[Log] You Can Count on Me
Who: E'sere, T'zen
When: Day 19, Month 2, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: T'zen and Uneth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: After T'zen's latest stunt, E'sere goes to speak with him again.
T'zen's and Uneth's Weyr
The weyr exploded. It has to be the only explanation for sheer chaos that makes up the interior of this weyr. Starting from the spacious entrance, a single boot rests, its mate nowhere in sight. A torn jacket is flung over a chair just a step inside, which itself does not rest on the floor, but on a shirt and some cloth scraps. The scraps reveal themselves to be various shreds of blankets and a few items of old clothing, trailing up to the stone dragon couch. Except one may have the odd sense that it is really a wherry nest, surrounded in even array with a collection of torn blankets that must date back more than a couple turns. Some old wooden boxes lay stacked haphazardly near the dragon couch, and another trail of strewn clothes leads to various piles of the same, suggesting some semblance of order, if not a vision of mountainous terrain viewed a-dragonback. Old straps, and a few other items typical of dragonriders lay scattered among the clothes, along with a few dirty dishes and mugs "borrowed" from the kitchens. One round table adorns the middle of the cavern, surprisingly clean of anything. The cavern tapers slowly as it moves inward, glow baskets lining the sides, most of which are empty. The walls squeeze together at the end to form a sort of wasp's waist entrance into a smaller 2nd chamber that serves as T'zen's bedroom. Some sheets piled around the entrance suggest occasional attempts to actually put up a barrier, though the entrance is clear now. A metal stove, long since broken and unused, sits off-kilter against the far wall.
Inside T'zen's bedroom, two straw mattresses rest on wooden blocks. Blankets rest in a heap on top, with a ratty feather pillow sometimes on the bed or sometimes on the floor. A beat up wooden chest sits off to one side, one drawer half open, with a soiled tunic hanging out. Atop the chest lay a few hides, some rolled, most unfurled. More footwear lay scattered on the ground. The glowbaskets are better furnished in here.
Contents:
T'zen
Obvious exits:
Ledge (le)
Uneth perches on his couch, resting uneasily. Wings that normally tightly fold against his back are somewhat loose tonight, and the reason to an experienced rider is apparant. Though trivial as injuries go, the fresh marks of threadscore along the outer tips of the visible wing are evident, shiny still from a recent slathering of numbweed. The glows have recently been replenished, casting more light on the mess around the weyr. Piles are somewhat more organized than they used to be, and items that definitely do not belond to a male rider are evident peeking out of some containers along a wall. T'zen currently leans against his dragons muzzle, talking quietly to him. And he's alerted soon enough that a visitor is coming, so that his eyes are watching the front of the weyr.
Morelenth backwings gently to land on the dark ledge, crooning toward the blue inside to announce his and his rider's arrival. E'sere sets about unbuckling himself methodically, taking his time before sliding carefully down the bronze's neck to the stone. There, he lingers a moment before stepping toward the entrance to the weyr, pausing at the doorway to tap his knuckles against the rock wall to announce his presence further. "T'zen?"
"Come in, Wingleader," T'zen replies, not moving from beside Uneth, stroking the blue muzzle. Uneth is silent, not responding to the croon, and with the rider at his head, doesn't even turn to look. But dragons have other ways of knowing and seeing. "Was wonderin' when you'd show up."
"How is Uneth?" asks E'sere first, turning to regard the blue and his wings with pursed lips. "He won't be out long," decides the man after this cursory inspection. Glancing sideways at the blue's rider, he frowns again, expression growing expectant as he studies him in silence.
The bluerider offers a smirk, looking at the wing himself, though his eyes are cold. "Nay. Barely a touch. Was able t'fly us up here once the first numbweed was on." But the smirk fades. "Cut the turns too close this time. Bit trickier when weaving around another formation. If you could call it that. Not just dodgin' Thread, but weyrling flames." The cold eyes find E'sere, seeming to dare him to say whatever he came for.
E'sere only nods absently in answer to this, remarking dryly, "So I heard." For several more seconds, he's silent in his regard of the bluerider. Then: "T'zen, you understand, of course, that I'm going to have to punish you. I know you've been frustrated lately with how little we've fought, but that was not our 'Fall to fly, no matter how well-meaning your intentions were in doing so," he tells the other man. "I blame myself, at least somewhat, for the fact we've not been scheduled lately. The Weyrleaders are doing what they can to hurt me, but they're making the rest of the wing suffer, too." His frown deepens at that sentiment.
T'zen gives his dragon one more stroke along the muzzle, before stepping away. "Punish, eh? Got enough spare riders around to take me out of flights? Or what do you intend?" The tone is both defiant and bitter. The loss of K'sar- a direct result of his illicit endeavor with that bronzerider- is still eating at the bluerider. What could have been a boast is now a plea of defense. "We succeeded, you know." And then the blame game, and T'zen literally steps forward, hissing. "Weyrleader? You mean J'cor? But no.. This has gone on way longer than that. You aren't saying.." Something against G'thon? The bluerider doesn't dare say it.
