The new old Weyrlingmaster.
RL Date: 2/9/08
IC Date: 3/31/15
Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr(#530RIJs$)
This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.
Despite his assistant status, I'daur still doesn't have a boss. And without a boss standing over him, he's pretty much engaging himself the same as ever: holing up in the barracks, sprawled in the chair behind the weyrlingmaster's desk. For once, that desk's cleaned off, neatened up: a nominal attempt at making it seem less I'daur's for the time being; but still, the bottle perched on it is probably enough claim of ownership for the currently indolent bronzerider.
"It's good to know that some things never change, sir." Standing in the entrance, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, N'thei takes a good amount of time in a survey of I'daur, the desk, the room, the bottle. The bottle! That's when his smile pulls to the fore, when his teeth file across his lip in a laced grin. "Interrupting anything?" Clear by his posture, he's waiting for an invitation to come farther in than the archway toward the bowl.
"I can drink whether you're here or not," I'daur waves off said interruption, unconcerned. "Have a seat, Weyrleader. Lemme offer you a congratulatory drink." Nevermind it's been three months, he reaches to slide the bottle across the desk a little ways in invitation, while he sits up a little more.
N'thei laughs while he sinks into the chair, not so far a cry from the idiot weyrling that sat here three turns ago. "Consoling drink, you meant. I'll take you up on that." He reaches to take the bottle the rest of the way across the desk in response to the invitation, turns it in his palm meanwhile to look for some sort of label, marking, giveaway as to what he's about to imbibe. "It's good you're here."
"Can't say as I have much sympathy," I'daur tells N'thei, "at least outside of a good whiskey." When the younger man takes the bottle, I'daur settles back to watch him, brows raising at the latter words. "S'it? Well, can't say I had in mind to do you any favors when I headed down here, but I'll bite. Why's it good?"
N'thei has a sample of it, not enough to really be draining the old man's bottle, and breathes a warm breath out under fingers folded over his lips; "Decent. Good. --No? You'd want the job then?" He doubts it enough not to wait for an answer, to go on grinning after I'daur volunteers to nip the bait. "Now let me offer you the drink back, sir. Take your job back." The bottle goes back to the middle of the desk and he settles back into his chair.
For that question, I'daur just snorts, answer enough. But for the latter, now that deserves more honest consideration--the job part, not the drink part. The bottle I'daur takes back with relish, enjoying a longer swig himself before setting it down. "Now why," he asks then, slowly, "would you go and do a thing like that? Like spittin' in Crom's face that much, do you?"
N'thei's eyes brighten at the question, glitter away in a mild but amused manner; "Now why would you even bother asking me a question like that." He happily shakes his head at I'daur, chasing after foregone conclusions like that. "If anyone asks, and I don't expect they will, there's always loyalty, isn't there? You were my weyrlingmaster, apparently my puppetmaster to boot. Makes sense, doesn't it."
I'daur smirks, shoulders lifting slightly as he shrugs off N'thei's reply. "Loyalty, right," he agrees dryly. "We hoodlums got to stick together. Now does our Weyrwoman know just what you're up to?" And while his previous question certainly had a foregone conclusion, he seems a bit more curious about the answer to this one.
The same kind of brightness comes at the mention of our-Weyrwoman, as though still sharing the same joke with I'daur. "Does it matter if she does or doesn't? Will it affect your response?" N'thei brings an expectant smile to bear, a curious and questioning lean of his forehead to one side. "You haven't said yet that you'll have the job back. I'd hate to foist it on the unwilling." Hate to but would!
"I'm just curious which way'd be more contrary of me," I'daur answers. "Take it, or not. But it's nice to know I got options." He dips his head toward N'thei facetiously, then takes another drink. "Well," considers the man. "Suppose I could take it, after all. Long as I've had you working under me, might as well change things up a little now and again."
N'thei, teeth filing away on his lip again, hides his smirk a good while under that pretend-thoughtful look. Only lasts so long like that though. "I thought she'd take it better if you broke the news to her. Discretion-slash-valor? --It goes a ways to ease my mind that you'll have the job back, sir, for whatever reason. Besides that it never sat right, how that all came down, someone's got to teach Wyaeth's children."
I'daur eyes N'thei, his expression flat though the quirk of a brow betrays some degree of amusement. "Apparently," he agrees dryly. "I'd just as well she found out on her own, but if that's supposed to be an order--." A shrug ensues, and he moves to offer the bottle back to N'thei if he'd like another drink. "Sat fine with me. Kind of liked the free time, and now I've gone and thrown that away again."
"You could say no." N'thei reaches for the bottle again, his voice finding a humorous timbre: he could say no, just like he /coooould/ break his own thumbs for fun. "Seems stupid that there's nobody with the job though, especially when it was all just a big show. And." He pops another drink down the old gullet, eyes briefly pinched closed then relaxed when he returns the bottle to the desk. "Fuck Crom yes."
