==== October 19th, 2013
==== W'rin, E'pha
==== A morning run gets a little business done between current and former leader-types.

Who W'rin, E'pha
What A morning run gets a little business done between current and former leader-types.
When Morning. There are 0 turns, 11 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where Lake Shore, Igen Weyr

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Lake Shore
Sprawled out beyond the Weyr proper's hustling activity and ambling roads, the cool, blue paradise of the Weyr lake promises escape from the oppressive hammer of Igen summer's cruel climes; the asymmetrical, sandy white shores hook delicately around the deceptively still waters running deep and sure, greedy peninsulas reaching white fingers stretching in crooked lines towards its center. A sturdy shack, weather-beaten and brown as cured leather, resides in isolated splendor upon one such finger, screened shelving offering a variety of brushes and fragrant oils housed in colorful tureens. Out beyond a small and dusty paddock ringed by a white fence, a long rocky pier stabs out into the lake, providing a panoramic view of the Weyr itself, while the southern shores provide varied shrubs and grassed for the massed herds in their pens.


The morning star has yet to peak over the edges of the weyr, and the sky is just starting to release the darkness. The middle of winter at Igen, and it is cold. But up the sandy lake shore huffs the Weyr's leader, his jacket shed and tossed over a shoulder, even in the almost freezing air his wet shirt clings to his chest and back with sweat. It is at this part of the egg hardening that everyone is antsy. The goldrider more, and perhaps with good reason, but the clutchfather has always been spending his free time on the sands, and that makes for a rather weyr-fevered rider. Unable to sleep, W'rin is working in an extra run today, and he's still moving a clipped pace as he makes his way round the bend.

Alongside him, his early morning companion hasn't been at it as long, but, even in the cold, E'pha's feeling the thin stick of perspiration along his back and chest. Shorter, smaller in every way, the other bronzerider's legs pump to keep up and do so admirably. For the first few minutes, he's allowed the huff and puff of exertion to be their only discourse, the simple act of feet hitting sand keeping them time. As they round this bend, though, his inhalations change to allow him an extra breath, "So." It's that, then the not-quite silence of exercise for two beats. "Almost time to show those Southerners how it's done."

Don't worry, intertia will eventually catch up with the man, even if he does this twice day almost without fail. His heavy mass making him sink farther into the sand, making him both easier to keep up with and each step a little extra work. The jutted conversation, with long lapses of silence in between, perfectly companionable for the weyrleader. E'pha truly a man he finds companionable. "Yah." Is grunted, even as a grin spreads across his face. "And this was a real flight." Which meant a bigger clutch, a thread fighting sized clutch. "Hzrath going to chase next time a gold goes up? Tuli should be next, eh?" No one wants inbred dragons.

Working his tongue around his teeth, E'pha steers his chin to his empty side to spit into the sand. "Eh," a non-committal answer, if ever there was one; it could go either way. "Tuli, yah." Leaving the Weyrleader to assume what he will, he speeds up a hair, sand exploding beneath his heels. "Got 'em a good… six? Six bronzes. How much y'suppose we'll beat 'em by?" A lazy vice: lazy gambling. It's never gotten him into trouble before, leaving many to assume that Hzrath tempers his desire with a sound mind for only 'good' business.

"'s a smaller clutch." His lazy Telgar accident picking up with the physical exercision. The man is happy enough, or distracted enough by the run, to let the rest of the non-answered question drop. "I'd say we get 4, the ratio's better. Eh? 'on' matter the color, 'ur dragon's 'll be better." Between strides the man turns his head to the side the neck's pressure released with a sound crack, and a sigh of contentment. "Sandblast is imporving, eh? K'ane is picking up nicely where you and I left off."

"Alright, alright," E'pha chortles breathlessly, as if suggesting that now he'll begin to take the discussion seriously, instead of entertaining boasting. "Good flight of agile greens'll be just as valuable, come time." A bit of a darkening from his thick eyebrows as they lower casts a contemplative shade over the man. Seeking a deeper breath, it takes him a few paces to achieve. "Improving, yah. With more room to. Which they will." Or so help them. "I'd say— " it's subtle, but he staggers verbally, rerouting mid-thought, "Uh," disguised as a pause to catch his breath, "I'd say y'make good calls."