"Ganathon's--" E'sere's use of the pre-impression name is deliberate, his tone grim in the face of T'zen's change in demeanor "--decision to transfer me is related, I believe." He shakes his head, then continues more gently, "T'zen, you can't save everyone. You can't fight every 'Fall, either. I understand you want to help--I do, too. But we've gained nothing today. We've only lost. What you did was foolish--downright stupid, and I find it a miracle, and credit to your flying skills, that you were able to survive. I think a month of early morning sweeps is sufficient, don't you?" A comparatively light punishment, considering. Distantly, almost as an afterthought, E'sere adds, "If you want to fight an unscheduled 'Fall, at least make it the right one."
T'zen eyes the wingleader closely. "G'thon transferin' you. Heard somethin' about that. So's the wing's been grounded during this, or what?" He gives a mirthless laugh. "Can't say I'm flyin' every 'Fall when our wing hasn't been up in the past month! And meanwhile, the weyrlings-" It's no coincidence his eyes find a neatly set stack of clothes, clearly belonging to someone female. "-have been flying every 'Fall for the past several sevendays. An' they're bein' slaughtered! Is that part of some plan?" He faces E'sere again, and his eyes narrow at the declaration of the punishment. It doesn't set right, but the rider responds. "Mornin' sweeps, eh? Fine." He waves a hand, dismissing it. And then something that tickles the ear. He had looked away momentarily, but his focus in on E'sere again. "Come again?"
"Not mine," admits E'sere with a shake of his head. "I am sorry, T'zen. I don't like the situation at present any more than you do, and I'm doing everything I can to rectify that. I've been making sure my wingsecond is prepared to lead the wing in my absence, which is the best I can do for that particular situation until my transfer is... fixed. " Then, with a smile underwritten with smug satisfaction, he notes, "The fact we're not flying over Nabol any more sits uneasily with some. Ch'dais came to me recently concerning that. He wants to fly their next Fall--without the Weyrleader's permission--and I have offered him my wing, whichever of you would like to assist us in the effort."
"Ch'dais," echoes the bluerider, some sort of memory flicking back in his eyes. "He said something in passing recently. 'Bout some area. Didn't even think it'd be Nabol! Totally forgot, what with.. today." T'zen takes a breath, glancing back at Uneth, who watches silently back. He then faces E'sere once more, determination on his face. "Thought G'thon was doin' well. Not so sure what happened recently, what with them Igen riders takin' leadership. Not so sure why we've got an area what seems ain't bein' covered." He folds his arms, "But I knows one thing. Thread. And if yer givin' me another chance at it, I'll take it." The blue dragon finally rumbles, first sound he's made since the visit, his head turning to get a good look at the riders. T'zen smiles at the rumble, nodding his approval.
"They are Ganathon's doing as well," E'sere admits heavily. "I'm... My confidence in our leadership has been shaken of late. I have apparently become the price we pay for the, ah, Igenites," he phrases the latter word delicately. "If you want to fly with us, I'd be honored--you /are/ a good flier, whatever your other faults," he adds to the man, smile wry. "And this is our opportunity to do some good for the Weyr."
It seems the bluerider believes the man, as his face reveals his own struggle. A hero falling off his pedastal. "Never considered.. G'thon.." He shakes his head. "Why not Diya? Why not you? Why not-.. shells, we got bronzes. We got queens." The weight of the day seems to be resting heavier on T'zen, and he begins his walk back to the blue dragon, seeking comfort more than offering it. "Aye," he says finally. "You've got me. Just say when. I will fly."
E'sere's smile is strained. "I don't know," he admits. "I just don't know." He frowns a moment, shakes his head, and then offers the man a more genuine smile. "Thank you, T'zen. It will be soon--I'll let you know. I still have a few others I need to speak to before we're really ready."
T'zen nods, leaning once again on the blue muzzle of his dragon, eyes falling on the ragged edge of the visible wingtip. His eyes turn fierce, staring down the injury, considering the cause. "We'll be ready, E'sere," he says. "Mark my words."
E'sere's smile broadens, and he nods. "I know you will. I'll let you get back to... Well." He doesn't finish, instead turning to slip back out. He does pause again, however, to glance back over his shoulder at the other rider. "I realize, too, this goes without saying, but please don't mention our plans for the 'Fall to anyone else," he adds in parting. "Good night, T'zen. Sleep well, and--you know where my weyr is, if you need anything else."
T'zen nods curtly, "Yes, sir." And he gives a slight grin. "You can count on me." If ever more dangerous words were spoken..
E'sere nods again at that, turning and heading out to his dragon.