Logs:A Light-Hearted Chat
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| RL Date: 16 July, 2014 |
| Who: Aishani, G'laer |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aishani and G'laer meet and have a very pleasant conversation. Were you expecting otherwise? |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 4, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'kris/Mentions |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It's quiet enough this evening at the nighthearth, not so late yet that people have to resort to eating here over the living cavern, but late enough that people might be on to their weyrs or rooms by now. Aishani's one of a handful of people sitting in the dim light, closer to the kitchen than the hearth, with a mug and a clipboard on the table before her - though she seems more interested in the fire at the moment, apparently just refreshed, flames leaping high. The nighthearth is inarguably a comfortable spot. So it's no wonder that when a person needs to wait for something, this is a good spot to do that. G'laer hasn't come for the klah or the stew, but rather for one of the chairs. His usual smileless demeanor doesn't change as he settles in the chair beside Aishani's, book in hand. The book is either new or one not often consulted because the binding looks hardly worn. He's not oblivious to the goldrider as a slight tilt of his head that probably passes for a nod proves. Aishani isn't oblivious to people passing through or coming in to sit either, her dark gaze tending to flicker up from the fire, follow their path for a moment. She's prepared to ignore G'laer after watching him come in with his book, attention shifting back to her clipboard and her clearly-important notes... but then he's sitting right next to her. She looks at him, then looks around the nighthearth, the terribly quiet nighthearth with faint disbelief, then looks over at the greenrider again. "Any particular reason you needed to sit right there?" she asks, already reaching into her jacket. For a flask. Driven to drink. G'laer doesn't waste time opening the book once he's seated, evidently already half done with it. If he were the kind of man given to wearing any expressions on his face beyond bland but serious neutrality, he might look annoyed when the goldrider interrupts him. The gall. After he's gone and sat right next to her. "It's my spot." This is delivered flatly and as if that should make complete sense without further explanation. "If it bothers you, you can always move." Because he's apparently not going to, the size of her knot be damned. There's a moment where Aishani considers G'laer. And then considers his chair, as if calculating exactly how much force it would take to kick it over; whether it's something she wants to bother with. But in the end, she just smirks. "How... regimented. Adorable." She looks at the chair and the spot again, then uncaps her flask, crosses long legs. As she swings a boot and after taking a sip, she says idly, "If it bothers me, there's better things I can do than move." Why would she move anyway? She was there first. The use of the word "adorable" does make the edge of his lips twitch slightly, but not enough to move out of the line they're habitually set in. "Yes, I've heard you enjoy stabbing people." G'laer answers the Vijay, not sounding terribly interested in it as he flips one page to the next. "How did your relatives enjoy their stay at Crom?" It's asked quite casually, as one might ask how another's mother was doing. It might pass for casual, really, if it weren't both entirely random and completely calculated at once. "Only one here, and they say flights don't count." Aishani's right about that. Even fights aren't really supposed to count ruing flights, but then that's usually the male riders, and they usually avoid actual stabbing, yes. "I won't say there isn't something satisfying about it, though. Putting a knife through a man's hand when they really irritate you." She's casual enough about it, and surely it's coincidence that she's looking at the greenrider's hand. With a laugh that's closer to bitter than genuine, she skips sipping this time and just pours a shot in her mug before putting the flask away. "The ones that aren't dead liked it as much as any other convict, I imagine. As good as killed a few anyway." She raises her mug, like that's something to celebrate. That hand flips another page. "Hands aren't generally as satisfying as guts, I find, but to each their own." G'laer could as easily be talking about preferences for eating tubers. "Crom does know how to show convicts a good time." What with all those mines. And the hard physical labor. With an arch of fine brows, "Did you hear what we did with the last murderer we had around here? The brownrider? Interesting conversations you like to have." Aishani slides her pencil in the clip of the clipboard, takes up her mug as if preparing to leave, but only swirls the liquid inside around before drinking. "Crom is a hole. Literally a hole in the ground. Worst than living here. So I can only imagine the fabulous soirees they throw in the mines, while you breathe in death." Now G'laer directs his blue gaze at the goldrider, "Gut shots are not death sentences." Not always, anyway. "I'm sorry you're under the misapprehension that this is a conversation I like to have." He flips his book closed now, because apparently he's not making as much headway there as he'd like. "With enough alcohol, anything can be fun. It might even work for this conversation." He didn't miss the flask's addition to her mug, clearly. "I was a guard there." Which isn't exactly saying he's not also a murderer, but possibly explains his interest and knowledge in stabbing people in the gut or elsewhere. "Not always, I can believe. Not period, ever?" Aishani is skeptical. And precise, apparently. Or maybe when it suits her. Her elegant little shrug is also diffident; "So don't have it. All sorts of people don't talk to me." Can't imagine why! Perhaps pointedly, she takes another drink from her mug, which is to show how much she cares about what G'laer notices about her drinking, then 'ah's, enlightened. "You and Alida." Her nose wrinkles a touch; grudgingly, "I suppose it can't be held against you." If she expects people not to be all 'that Vijay' in return, anyway. "If you're careful." G'laer qualifies. That could mean either killing or not. "Those people might be onto something." He doesn't sound like he's joking, but with a man as expressive as G'laer, it might be hard to tell when he's actually telling a knock knock joke were it not for the giveaway words. "If you're going to be precise," which perhaps she isn't now that it doesn't suit her, "Alida was a guard at a smaller Hold. It's different one to the other. Less time partying down mineshafts." At least presumably. Then he's rising, "Weyrwoman." It's offered in a more or less polite way, which is more than he's been so far. Apparently, he's decided those people are onto something and he's going to try it. Or maybe whatever he's waiting for has happened. Either way, he doesn't stop to explain before heading toward the nearest exit to the bowl. "It's the attitude." A cop is a cop is a cop to a criminal. Reformed criminal even. Cough. If Aishani looks satisfied that G'laer's been driven off... well, that would totally be in her character. She offers the man a little wave of her fingers after his back, and turns back to her clipboard with a sigh. Back to work. |
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