W'rin chuckles, or he's just breathing more heavily. "It'll be a solid mix. I'd bet. A few browns too, we could use a few blues to round out the ranks." The man's eyes cast out in the distance, formations and wings and stats running though his mind, it is the man's cut off sentence that draws him back. A wry smile is cast over his shoulder back at the bronzer who he's been prepping but never given full rank to. " I just need you right now." The flexibility, the adaptability, it's too useful to stick somewhere permanently. Yet. "It will happen." A few more huffed paces and he pulls up. "You ever thought about asking K'ane? What it'd take to be his second? He hasn't found one yet." And W'rin isn't one to force a wingleaders hand, it is too personal a relationship. "Not saying you be good as his, but it might give you an idea what people are looking for."

"I'm here." It's an immediate response to a Weyrleader's call, but moreso to W'rin's. Leaving the statement as to his eventual grasp of rank to hang without acknowledgement, E'pha runs a few more paces than W'rin, noticing late, then twisting on a heel and jogging to recapture his place beside the man. "Asking K'ane?" A stall, only to let him ride his hands up to his waist and sway back and forth, catching his breath as he comes down from the exertion. "I'd ask him." Firm, confident. He lifts a hand and runs it under his nose, then swipes the side of it against his temple, clearing a line of slithering sweat. "But not for me. Not necessarily, no. Rather so he could have one." A man should have a second, his tone implies. He glances down then up, half-lidded and bemused as he eyes his Weyrleader. "Maybe I should mentor one of the others t'it. I hear that's good f'r a soul."

"Nothin' wrong with being wingsecond." W'rin nods slowly as he continues their long run along the sand. "Mentoring another would be good, lots of decent riders on 'Blast though, not a whole lot her stand out." He knows, he was there. "Maybe there is some hidden talent you could find." The normal pounding of his step muffled by the giving ground beneath. And he in silence he runs on, his warm breath drifting up lazily from harsh exhales. "Not a fan of your new wingleader?"

"I didn't say that. Did I say that?" E'pha briefly heckles W'rin, jibes releasing his own clinging accent as he pretends to hem and haw it out a second. "And 'sides, what might you have said about S'kyre and I'tani, if y'hadn't got a hand on 'em? Could be one of our Blasters just needs to get his ambition pumping." Though he's selling it, he doesn't use a pressing tone. It's more of a pondering. Or he wants it to sound like one. The unspoken undertone, perhaps: replace the twins' names with his own.

"Just sayin'." W'rin offers non-helpfully as the long strides continue, though with increasing strain. He has a lot of mass to pull forward, after all. "No doubt, E'pha. No doubt. Why not you though?" W'rin will press, he wants to get into the man's head. Poke around a bit.
Poking around might see the phrase 'why not you' rattle around inside that head, keeping E'pha quiet, chewing on his lip, to start. "Well, I've had the chance, haven't I?" He eventually comes out with, unperturbed. "I know what it's like, others don't. What if something happens up in the air? Someone needs t'take change, ain't used to it?" With his prattling, he continuously ramps in speed, urging W'rin — and himself — on, if anyone wants to catch the words. "They need a taste a'respectability. Maybe they'll take themselves seriously."

W'rin's just grinnin' as the man talks, slowling in a single pace only once as he turns his head to glance at the man has he prattles on. Ah the sweet taste of knowing one has made the right decision. Which tastes delicious by the by. Then stretches out another long silence as W'rin slowly begins the process of winding down the run. The shift barely noticeable at first. "Most 'em have it now." He did solid work after all, and the wing can fly without utter laughability. "But you are right, be good to have a few who know the ropes, incase K'ane needs to land." The grin turns into a proud smirk as he continues to slow the pace.

