Logs:A Friendly Visit
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| RL Date: 18 April, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin comes bearing going away gifts. He and Azaylia talk over glasses of wine. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 7, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hana/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
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| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.
With the weyrlings long since graduated, Hraedhyth has slipped right back into her usual routines. There's a Weyr full of dragons to chat with and when the mood strikes her, the gold takes to patrolling her territory from on high-- a habit picked up from her sire, no doubt. She's on her way by the time Azaylia leaves the Greenhouse, carrying two potted plants and a healthy sheen from the humidity. The Weyrwoman's grin fades slightly when she notices R'hin, only to brighten once more as surprise fades. "R'hin." Bare feet carry her closer, looking to make room on the crowded table for her flowers, "Leiventh could have said something..." Almost sing-song, as she knows the bronzerider better than that. "He could have, but a friendly visit is hardly of interest to him," R'hin replies, moving lightly to his feet in response to Azaylia's arrival. A few steps carry him over to the Weyrwoman's side, pale gaze momentarily on the flowers, but quickly shifting towards the goldrider. "Bristia suggested I start cleaning out my weyr, since it's not that long before we head back south. I thought I'd donate some of the things I've collected to a good cause." His hand touches one of the parcels, looking far too pleased with himself -- not that this is a different expression than usual. Both pots are fairly small with one housing many tiny lilac flowers while the other only has a few bright blue buds surrounded by green leaves. There's care in the way Azaylia places them down, trying to dust some lingering soil from her fingers after she does. Brown eyes peek up at R'hin as she straightens, "That soon?" Curious, but not yet heartbroken or excited, "...collected?" There's a spark of her own pleasure as she offers a coy reminder, "Or Hreadhyth could go up in the next seven and you could be stuck here even longer." She's hardly serious. She doesn't have to be, not when those words ring with such terrifying truth. "Soon?" Amusement is audible in R'hin's low-throated chuckle, as well as the grin that follows. "Kitten, it's been a month shy of a Turn. Or..." a pause, "Have you still not gotten... used to me, yet?" Brows flicker upwards at her suggestion about Hraedhyth, but his chuckle only deepens. "You haven't been wandering yet," which suggests he's been watching, "So I hardly think you have anything to worry about on that score. Here," he proffers her the first package. It's long and heavy, and it probably isn't hard to predict it's wine even before she opens it. "One of my many triumphs obtained from the Southern Boll gather." "The day I get used to you..." It's almost too frightening to consider. Azaylia gives a slow shake of her head, mirroring his grin even through his pet-name for her. "I wish she wasn't so obvious sometimes. But, you're right." She admits, fair and square. Little care is given as she wipes her palms off on her sunny skirt before accepting the bundle, "These can't all be for me." Said with such certainty, even as she unwraps the bottle of wine, "Thank you." Her smile and gratitude are genuine, as is her soft, "I didn't get you anything, though." "Kitten, you didn't bat an eyelid at my making myself at home in your weyr. It's far too late to protest such a thing," but there's an easy amusement in his tone, like he's merely teasing her. "And," R'hin adds, "Hraedhyth being obvious is a good thing, for all concerned. Especially," he lifts a finger to her chin, "For you. So you can prepare yourself, and your Weyrleader." The bottle marks it as a relatively young, if sweet, white -- the bottle's still chill enough that it could be drunk, not that the Savannah Wingleader makes any suggestion to do so. "All for you. But," his had retracts, lifting as if in warning, "You can only open them after I've gone. Call them -- going away presents, if you like. As for getting me something -- well, you still have time. Maybe just enough, to come up with the sort of present I'd want." The goldrider doth protest (too much), "That's a 'strange man in my weyr' thing." Emphasis on strange, "Not a 'R'hin' thing." She doesn't quite stick her tongue out, but there is a childish lift of her jaw to go with her playful tone. His finger ensures it's where her chin stays, though her eyes shift to the side, "Whoever he might be." Once R'hin pulls his hand away, she's able to inspect the wine with a smaller smile. There's temptation there, cooling well-worked hands on the bottle's glass. When it's revealed that yes, all the bundles are for her, "I couldn't possibly..." Her interest is piqued, eyes flicking back up to his face, "Wine is too obvious... isn't it? What sort of gift, then? Do I get a hint?" "Mm. I suppose I should be at least flattered you no longer consider me strange." However, it's when she questions the identity of her potential Weyrleader that R'hin actually chuckles darkly. "I know you -- and Hraedhyth -- will choose who is best for this Weyr. No matter your personal feelings on the score." His gaze sweeps over the packages, looking inordinately pleased at her reaction. "Of course you can. Allow me