Log: Doing the Sort of Right Thing
Who: P'draig, V'delin, Imirath, Jekzith
When: Evening 7/26/15
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: Ven's got a little problem he needs some discreet advice for. Paddy's got a potential working solution that isn't exactly the right thing to do, but is probably the right thing for /Ven/.
Any mentions of people moving are RP-based only at this juncture.
Dragon > Jekzith senses that Imirath reaches outward, a spiderweb of tangles finally coalescing into a pooling of water, quiet but exceedingly present. << Mine, >> the term is emphasized distastefully, << would speak. Yours is available? >>
Jekzith > Imirath senses that Jekzith is all bubbles and blue delight. << Hello Imirath! Certainly, he would be delighted to speak with your rider. Shall we come up? Or he's happy to welcome you to the space he calls 'office'. >>
Dragon> Jekzith senses that Imirath casually seeks to quelch the bubbles, drowning them in the gentle but insistent pressure of the water. << We will come to 'office.' >> A moment, then an wry explanation. << It is overwarm here. >>
Jekzith> Imirath senses that Jekzith pops a few to see what happens to them, but his cheer is nearly irrepressible underneath that. << Lovely! He waits with *whiskey*. >>
Already forewarned by Jekzith, P'draig's shut the door to his weyr and has two glasses filled with amber liquid on the table, the bottle set down near its center and the door left open for V'delin's entry.
Ven approaches almost tentatively, some of his steely resolve possibly muted by Imirath's wry disinterest. "Least he actually agreed to bring me down. Some days I think I need to carve handholds - might not be a bad idea at that." He pauses once inside, putting his hands in his pocket. "Uh, thanks for seeing me. That whiskey? Imi mentioned, but sometimes, well, he exaggerates." Chatty much?
P'draig smiles at V'delin's words and slides one of those glasses over. "Very real. And sometimes when I still lived up in a higher ledge, I used to think the same thing, not that Jekzith was usually non-accomodating, but ... you know. For the convenience of visitors. Not to mention I like rock-climbing." He winks over at the bronzerider and shifts his hand back to the glass he's keeping for himself and picks it up. "And sure Ven. What's up?"
V'delin takes a few more steps forward, his hands fiddling restlessly with his pocket seams, anxious like a young apprentice. "Mine's pretty low. Wouldn't take much work, really, and might help keep me in shape if I were climbing it regularly. Wouldn't mind not having to rely on -him- for every up and down." The tall guy looks around, not getting to the point right away. "Been a while since I've been in here," he comments.
"Hey, there you go, you'd get in shape while even building out all those handholds," P'draig replies easily and takes a sip of his drink. "Have a seat if you like?" He looks around the office and grins. "Hasn't changed /too/ much, though I might re-outfit it for Palia or something, or just cut to the chase and move my bed in here, and slide the desk forward a bit." The Weyrlingmaster chuckles softly and pulls a chair out for himself, spins it around and straddles it. "As I recall, from your clutch, you weren't the one in here /that/ much. That'd be Sal."
Finally the slim man reaches the table, and he sinks into a chair, feet twitching out their own beat. "Might do that, then. Good project. Could use one. Yeah, Sal. He's been back around again. Not sure how I feel about that, though it's sure not up to me." He takes up the drink now, downing a good swallow and coughing on it as the Weyrlingmaster mentions his daughter. "With the weyr you've got? Wouldn't give up those perks. Maybe a cot for the long nights." He manages a partial smile. "Good whiskey."
"Mm. Yeah well. Me either, if it's any consolation. If I know anything about being a Weyrlingmaster, I learned it dealing with his rebellious ass." P'draig tilts the glass up again, takes another little swallow and grins. "More because I might be expecting to share this weyr soonish and Palia ought to have her own room. Otherwise, I might consider putting her in the nursery overnight more often." There's a nod about the whiskey. "It's one of my vices. Gets me through things like oh ... Sal'ros." Humor dances in his eyes.
V'delin cracks a smile at P'draig's not-quite-as-fond remembrance. "Guess it's the tough times that bring the most in the way of lessons." He makes a face, then considers P'draig's comment, expression carefully neutral. "Share it? With that fellow, the Istan?" Casually, another drink of whiskey goes down, this time with an 'ah' and without the cough.
"Pretty much. Sink or swim, yeah?" P'draig continues placid and nods, turning his glass slightly towards the glowlight. "T'mic. Yes. Depending on how things go."
