==== December 6, 2013
==== A'lory, W'rin
==== A'lory and W'rin have a 'discussion' about loyalty and cohesion.

Who A'lory, W'rin
What A'lory and W'rin have a 'discussion' about loyalty and cohesion.
When 6 months and 15 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr

2Contemplative.jpg unhappy


Central Bowl
Cradled, childlike, in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, the wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the northeastern bazaar, the adobe sprawl of the New Weyr reflected in the lake that dominates a large portion of outdoor Igen. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the shores, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. One cracked path, faint with disuse, leads southeast to the crumbling ruins of Igen-that-was. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way.

It's summer at Igen, and hot. Even with the growing darkness above, and the blistering wind, there is little reprieve from the heat. W'rin has been pacing the area where his wing finished drills an hour ago. He hasn't stopped. It wasn't the worst formation flying the man has ever seen, especially after having headed Sandblast in the worst of its days, but the gusts certainly through a few riders off. And with the steady approach of thread the man has become increasingly agitated, disappearing from all but his closest friends whenever he isn't on the job.

High winds and Thread-crazed Weyrleaders? All in a day's work, lately; A'lory spends a few moments checking over his beast's muscled shoulders, searching for any strain or injury. With a snort, Eisheth shifts, shaking off over-tender hands. "Fine," the exasperated bronzer rasps. "Don't whine at me if you wake up stiff."

Suddenly shifting out of his own brain, something tangible in the present reality to cling too, W'rin stomps the dragons length from his pacing spot to Eisheth. The worn path where he was stalking back and forth, back and forth, covered quickly by sand in the wind. The man only pulls down his face mask when he turns the corner around the bronze, who becomes his shield from the blowing dirt. "Eisheth alright? The first few wind storms…it takes a few for their muscles to readjust sometimes." Grunted advice from a man who's spent more than a few seasonal changes at Igen.

A'lory turns to face W'rin, shoving his scarf deeper into his jacket with a twitch of his shoulder and wincing at the sticky heat of too many clothes on a hot day. "He'll live," anfld cue raised eyebrows and side-eye here. "As he keeps snarkily reminding me. I'm just prone to checking after flying just to be sure."

The corner of W'rin's lips turn upward slightly underneath facial hair at the wince. "Yah, a few turns from now it'll be second nature. It was the worst as weyrlings. I think everyone ended up with a pulled muscle at some point in time." A moment of reminiscing before he shoves his hands into his riding jacket pockets. "You guys did well though. Better than most of the oldtimers. It's a hard shift." The wind that is. The tone isn't judgmental, it is a practical statement. "Glad we're getting this in though…better than when it is falling. Especially with all the shifts in the wings."

"We're no better or worse than the others. Different talents, man." There's a hint of asperity in A'lory's tone as he leans casually against his mate's shoulder — surprisingly, Eisheth doesn't shift away. Sniping is part of their lives. And he mulls over the shifting wings, a brief smile crossing his face. "Progress is good. Keep the riders from getting too attached to a particular way of being."

W'rin snorts softly, "I just meant you seemed to adjust to the wind better. Man, fuck it all to - not everything I say has some other meaning. In fact nothing does. Everyone look for some political bent. I ain't got any." The soft glower of a weyrleader who can say what he wants to say in safe company. "Yah. Good for them to know how more people fly too. Should be enough time for everyone to get settled in too…."

A'lory laughs softly. "Maybe I'm just tired of my people being insulted at every turn when we didn't have to uproot our lives to come here. Comet would've been easier to live with." The helmet is pulled off, revealing ruffled curls beneath the darkening sky. "Pff. Welcome to leading a Weyr. Everything's political at that level." Idle fingers scratch at an itch along his neck, dislodging a bit of sand from pale skin. "Learning to fly with folks you may not like is good for discipline."

"Doesn't help if people are overly sensitive to those who aren't insulting them. And they aren't your people. They're mine. They all are. Igenites." W'rin gruffs back, but the man's laughter does draw an acknowledging smile. "Doin' what I can, but neither side really makes it easy on themselves. We'd be better off if they'd all just acknowledge they ain't any better than the otherside. Both of 'em." Meanwhile the weyrleader is a swinging pinata, "Don't remind me. I never wanted this. I'd 've been happy stickin' to wingleading…" He pauses and looks at the man with a curt nod, "Yah. A little shake up isn't bad." In theory.

