[Log] Help
Who: E'tyn, R'dur
When: Day 1, Month 5, Turn 9
Where: R'dur and Brijana's Weyr, Telgar Weyr
What: E'tyn drops by to ask for R'dur's help after Soraeth's flight.
Dragon> Alidaeth senses that Niereth's voice reaches across, altogether too pleased and a bit somnolent, lazy for his evening's excursion as well as the lithe frame tucked beneath his wing. << Does yours have a moment to converse? >> Despite his smugness, the crimson-washed gold that reaches out is polite and deferential to his once wingleader. << E'tyn would appreciate a moment of his time. >>
Alidaeth> Niereth senses that Alidaeth's thoughts are still tinged with a certain amount of tired sulkiness, though there seems to be little enough real irritation directed at the young bronze. << We are free, >> he tells Niereth. << Yours is welcome to come here--Pretty Hair is gone-->> He offers an image of Brijana (a very pregnant Brijana, in fact, as he exaggerates her stomach) <<--or we can meet you elsewhere. >>
Dragon> Alidaeth senses that Niereth holds his own well in light of Alidaeth's grumpiness, and returns only the slightest mental nod.
R'dur and Brijana's Weyr
Inside the weyr, the air is warmer, better insulated against chilly Telgar days and nights. The room is relatively short, but tall enough to make up for this. It has been divided into two levels: a lower living space and a smaller sleeping loft, connected by carved stone stairs up one side of the room. The loft overhangs the back half of the lower room, though the front half is left open, with a very high ceiling. Sound carries well from outside: the whistling of the wind, the rustling of Alidaeth on his couch.
The lower portion of the weyr is sparsely decorated. It contains only an antique desk and a couple of small chairs around a table. The decor leaves much to be desired; the room hardly seems lived-in. Only a few personal touches grace the room: a pair of 'bottles' and a 'pouch' on the table, a 'painting' of R'dur's family hung over the desk. Glows keep the area well-lit.
Upstairs, the neat decor coniunues. At the far end of the loft is a sturdy bed, covered with functional, not pretty, blankets. A small 'chest' stands beside it, bearing a 'knife' and the only glow in this section of the weyr.
The announcement of E'tyn's approach incites in R'dur a flurry of cleaning, the brownrider straightening everything up again, nevermind it wasn't out of place to begin with. Brijana is indeed absent, Alidaeth sprawled on the ledge with eyes whirling in bemusement as his rider races around frantically in preparation for company.
Shortly after his request, Niereth alights onto Alidaeth's ledge, his rider hesitant to dismount, until finally, he can no longer prolong his actual arrival. The brown's presence further accelerates his sliding off the bronze's side, a glance cast for the other dragon that results in E'tyn's lips pressing down thin, uncertain. Still, invited as such into R'dur's weyr, absent weyrmate and all, the new Weyrleader takes in a sharp breath stalwartly, and steps past the curtain inside. "Hello?"
R'dur straightens from sweeping imaginary crumbs from the table to blink at E'tyn, eyes deer-in-the-headlights wide. "Weyrleader," he finally finds his voice. He clears his throat and dusts his hands off on his pants, tugging then at his shirt, and finally gesturing to one of the seats. "Would you like to sit down? Please? I'd offer you something to drink but I'm afraid I don't keep anything in here--I don't drink, you sure, and Bri, neither--so I'm very sorry, but please, sir, make yourself at home?" Fidget.
He winces visibly, the title unsettling to his lanky frame, and as he always does when unnerved, E'tyn rakes back his hair. "Please, sir, I mean... R'dur." The name causes him to twist his lips, before they're thinned again into the promise of a sheepish smile. "I don't need a drink, not anymore. You should sit too." The young man gestures to a chair not his own and certainly not in his weyr, inviting the wingleader to sit before he does. "I... has Ailani come to see you yet?"
R'dur sits, but not relaxedly: he maintains his stiff and formal air, brows furrowing as he looks up to the still-standing E'tyn. "Weyrleader," he insists. "I--I haven't spoken to her, no. I--should I have? Is she looking for me? Alidaeth didn't say anything about Soraeth asking for us, but maybe he forgot to say something?" the wingleader frets.