There's a moment's pause, again, and Ven imitates Paddy's gesture of holding up the liquor and admiring the light through it. "You thinking of asking him over here?" He tentatively asks. "I guess you must be, since you mentioned it." He takes another drink, then wonders, "What makes you get to a place like that, where you're willing to have someone else share your space, share that much of your life?" He wrinkles his lips. "I can't even share with Imirath - most of what we do is argue,
"Actually, he thought of it. When before he was all 'it's too cold!' so I was thinking about going there. Only ... y'know, wouldn't be right to, right now." The question V'delin asks brings a wry grin to P'draig's lips. "Shells Ven, I guess it's when you realize that you're spending so much time together anyway that you may as well? Or just that you just can't get enough?" He considers the liquid in his glass further, sips again. "With Piper, I was very young and we'd been waiting for it for a /long/ time. A long time." There's a sad little smile to accompany that. "We'd been apart more than we'd been together and we were young enough that we still had all the stars in our eyes about it being The Way To Do Things." Beat. "I guess in the end that's why it didn't last." He takes a thoughtful swallow of his whiskey. "With Illya, I did it mostly because she wanted it so badly and I wanted her to be happy. Turns out she's not really cut out for sharing living space any more than you seem to be. So in the end, it's not for everyone. Nothing wrong with that." Both hands close around the glass, fingertips bracing it lightly. "With Mic, I think it might just work out. Never thought I would again, let alone with a /man/," his eyes widen slightly and he laughs, "but here I am thinking about it again. He's not the type to require fidelity and neither am I, but we want to be together anyway."
V'delin listens, the slight tilt forward of his head indicating he's paying attention even though the swirling of the glass might suggest he's bored by the tales of P'draig's past loves. He nods simply at the mention of timing, smiles on one side at 'stars in their eyes', and nods again at the notion that he's not cut out to cohabitate. His brows furrow, then he hmms. "Guess if you find someone who's keen on living the same way you'd like to, that can ease things. Most girls, well - they want promises, and nag, and whine, and I just can't deal with that. Which, ah, brings me to part of why I came."
"Yeah. Most do," P'draig agrees lightly. "T'mic doesn't." Another smile accompanies that, but that one is the smile of a man in love as he takes a goodly swallow of the heady liquor, gray-blue eyes intent on V'elin now. "Oh?"
V'delin nods, the notion that he'd have to find a fellow to get that sort of arrangement not sitting well with him. "Wouldn't have figured you for a man's man, that way. Could be just because you've a history, with women." He shrugs, fortifies himself with another swallow of the amber liquor, and sighs. "See, I don't have many people to talk to. Not without it getting back around, you know? And I'd rather this didn't. Not just on my account, but on the girl's." His brows raise, inquiringly: terms ok by you?
"I didn't either. But it's more to do with Jekzith's first green catch ... and with T'mic himself. I still like girls /plenty/ fine and so does he. Neither one of us is likely to be leaving girls alone anytime soon." A sunny grin crosses his face briefly and he drains the glass nearly all the way down, then lifts both brows. "You can count on my discretion."
"Hmm." V'delin muses on this a few moments, letting it sink in. "Imirath's bids aren't usually successful - he handicaps himself by spending too much of his focus on knocking out the others and not enough on going after the girl, but yeah, I've - well. Didn't change my preferences any." His face colors, and he downs the rest of the liquor, setting it down in case a refill's in the offering. "I appreciate that. See, the girl, well, as rumor's told, I'm sure, in a family way. And I'm not at all interested in participating, but she just won't let up. How do I - what's my obligation? I've been in this sort of situation before, but then, well, I just split. Here, well, she lives here." Eyeroll.
"I meant that that first catch was so traumatizing it fairly well convinced me of /not/ being inclined that way until ... very recently," P'draig answers steadily, a ghost of a smile on his face, wry. "Ah. Well. Is she after you for support or participation? Because support she shouldn't, strictly speaking, need and participation isn't every required. T'mic only visits his in the nursery."
"Yeah?" V'delin's expression lifts, some understanding there. "I wasn't so keen on it myself. If I can ask, uh, what changed your mind? Just the person?" His questions are seemingly sincere enough, the curiousity of those who don't share the proclivity but inquire, perhaps trying to broaden his narrow mind. "I think she wants support. She's weyrbred but has this sense that she'd like to introduce me to her ma, that we'll spend sevendays at Shipfish watching a diaper-clad little frolic in the surf, that sort of thing. And -" distracted, now, "T'mic has one, too?"
P'draig slides the last sips of the whiskey down his throat and looks down at the empty glass, turning it to and fro in his hands. "Yeah. Mic did." He clears his throat, grinning that goofy grin of the head-over-heels again, then looks up brows lifted. "That ... sounds more like participation rather than support. Mic does support. You know, turnday presents, the odd trip out now and then, but no entanglements with the family. Uh ... Mic has /five/ one just born a few months ago."
"I'm just not interested." Ven flatly states, finding some amusement in P'draig's lovey-dovey expression. "How do I tell her that? It's a weyr, for Faranth's sake. She's got nannies and nurseries and family, and certainly I don't plan on turnday presents or odd trips out." He makes a face. "You mind?" The glass is gently pushed toward center of the table, the rider's expression straying toward the bottle there.
"Sure, for the most part, for me, it's just him. My other lovers are both women." Matter-of-fact. He sets his own glass down, reaches for the bottle and refills both. "Not at all. And ... hm. If it was Mic he'd just lay it out flat at the start, but he has a way with people so they don't feel bad about it. With you, no offense, you might have to go with the gift tactic. A little tacky, but pay her off to stay out of your hair. Compromise on something you're willing to give." Beat. "And next time, take whatever girl it is for a long trip Between afterward or use /something/ man, to prevent it."
