[M'try] Purpose and direction.
RL Date: 4/7/11
IC Date: 6/5/24
Such a fine, fair day just begs for people to be out and enjoying it. Which would account for the reason that M'try is holed up in the Solarium, of course. It's nice up here right now even at that, with the sun slanting through the panes, colored light all dazzling and pretty and completely ignored, him poring over an old book that looks to have been read a few too many times. Pages hang loosely from tired binding while the brownrider, sitting in a corner chair, licks the pad of his finger and turns to the next page. Anyone else in here, the one or two people scattered at other tables, are engaged in low conversations, everyone evidently of a like mind: mellow.
Mellow might be what T'rev is looking for too for that matter. Soft footsteps are his only announcement, the Weyrleader minus a jacket, though his knot loops his shoulder as it 'should'. A book is tucked under his arm and T'rev ambles across the room, head tilted slightly upward to take in the panorama of light through glass. "Don't get up here nearly enough," he comments casually to M'try as he nears the brownrider's corner.
Drawn from reverie, M'try is a little slow to respond, taking in a breath of the real world while his eyes follow first the light and then the source of the voice. Clearing his throat from disuse, he answers, "It is a little off the beaten track, sir, so I doubt anyone can blame you for not making a frequent haunt." Confidingly, voice lowered so even those at the adjacent table won't hear him, the brownrider adds, "The stairs keep the aunties, and all their chattering, away."
"It's nice though," T'rev claims with a slight gesture of one hand to the pretty splashes of light. He grins a little at that confidential note. "Yeah, s'pose that's an upside for anyone as doesn't mind those stairs," he remarks, keeping his own voice low as well. "Mind a little company? I promise I won't chatter too much," he claims and gives his own book a little waggle.
M'try, eyes still upward, "It is, it is." Sitting up after a while slouching over the pages, he lowers an inviting nod toward the vacant chair across from his little two-seater table. "Not at all. You are, after all, the Weyrleader," he adds with humor, as if it was the place of a mere brownrider to deny T'rev's presence here. "I think they were feeling guilty about talking, so, if nothing else, you'll unburden their consciences." He points surreptitiously to the people engaged in low conversation halfway round the room.
"Could say no even so," T'rev points out, but he settles down into the indicated seat and sets his book down on the table and casts a brief look over at the conversationalists not too far off. "Heh, well it's a leader's duty to try to make sure the people he's responsible for are comfortable, right?" Likewise humorous.
Clearly, M'try never thought about it like that and, with his head cocked a little, brows knitted, he asks, "Is it? Comfort seems more like a luxury than a necessity. Fed and clothed, certainly, but it seems beyond the scope of the Weyrleader's job to tuck us in at night with our favorite blankie, sir." Likewise with the likewise of the humorous, entertaining the notion of T'rev + a snuggly bedtime story. Like, platonic, though.
"Don't have to go quite that far," T'rev replies, laughing lightly, "but I'd call fed, clothed and kept safe all a part of comfortable, also makin' sure that most folks feel safe in their own home." He leans back in his chair and looks across the room again, then back across at M'try. "Speakin' of which, how've you been doing? Harper studies still comin' along?"
"Then, may I suggest, you count your leadership as a success, sir. Barring unfortunate events beyond your control," which he politely neglects to list by name, "few suffer any discomfort that you might prevent." M'try's brows climb questioningly afterward, as if he can't place T'rev's last question, a brief 'come-again?' look in place. "I'm one of those who count as fed, clothed, and kept safe. Although long since having quit those Harper studies."
"Thanks, M'try," T'rev says with a brief nod across the way. "Like t'think it's gone a lot better this time around than last." It's the Weyrleader's turn to lift brows. "You quit?" is the simple question, apparently, he missed out on that one.
M'try, unable to contain a small chuckle, adds with a sympathetic humor, "It helps that the villains are banished to the West this time, I imagine. Young Lord Fort seems far less inclined toward the nefarious than his predecessor." He shakes his head, clearing that thought with a levity that seems ill-matched to just how bad things had been for a while. With the same lightness; "Not exactly. I believe the correct term is 'failed,' sir. But the end result is the same." Shrug.
"He's a good kid," is T'rev's assessment of Astivan, "and honest. Tough row to hoe comin' in to be Lord so young, but he's handlin' it pretty well." He idly flips open the cover of his book, but looks up again as M'try says 'failed'. "Can't have another go?" he asks curiously.