to indulge my Weyrwoman... since she won't be my Weyrwoman for much longer." There's a thoughtful tip of head at her latter questions, pale eyes glittering. "I do like surprises," he acknowledges. "But a token of your feelings towards me will do, kitten." Which could well mean a kick in the shin is an appropriate gift, given his deliberate use of that nickname of hers. Perhaps it's his dark chuckle that unsettles her into mumbling, "It's not my choice to make. It's Hraedhyth, and the Weyr's." An archaic belief, but one she tempers with a hopeful, "It might lead to some much-needed change." Or not. Azaylia places the bottle with the same consideration as those potted flowers, and it's only after she's straightened up that she throws her arms around his shoulders. A heartfelt embrace, the Weyrwoman mumbles into his shoulder, "You're an absolute pain. I don't know why I'll miss you." But she will. Another squeeze of her strong arms, "And no, this isn't your present." Neither is the air she allows back into his lungs when Azaylia finally lets him go. "And you are a part of Hraedhyth," R'hin says, matter-of-factly, "And the Weyr." An odd expression crosses the bronzerider's face briefly when she speaks of much-needed change, kind of surprised and wary for a moment, though it's a fleeting expression that's quickly replaced with a harsh exhale and kind of bemused chortle at her embrace. One hand snakes around to pat her back, as he mumbles somewhat awkwardly (perhaps due to the lack of breath?), "Probably in much the same way a feline misses fleas. You'll feel better once I'm gone," he assures her, more certain once he gets his breath back. "Shall we drink to Savannah's passing? I think we've had a good run." He's gesturing at the wine, of course -- even gifting a bottle he's hard pressed to pass it up. "Only one fight," That she knows of, "Plenty of pestering your Weyrwoman, and training some of our weyrlings?" Azaylia reaches for the wine, walking over to her cupboard for a pair of glasses, "You certainly left your mark." A moment is needed to actually open the bottle, pausing to give the sweet white a quick, curious sniff. With a quick, happy hum she returns to offer R'hin his glass, "To Savannah. Let's hope the next time Oriane loses patience with all of you, it's during our summer." The corners of her lips take on a cheeky little twist before she drinks. There's a knowing smirk that suggests one wasn't it, but the casual shift of shoulders from R'hin shrugs that point off. "I'm often interested in the future of our Weyr, and the weyrlings are it. Nita's a quick study," he says, of his Savannah rider. He's silent, watching her avidly while she collects glasses, wrestles with the bottle, and finally gifts him a full glass. Lifting it in toast, he murmurs, "To Savannah," he echoes, with a smile to match hers, drinking deeply. "It is good to finally experience summer. I'll be glad to return to walking around the Weyr half naked. All this work I do and so few get to see it. Seems a shame." He's chuckling, though, as he adds, contemplatively, "To High Reaches. Who has been better to me than I anticipated." With pale gaze on hers, he takes another deep draught. Of course Azaylia drinks wine, it's impossible for a Weyrwoman to avoid without seeming rude. But the white she seems to genuinely enjoy, tipping the glass for several savoring sips. "Mm. I'd probably wear less, but I think even weyrfolk have their limits." She agrees. "Your Weyrwoman appreciates all that hard work." Or so she tells his chest, eventually breaking the stare with a feather-light laugh, "You know you're welcome back if you ever want, or need, to visit." Half of her glass already gone, and impish fingers are reaching for another package-- as if prodding it will reveal its secrets. "Then," R'hin's quick to counter with a low-throated chuckle, "You should definitely visit Monaco more often." A scolding cluck of the Wingleader's tongue precedes the quick grab of his hand towards hers -- though not before she can feel the soft give of the contents, suggesting perhaps some sort of cloth. "Now, now. I'm not sure the Weyrwoman can be trusted. Perhaps I should give the packages to your lady Hana to guard from curious fingers, hm?" "Maybe I will." Just as quick, and playfully stubborn. Azaylia doesn't snatch her hand away, pulled away from her curious poking. "I'll be good..." Despite the tell-tale trail of her words as she glances back down at the table, "Hana will probably scold me in her sweet way if you do that." Judging from her smile, it doesn't look as though the goldrider would terribly mind. "I promise not to peek." Said sweetly, the Weyrwoman manages to keep her word for the remainder of R'hin's visit and several glasses of wine. "Mm," like he's not entirely convinced of her trustworthiness. "Perhaps I'll have a word with Hana anyway, before I leave." There's a not-entirely innocent manner in that smile of R'hin's, either. He seems to take her at her word -- for now anyway -- and spends the remainder of the time enjoying the bottle entertaining the goldrider with a roaring tale of a pair of guards and their woes with a local white-hat criminal sharing his wealth with the locals -- with the criminal finally escaping justice and living his life out on some remote cothold. It's with that idealistic, parting note that the on-loan Monaco rider finally leaves the Weyrwoman her own weyr, and the remainder of the still-wrapped gifts, to go about the rest of his day. |
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