V'delin smiles sheepishly, taking another sip of the liquor and raising the glass in an appreciative toast for the refill. "Tried that. She wouldn't have any convincing. Think she might've schemed it from the start, just for the bragging. Some girls are, well, less willing when the moment's interrupted." A shrug. "And she's done a fair amount of gossiping, though I've tried to shield her from it." He considers over another drink, possibly contemplating the rogueish nature of the Weyrlingmaster, and nods very slowly. "Could try that. You don't think it'll make things worse, make her thing I'm coming 'round?"
P'draig shakes his head a little. "Seriously? Huh." Paddy rises then and goes over to his desk, fishes around in the bottom-most drawer and comes up with a bottle, brings this over. "My mother gets this from who-knows-where. It's not 100% effective, but might be an easier time convincing a girl to use. Makes things feel nice y'know." He holds out what looks like clear oil with a discreet little label and neat printing on it with the name of "Hellbren, herbalist" in the corner. "Won't help with this particular girl, but if you want to avoid the trouble going forward --" The Weyrlingmaster shrugs once and sets the bottle down on the table, retreats to his chair and pulls his glass back towards him. "I can't imagine you making it anything less than plain," P'draig teases lightly. "I mean, generally this isn't the course of action I'd advise, but I think it's what'll work for you. And next time, I suggest the women at /Boll/ you know near the drinking hole."
"Seriously." The lean man shrugs stiffly, then leans back in the chair, becoming more at ease and that in evidence by his no longer twitching leg. After another sip of the whiskey, he leans forward, peering at the oil and reading the label. "That one mine for the taking?" He inquires, before reaching a hand out to take up the bottle. "Can't imagine having conversations about that sort of thing with my mother. Yours must be a unique sort." He chuckles, agreeing. "Away from home. I take your meaning."
"Mm. There's plenty who don't mind just having the babies and not looking too closely at whose is whose here too, or who just work it out. Most of them have the sense to just use the nursery like every other flight-born or casual liaison baby in the Weyr." P'draig shrugs lightly. "Everyone's got their own way of working this out in the end, but it's a Weyr man. The Weyr provides, you don't really have an obligation." He nods about the bottle. "Yes. I don't actually need it anymore. Both of the ladies in my life are riders themselves and one of them wants children so we're letting that be what it'll be." Paddy's all laid back about all of this, not fussed in the slightest and he smiles. "My mother is a greenrider who used to have three weyrmates. She educated all of us as soon as we were of an age to take interest."
"That's what I was hoping for. Thought this girl had sense, but." He hmphs dismissively. "That's what I was wanting to hear, and it's a bit of a relief to have it reiterated." One brow raises as V'delin takes up the bottle, inspecting it up close before sliding it into an interior pocket of his vest. The casual attitude is also, seemingly, reassuring, even if the content of P'draig's words is news. "Handy, having that education. I - " he pauses, not wanting the admission much. "Hailing from Bitra, it's an embarrassment if you don't already know all this, so one figures it out rather than asking. Makes for a mess sometimes."
"In the end, Ven, and this is true of every dragonrider, your first duty is to your dragon and your Weyr. Again, I don't usually advocate treating another person poorly, but in this case, if you're really not interested and she's insisting, tell her Imirath won't tolerate any of it and that ought to be the end of it. Any lower caverns girl with sense knows the dragon trumps all." One of Paddy's hands spreads out in a helpless gesture then he picks his glass up again and knocks some whiskey back. "Me, I've always wanted a family and I was more than wiling to not only support Illya but make a family around Palia. That's me though. I'd like more kids too. So there you go. You, it's not your thing and if it takes away from your care of Imirath, there's no contest. He wins. I'm lucky. Jekzith adores Palia." He sucks down more whiskey and chuckles. "Yeah. My mother's a good woman. Takes care of everyone. And that sounds like it could be a right mess. That's not the sort of thing you mess around with." Beat. "I've gotten better at teaching the Weyrlings this stuff, now that I know that not everyone gets the facts the way I did." Another pause ensues and then quietly: "Had to help a younger rider not that long ago with a long jump. Sobering."
"I know that, about my duty," the rider says almost passionately, surprising himself into leaning back and overly-casually taking a big gulp of the strong spirits. The idea of using his cranky lifemate in this manner obviously hadn't occured to him, and after a moment's unwillingness to accept it, a slow smile spreads across his face. "She's not fond of him at all, and he isn't keen on the idea, so it wouldn't be entirely untrue." He takes a celebratory sip, then shakes his head. "'S good of you. Don't think I could do it, what you do." Abruptly, he shifts topics, wondering, "You think the leadership's got any ideas, if Firefall's 'leader'd been sabotaged? We'd rest easier knowing, all of us would."
P'draig nods a couple of times. "There you go then. It's not a lie and if she knows /her/ duty to the Weyr, that should cut it off at the pass." THe Weyrlingmaster looks mildly pained about all that, but he also doesn't seem to be passing judgement on V'delin's preferences either. "I try. I think it's important to let them know that they don't /have/ to father or bear a child." His next sip of whiskey is slow, thoughtful, the liquid rolled around in his mouth before he swallows. "To be honet, I haven't thought about it much. The whole thing is so preposterous, I'm just assuming it was wear and tear. Maybe that's dumb, but seriously, we're riders. We don't have time to be sabotaging each other with Fall the way it is."