Nodding, M'try agrees, "The very quality that his uncle lacked." Honesty, that is. "At least his reign should be long, coming into the position at the tender age of fifteen, was he?" He starts to do likewise, return to his book, but then looks up again in return with a questioning look. Can't? "Don't want to. It's... complicated. Besides, I've enjoyed the chance to catch up on my reading."
"Among others," T'rev replies wryly about Esraval and nods a few times. "Yeah, probably set with Astivan for a good sixty turns or so, provided nothin' drastic happens." The Weyrleader nods a couple of times at that response. "Wouldn't have figured on that - not wantin' to. But things change," T'rev says, apparently quite accepting of the concept. He flips over a page, reads a sentence or two then asks mildly: "Interested in some other kinds of chances? More on the rider side of things?"
"Long enough for people to be born and die all under the same Lordship, won't that be a wonder for them. Perhaps for Astivan, too," M'try muses, an impressed climb of his brows at the notion. Strange times they live in. He can only nod, things change, indeed, and allow the pique of his interest to show in the latter question. Which is a step up from his comfortable malaise of late. "Possibly, sir. Excepting drills and more drills...?" What more is there?
"Aye," T'rev nods. "Stability, imagine that," he says with another quirky grin. He sobers though in the face of M'try's query. "Leadin' those drills, or comin' up with ideas for keepin' riders busy in times that're only going to get quieter without any Thread to battle. Teachin' weyrlings, maybe. It'd be good to have some younger riders for that, ones who've got more of an interval way of lookin' at things rather than Pass."
Pardon his dubiousness but, "Leading drills, sir?" M'try, a great leader among men, seems skeptical, go figure. "I do think that giving those who lack it a sense of direction and momentum is important, but I'm not sure that I'm comfortable leading drills. I never fought thread, and there are still plenty in the Wings who have. It would feel a little ironic." All apologetically, mind, as if he's sorry to decline the Weyrleader. "But teaching. That I can do."
"It's something everyone'll have to know how to do and carry along for the next hundred turns or so," T'rev replies with a little shrug. "Just somethin' to think about," he addresses that dubiousness then smiles. "Yeah, figure you can at that, is it something you want, though?" the Weyrleader presses a little.
M'try nods. Slowly. "Granted. Ask me in twenty Turns, perhaps, when there are no grizzled riders to tell me 'that's not how we did it in my day, sonny,' and perhaps I'll have a different answer for you." There's not actually anyone, that he knows of, who has quite that pitch of voice, but it's close to a believable replica of a hard-old-tone. Conscientiously, really taking a moment to think it over, he answers, "I think that I could enjoy it, sir. And it would be a sense of direction and momentum." With an 'ahem' at the end there. "Also, your sister-- the greenrider, not the Healer-- would be pleased."
"Don't like arguin' with 'em?" T'rev inquiires, head tilting a little, gaze steady on M'try's face, of grizzled veterans with stubborn attitudes about 'how things should be done'. A flicker of amusement passes through T'rev's eyes at the way M'try distinguishes between sisters. "If that's the case, d'you need time t'think on it? Otherwise I can have a word with V'rel at our next meeting. He's rampin' up for the clutch already, of course. That's V'rel for you."
M'try shakes his head, he doesn't like the arguin', nosir. "Mostly because I don't feel like I have a leg to stand on. What do you really say to that? 'Well, you're old now, so here's the new way, run along then?'" This time, the head-shake is put with amusement, yeahno. "No. No, consider it a yes. If I take time to think on it, I'll talk myself out of it. If I tell you yes, then I'll talk myself back into it, because what will the Weyrleader think if I go backing out after already having agreed?" It's impossible being him sometimes, it really is.
"Nah, more like: 'That's a great point, thanks for the input. How about we try both ways n' see how it goes?'" T'rev adopts what M'try might recognize as a manner he often uses in drills for Flint, but he doesn't press further on the leadership issue. He does however, regard M'try for a long, amused moment at the train of thoughts the former harper goes through. "Shells man, mostly I'd just think you'd changed your mind," T'rev notes with a faintly bemused expression but he nods. "I'll talk to V'rel then. Final decisions're up to him as Weyrlingmaster a'course, but he's got at least one spot open as needs fillin'."