"In which case you might want to consider that there's truth to the hard feelings, hmm? You can't demand loyalty from people who don't even trust you. It's going to matter more than you'd think. They aren't yours yet, W'rin. Keep going on the path you're on and the damage will be permanent." Pulling punches? What's that? True to his word, A'lory gives the truth in unvarnished form. "I know you didn't want it; you have it. You're going to have to deal with it, and not like you'd deal with the wing."

"Yah, they are A'lory. I'm not talking about what they think of me, A'lory. Fuck it….It wasn't a statement about others to me. I'm talking about my responsibility to them. And yah. They are my fucking responsibility. One weyr. Or we'll never make it." W'rin growls angrily. "You got to stop thinking the worst of me. And you'd do a lot better to help forge a little cohesion instead of all this mine shit." A finger juts out of his pocket for just a minute to point at the man, "Walk around here like you got all the answers and I don't know shit." Shoved back in his pocket the man spins on his heels to leave.

A'lory rolls his eyes skyward. "If I thought the worst of you, I wouldn't be here. And cohesion requires that you fucking get off your pride and listen when you're being advised, instead of shoving your head further up your own ass. It's a wonder you can see, man. You want the Oldtimers to follow you. Treating them like shit? Not working for you. I might know them better than you. But you know everything. Go ahead and do it your way."

"My own ass? I listen to fucking advice, good advice - MY PRIDE?!" W'rin spins right back around, "Treating them like SHIT? Are you fucking stupid? Who was the first leader to bring them into their wing? If I recall you and I taught a few people a thing or two about how to treat 'em too! Treat 'em like shit my ass…I brought 'em here to help, and I'm damn appreciative of most of 'em showing up. And I ain't never said otherwise. And you fucking know it I ain't never done otherwise." Shoulders lift in exasperation. "You don't think the worst of me but you think I treat people like shit. Fuck you A'lory. You need to pull your head out of you own ass! You ain't so small on the pride either." He's closed the distance between them, but suddenly the anger ebbs away and he slumps. "Maybe we both do. Maybe we both do." Turning away, not to leave this time, but to think.

"Yeah, your ass." A'lory snaps back, thoroughly tired, by now, of explaining things. "Good for you — you brought Oldtimers into your wing. You brought us here to help. Abd turn around and spit on people who call you on your bullshit. About time you discovered I am not going to spend my life covering your ass. Enough, W'rin. You demand loyalty and obedience — prove to me you're fucking worth the effort. Why should I ask for cohesion? What's the payoff for we Oldtimers to help you? A lifetime of protecting a society that's rotting from within because of attitudes like the one you showed Trek and Sadaiya? Hell. No."

"I don't demand shit from you A'lory. You always gave it to me." W'rin growls, "Sadaiya? You can talk to her about what she thinks about me. As for Trek, it didn't have to do with shit about her being an oldtimer. Or a woman. Or a fucking Bluerider for that matter. She's just a fucking horrible person. All on her own. If it had been a nowtimer or a bronzerider I'd have had the same fucking reaction. And you know it. I don't expect her loyalty, I expect her to show something in public - cause I have to hold this weyr together. Because she has to if I'm going to have to shovel discipline for those who would say shit about her." The weyrleader rolls his shoulders back, and tilts his head, "And. You. Know. It. If you really think I don't listen to you. If I don't have your loyalty any more. If you really think I would do anything other than what I think is best for my weyr because of some political or social bullshit - Bring me your knot tomorrow. Sleep on it." And then he is off trudging back through the sand towards the living caverns.

A'lory simply stares at the Weyrleader as one might stare at a child who has entirely missed the point, and deliberately draws his gloves off, containng his temper before speaking again. "She's shown you far more than you deserve. And you have Oldtimer training to thank for that — that, and her basic good sense. It's a thing you want to consider cultivating." A good thing Eisheth's still under harness, now; for the Weyrsecond feels the need to fly far afield. "Oh, you shall have your answer — by nightfall."
A'lory clambers up Eisheth's neck and settles in between two neckridges.
Eisheth flies up, up, up, into the skies.

Add a New Comment