"Yeah. Yeah." V'delin nods a few times, convincing himself that it's all right to 'use' his dragon in such a manner. "I'll try buying her off first, but if that doesn't work, well. Thanks." He runs his fingers over his mustache, smoothing down the edges as P'draig speaks. "That's the truth. All the same, what if someone were, for advancement, or for a grudge?" He lets that rest there, then shakes his head. "Couldn't be a rider, or we'd know it. Right?" Before the man has time to answer, however, he continues. "All the same, it'd set us at greater ease if the Weyrleader'd just make an announcement so we -know- it was just an accident. Can't say I'd change boots with C'nroy about now for anything."
"Again, not the time for it. I don't think there's a dragonrider alive that'd want to advance /that bad/ at a time like this or hold that hard of a grudge. Besides, Falls are so tweaked, what's the point? People have been getting taken out like crazy and it only makes the load on the rest of us worse." His head shakes a couple of times. "No this was an accident pure and simple. Carelessness from fatigue and stress, nothing more. Has to be."
The Weyrlingmaster's easy assertion that it was mere accident doesn't reassure the bronzerider overmuch, though he accepts that P'draig needs to believe that and doesn't pursue it further, instead having another indulgent sip of whiskey. By this time, he's quite a bit more relaxed, his long limbs more at rest than in tension regardless of the topic. "Sure have felt that, the load. Much as it's made complaints that you're helping, some days it's sure a relief to have another experienced rider flying wth us. Especially with T'rien's pick for second changed to Firefall; training a new one who works as well in tandem's a hardship, and we're like as not lucky to have you." The admission leaves him surprised, though the words are out, so he lets them be.
"Yeah. Who hasn't?" P'draig says quietly, thoughtfully and makes a face. "Our ranks've been sorely thinned by all of this. Might actually be hard to keep the dragon population up enough through te rest of the Interval to tackle the next Pass." Softer still and Paddy nods acknowledgement of the compliment. "I feel it's /my/ duty to help out where I can."
"I've worked with leather, before coming here. If I could just see, maybe I'd have a guess? But I'd imagine better heads and eyes than mine have had plenty of look-see's already." Ven shrugs helplessly, then sits up, paying more attention. "Really? There's that much a danger?" He apparently hadn't thought much of that, and he blinks a few times in surprise. "Guess clutch sizes haven't grown like usual - is it just Fort that's at risk, you think, or all the weyrs?" As quickly as the compliment's given, Ven has moved on, preferring perhaps to pretend it never existed.
"Could always ask," P'draig suggests. "Won't harm anything to ask." He shrugs once. "I'm not sure actually, I haven't been tallying all the losses, but if you think it through, the more time goes by, the more of the older riders're getting to the point of not being able to fly anymore, or not fight. They're on other kinds of duty. And the queens are still laying like it's an Interval, so replacment isn't really happening the way it ought. All the Weyrs are affected, it's just a question of how much. Telgar's getting slammed right now because of the whole thing between them and the REaches over Crom. Too much area to cover."
V'delin nods thoughtfully, then dismissively takes another drink. "Don't think the Weyrleader'd be keen on an ordinary rider professing better than all the folk whose heads were clustered 'round after the accident, but." Hapless shrug, accepting the suggestion and letting it pass. "The losses. And the injuries, and those out after flying with the queen's wing, maternal or otherwise." He shakes his head, tips back the glass for another drink. "If we were in better standing, would we fly with them, to complement their forces, or would it be imprudent to take a side in their...quandary?"
"Doesn't have to be like that," P'draig counters. "Not yours better than everyone else's, just another pair of qualified eyes, maybe with a different point of view." The Weyrlingmaster blows out a long breath and shakes his head. "You got me there, Ven. I steer clear of most politics. I train Weyrlings, that's what I'm good at. That and plain old flying. But I think maybe you know, taking sides could just make things worse. You'd have to dole out the help evenly between both places or it'd look bad."
Ven doesn't have an answer for P'draig's assertion, so he scratches his head aimlessly, then nods noncomittaly. Of politics, he comments, "I'd figure, but wondered, if we were in dire straits, if we could appeal to another weyr for help, or if it'd just be every weyr for themselves. There's been so much shifting, of leaders, of older riders out like you said, all around. Hope it lets up soon, the 'Falls, that's all."
"I know Ven, I know." Beat. More whiskey. A lot more whiskey. A hard swallow. "Me too."
In light of that, ah, sobering topic, V'delin finishes the second glass of whiskey and slowly gets to his feet. "With any luck." He doesn't complete the sentence, again dangling the incomplete thought and leaving it there like untended laundry. "Thanks, for the words. And the whiskey." Old habits dying hard, he waits until there's a notion that he's dismissed before starting out.
P'draig knocks back the last of his drink and walks V'delin to the door. "Quite so. And you're welcome. Ask just about any time." A little hint of humor in those words as Paddy holds the door open for Ven and salutes loosely. "Clear skies, Ven."
Ven smirks, returning the somewhat sloppy salute, casual in their context, and heads out. "You, too. And good luck juggling the lovers. Sounds like it'd be helpful." The smirk remains, only softening as he whistles lowly as he departs.
