Talking About It
Location: J’lor and Vellath’s Weyr
Time: Evening on Day 14, Month 10, Turn 3
Players: J’lor, D’rian
Scene: D’rian wants to know about...er...some things. Except, really, he kind of doesn’t.
It is around dinner time, or really a little bit before, and J'lor is sitting near the entrance of his weyr, despite the cooling climate. On his lap are a new set of riding straps, the leather still stiff. He quietly stitches the strap pieces together while Vellath is somewhere off overhead, playing chase with a few of the weyrling dragons. The gap in sweeps (dinnertime for those riders as well) allows for such.
And along comes D'rian, compliments Taikath announcing the impending arrival of his human half to Vellath. D'rian, aware of such, still stops at the entrance of the bluerider's weyr. Leaning slightly against the doorway, D'rian says, "Bad time?" A meaningful look to the straps follows, D'rian finding more interest in them than he does the bluerider.
The weyrlingmaster glances up from his straps not when he gets the distracted message from his blue, but when D'rian arrives and lingers in the doorway. "of course not." The straps are set aside and J'lor cants his head. "Please come in."
D'rian does not come in, despite the invitation. It does serve as permission for D'rian to look to the bluerider, which he does. With a heavy frown that pales in comparison to his disappointed statement. "You hit him." Days, if not weeks ago. "Why?"
There is a long blink and a small frown returned to the young bronzerider. "I am sorry for that. I was not...at my best just then and M'uri..." J'lor exhales and shakes his head. "I was wrong to hit him."
"Don't change the fact that you hit him." D'rian says reasonably, calmly. "Know what he said and - wasn't right," D'rian's attention drops, focusing briefly on his feet, "You'd tell me violence doesn't solve anything. Look at me like you didn't know my name." There's a pause, short enough to indicate the topic's been dropped and for proper transition to, "This is it, then?" Five Mines as a whole, evidenced with a short jerk of D'rian's head.
"It doesn't change the fact that I hit him," J'lor agrees. "I will attempt not to do so in the future, however." He smiles faintly, but the shakes his head. "What do you mean, I looked at you as if I didn't know your name?" He glances, then, out towards Five Mines. "We're here. We'll stay here for a bit."
"You'd look at me like that." D'rian says, "He does when I get him mad." The line of his jaw is defined for all of a moment, then loosens as he slides his shoulder against the wall and his arms over his chest. "Didn't say you did, but you would." Fact, or believed to be such. The weyrling continues, adding, "Where're we gonna go? Thought this was it. Dad says it is."
"Would I." The words are less question and more thoughtful speculation. "Your father an I, as illustrated by my fist and his nose, do not always agree on certain points. This is a way station. A first step. We'll stay until there is opportunity to leave. Odern is..." The bluerider takes a moment to slip his sewing needle into the leather of the straps beside him, "less than one might have hope for."
"Yeah," D'rian says, confirming his assessment with a little nod and lilt in his voice. The tone drops into a serious one seconds later, "Don't think you needed to sock'm to prove that. Don't think anyone gets along with my dad 'cept me and some of his buddies." Some, not all. The topic of Odern is left, for the time being.
"I know I did not need to 'sock him'. I believe this shall be the third time in as many minutes that I have apologized for doing so." At least, the third apology to D'rian, even if none have been offered to M'uri. "He needs to be able to work with the rest f the wing, and I do not appreciate the way he goes about attempting to sew dissension."
D'rian's smile is wry, "Don't think my dad thinks he's got to do much of anything he doesn't want to. Kinda surprised he didn't hit you back." D'rian's shoulders lift and fall quickly, the shrug more a passing gesture than meaningful. Such an honor is saved for a rehearsed-sounding statement. "Not here to talk 'bout that. Just wanted to say it-" Him not approving, "And warn you."
For D'rian's statements, J'lor frowns a little, and the expression only deepens with the boy's last words. "-Warn- me?" he asks.
"M'uri," D'rian emphasizes the name, and not the relation, "Him not hitting you back. Means something." D'rian pulls away from the wall and walks further in, turning his focus and faking attention elsewhere, "Dad don't let people push him around and he didn't hit you back so he might be planning something. Don't know one way or another but I thought you should know."
None of this news makes the frown go away, and J'lor's klah-dark eyes follow D'rian as he moves. "I see," he replies quietly, lifting one hand to scrub at his face. "Thank you, then. I shall be watchful. Are you faring all right, D'rian?"
