[Log] Maybe Just This Once
Who: E'tyn, R'dur
When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 14
Where: Liabeth and Niereth's Ledge, Telgar Weyr
What: R'dur retires.
Liabeth and Niereth's Ledge
Set in the northwest face of the caldera, the wide ledge of this weyr is near enough to the activity of the bowl to provide a near-constant din, but still sheltered enough by an outcropping to make the noise a pleasant reminder of the Weyr's activity. Large enough for a gold and her mate to sit comfortably, scratches scar the granite ledge's surface from turns of dragon's talons scraping over it.
The early evening over the western rim glimmers in shades of deep purples and pinks as the sun sets behind the passing clouds. There seems to be a light breeze and the fall air feels a bit nippy.
Contents:
Threadfall Emitter
E'tyn
Niereth
Obvious exits:
Weyr Bowl
Since the Starcrafters charts were released, the tightly reined in control about E'tyn has relented, relaxed a little bit, enough so that the Weyrleader indulges in his long forsaken whittling on the ledge Niereth and Liabeth share. Four other pipes, differing in length, rest at his feet, while a fifth begins to take shape in between his dextrous hands and while the nip of the upcoming winter might bother some, weathered leather gloves protect his fingers and a flask of something or other to nip is balanced steadily between his knees.
A good deal of waffling precedes R'dur's eventual arrival at the edge of this particular ledge, and he hesitates there a few seconds, too, before summoning up enough courage to approach closer to the whittling Weyrleader. "Sir?" he offers in greeting, stopping a few feet away still. "You're busy, aren't you. I can come back later, in that case." And he sounds a little too relieved about that.
Whittling away, E'tyn is oblivious to R'dur's vacillating approach only until it's too late and the Weyrsecond's voice interrupts his moments of leisure. Startled, he blinks up from the narrow wood he's picking apart, looking to the brownrider on his way out again. Unable to resist, E'tyn's craggy features shape into a crooked smile, recognizing both the brownrider and his mannerisms and using the handle of his whittling knife as a beckon, he adds to the gesture a steady, "Not busy at all, for once, but if you wanna come back later...? I might be then and you can interrupt me from actual work if you'd rather."
Beckoning with a knife, even just its handle, does little to reassure R'dur, though he manages a thin smile of his own in return, his backward progress halted. "Oh. Do you... want me to interrupt that instead? Because I could do that, if you wanted, but I don't want to intrude on your non-work time with more business," the brownrider confesses, biting his lip a second. "I was really hoping we could talk for a little bit. But it's not, it's not urgent."
From holding the blade's edge, a quick flick in the air brings the handle back at hand, the knife snapped closed so the Weyrsecond, rather than his whittling, is given E'tyn's full attention. "No, no," he protests, holding his palms out to the other man, one balancing a thin pipe, the other the closed blade. "I was joking, really. I was. And if you wanted to talk, I'm all yours, R'dur. Thought you'd know that by now." The wide mouth hovers in a hesitant little smile up at his former wingleader. "Here, have this seat." The bronzerider stands, deftly picking out the flask from between his knees and offering the wooden chair to the brownrider. "I'll get another one for m'self."
"Well. Technically, I do know," admits R'dur. "But then I get here and I'm never so sure anymore." He shrugs, sheepish, and then does step back, hands raising in an attempt to defer the offer of a chair. "No, no, that's not necessary. I don't mind standing, or at least let me get it myself," is his protest. That trails off after a moment, though, and when he speaks again, it's to seek the refuge of meaningless small talk while E'tyn moves about. "So how are you doing? And the Weyrwoman? It's, ah, getting chilly now, isn't it? We won't be able to sit around outside much longer."
From just inside the weyr, E'tyn drags out another chair, in the process somehow relinquishing the fifth pipe and knife elsewhere, but retaining his flask. Straddling the chair, the lean man rests his weight against the back and considers the still standing brownrider. Opting to answer R'dur's latter question rather than that of Gay, the young Weyrleader remarks with a glance about to the clouded sky, "Y'can always figure out a way to sit outside even in the middle of winter. They breed us hearty in Lemos." The last falls with a dry twist of humor. "How're you?"