Paddy's laughter follows the bronzerider on his way. "Thanks!"
When: Evening 7/26/15
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: Ven's got a little problem he needs some discreet advice for. Paddy's got a potential working solution that isn't exactly the right thing to do, but is probably the right thing for /Ven/.
Any mentions of people moving are RP-based only at this juncture.
Dragon > Jekzith senses that Imirath reaches outward, a spiderweb of tangles finally coalescing into a pooling of water, quiet but exceedingly present. << Mine, >> the term is emphasized distastefully, << would speak. Yours is available? >>
Jekzith > Imirath senses that Jekzith is all bubbles and blue delight. << Hello Imirath! Certainly, he would be delighted to speak with your rider. Shall we come up? Or he's happy to welcome you to the space he calls 'office'. >>
Dragon> Jekzith senses that Imirath casually seeks to quelch the bubbles, drowning them in the gentle but insistent pressure of the water. << We will come to 'office.' >> A moment, then an wry explanation. << It is overwarm here. >>
Jekzith> Imirath senses that Jekzith pops a few to see what happens to them, but his cheer is nearly irrepressible underneath that. << Lovely! He waits with *whiskey*. >>
Already forewarned by Jekzith, P'draig's shut the door to his weyr and has two glasses filled with amber liquid on the table, the bottle set down near its center and the door left open for V'delin's entry.
Ven approaches almost tentatively, some of his steely resolve possibly muted by Imirath's wry disinterest. "Least he actually agreed to bring me down. Some days I think I need to carve handholds - might not be a bad idea at that." He pauses once inside, putting his hands in his pocket. "Uh, thanks for seeing me. That whiskey? Imi mentioned, but sometimes, well, he exaggerates." Chatty much?
P'draig smiles at V'delin's words and slides one of those glasses over. "Very real. And sometimes when I still lived up in a higher ledge, I used to think the same thing, not that Jekzith was usually non-accomodating, but ... you know. For the convenience of visitors. Not to mention I like rock-climbing." He winks over at the bronzerider and shifts his hand back to the glass he's keeping for himself and picks it up. "And sure Ven. What's up?"
V'delin takes a few more steps forward, his hands fiddling restlessly with his pocket seams, anxious like a young apprentice. "Mine's pretty low. Wouldn't take much work, really, and might help keep me in shape if I were climbing it regularly. Wouldn't mind not having to rely on -him- for every up and down." The tall guy looks around, not getting to the point right away. "Been a while since I've been in here," he comments.
"Hey, there you go, you'd get in shape while even building out all those handholds," P'draig replies easily and takes a sip of his drink. "Have a seat if you like?" He looks around the office and grins. "Hasn't changed /too/ much, though I might re-outfit it for Palia or something, or just cut to the chase and move my bed in here, and slide the desk forward a bit." The Weyrlingmaster chuckles softly and pulls a chair out for himself, spins it around and straddles it. "As I recall, from your clutch, you weren't the one in here /that/ much. That'd be Sal."
Finally the slim man reaches the table, and he sinks into a chair, feet twitching out their own beat. "Might do that, then. Good project. Could use one. Yeah, Sal. He's been back around again. Not sure how I feel about that, though it's sure not up to me." He takes up the drink now, downing a good swallow and coughing on it as the Weyrlingmaster mentions his daughter. "With the weyr you've got? Wouldn't give up those perks. Maybe a cot for the long nights." He manages a partial smile. "Good whiskey."
"Mm. Yeah well. Me either, if it's any consolation. If I know anything about being a Weyrlingmaster, I learned it dealing with his rebellious ass." P'draig tilts the glass up again, takes another little swallow and grins. "More because I might be expecting to share this weyr soonish and Palia ought to have her own room. Otherwise, I might consider putting her in the nursery overnight more often." There's a nod about the whiskey. "It's one of my vices. Gets me through things like oh ... Sal'ros." Humor dances in his eyes.
V'delin cracks a smile at P'draig's not-quite-as-fond remembrance. "Guess it's the tough times that bring the most in the way of lessons." He makes a face, then considers P'draig's comment, expression carefully neutral. "Share it? With that fellow, the Istan?" Casually, another drink of whiskey goes down, this time with an 'ah' and without the cough.
"Pretty much. Sink or swim, yeah?" P'draig continues placid and nods, turning his glass slightly towards the glowlight. "T'mic. Yes. Depending on how things go."
There's a moment's pause, again, and Ven imitates Paddy's gesture of holding up the liquor and admiring the light through it. "You thinking of asking him over here?" He tentatively asks. "I guess you must be, since you mentioned it." He takes another drink, then wonders, "What makes you get to a place like that, where you're willing to have someone else share your space, share that much of your life?" He wrinkles his lips. "I can't even share with Imirath - most of what we do is argue,
"Actually, he thought of it. When before he was all 'it's too cold!' so I was thinking about going there. Only ... y'know, wouldn't be right to, right now." The question V'delin asks brings a wry grin to P'draig's lips. "Shells Ven, I guess it's when you realize that you're spending so much time together anyway that you may as well? Or just that you just can't get enough?" He considers the liquid in his glass further, sips again. "With Piper, I was very young and we'd been waiting for it for a /long/ time. A long time." There's a sad little smile to accompany that. "We'd been apart more than we'd been together and we were young enough that we still had all the stars in our eyes about it being The Way To Do Things." Beat. "I guess in the end that's why it didn't last." He takes a thoughtful swallow of his whiskey. "With Illya, I did it mostly because she wanted it so badly and I wanted her to be happy. Turns out she's not really cut out for sharing living space any more than you seem to be. So in the end, it's not for everyone. Nothing wrong with that." Both hands close around the glass, fingertips bracing it lightly. "With Mic, I think it might just work out. Never thought I would again, let alone with a /man/," his eyes widen slightly and he laughs, "but here I am thinking about it again. He's not the type to require fidelity and neither am I, but we want to be together anyway."