E'tyn remains standing for a long while after, listening to R'dur speak and quick to start shaking his head at his questions. A chair is pulled out, the bronzerider taking it as uneasily as the brownrider is formal, and the young man perches on the edge rather than sitting back leisurely. "She mentioned she might, but the thought might have escaped her in the details of today. I... I wanted to speak to you myself anyway, sir. Are you well? Is Alidaeth well?" Dark brows pinch together in thought. "Niereth mentioned he sounded unsettled."
"He's just--grumpy," R'dur notes, waving off E'tyn's worries and shaking his head. "Because he lost. He's always grumpy when he loses--he hates it, but I really like it, because then--well." Blush. "I... I should congratulate you, though," he adds awkwardly after a moment.
"Congratulate?" At that, E'tyn cracks a smile, mildly bemused. "I feel like an ocean's come over my head. Like I can't see the sky 'nymore cause I'm in the middle of a dark forest. I'm not sure if congratulations are as much in order as a stiff drink and a whack over the head." Whatever R'dur's said, it's seemed to have broken his uncertainty, and the mild smile grows into an entreating look. "I... well, I s'ppose it's obvious, but I won't be at wing drills tomorrow morning. I mean... I..."
R'dur's manner softens slightly, the brownrider managing a small smile for E'tyn. "I can... imagine," he agrees slowly, nodding. "It can't be easy for you, being thrust into this so soon after graduation. I'm... Well. I'm sure you'll do very well--the Weyrwoman has been doing this for a while now, and if you need anything, there's others that will help--me, the weyrlingmaster, whoever. We all want you to succeed." Pause. Wryly, he adds, "And, um. I... kind of figured that, too."
The entreaty draws deeper lines into E'tyn's face, the smile again uneasy. His fingers play against each other, almost girlish in their lap twiddling, and after throat clearing, the bronzerider attempts to complete his previous statement. "I'd wondered, sir, if you might... if it's not too much out of your time and your weyrmate's time with you, that you might give me lessons on how to lead a wing?" His words tumble out, each successive one drawing out a darker and darker crimson on his face and ear tips.
R'dur actually looks like he's about to laugh, until that blush settles so profusely across E'tyn's cheeks. "You... you really want /me/ to teach you?" he finally asks, surprise coloring his own voice as he just stares at the new Weyrleader.
"You've been a wingsecond longer than I've been a rider," E'tyn is quick to point out, his voice calmer for having blurted out his request despite the ruddiness of his ears. "'N I don't know the first thing about leading a wing. I don't even know all the formations that weren't already taught in weyrlinghood. I-... I don't want my first day leadin' drills tomorrow to go bad. They all've," his hand waves about expansive of indicating the entirety of the Icewind wing, "Ridden longer than I've been at the Weyr." It's not self-deprecation, but actual concern; not humbleness, but fear of screwing up. "I trust you. Sir."
It's R'dur's turn to blush, the man's neck lighting up the same shade E'tyn's ears do. Rubbing at it nervously, he shifts in his seat, looking sheepish. "I... But I'm no good at this, either," he confesses, glancing down. "Being a wingleader. I only took the job because the Weyrwoman asked me, and Wingleader--and T'bay decided to step down. I was the obvious choice, already being the wingsecond." A frown. "Surely there's... we've other wingleaders," he points out.
"Claret, Teyal, T'saren, Karanaya." All spoken without a breath, E'tyn finally pauses long enough to cast his gaze down. From the ledge, a rumble of encouragement sounds that slowly works to straighten the bronzerider's back, his cheeks flushed anew, but not out of embarrassment as much as a touch of indignation. "I never used to stammer so much as I've done since Impressing," the young man makes his own confession. "It's... been different. Still not used to the Weyr, I think. I know Claret well, but she's been busy with Brinnet and I wouldn't want her to return to active duty before she's ready yet. And the others-... I'm afraid they might laugh at me."
"Funny," R'dur notes, with a shy smile. "I think I've gotten better since I impressed--or, well. At least since I graduated." He watches E'tyn a moment longer, then nods slowly. "I... I understand, though, and--if you really want me to--I'll help, of course. I'd be happy to, though, still. I don't think I /really/ know, but." He lifts his shoulders slightly, another half-smile offered.