See, M'try would get punched in the face for his efforts at diplomacy, no doubt, and it shows in the 'really now' amusement at T'rev's tactics. Recognizing the maneuver or not, he just wouldn't try the argument at all. To more expedient matters; "Thank you, I'd appreciate it. If he says no, well, at least I won't be any worse off than I am presently. --Your sister really hasn't... said anything?" Just to be crystal clear on the matter.
Poker face: "The healer, the nanny, or the greenrider?" T'rev quips in answer to M'try's question about his sister, eyes twinkling suddenly. "I've got a lotta sisters."
"Ahh, so you do. The number keeps climbing, at that, one wonders whether or not it will eventually plateau." M'try demonstrates with a palm, up, up, up, leveling out at some point? But no, he drops it back to his book, unconvinced that T'rev's family won't balloon still further. "The greenrider. I'm not all that familiar with the nanny, and the Healer has her own causes for distress so that I doubt she frets over mine."
T'rev's shoulders shift in a slight shrug. "Who knows, I don't really mind the family growin'," he replies, clearly unfazed. "Yeah, Isandre's ... got a lot on her mind just now," T'rev assesses and lets out a quiet sigh, hand pushing through his hair, gaze lost on the play of light through glass again. "A while ago, Niss said she was worried, but this ..." he gestures between them and the current situation, "has more t'do with observin' you and thinkin' through who'd do well at what."
Delicately; "Your morality is a little more flexible than the Healer's." And most of the rest of the Weyr, but M'try leaves that part off, though it's conveyed in the comical clearing of his throat afterward. A-heh-heh-/hem/. It's hard to say if he's in completely belief of T'rev's last remarks, but he doesn't question them, only nods faintly and closes up his book, a ribbon in the loose spine to mark his page. "Then I'll simply say thank you, sir, and I look forward to the possibility if V'rel is amenable. Excuse me?"
"Some would say, I ain't got none, but thanks for puttin' it that way," T'rev replies, laughing again. He nods as M'try excuses himself. "'Course. V'rel'll be in touch if it all goes forward," the Weyrleader states and pulls his own book closer. "Clear skies M'try. See you at drills."
M'try shall be seen at drills. For now, he shall be seen squinting at the sun a little balefully; sunshiny weather is so way bad for his emo-ness.
IC Date: 6/5/24
Such a fine, fair day just begs for people to be out and enjoying it. Which would account for the reason that M'try is holed up in the Solarium, of course. It's nice up here right now even at that, with the sun slanting through the panes, colored light all dazzling and pretty and completely ignored, him poring over an old book that looks to have been read a few too many times. Pages hang loosely from tired binding while the brownrider, sitting in a corner chair, licks the pad of his finger and turns to the next page. Anyone else in here, the one or two people scattered at other tables, are engaged in low conversations, everyone evidently of a like mind: mellow.
Mellow might be what T'rev is looking for too for that matter. Soft footsteps are his only announcement, the Weyrleader minus a jacket, though his knot loops his shoulder as it 'should'. A book is tucked under his arm and T'rev ambles across the room, head tilted slightly upward to take in the panorama of light through glass. "Don't get up here nearly enough," he comments casually to M'try as he nears the brownrider's corner.
Drawn from reverie, M'try is a little slow to respond, taking in a breath of the real world while his eyes follow first the light and then the source of the voice. Clearing his throat from disuse, he answers, "It is a little off the beaten track, sir, so I doubt anyone can blame you for not making a frequent haunt." Confidingly, voice lowered so even those at the adjacent table won't hear him, the brownrider adds, "The stairs keep the aunties, and all their chattering, away."
"It's nice though," T'rev claims with a slight gesture of one hand to the pretty splashes of light. He grins a little at that confidential note. "Yeah, s'pose that's an upside for anyone as doesn't mind those stairs," he remarks, keeping his own voice low as well. "Mind a little company? I promise I won't chatter too much," he claims and gives his own book a little waggle.
M'try, eyes still upward, "It is, it is." Sitting up after a while slouching over the pages, he lowers an inviting nod toward the vacant chair across from his little two-seater table. "Not at all. You are, after all, the Weyrleader," he adds with humor, as if it was the place of a mere brownrider to deny T'rev's presence here. "I think they were feeling guilty about talking, so, if nothing else, you'll unburden their consciences." He points surreptitiously to the people engaged in low conversation halfway round the room.