"Longer he makes you wait..." It's meant to be helpful, even if it's delivered in a dry manner. Business done, D'rian turns back to face J'lor, his features expressionless. "'m holding. K'tric's... want to strangle him, sometimes. Other'n that, yeah."
"I had heard that you and he were..." J'lor cants his head to the side, speaking the next words slowly and slightly incredulous, "sharing a weyr?"
"Figure in another month or so, I'll ask him to weyrmate." D'rian deadpans, his jawline whitening anew. "Taikath picked the Weyr. Should've known Kasvatuth'd be right next door." And this admission garners quite the unusual reaction in a very self-composed D'rian. Red tinges the darker complexion of his face, and his tone drops considerably. "You think you can help me with something?"
J'lor laughs, sudden and surprised, brows arching upwards. His smile can come as quickly as his frown, and the bluerider shakes his head in lingering bemusement. "I'm sure you'll be very happy together," he teases fondly, but then the amusement fades and J'lor leans forward to say, solemnly, "If I am able to, I shall do so. What is it, D'rian?"
"Yeah." D'rian manages a smile, and very little more. Then: "It's been a year. 'round abouts." Eyes that are always serious find J'lor's and intensify as he adds, "Taikath's got this thing about her. Can't always get him to listen to reason."
"You're worried about her flights," J'lor surmises with a faint frown. "I am not sure...that is, what is it you would like me to do?"
"She can fly all she wants. 's long as I don't have to deal with it-" Or as is more likely, K'tric... "I don't care. Just... can't talk to dad 'bout this 'cause he won't understand. And you're-" A helpless wave of a closed fist falls in J'lor's direction, "You're suppose to know stuff. About this. So." D'rian's hold intensifies, the corners of his eyes narrowing with effect.
"Sit down," J'lor offers, one hand motioning towards a spot beside him. "Is it K'tric in particular or men in general that's your primary concern?"
D'rian looks at that spot, and then he looks at J'lor. There's a heavy pause between that last look and his reply, "Both," Another scant beat, "I know it's not...you're not with them when it happens -- it's them, not you, but but it's still-" D'rian finds a point off to the side of J'lor's head to look at, holds it and adds, "Dad wouldn't talk about it." And only then does D'rian move to that spot, settling rather stiffly down into it.
"It's part of being a dragonrider," J'lor offers gently after the bronze weyrling seats himself. "Even bronzes will chase greens and sometimes, they'll catch. But flights are...for the most part, it's an effort to recall any of what happened and sometimes two people who don't otherwise like each other find themselves, at the end of a flight..." he shrugs. "You put your clothes on, you go on your way. It doesn't count as anything. It doesn't reflect anything. It just happens that way, sometimes."
"Yeah, I know but..." D'rian's summary of all that J'lor says ends with another shrug, though this one lacks the carefree, pointless air the others had. "Doesn't mean that after it happens it goes away." He stalls again, before repeating, "Dad never talked about it."
"It doesn't go away, but it's just..." J'lor looks upwards as he tries to figure out how to say it, "it's not important, really. M'uri has very rigid lines when it comes to men and women and what he believes they should be. It's no wonder to me that things that step outside those boundaries, such as some flights, would be a topic he was unwilling to discuss. But, I know for a fact his brown has won several flights where the green's rider was a man. Nobody considered him any less afterwards, no matter what he may have thought of himself."
D'rian says, again, "He never talked about it." And the stress resurfaces, enough that the hand clenched over his knee switches to the back of his head and he bows slightly forward. "Never asked but I knew. And he knew and..." Trailing off, D'rian clears his throat, drops the hand back atop his knee and looks at the bluerider. "Think you can spare some advice? Don't think I can ask anyone else."
"I think you know me better than to ask if I wish to give advice," J'lor offers with a gentle smile. "When do I ever not wish to do so? I am not opposed to talking about it," which is maybe what the bronzerider wished to hear in the first place. "Ask me."
Another wry smile surfaces, as shaky as it is quick to disappear. There's a moment afterward where D'rian nearly looks ready to ask, but before he does... he doesn't. "Nevermind," is his excuse as he hastily draws to his feet. "I'll figure something out and remember he's going to be planning something. Don't know what and don't think I'll know 'till you do." Best of luck. "Gonna get going now. Taikath's - he's calling."
"I...all right. I'm here, you know. If you change your mind." J'lor watches D'rian push upwards and begin to make his escape. "I'll always be willing to talk about it, understand?"
"Yeah," D'rian confirms, stopping to look back to J'lor. "That's what worries me." He smiles again and there is a small amount of earnestly behind it. "See you tomorrow." He nods once, decisively, then turns to leave.