Almost reluctantly does E'pha slow, too, shoulders writhing between strides with an unexpended energy despite his muscles claiming otherwise. "Most," he acknowledges quickly, "Yah." There's no doubting what the Weyrleader's done for the wing. "I din' mean— " Except now he's catching that smirk and he flutters his lips in a dismissive sound. "Bah!" Excusing and making fun of his own, brief, backtracking. "Alright, alright," follows, as before; his trademark dismissal and move on.

W'rin and gravity, it isn't the happiest of relationships, and unlike his bronze his larger size means he is often outlasted by the smaller men around him. And as the man catches on to his joke, a rare and brief smile just across his face again only to fall into a grin. "You're a duty bound man, E'pha. The rank will happen one day." A promise, as long as W'rin has control of it, which will at least be until Corelle's next flight, and with ther dragon's eggs still on the sands it could prove a solid turn.

"Ehhhh," E'pha's not afraid to point out that grin, waggling a lazy finger at the larger man's rare face before letting it drop. Or, more accurately, forcibly switching moods at this respectable name-calling, as it so happens. A tic at the corner of his mouth is a restrained expression, never quite realized and, therefore, never quite identifiable. "I'll be where I'm needed," he assures, more affirming the compliment than accepting it. Slowing further means he takes a chance to roll his own neck, letting off several ranges of cracking. "And next run, I'll have a thought on the lucky Blast rider who gets my eye." Squinting, he addendums wryly, "Well. So long as them eggs don't have you goin' in constant circles, say."

"Good. Though in the end, that is K'ane's decision." Pulling to a full stop, W'rin yanks a towel from where it was hanging in his back pocket, wiping the sweat off his brow before it has a chance to cause a chill. "Let's run it by him once you have a man picked out." The cloth is swiped roughly over the base of his neck as he watches the man from small squinted eyes, "Anything else, E'pha?" What better way to runa meeting than an early morning run?

More skidding to a stop, E'pha leans over to stretch out his back then plants his hands and leans back to do the same in the other direction. "Eh, K'ane," as much as it may sound, it's not a dismissal but accepting — acknowledging, in that way E'pha does. Nevermind that it's also how he sounds noncommittal; W'rin knows better. Grabbing his arm with a loop through the other, he yanks it purposefully, cracking his shoulder through the strain. "Oh, y'know… a nap. Late breakfast. Lose all my money t'cards 'kept for what brings home a few hookers— no, sir, nothing. Y'called me, though. Should I be askin' it?"

"K'ane's a good rider, more importantly he's a good teacher." And Sandblast needs that, more than a leader like E'pha or W'rin who are good at taking decent and making it the best. "And it's his wing. So he'll make the final decision about it." The are few things worse than undermining a wingleader to his wingriders. "No, just couldn't sleep. Thought I'd use the time productively." Which means poor E'pha got awoken from his sleep. "Go lose your money and your viture to cards - and whores." Not like the giant man hadn't been there before, before he was weyrmated anyway. "I'd go with you but I'm sure there'd be hell to pay at home." He winks with a chuckle, the Sandblast wingrider dismissed with a crisp, but more informal than normal, salute.

"My virtue, sir? Y'give me too much credit." The snap of the salute is answered by E'pha, heels clapping in the sand, as his eyebrows wriggle to affect a more ponderous — and humorous — expression, "Or too little…" Contemplative joking aside, he nods, strongly and with the certainty that he'll respect the chain of command whipped into him as he's always done. As he expected when he was, even temporarily, in charge, so shall he perform now. Salute lowered and all, he switches to the far less dignified clutching of his shirt sleeve to sniff beneath his arm as he steps away from the Weyrleader. "Or baths. Baths are a good idea."

"Baths are for women." Is the last thing that W'rin can be heard to say as he moves back toward the direction they came from, where the punching and weights in the guard's work out room can be found.

"All the women I'll be bringin' back!" E'pha retorts, whether it can be heard or not. By all the weyrs still trying to get some sleep.

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