V'delin listens, the slight tilt forward of his head indicating he's paying attention even though the swirling of the glass might suggest he's bored by the tales of P'draig's past loves. He nods simply at the mention of timing, smiles on one side at 'stars in their eyes', and nods again at the notion that he's not cut out to cohabitate. His brows furrow, then he hmms. "Guess if you find someone who's keen on living the same way you'd like to, that can ease things. Most girls, well - they want promises, and nag, and whine, and I just can't deal with that. Which, ah, brings me to part of why I came."
"Yeah. Most do," P'draig agrees lightly. "T'mic doesn't." Another smile accompanies that, but that one is the smile of a man in love as he takes a goodly swallow of the heady liquor, gray-blue eyes intent on V'elin now. "Oh?"
V'delin nods, the notion that he'd have to find a fellow to get that sort of arrangement not sitting well with him. "Wouldn't have figured you for a man's man, that way. Could be just because you've a history, with women." He shrugs, fortifies himself with another swallow of the amber liquor, and sighs. "See, I don't have many people to talk to. Not without it getting back around, you know? And I'd rather this didn't. Not just on my account, but on the girl's." His brows raise, inquiringly: terms ok by you?
"I didn't either. But it's more to do with Jekzith's first green catch ... and with T'mic himself. I still like girls /plenty/ fine and so does he. Neither one of us is likely to be leaving girls alone anytime soon." A sunny grin crosses his face briefly and he drains the glass nearly all the way down, then lifts both brows. "You can count on my discretion."
"Hmm." V'delin muses on this a few moments, letting it sink in. "Imirath's bids aren't usually successful - he handicaps himself by spending too much of his focus on knocking out the others and not enough on going after the girl, but yeah, I've - well. Didn't change my preferences any." His face colors, and he downs the rest of the liquor, setting it down in case a refill's in the offering. "I appreciate that. See, the girl, well, as rumor's told, I'm sure, in a family way. And I'm not at all interested in participating, but she just won't let up. How do I - what's my obligation? I've been in this sort of situation before, but then, well, I just split. Here, well, she lives here." Eyeroll.
"I meant that that first catch was so traumatizing it fairly well convinced me of /not/ being inclined that way until ... very recently," P'draig answers steadily, a ghost of a smile on his face, wry. "Ah. Well. Is she after you for support or participation? Because support she shouldn't, strictly speaking, need and participation isn't every required. T'mic only visits his in the nursery."
"Yeah?" V'delin's expression lifts, some understanding there. "I wasn't so keen on it myself. If I can ask, uh, what changed your mind? Just the person?" His questions are seemingly sincere enough, the curiousity of those who don't share the proclivity but inquire, perhaps trying to broaden his narrow mind. "I think she wants support. She's weyrbred but has this sense that she'd like to introduce me to her ma, that we'll spend sevendays at Shipfish watching a diaper-clad little frolic in the surf, that sort of thing. And -" distracted, now, "T'mic has one, too?"
P'draig slides the last sips of the whiskey down his throat and looks down at the empty glass, turning it to and fro in his hands. "Yeah. Mic did." He clears his throat, grinning that goofy grin of the head-over-heels again, then looks up brows lifted. "That ... sounds more like participation rather than support. Mic does support. You know, turnday presents, the odd trip out now and then, but no entanglements with the family. Uh ... Mic has /five/ one just born a few months ago."
"I'm just not interested." Ven flatly states, finding some amusement in P'draig's lovey-dovey expression. "How do I tell her that? It's a weyr, for Faranth's sake. She's got nannies and nurseries and family, and certainly I don't plan on turnday presents or odd trips out." He makes a face. "You mind?" The glass is gently pushed toward center of the table, the rider's expression straying toward the bottle there.
"Sure, for the most part, for me, it's just him. My other lovers are both women." Matter-of-fact. He sets his own glass down, reaches for the bottle and refills both. "Not at all. And ... hm. If it was Mic he'd just lay it out flat at the start, but he has a way with people so they don't feel bad about it. With you, no offense, you might have to go with the gift tactic. A little tacky, but pay her off to stay out of your hair. Compromise on something you're willing to give." Beat. "And next time, take whatever girl it is for a long trip Between afterward or use /something/ man, to prevent it."