Only when E'tyn's hauled out the second chair and is in the process of settling into it does R'dur step forward, over to the vacated one to slide himself into it. He sits awkwardly on the edge, leaned forward like he's already planning another exit. "I suppose so," he agrees with E'tyn's former remarks, nodding once with a half-smile. "Though, well. Personally, I'd rather not stay out /long/ then, if nothing else." Then, silence in response to the latter question, before R'dur finally blurts out, "I'd like to step down."
E'tyn stares up at R'dur, speechless though that's nothing new, for a full minute at least with widening, guileless eyes. Some people might ask questions, for E'tyn, there's only one thing to say. "I see." Teeth ruminuate over his lower lip, pulling thoughtfully. Then, there's only one other thing to do. The flask is uncorked. "Wanna drink?"
R'dur doesn't quite meet those eyes, or at least not for more than a second at a time, as he sneaks looks back around at E'tyn's face to try to guage some sort of reaction. And though normally not a drinker by any means, when the flask's opened and offered, the brownrider hesitates only a half-second before nodding. "I, maybe, just this once," he begins, slowly. Then, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, just spring this on you out of nowhere--I've been meaning to, to say something for a while now and I just never... managed to. I'm sorry. It's just that things are so..." A shrug provides a blank for the world's state, as he fails to finish the thought.
Gay's influence; "Fucked up," finishes the Weyrleader succinctly for the retiring Weyrsecond. E'tyn passes the flask over, his other hand waving off R'dur's apologies. "How's she taking it?" The she is followed by a glance up to where R'dur's weyr might be, then strays to the living caverns entrance so close by, wherever the brownrider's weyrmate might be.
"That," R'dur agrees quietly, though he doesn't go so far as to repeat the words himself. Taking the flask, he studies it a second, then tips it back for a small sip that makes him grimace all the same. "Well. To be, to be perfectly honest I kind of... haven't mentioned it to her yet," he finally says. "I don't think I could do it if she said she didn't want me to. Though I don't know how I'm going to tell her I went ahead and did something this big without telling her first, either. It's not... Well, if I weren't already retiring, you might be looking for a new Weyrsecond anyway."
Brijana's reaction, or lack of knowledge of the situation, brings a grim little line to E'tyn's mouth, understanding. But as R'dur continues to speak, the bronzerider starts to look a little more bewildered. "I might?" News to him, but E'tyn attempts to not look completely flabbergasted by what the brownrider says. "Well, can't say I'm happy, but if you feel it's time..." The lanky man's tenor trails off into a hapless shrug. "Good luck though, man. Good luck."
"Well. You know what I mean--she'll be that upset with me, I think. I hope not, though," but R'dur does sound worried, especially the more he thinks about it. "It's just--I mean, everything's so..." Repeating earlier comments, he trails off, glancing down at the flask he still holds and then offering it back to E'tyn. "With Thread the way it is, even if the Starcrafters /say/ they've figured it out, it's just--I didn't plan on this. I know none of us did, but. I'm not sure I can keep doing this anymore. I mean, I can't, really--that's why... I'm here."
The more R'dur speaks, the more amused E'tyn gets, unable to completely dampen it down until it breaks free of what little grimness remains. Finally, he replies with a smile and, "I understand. I do, R'dur and I don't fault you at all for it." The offered flask is grasped, brought close to his lips, then rethinking it, the young man just corks it up and tucks it into the front of his jacket. "It'll be fine and Icewind'll survive since you'll still be flying with us."
"It wouldn't without me?" R'dur questions Icewind's survival with a small twist of his mouth, a little bemused himself by that notion. "But, anyway. Thank you for letting me fly with you, and all. And it hasn't been--it's not been bad, that's not why I'm doing this. It's just... It wears on you, after a while." And then he stands, pushing up to his feet and smoothing at his clothes habitually. "I should get going, though. I'm going to have to go talk to Brijana, and, well. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, sir," as he turns to go.
E'tyn lifts a hand as R'dur leaves, mumbling to himself, "Yea, totally wears on you after a while." He considers the flask again, shaking its contents.