifically been any disagreements. Certainly not any that would come to the attention of the Weyrleader." M'try thinks back through all those borderline interactions with the bronzerider, then decides he's right and nods at his own summary. "But unless 'some things' involves him drowning me, which I'm assuming it doesn't..." Also, since it bears mentioning, he leans over a touch and adds, "I don't think he knows about Isobel and me, by the way. So if we could keep that from ever coming up. Ever. That would be great for me."
"Gotcha," T'rev drawls out slowly and his face does quirky things at 'drowning me'. "No, no drownin', just keeping up good relations with our neighbors and tryin' to avoid issues like what we had with Fort Sea. Was hoping that with his connections to Gar, he could do that there and Jiella some for Fort Sea though that's it's own barrel of fish and Dashaya with Peyton of course. Other folks with other places." Another swallow from his mug and T'rev nods at that request. "'Course. Can't have the two of you comin' to blows over that."
Truly a touch confused about it, M'try asks, "Who would be whose keeper, in that case? Frankly, I think I'm better behaved than At're, but I may have a negative bias." And he's okay with that!
"Neither, the idea would be to balance each other out," T'rev says slowly. "Overcome differences I guess, since there are some. But ... maybe what I've been thinkin' around won't work out," he muses thoughtfully.
"What, precisely, were you thinking? Because I do think we could manage not to kill each other." Another calculated pause. "At least, I'm fairly sure I won't kill him." Not capable of killing him. M'try cocks his head to return to the question, has another swallow of beer in the interim.
"Hold visits, checking in on folks, asking about how they're doing, taking up some of the official kind of visits to places like Gar or Ruatha River," T'rev ticks off on his fingers. "If that's interesting, and something you'd feel comfortable with, of course." Pause. "And of course, there's whether or not the poking around at Ista might reflect poorly or not. But that should get sorted out in a few days when Cirse and I go there with Hattie to talk things out with Ista's Weyrleaders."
M'try's brow twitches tellingly, Gar? But he doesn't argue about it, just nods and comments, "I've never been to Ruatha River and wouldn't mind an excuse." After T'rev's pause and the remarks that follow, he twitches both brows and finishes his drink promptly. With a breath out; "Why would 'poking around at Ista,' with which term I'm not wholly comfortable, by the way. But why would it reflect poorly? On Fort? Because there are ways around that. On me specifically? I haven't technically done anything wrong."
"No you haven't, but it depends on how it gets spun by Ista, if they do," T'rev says quietly and looks down at the table, pushes his mug back and forth between his hands. "That's something I've been dealing with a lot this turn. How things /look/ or how they get said instead of you know, the truth. What /is/." Breath out. "My intention is to defend you of course. What a rider sees by accident when he happens to go somewhere isn't his fault."
"Except it wasn't an accident, and I'll happily admit to spying on them just as soon as they admit that there was a good reason for it." Certain, M'try adds, "No matter how they spin it, sir, the Weyrwoman still lied. If I have to take a slap on the wrist, so be it, but I would still like to know why. Because, frankly, if you really start connecting the dots..." He taps his index finger on the table in front of him, dot to dot to dot. "...it doesn't look good."
"That's something we'll be lookin' into figuring out yeah," T'rev says with a little nod. "But all I'm saying is that if we don't have any ground to stand on and Ista registers a complaint, it could get out and people might get to know you as a spy, see? Most spies, I guess half the point is that you don't know they're spies until it's too late, right?" He lets out a quiet sigh and lifts his mug drinks deep, then sets it down. "Either way, no, things don't look particularly good. And it's kind of baffling."
M'try, in a really-now tone, points out, "If I was a spy, sir, why would I have gone directly to the Weyrwoman about it? At least some part of me hoped she would be truly baffled about the involvement of her bronzeriders, not that she'd fabricate the most transparent lie I've ever heard. Ever." Briefly, fingers threaded through his hair from front-to-back, scalp scratched with the ends of his fingers, he exhales a long sigh of frustration. "I hope you get to the bottom of it, sir, I really do." Just not banking on it.
"I know M'try," T'rev says with a laugh. "But you said it yourself that you'd say you were, and the implications in the letters from Ista are along those lines," he adds and makes a face, sets his mug down and shoves both hands up through his hair in a funny perhaps, mirroring of the brownrider's gesture, though he tugs, rather than scratching. "Yeah. I just don't get why Ista /would/ be covering for riders who were doing something shady." One hand drops, scrubs at the side of his face. "I'll let you know how it shakes down of course. And we wouldn't hang you out to dry, either way."
With a short laugh, M'try notes, "I'm not particularly worried about it, sir." Being hung out to dry. "What's the very worst that could happen? My career in intrigue is cut short? It would certainly leave more time for painting, and, frankly, I'm starting to think it would be a more productive way to pass the time." His eyes roll before he reiterates, "It was a very bad lie, Nenita's. That I didn't see what I think that I saw?" /Him/?
"Good," T'rev says for not worried and then laughs. "Well if you've got more time for that, I'm not going to complain," the Weyrleader continues jovially. "And painting portraits around Pern could be a lot easier with a dragon," he points out further. The last purses his lips and he shakes his head. "Sounds ... really bad."
Like it's only just occurring to him, M'try notes, "I actually hate painting portraits. But." Breath. Shrug. "That's where the money is. The big money, that is. What I do is just pocket change." What purses T'rev's lips flares M'try's nostrils, has him point out, "It was insulting more than anything. /My/ eyes don't play tricks on me."
"You do? Huh. Well then, maybe I shouldn't be askin' you to do it again?" T'rev queries about M'try's 'artistic' tendencies. His head tilts to the side though as M'try gets just a little hot under the collar. "Did she say that? That your eyes were playin' tricks on you, or did she mean that what you saw wasn't necessarily what it looked like, as in, maybe they weren't really makin' a deal, but were trying to flush out the raiders. 'Course, the Weyrwoman's behavior might put the lie to that. But from what I gather, Nenita's got a lot of pride about Ista."
M'try, with another chuckle, explains, "I meant the 'can you paint this so it doesn't look like I have three chins and a giant mole on the end of my nose' sort of portraits, sir. Though a live model might take some getting used to." He trails off on that thought, eyes briefly glazed to think through all the possibilities-- could be more fun with a hot chick instead of the Weyrleader? Anyway. "She said that it wasn't L'hai that I saw, that I leapt to some conclusions, and that she can't trust my eyes. So I'm very happy that she's proud of her Weyr, that's lovely for her, but she's still a liar."
"They really do that? Shells," T'rev shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck. "Mm. Could be fun though, with the right company." Clearly thinking along similar lines. "Riiight," T'rev drawls out at that last and lets out a small sound of disgust. "We'll get it figured out," he says determinedly, then leans out of the booth to flag Sasha down again. "Hungry?"
M'try waves off the hungry question, just a quick flicker of his fingers before he reaches to collect his satchel and jacket with that same hand. "Not really, sir, but thank you for asking. I really better..." Go do something in a blizzard? Sometimes, M'try's errands are best left undefined. "Good luck with the Istans, when the time comes."
"Be careful flyin' back up to your weyr," T'rev says sincerely. "Take some extra fuel along with in case we get whiteout conditions. The wind was comin' up pretty fierce," the Weyrleader informs helpfully. "And thanks. For now ... I think a bit of something to eat for me. I was down at Boll then up at the Hold most of the day."
To all that advice at once, M'try says a simple, "Will do, sir. Enjoy your lunch." Off he goes, to do M'try-stuff.