"I think you know better'n you think," E'tyn responds, his smile turning far more at ease now that R'dur's assented, and the nervous dance of his fingers falls still into his lap. "Better'n me at least. It seems," the young bronzerider's brows tweak together, the lines already starting to shape into the promise of something far more permanent, "Pern's due for some change, what with all these untried bronzeriders winning th'flights of senior queens. The Fortian Weyrleader," thin lips, "The Reachian Weyrleader," even thinner lips, "And myself." He's looking practically grim by now, but just manages to coach that look into a slip of a smile. "What do you think, sir?"
R'dur's lips purse, thoughtfulness inherent in the gesture. "It seems like... like we're changing generations," he notes after a moment. "Telgar, Fort, High Reaches--all of them have had the same Weyrleader--and Weyrwoman--for turns. And now things are changing. We... We're entering a new time--the Interval--and it seems only fitting we should have a newer leadership, too. You've... None of you have ever faced 'Fall. I didn't, either--I impressed a couple of turns after the end of the Pass. But you'll learn, and you'll do your best for the Weyr. And I'll help."
"Will you?" Thoughtfully, E'tyn regards the brownrider, his own lips pursing and finally, his shoulders relaxing into the chair's back. "Do you think that's what it could be? I've heard many a theory, that the gold that rises isn't necessarily the one that /should/ rise, but the one that would be best to fit as senior queen, and then she picks who would be best fit to lead the Weyr." The troubled lines that have etched since earlier this morning dispel, with only the slightest imprint remnant on the younger man's clearing expression. "I'd appreciate all the help I can get, that's for sure. Even... I'd be inclined to ask R'hin further of his ideas of the change and - heroes."
R'dur hesitates. "I--I don't know," he admits, glances down. "I just... I don't know. I'm sorry. But--yes, that sounds like a good idea. R'hin, I mean. I... I've only met him once, but he seemed--well, he's going through many of the same things you are now?" he volunteers hesitantly.
The idea, while voiced, seems to leave a funny taste in the bronzerider's mouth as he gnaws on his lower lip. "R'hin," he begins, and then never finishes, shaking his head instead. "He's a character. I'm not entirely sure of the good kind. Faranth, I need to tell my folks." The last is expelled with a roll back of his eyes, the complete lack of desire to do as such writ all over E'tyn's angular face, and in order to find distraction, his gaze falls onto a decoration clearly not R'dur's, too feminine, "Is your weyrmate due back any time soon?"
On the subject of r'hin, R'dur starts to comment, but he shuts his mouth quickly at the latter question. Brows knitting in perplexity, he shakes his head. "No, I don't think so," he answers. "Why?"
"Just wondered," the young man returns, gesturing towards a basket of cast off knitting as reason for his sudden question. E'tyn's cheeks turn lightly pink, the thought of the brownrider's return eliciting some form of embarrassment from him. "Well, if you don't mind, tomorrow maybe? We could meet in the records room and just, talk some more maybe or even my weyr. It's a mess, th'Weyrleader, K'ran I mean, moved in with th'Weyrwoman, I mean Tarien, a long time ago, so it's been pretty empty for a while. Clean though," he promises, coaching another of this half-smiles.
R'dur nods quickly to E'tyn, offering a small smile. "That sounds fine. After lunch, perhaps? Thunderbolt has drills in the morning, of course, but after that, I'm at your service." Pause. "I can help you clean, if you want?" Because there's no way that weyr is clean enough for him.
"I would hate to gain a reputation for having guests help me move in." There's a but there, tangible and all too weak without any resolve. E'tyn gives in and remarks, "But if you don't mind, maybe we can make an afternoon of it. I'd like to make it presentable by the end of this week. For Ailani." The slightest pause, a swallow, separates the two statements, the latter thoughtful, before the bronzerider resumes speaking at a far brisker pace than norm, "Tomorrow then. I'll be sure to have an extra set of buckets and mops on hand."
"All right," R'dur agrees. "I'll look forward to it, and I'll see you then. We'll get it all fixed up for you." And her, but that remains unspoken.
A brow lifts at that 'we,' but instead of taking offense E'tyn merely smiles in response. "Clear skies, sir. Have a good afternoon and evening." His body unfolds, rising, with steps that take him to the ledge, where he finds Niereth waiting.