"Could say no even so," T'rev points out, but he settles down into the indicated seat and sets his book down on the table and casts a brief look over at the conversationalists not too far off. "Heh, well it's a leader's duty to try to make sure the people he's responsible for are comfortable, right?" Likewise humorous.
Clearly, M'try never thought about it like that and, with his head cocked a little, brows knitted, he asks, "Is it? Comfort seems more like a luxury than a necessity. Fed and clothed, certainly, but it seems beyond the scope of the Weyrleader's job to tuck us in at night with our favorite blankie, sir." Likewise with the likewise of the humorous, entertaining the notion of T'rev + a snuggly bedtime story. Like, platonic, though.
"Don't have to go quite that far," T'rev replies, laughing lightly, "but I'd call fed, clothed and kept safe all a part of comfortable, also makin' sure that most folks feel safe in their own home." He leans back in his chair and looks across the room again, then back across at M'try. "Speakin' of which, how've you been doing? Harper studies still comin' along?"
"Then, may I suggest, you count your leadership as a success, sir. Barring unfortunate events beyond your control," which he politely neglects to list by name, "few suffer any discomfort that you might prevent." M'try's brows climb questioningly afterward, as if he can't place T'rev's last question, a brief 'come-again?' look in place. "I'm one of those who count as fed, clothed, and kept safe. Although long since having quit those Harper studies."
"Thanks, M'try," T'rev says with a brief nod across the way. "Like t'think it's gone a lot better this time around than last." It's the Weyrleader's turn to lift brows. "You quit?" is the simple question, apparently, he missed out on that one.
M'try, unable to contain a small chuckle, adds with a sympathetic humor, "It helps that the villains are banished to the West this time, I imagine. Young Lord Fort seems far less inclined toward the nefarious than his predecessor." He shakes his head, clearing that thought with a levity that seems ill-matched to just how bad things had been for a while. With the same lightness; "Not exactly. I believe the correct term is 'failed,' sir. But the end result is the same." Shrug.
"He's a good kid," is T'rev's assessment of Astivan, "and honest. Tough row to hoe comin' in to be Lord so young, but he's handlin' it pretty well." He idly flips open the cover of his book, but looks up again as M'try says 'failed'. "Can't have another go?" he asks curiously.
Nodding, M'try agrees, "The very quality that his uncle lacked." Honesty, that is. "At least his reign should be long, coming into the position at the tender age of fifteen, was he?" He starts to do likewise, return to his book, but then looks up again in return with a questioning look. Can't? "Don't want to. It's... complicated. Besides, I've enjoyed the chance to catch up on my reading."
"Among others," T'rev replies wryly about Esraval and nods a few times. "Yeah, probably set with Astivan for a good sixty turns or so, provided nothin' drastic happens." The Weyrleader nods a couple of times at that response. "Wouldn't have figured on that - not wantin' to. But things change," T'rev says, apparently quite accepting of the concept. He flips over a page, reads a sentence or two then asks mildly: "Interested in some other kinds of chances? More on the rider side of things?"
"Long enough for people to be born and die all under the same Lordship, won't that be a wonder for them. Perhaps for Astivan, too," M'try muses, an impressed climb of his brows at the notion. Strange times they live in. He can only nod, things change, indeed, and allow the pique of his interest to show in the latter question. Which is a step up from his comfortable malaise of late. "Possibly, sir. Excepting drills and more drills...?" What more is there?
"Aye," T'rev nods. "Stability, imagine that," he says with another quirky grin. He sobers though in the face of M'try's query. "Leadin' those drills, or comin' up with ideas for keepin' riders busy in times that're only going to get quieter without any Thread to battle. Teachin' weyrlings, maybe. It'd be good to have some younger riders for that, ones who've got more of an interval way of lookin' at things rather than Pass."
Pardon his dubiousness but, "Leading drills, sir?" M'try, a great leader among men, seems skeptical, go figure. "I do think that giving those who lack it a sense of direction and momentum is important, but I'm not sure that I'm comfortable leading drills. I never fought thread, and there are still plenty in the Wings who have. It would feel a little ironic." All apologetically, mind, as if he's sorry to decline the Weyrleader. "But teaching. That I can do."
"It's something everyone'll have to know how to do and carry along for the next hundred turns or so," T'rev replies with a little shrug. "Just somethin' to think about," he addresses that dubiousness then smiles. "Yeah, figure you can at that, is it something you want, though?" the Weyrleader presses a little.