Time: Evening on Day 14, Month 10, Turn 3
Players: J’lor, D’rian
Scene: D’rian wants to know about...er...some things. Except, really, he kind of doesn’t.
It is around dinner time, or really a little bit before, and J'lor is sitting near the entrance of his weyr, despite the cooling climate. On his lap are a new set of riding straps, the leather still stiff. He quietly stitches the strap pieces together while Vellath is somewhere off overhead, playing chase with a few of the weyrling dragons. The gap in sweeps (dinnertime for those riders as well) allows for such.
And along comes D'rian, compliments Taikath announcing the impending arrival of his human half to Vellath. D'rian, aware of such, still stops at the entrance of the bluerider's weyr. Leaning slightly against the doorway, D'rian says, "Bad time?" A meaningful look to the straps follows, D'rian finding more interest in them than he does the bluerider.
The weyrlingmaster glances up from his straps not when he gets the distracted message from his blue, but when D'rian arrives and lingers in the doorway. "of course not." The straps are set aside and J'lor cants his head. "Please come in."
D'rian does not come in, despite the invitation. It does serve as permission for D'rian to look to the bluerider, which he does. With a heavy frown that pales in comparison to his disappointed statement. "You hit him." Days, if not weeks ago. "Why?"
There is a long blink and a small frown returned to the young bronzerider. "I am sorry for that. I was not...at my best just then and M'uri..." J'lor exhales and shakes his head. "I was wrong to hit him."
"Don't change the fact that you hit him." D'rian says reasonably, calmly. "Know what he said and - wasn't right," D'rian's attention drops, focusing briefly on his feet, "You'd tell me violence doesn't solve anything. Look at me like you didn't know my name." There's a pause, short enough to indicate the topic's been dropped and for proper transition to, "This is it, then?" Five Mines as a whole, evidenced with a short jerk of D'rian's head.
"It doesn't change the fact that I hit him," J'lor agrees. "I will attempt not to do so in the future, however." He smiles faintly, but the shakes his head. "What do you mean, I looked at you as if I didn't know your name?" He glances, then, out towards Five Mines. "We're here. We'll stay here for a bit."
"You'd look at me like that." D'rian says, "He does when I get him mad." The line of his jaw is defined for all of a moment, then loosens as he slides his shoulder against the wall and his arms over his chest. "Didn't say you did, but you would." Fact, or believed to be such. The weyrling continues, adding, "Where're we gonna go? Thought this was it. Dad says it is."
"Would I." The words are less question and more thoughtful speculation. "Your father an I, as illustrated by my fist and his nose, do not always agree on certain points. This is a way station. A first step. We'll stay until there is opportunity to leave. Odern is..." The bluerider takes a moment to slip his sewing needle into the leather of the straps beside him, "less than one might have hope for."
"Yeah," D'rian says, confirming his assessment with a little nod and lilt in his voice. The tone drops into a serious one seconds later, "Don't think you needed to sock'm to prove that. Don't think anyone gets along with my dad 'cept me and some of his buddies." Some, not all. The topic of Odern is left, for the time being.
"I know I did not need to 'sock him'. I believe this shall be the third time in as many minutes that I have apologized for doing so." At least, the third apology to D'rian, even if none have been offered to M'uri. "He needs to be able to work with the rest f the wing, and I do not appreciate the way he goes about attempting to sew dissension."
D'rian's smile is wry, "Don't think my dad thinks he's got to do much of anything he doesn't want to. Kinda surprised he didn't hit you back." D'rian's shoulders lift and fall quickly, the shrug more a passing gesture than meaningful. Such an honor is saved for a rehearsed-sounding statement. "Not here to talk 'bout that. Just wanted to say it-" Him not approving, "And warn you."
For D'rian's statements, J'lor frowns a little, and the expression only deepens with the boy's last words. "-Warn- me?" he asks.
"M'uri," D'rian emphasizes the name, and not the relation, "Him not hitting you back. Means something." D'rian pulls away from the wall and walks further in, turning his focus and faking attention elsewhere, "Dad don't let people push him around and he didn't hit you back so he might be planning something. Don't know one way or another but I thought you should know."
None of this news makes the frown go away, and J'lor's klah-dark eyes follow D'rian as he moves. "I see," he replies quietly, lifting one hand to scrub at his face. "Thank you, then. I shall be watchful. Are you faring all right, D'rian?"
"Longer he makes you wait..." It's meant to be helpful, even if it's delivered in a dry manner. Business done, D'rian turns back to face J'lor, his features expressionless. "'m holding. K'tric's... want to strangle him, sometimes. Other'n that, yeah."
