Logs:A Change of Scenery
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2013 |
| Who: Indari, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Indari has questions of R'hin, and a request. |
| Where: Living Caverns, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions |
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| It's late evening in Monaco's caverns, and the dinner rush is long over. It was a pleasant sort of day, though the chill winds of the evening have driven most people to an early bed, or to hovering by the hearthside. R'hin strides in, still stripping off his flight gear, making for the hearthside. Most of what's there is leftovers -- some still-boiling stew and some breads, both unappealing, to judge by the rider's expression. Most, but not all, Indari being one of those night owls who haunt the caverns long after others have departed. Seated by the hearth, her legs gathered and tucked beneath her, the Monaco native appears to keep her pensive, light blue eyes upon the fire with its bubbling stew. Appears. But it's Indari, after all, and it's more likely that pale gaze of hers trained onto and has kept track of the newly arrived bronzerider's movements as they creep upon her cozy space. "Keeping your late hours again, Leiventh's rider?" is her singsong call, once he's close enough so she doesn't have to pitch her voice very loud. "I'm nothing if not habitual," which couldn't be further from the truth, yet the light, easy way R'hin says it suggests it's a lie that comes readily to hand. He turns just enough to take her in, and the sharp eyed might catch the slight tightening of expression when he sees who it is -- though his tone remains light enough for all that: "Who do I have to bribe around here to get something fresh?" The way he turns his body to face her now, head cocked to one side, suggests he already knows the answer. Used to such lies, Indari merely smiles into the fire. The mug of cider in one hand passes slowly to the other, and then back again even as her body shifts away from the flames. She lines her train of sight with R'hin just in time so guileless-seeming eyes catch that tightened look and her own smile creases deeper to create laugh lines about her eyes. Shortly, laughter pairs becomingly with her smile, light and floaty. "Day old stew not to your fancy, Leiventh's rider? I could be roused to find something more compelling for you to snack on." If... it's not spoken, but the cute purse of her lips could imply such an if. Straightening, R'hin stuffs his gloves into his jacket, moving closer to drape the latter over the corner of the back of her chair. It leaves him looking down at her, brow rising. "And... what would be the price for such generosity... Indari?" He does know her name, of course -- and who she's related to -- and the way he says it is with such familiarity that's beyond polite, despite easy expression. She doesn't have to say don't for it to be conveyed, that lifted hand of hers, palm up could be one of supplication or helplessness if it weren't turned in the universal sign for stop. "Tell me of your adventures." The slightest waver invokes wistfulness in her voice. "Tell me what you do that keeps you away so long and brings you home so late." There's no doubt in Indari's inflection that Monaco is R'hin's home, despite his years of service to High Reaches Weyr. "Tell me what keeps a Beowin lingering in one spot for this long when you could run all over Pern?" There's a pause and then more of Indari's floating laughter. "I've been curious for a long time, R'hin, why you even bother coming back home." There's a faint noise -- possibly of amusement -- R'hin letting his hand slip from the back of the chair but letting the jacket remain. A slight ripple in his otherwise easy expression -- at the mention of the Beowins -- before his smile deepens. "My dear. I do run all over Pern. And I haven't been a Beowin for a long time." Running a thoughtful hand over his chin, he regards Indari thoughtfully. "You've been curious?" he muses, "Or your uncle has?" "M'kar has a mouth he can use for himself. And legs to walk to you. And a dragon to find you." Indari is blithely dismissive of his insinuations, even as unintentionally obvious stars claim her pretty eyes. "Someone once told me once a trader, always a trader." But did she mean to say trader and not something else? "Why do you call Monaco your home, Leiventh's rider, when you don't seem to want to stay with us very long?" She'll encourage his talking more by sliding off her wingback perch, and makes small steps towards the kitchens. The keys of the caverns hangs on a loop of her dress, jangling as she walks. "And his friends to come and blind side me in a completely unfair fight," R'hin tacks onto her list. "Yes, your uncle's certainly a standup guy," none of which, of course, the bronzerider believes, judging by the derisive twist of his voice. He watches her walk, a moment -- maybe he's admiring the view, or merely letting enough distance pass between them before he reaches for his jacket to step in, perhaps uncomfortable, close behind her -- and answers, "And why should you be interested in a mere rider's whereabouts? Or do you want the list of whose bed I've shared this seven, and whose bed I intend to share next?" "I'd only care about that list if I'm to be on that list at least five times in the same week." Indari might be pleasant. She might even smile. But she's also weyrbred and there's a tart note under that the overt flirtation of that remark; she might truly believe she's out of his league. "Mayhap the same night given how you haunt my footsteps and," she suddenly stops, perhaps hoping he'll run into her from behind, "I'm not fussy about the details. I just-," and in the next instant, the practiced ease with Weyr flirtations and insinuations disappears to leave dissatisfaction on her pretty face. The statement finds no ending, nor do her feet continue their steps just yet. "Only five?" R'hin manages with perfectly timed surprise, maybe even a faint note of disappointment in his voice. His ear is too keen to miss that tart note, and the smile it prompts is audible in his voice, too, as he echoes her, "Mayhaps." Maybe he genuinely didn't expect her to stop so abruptly, for the bronzerider's close shadow does indeed mean he runs into her when she stops abruptly. With a hand on her shoulder -- mute apology, or just taking the opportunity? -- he steps back, watching her expectantly, as if she'll pick up that