V'delin smiles sheepishly, taking another sip of the liquor and raising the glass in an appreciative toast for the refill. "Tried that. She wouldn't have any convincing. Think she might've schemed it from the start, just for the bragging. Some girls are, well, less willing when the moment's interrupted." A shrug. "And she's done a fair amount of gossiping, though I've tried to shield her from it." He considers over another drink, possibly contemplating the rogueish nature of the Weyrlingmaster, and nods very slowly. "Could try that. You don't think it'll make things worse, make her thing I'm coming 'round?"
P'draig shakes his head a little. "Seriously? Huh." Paddy rises then and goes over to his desk, fishes around in the bottom-most drawer and comes up with a bottle, brings this over. "My mother gets this from who-knows-where. It's not 100% effective, but might be an easier time convincing a girl to use. Makes things feel nice y'know." He holds out what looks like clear oil with a discreet little label and neat printing on it with the name of "Hellbren, herbalist" in the corner. "Won't help with this particular girl, but if you want to avoid the trouble going forward --" The Weyrlingmaster shrugs once and sets the bottle down on the table, retreats to his chair and pulls his glass back towards him. "I can't imagine you making it anything less than plain," P'draig teases lightly. "I mean, generally this isn't the course of action I'd advise, but I think it's what'll work for you. And next time, I suggest the women at /Boll/ you know near the drinking hole."
"Seriously." The lean man shrugs stiffly, then leans back in the chair, becoming more at ease and that in evidence by his no longer twitching leg. After another sip of the whiskey, he leans forward, peering at the oil and reading the label. "That one mine for the taking?" He inquires, before reaching a hand out to take up the bottle. "Can't imagine having conversations about that sort of thing with my mother. Yours must be a unique sort." He chuckles, agreeing. "Away from home. I take your meaning."
"Mm. There's plenty who don't mind just having the babies and not looking too closely at whose is whose here too, or who just work it out. Most of them have the sense to just use the nursery like every other flight-born or casual liaison baby in the Weyr." P'draig shrugs lightly. "Everyone's got their own way of working this out in the end, but it's a Weyr man. The Weyr provides, you don't really have an obligation." He nods about the bottle. "Yes. I don't actually need it anymore. Both of the ladies in my life are riders themselves and one of them wants children so we're letting that be what it'll be." Paddy's all laid back about all of this, not fussed in the slightest and he smiles. "My mother is a greenrider who used to have three weyrmates. She educated all of us as soon as we were of an age to take interest."
"That's what I was hoping for. Thought this girl had sense, but." He hmphs dismissively. "That's what I was wanting to hear, and it's a bit of a relief to have it reiterated." One brow raises as V'delin takes up the bottle, inspecting it up close before sliding it into an interior pocket of his vest. The casual attitude is also, seemingly, reassuring, even if the content of P'draig's words is news. "Handy, having that education. I - " he pauses, not wanting the admission much. "Hailing from Bitra, it's an embarrassment if you don't already know all this, so one figures it out rather than asking. Makes for a mess sometimes."
"In the end, Ven, and this is true of every dragonrider, your first duty is to your dragon and your Weyr. Again, I don't usually advocate treating another person poorly, but in this case, if you're really not interested and she's insisting, tell her Imirath won't tolerate any of it and that ought to be the end of it. Any lower caverns girl with sense knows the dragon trumps all." One of Paddy's hands spreads out in a helpless gesture then he picks his glass up again and knocks some whiskey back. "Me, I've always wanted a family and I was more than wiling to not only support Illya but make a family around Palia. That's me though. I'd like more kids too. So there you go. You, it's not your thing and if it takes away from your care of Imirath, there's no contest. He wins. I'm lucky. Jekzith adores Palia." He sucks down more whiskey and chuckles. "Yeah. My mother's a good woman. Takes care of everyone. And that sounds like it could be a right mess. That's not the sort of thing you mess around with." Beat. "I've gotten better at teaching the Weyrlings this stuff, now that I know that not everyone gets the facts the way I did." Another pause ensues and then quietly: "Had to help a younger rider not that long ago with a long jump. Sobering."
"I know that, about my duty," the rider says almost passionately, surprising himself into leaning back and overly-casually taking a big gulp of the strong spirits. The idea of using his cranky lifemate in this manner obviously hadn't occured to him, and after a moment's unwillingness to accept it, a slow smile spreads across his face. "She's not fond of him at all, and he isn't keen on the idea, so it wouldn't be entirely untrue." He takes a celebratory sip, then shakes his head. "'S good of you. Don't think I could do it, what you do." Abruptly, he shifts topics, wondering, "You think the leadership's got any ideas, if Firefall's 'leader'd been sabotaged? We'd rest easier knowing, all of us would."
P'draig nods a couple of times. "There you go then. It's not a lie and if she knows /her/ duty to the Weyr, that should cut it off at the pass." THe Weyrlingmaster looks mildly pained about all that, but he also doesn't seem to be passing judgement on V'delin's preferences either. "I try. I think it's important to let them know that they don't /have/ to father or bear a child." His next sip of whiskey is slow, thoughtful, the liquid rolled around in his mouth before he swallows. "To be honet, I haven't thought about it much. The whole thing is so preposterous, I'm just assuming it was wear and tear. Maybe that's dumb, but seriously, we're riders. We don't have time to be sabotaging each other with Fall the way it is."