"I had heard that you and he were..." J'lor cants his head to the side, speaking the next words slowly and slightly incredulous, "sharing a weyr?"
"Figure in another month or so, I'll ask him to weyrmate." D'rian deadpans, his jawline whitening anew. "Taikath picked the Weyr. Should've known Kasvatuth'd be right next door." And this admission garners quite the unusual reaction in a very self-composed D'rian. Red tinges the darker complexion of his face, and his tone drops considerably. "You think you can help me with something?"
J'lor laughs, sudden and surprised, brows arching upwards. His smile can come as quickly as his frown, and the bluerider shakes his head in lingering bemusement. "I'm sure you'll be very happy together," he teases fondly, but then the amusement fades and J'lor leans forward to say, solemnly, "If I am able to, I shall do so. What is it, D'rian?"
"Yeah." D'rian manages a smile, and very little more. Then: "It's been a year. 'round abouts." Eyes that are always serious find J'lor's and intensify as he adds, "Taikath's got this thing about her. Can't always get him to listen to reason."
"You're worried about her flights," J'lor surmises with a faint frown. "I am not sure...that is, what is it you would like me to do?"
"She can fly all she wants. 's long as I don't have to deal with it-" Or as is more likely, K'tric... "I don't care. Just... can't talk to dad 'bout this 'cause he won't understand. And you're-" A helpless wave of a closed fist falls in J'lor's direction, "You're suppose to know stuff. About this. So." D'rian's hold intensifies, the corners of his eyes narrowing with effect.
"Sit down," J'lor offers, one hand motioning towards a spot beside him. "Is it K'tric in particular or men in general that's your primary concern?"
D'rian looks at that spot, and then he looks at J'lor. There's a heavy pause between that last look and his reply, "Both," Another scant beat, "I know it's not...you're not with them when it happens -- it's them, not you, but but it's still-" D'rian finds a point off to the side of J'lor's head to look at, holds it and adds, "Dad wouldn't talk about it." And only then does D'rian move to that spot, settling rather stiffly down into it.
"It's part of being a dragonrider," J'lor offers gently after the bronze weyrling seats himself. "Even bronzes will chase greens and sometimes, they'll catch. But flights are...for the most part, it's an effort to recall any of what happened and sometimes two people who don't otherwise like each other find themselves, at the end of a flight..." he shrugs. "You put your clothes on, you go on your way. It doesn't count as anything. It doesn't reflect anything. It just happens that way, sometimes."
"Yeah, I know but..." D'rian's summary of all that J'lor says ends with another shrug, though this one lacks the carefree, pointless air the others had. "Doesn't mean that after it happens it goes away." He stalls again, before repeating, "Dad never talked about it."
"It doesn't go away, but it's just..." J'lor looks upwards as he tries to figure out how to say it, "it's not important, really. M'uri has very rigid lines when it comes to men and women and what he believes they should be. It's no wonder to me that things that step outside those boundaries, such as some flights, would be a topic he was unwilling to discuss. But, I know for a fact his brown has won several flights where the green's rider was a man. Nobody considered him any less afterwards, no matter what he may have thought of himself."
D'rian says, again, "He never talked about it." And the stress resurfaces, enough that the hand clenched over his knee switches to the back of his head and he bows slightly forward. "Never asked but I knew. And he knew and..." Trailing off, D'rian clears his throat, drops the hand back atop his knee and looks at the bluerider. "Think you can spare some advice? Don't think I can ask anyone else."
"I think you know me better than to ask if I wish to give advice," J'lor offers with a gentle smile. "When do I ever not wish to do so? I am not opposed to talking about it," which is maybe what the bronzerider wished to hear in the first place. "Ask me."
Another wry smile surfaces, as shaky as it is quick to disappear. There's a moment afterward where D'rian nearly looks ready to ask, but before he does... he doesn't. "Nevermind," is his excuse as he hastily draws to his feet. "I'll figure something out and remember he's going to be planning something. Don't know what and don't think I'll know 'till you do." Best of luck. "Gonna get going now. Taikath's - he's calling."
"I...all right. I'm here, you know. If you change your mind." J'lor watches D'rian push upwards and begin to make his escape. "I'll always be willing to talk about it, understand?"
"Yeah," D'rian confirms, stopping to look back to J'lor. "That's what worries me." He smiles again and there is a small amount of earnestly behind it. "See you tomorrow." He nods once, decisively, then turns to leave.