thread of conversation shortly. The collision buys Indari the time to collect her composure again, even if it's not quite as composed as before. There's signs of unsettledness on her face, creases that won't disappear completely and a smile that never regains that generic free-spiritedness she wears about her shoulders like a mantle. Does she lean back a little into the collision, pressing her shoulder more firmly into his hand of opportunity? It's all so fleeting, and then she's resuming her steps to the kitchen where there will be fresh food for R'hin. Silent and seemingly fine with that silence, for now. Then, there's the kitchens she pushes into and the jangling keys are drawn up in her free hand. Surely, a bronzerider -- especially one with R'hin's reputation -- would've pressed his luck at that hint, however brief, of fleeting encouragement? And yet he continues along in the silence, close, but not close enough to touch, his presence felt behind her even if she isn't looking. "I'd settle for some bread, cheeses -- maybe wine?" and why is he looking at her when he says that, questioningly? "Some fruit, if there's some to hand." She sets her mug of cider aside. Not this key. Not that one. This one? No, that one. And that one comes up and unlocks a pantry cupboard where the not-quite day old bread is kept. The cheese and fruit, however, cause Indari to disappear for a moment, down the tunnels into cold storage, and when she returns, she's carry a wedge of aged yellow cheese and a small basket of fruit balanced against her hip. There's even the long cylinder of a nicely cured sausage. "It's Monaco. There's always fruit to be had." Somewhere in that corridor, she's regained the rest of her composure and graces R'hin with a winning, weyrbred smile, touched with just a hint of lasciviousness. Then, out of the blue, her expression becomes as serious as her voice. "Take me to High Reaches." Folding jacket over his arm, R'hin leans into the wall as he watches Indari disappear into (and out of) the cupboards, gaze tracking her process. Of all the things she could've said, that is about the last the bronzerider expected, if the moment of silence and the surprise that filters across is face is anything to judge by. He doesn't answer immediately, gaze dropping to the basket, then back to her. "Monaco's your home," he finally says. It's not a no, but there's no doubt he's curious as to the why. She moves as if she hasn't just abruptly changed the subject, putting the basket on the counter where the assistant cooks chop their vegetables, and begins spreading out the goods she's pilfered from the stores. A redfruit, just starting to get overly ripe. That wedge of yellow cheese. Three firm pears. That stick of meat. And finally, the loaf of bread she'd retrieved earlier. Indari claims one of the cook's knives and a cutting board and begins slicing the bread, her words spaced by the rhythmic sound of a knife's edge banging against wood. "So it is." Then the cheese. Then the fruit. It's arrayed on the cutting board prettily. "But they'll have a clutch. And Monaco likely won't. Not for a long while. Because the gold who would've risen about now, belongs to another Weyr." Meanwhile, R'hin circles, around to the other side of counter, to better see Indari's expression, or maybe to put a bit of distance between them. Maybe both. "The gold you were supposed to have," he says, blandly, like a statement of fact. He stretches a hand forward to steal a slice of that cheese, then pauses, gaze sharpening. "You're going to ask to stand?" despite himself, there's approval in the bronzerider's tone. Her hand reaches forward to try and smack his thieving hand. It hits air. And while there's tartness in her eyes, the words Indari keeps serene. "Oh, I doubt Oriane would be thrilled with the idea of me on gold and I've never been very good with numbers." A very meant-to-be-bad sort of lie. "I do. If their candidates have the opportunity on our sands, it only seems right that I should be able to ask to stand at theirs. A change of scenery..." a brief pause curls her lips up, "And getting away from my family's legacy here might be nice. High Reaches Weyr seems interesting enough, and there's nothing stopping me from transferring back home once I have what I want." There's a not-very-apologetic smile, and while the hand doesn't connect, R'hin gets the hint well enough, folding his arms while he waits. Something thoughtful, almost concerned creeps into his expression, for all of that muted distrust of her. "I'd be careful of making such plans. Dragons don't always agree on where home is, or what you want." A faint twitch of lips that might be closer to a grimace. "Meet me by the pens after lunch. I'll take you." The cutting board is pushed forward, Indari's fingers making that last pear fan out pretty. "Is that why you stay, R'hin? Because Leiventh has claimed Monaco for his home? Was High Reaches so bad that you had to leave?" Maybe they're just rhetorical questions. "Thank you. Don't... tell my uncle, please." A moment for admiration, and then R'hin's destroying that nice fan by -- deliberately? -- selecting one of the slices right in the middle. His gaze remains on the board, not on her, throughout those questions. "Monaco's been good to us," is all he says. It's the latter question that finally has him looking at her again, speculatively. "We're hardly on the best of terms, Indari. But he'll find out soon enough and, I imagine, not be happy for my involvement." "Don't worry your pretty head," replies Indari, cheeky enough to stretch her reach far enough across that counter to try and tweak R'hin's chin. "He won't blame anyone but me. Now, if you'd taken the bait earlier in the hallway, he might think otherwise." She pushes the cutting block to him and moves to drop the knife into a wash basin. "I'll see you tomorrow." She's practically chirping; floating on air. "There was bait?" R'hin is bland and amused both, pleading ignorance all too easily, though the heavy weight of his gaze suggests he was well aware. He reaches for some of that cheese, leaning against the counter, his gaze tracking her departure with a bemused, thoughtful shake of his head. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 01 Feb 2013 05:20:16 GMT.
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Indari's an interesting one... I'm sure there won't be any problems for her at HRW. XD Nope. It's all peachy keen over here!
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