"Yeah. Yeah." V'delin nods a few times, convincing himself that it's all right to 'use' his dragon in such a manner. "I'll try buying her off first, but if that doesn't work, well. Thanks." He runs his fingers over his mustache, smoothing down the edges as P'draig speaks. "That's the truth. All the same, what if someone were, for advancement, or for a grudge?" He lets that rest there, then shakes his head. "Couldn't be a rider, or we'd know it. Right?" Before the man has time to answer, however, he continues. "All the same, it'd set us at greater ease if the Weyrleader'd just make an announcement so we -know- it was just an accident. Can't say I'd change boots with C'nroy about now for anything."
"Again, not the time for it. I don't think there's a dragonrider alive that'd want to advance /that bad/ at a time like this or hold that hard of a grudge. Besides, Falls are so tweaked, what's the point? People have been getting taken out like crazy and it only makes the load on the rest of us worse." His head shakes a couple of times. "No this was an accident pure and simple. Carelessness from fatigue and stress, nothing more. Has to be."
The Weyrlingmaster's easy assertion that it was mere accident doesn't reassure the bronzerider overmuch, though he accepts that P'draig needs to believe that and doesn't pursue it further, instead having another indulgent sip of whiskey. By this time, he's quite a bit more relaxed, his long limbs more at rest than in tension regardless of the topic. "Sure have felt that, the load. Much as it's made complaints that you're helping, some days it's sure a relief to have another experienced rider flying wth us. Especially with T'rien's pick for second changed to Firefall; training a new one who works as well in tandem's a hardship, and we're like as not lucky to have you." The admission leaves him surprised, though the words are out, so he lets them be.
"Yeah. Who hasn't?" P'draig says quietly, thoughtfully and makes a face. "Our ranks've been sorely thinned by all of this. Might actually be hard to keep the dragon population up enough through te rest of the Interval to tackle the next Pass." Softer still and Paddy nods acknowledgement of the compliment. "I feel it's /my/ duty to help out where I can."
"I've worked with leather, before coming here. If I could just see, maybe I'd have a guess? But I'd imagine better heads and eyes than mine have had plenty of look-see's already." Ven shrugs helplessly, then sits up, paying more attention. "Really? There's that much a danger?" He apparently hadn't thought much of that, and he blinks a few times in surprise. "Guess clutch sizes haven't grown like usual - is it just Fort that's at risk, you think, or all the weyrs?" As quickly as the compliment's given, Ven has moved on, preferring perhaps to pretend it never existed.
"Could always ask," P'draig suggests. "Won't harm anything to ask." He shrugs once. "I'm not sure actually, I haven't been tallying all the losses, but if you think it through, the more time goes by, the more of the older riders're getting to the point of not being able to fly anymore, or not fight. They're on other kinds of duty. And the queens are still laying like it's an Interval, so replacment isn't really happening the way it ought. All the Weyrs are affected, it's just a question of how much. Telgar's getting slammed right now because of the whole thing between them and the REaches over Crom. Too much area to cover."
V'delin nods thoughtfully, then dismissively takes another drink. "Don't think the Weyrleader'd be keen on an ordinary rider professing better than all the folk whose heads were clustered 'round after the accident, but." Hapless shrug, accepting the suggestion and letting it pass. "The losses. And the injuries, and those out after flying with the queen's wing, maternal or otherwise." He shakes his head, tips back the glass for another drink. "If we were in better standing, would we fly with them, to complement their forces, or would it be imprudent to take a side in their...quandary?"
"Doesn't have to be like that," P'draig counters. "Not yours better than everyone else's, just another pair of qualified eyes, maybe with a different point of view." The Weyrlingmaster blows out a long breath and shakes his head. "You got me there, Ven. I steer clear of most politics. I train Weyrlings, that's what I'm good at. That and plain old flying. But I think maybe you know, taking sides could just make things worse. You'd have to dole out the help evenly between both places or it'd look bad."
Ven doesn't have an answer for P'draig's assertion, so he scratches his head aimlessly, then nods noncomittaly. Of politics, he comments, "I'd figure, but wondered, if we were in dire straits, if we could appeal to another weyr for help, or if it'd just be every weyr for themselves. There's been so much shifting, of leaders, of older riders out like you said, all around. Hope it lets up soon, the 'Falls, that's all."
"I know Ven, I know." Beat. More whiskey. A lot more whiskey. A hard swallow. "Me too."
In light of that, ah, sobering topic, V'delin finishes the second glass of whiskey and slowly gets to his feet. "With any luck." He doesn't complete the sentence, again dangling the incomplete thought and leaving it there like untended laundry. "Thanks, for the words. And the whiskey." Old habits dying hard, he waits until there's a notion that he's dismissed before starting out.
P'draig knocks back the last of his drink and walks V'delin to the door. "Quite so. And you're welcome. Ask just about any time." A little hint of humor in those words as Paddy holds the door open for Ven and salutes loosely. "Clear skies, Ven."
Ven smirks, returning the somewhat sloppy salute, casual in their context, and heads out. "You, too. And good luck juggling the lovers. Sounds like it'd be helpful." The smirk remains, only softening as he whistles lowly as he departs.
Paddy's laughter follows the bronzerider on his way. "Thanks!"