"Right," I'daur drawls, and shakes his head to that. "And show's over now, I guess. I hope they enjoyed it while it lasted--that, and we don't get called for an encore." Pause. Amused still: "And so glad we got us a singularly eloquent Weyrleader this time around."
N'thei bleeds humility; "I'm a helluva wordsmith, I know." He blows a long breath out across his tongue, his head leaned so the base of his skull rests on the back of the chair, has him looking up at the ceiling more than across the desk at I'daur. "Good whiskey, sir; very reliable in that. --Persie would be a good assistant." The one thought has no bearing on the other, and neither has much bearing on him looking like he'll get to his feet in a moment.
"My part in affairs, I s'pose," I'daur and his whiskey, though he lets it alone for a moment in favor of regarding N'thei and his name-dropping. "Persie. Now why would you say a thing like that? Sweet girl, don't know her too well, though. Don't think we've run across each other these what, three months?"
"Why would it surprise you?" N'thei gives I'daur a bemused look, his eyebrows lifted and his mouth open just a little around the question. "She's a nice girl, everyone gets on with her, seems like she'd be the perfect balance. --Just a thought anyway, something to consider but not something I'm more-than-suggesting."
"Lot of people in this Weyr," answers I'daur. "Think I'd be surprised any name you pulled out of your hat." As for Persie's qualities which recommend her? "Everybody likes her, huh? Is that some kinda critique on my sunny disposition?"
Sort of pedantic, trying not to be, N'thei inquires delicately, "Do you think you're a pleasant person, sir?" Hate to burst that bubble...
Dryly, "A real wordsmith all right," I'daur tells N'thei, shaking his head. "I like to think I got my good moments, anyway. I've already done you a couple of favors today, after all."
N'thei scratches across his forehead, a good excuse to duck his head and submerge the glimmer of his grin in shadow. "Have you?" His hand peels off his forehead and slaps on to the arm of the chair, the other one having done likewise, and the push him out of the seat. "You have, you have. And we're both just rays of sunshine in this gloomy place, sir. Rays of sunshine."
"Glad to see you agree." While N'thei gets up, I'daur remains seated, reaching for the bottle to wrap his hand around it though no more than that for the moment. "You'll have to stop by sometime and brighten things up with me again. And don't you worry yourself either--I'll let our Weyrwoman know where we all stand now."
N'thei's eyes move from side to side to take the lay of the land, dubious when they return to I'daur; "Brighten things up. Of course I will. --Thank you. It's a load off. Both having the position filled and not having to tell Satiet about it." With a reminiscing wander of his attention around the cavern, he strolls his departure.
You stride into the bowl.
IC Date: 3/31/15
Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr(#530RIJs$)
This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.
Despite his assistant status, I'daur still doesn't have a boss. And without a boss standing over him, he's pretty much engaging himself the same as ever: holing up in the barracks, sprawled in the chair behind the weyrlingmaster's desk. For once, that desk's cleaned off, neatened up: a nominal attempt at making it seem less I'daur's for the time being; but still, the bottle perched on it is probably enough claim of ownership for the currently indolent bronzerider.
"It's good to know that some things never change, sir." Standing in the entrance, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, N'thei takes a good amount of time in a survey of I'daur, the desk, the room, the bottle. The bottle! That's when his smile pulls to the fore, when his teeth file across his lip in a laced grin. "Interrupting anything?" Clear by his posture, he's waiting for an invitation to come farther in than the archway toward the bowl.
"I can drink whether you're here or not," I'daur waves off said interruption, unconcerned. "Have a seat, Weyrleader. Lemme offer you a congratulatory drink." Nevermind it's been three months, he reaches to slide the bottle across the desk a little ways in invitation, while he sits up a little more.
N'thei laughs while he sinks into the chair, not so far a cry from the idiot weyrling that sat here three turns ago. "Consoling drink, you meant. I'll take you up on that." He reaches to take the bottle the rest of the way across the desk in response to the invitation, turns it in his palm meanwhile to look for some sort of label, marking, giveaway as to what he's about to imbibe. "It's good you're here."
"Can't say as I have much sympathy," I'daur tells N'thei, "at least outside of a good whiskey." When the younger man takes the bottle, I'daur settles back to watch him, brows raising at the latter words. "S'it? Well, can't say I had in mind to do you any favors when I headed down here, but I'll bite. Why's it good?"
N'thei has a sample of it, not enough to really be draining the old man's bottle, and breathes a warm breath out under fingers folded over his lips; "Decent. Good. --No? You'd want the job then?" He doubts it enough not to wait for an answer, to go on grinning after I'daur volunteers to nip the bait. "Now let me offer you the drink back, sir. Take your job back." The bottle goes back to the middle of the desk and he settles back into his chair.
For that question, I'daur just snorts, answer enough. But for the latter, now that deserves more honest consideration--the job part, not the drink part. The bottle I'daur takes back with relish, enjoying a longer swig himself before setting it down. "Now why," he asks then, slowly, "would you go and do a thing like that? Like spittin' in Crom's face that much, do you?"