M'try nods. Slowly. "Granted. Ask me in twenty Turns, perhaps, when there are no grizzled riders to tell me 'that's not how we did it in my day, sonny,' and perhaps I'll have a different answer for you." There's not actually anyone, that he knows of, who has quite that pitch of voice, but it's close to a believable replica of a hard-old-tone. Conscientiously, really taking a moment to think it over, he answers, "I think that I could enjoy it, sir. And it would be a sense of direction and momentum." With an 'ahem' at the end there. "Also, your sister-- the greenrider, not the Healer-- would be pleased."
"Don't like arguin' with 'em?" T'rev inquiires, head tilting a little, gaze steady on M'try's face, of grizzled veterans with stubborn attitudes about 'how things should be done'. A flicker of amusement passes through T'rev's eyes at the way M'try distinguishes between sisters. "If that's the case, d'you need time t'think on it? Otherwise I can have a word with V'rel at our next meeting. He's rampin' up for the clutch already, of course. That's V'rel for you."
M'try shakes his head, he doesn't like the arguin', nosir. "Mostly because I don't feel like I have a leg to stand on. What do you really say to that? 'Well, you're old now, so here's the new way, run along then?'" This time, the head-shake is put with amusement, yeahno. "No. No, consider it a yes. If I take time to think on it, I'll talk myself out of it. If I tell you yes, then I'll talk myself back into it, because what will the Weyrleader think if I go backing out after already having agreed?" It's impossible being him sometimes, it really is.
"Nah, more like: 'That's a great point, thanks for the input. How about we try both ways n' see how it goes?'" T'rev adopts what M'try might recognize as a manner he often uses in drills for Flint, but he doesn't press further on the leadership issue. He does however, regard M'try for a long, amused moment at the train of thoughts the former harper goes through. "Shells man, mostly I'd just think you'd changed your mind," T'rev notes with a faintly bemused expression but he nods. "I'll talk to V'rel then. Final decisions're up to him as Weyrlingmaster a'course, but he's got at least one spot open as needs fillin'."
See, M'try would get punched in the face for his efforts at diplomacy, no doubt, and it shows in the 'really now' amusement at T'rev's tactics. Recognizing the maneuver or not, he just wouldn't try the argument at all. To more expedient matters; "Thank you, I'd appreciate it. If he says no, well, at least I won't be any worse off than I am presently. --Your sister really hasn't... said anything?" Just to be crystal clear on the matter.
Poker face: "The healer, the nanny, or the greenrider?" T'rev quips in answer to M'try's question about his sister, eyes twinkling suddenly. "I've got a lotta sisters."
"Ahh, so you do. The number keeps climbing, at that, one wonders whether or not it will eventually plateau." M'try demonstrates with a palm, up, up, up, leveling out at some point? But no, he drops it back to his book, unconvinced that T'rev's family won't balloon still further. "The greenrider. I'm not all that familiar with the nanny, and the Healer has her own causes for distress so that I doubt she frets over mine."
T'rev's shoulders shift in a slight shrug. "Who knows, I don't really mind the family growin'," he replies, clearly unfazed. "Yeah, Isandre's ... got a lot on her mind just now," T'rev assesses and lets out a quiet sigh, hand pushing through his hair, gaze lost on the play of light through glass again. "A while ago, Niss said she was worried, but this ..." he gestures between them and the current situation, "has more t'do with observin' you and thinkin' through who'd do well at what."
Delicately; "Your morality is a little more flexible than the Healer's." And most of the rest of the Weyr, but M'try leaves that part off, though it's conveyed in the comical clearing of his throat afterward. A-heh-heh-/hem/. It's hard to say if he's in completely belief of T'rev's last remarks, but he doesn't question them, only nods faintly and closes up his book, a ribbon in the loose spine to mark his page. "Then I'll simply say thank you, sir, and I look forward to the possibility if V'rel is amenable. Excuse me?"
"Some would say, I ain't got none, but thanks for puttin' it that way," T'rev replies, laughing again. He nods as M'try excuses himself. "'Course. V'rel'll be in touch if it all goes forward," the Weyrleader states and pulls his own book closer. "Clear skies M'try. See you at drills."
M'try shall be seen at drills. For now, he shall be seen squinting at the sun a little balefully; sunshiny weather is so way bad for his emo-ness.