N'thei's eyes brighten at the question, glitter away in a mild but amused manner; "Now why would you even bother asking me a question like that." He happily shakes his head at I'daur, chasing after foregone conclusions like that. "If anyone asks, and I don't expect they will, there's always loyalty, isn't there? You were my weyrlingmaster, apparently my puppetmaster to boot. Makes sense, doesn't it."
I'daur smirks, shoulders lifting slightly as he shrugs off N'thei's reply. "Loyalty, right," he agrees dryly. "We hoodlums got to stick together. Now does our Weyrwoman know just what you're up to?" And while his previous question certainly had a foregone conclusion, he seems a bit more curious about the answer to this one.
The same kind of brightness comes at the mention of our-Weyrwoman, as though still sharing the same joke with I'daur. "Does it matter if she does or doesn't? Will it affect your response?" N'thei brings an expectant smile to bear, a curious and questioning lean of his forehead to one side. "You haven't said yet that you'll have the job back. I'd hate to foist it on the unwilling." Hate to but would!
"I'm just curious which way'd be more contrary of me," I'daur answers. "Take it, or not. But it's nice to know I got options." He dips his head toward N'thei facetiously, then takes another drink. "Well," considers the man. "Suppose I could take it, after all. Long as I've had you working under me, might as well change things up a little now and again."
N'thei, teeth filing away on his lip again, hides his smirk a good while under that pretend-thoughtful look. Only lasts so long like that though. "I thought she'd take it better if you broke the news to her. Discretion-slash-valor? --It goes a ways to ease my mind that you'll have the job back, sir, for whatever reason. Besides that it never sat right, how that all came down, someone's got to teach Wyaeth's children."
I'daur eyes N'thei, his expression flat though the quirk of a brow betrays some degree of amusement. "Apparently," he agrees dryly. "I'd just as well she found out on her own, but if that's supposed to be an order--." A shrug ensues, and he moves to offer the bottle back to N'thei if he'd like another drink. "Sat fine with me. Kind of liked the free time, and now I've gone and thrown that away again."
"You could say no." N'thei reaches for the bottle again, his voice finding a humorous timbre: he could say no, just like he /coooould/ break his own thumbs for fun. "Seems stupid that there's nobody with the job though, especially when it was all just a big show. And." He pops another drink down the old gullet, eyes briefly pinched closed then relaxed when he returns the bottle to the desk. "Fuck Crom yes."
"Right," I'daur drawls, and shakes his head to that. "And show's over now, I guess. I hope they enjoyed it while it lasted--that, and we don't get called for an encore." Pause. Amused still: "And so glad we got us a singularly eloquent Weyrleader this time around."
N'thei bleeds humility; "I'm a helluva wordsmith, I know." He blows a long breath out across his tongue, his head leaned so the base of his skull rests on the back of the chair, has him looking up at the ceiling more than across the desk at I'daur. "Good whiskey, sir; very reliable in that. --Persie would be a good assistant." The one thought has no bearing on the other, and neither has much bearing on him looking like he'll get to his feet in a moment.
"My part in affairs, I s'pose," I'daur and his whiskey, though he lets it alone for a moment in favor of regarding N'thei and his name-dropping. "Persie. Now why would you say a thing like that? Sweet girl, don't know her too well, though. Don't think we've run across each other these what, three months?"
"Why would it surprise you?" N'thei gives I'daur a bemused look, his eyebrows lifted and his mouth open just a little around the question. "She's a nice girl, everyone gets on with her, seems like she'd be the perfect balance. --Just a thought anyway, something to consider but not something I'm more-than-suggesting."
"Lot of people in this Weyr," answers I'daur. "Think I'd be surprised any name you pulled out of your hat." As for Persie's qualities which recommend her? "Everybody likes her, huh? Is that some kinda critique on my sunny disposition?"
Sort of pedantic, trying not to be, N'thei inquires delicately, "Do you think you're a pleasant person, sir?" Hate to burst that bubble...
Dryly, "A real wordsmith all right," I'daur tells N'thei, shaking his head. "I like to think I got my good moments, anyway. I've already done you a couple of favors today, after all."
N'thei scratches across his forehead, a good excuse to duck his head and submerge the glimmer of his grin in shadow. "Have you?" His hand peels off his forehead and slaps on to the arm of the chair, the other one having done likewise, and the push him out of the seat. "You have, you have. And we're both just rays of sunshine in this gloomy place, sir. Rays of sunshine."
"Glad to see you agree." While N'thei gets up, I'daur remains seated, reaching for the bottle to wrap his hand around it though no more than that for the moment. "You'll have to stop by sometime and brighten things up with me again. And don't you worry yourself either--I'll let our Weyrwoman know where we all stand now."
N'thei's eyes move from side to side to take the lay of the land, dubious when they return to I'daur; "Brighten things up. Of course I will. --Thank you. It's a load off. Both having the position filled and not having to tell Satiet about it." With a reminiscing wander of his attention around the cavern, he strolls his departure.
You stride into the bowl.