Logs:Ali's Needs
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 17 February, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, N'rov, Rasavyth, Vhaeryth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A happenstance run-in provides K'zin with opportunity to take N'muir's advice and pick N'rov's brain about Ali's Needs. |
| Where: Hot Springs, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 1, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. Thanks to N'rov for being willing to gdoc this so I could get it in with my limited schedule! |
    |
| Hot Springs, Fort Weyr The hot springs are contained within a high domed cavern, the walls perpetually glistening with a combination of condensation and mica. Steam drifts through the cavern from the surface of four different-sized pools. The largest takes up most of the cavern, big enough to hold three full-grown dragons and is easily reached through the archway from the bowl. Three smaller pools, more suited for human use, are clustered near the entrance leading toward the inner caverns. Also located near the inner cavern entrance are a set of shelves and benches, fully stocked with pots of soapsand and towels for those without the foresight -- or means -- to bring their own. While the dragon pool is a natural creation, the human pools are the result of Ancient ingenuity and have been constructed with hewn steps and seating. The water in all of the pools is warm to hot, and are a perfect place to bathe young weyrling dragons or for residents to relax after a long day of work. It's not just weyrling dragons who bathe here upon occasion; Vhaeryth's taking up far more than his fair share of the largest pool, N'rov eschewing the human-sized pools (avoiding the uncles chattering in one of them, perhaps) in favor of hanging out with his dragon. The well-used scrub brush sits nearby, all set to trip unwary passersby. Outside? The snow's still falling. Snow doesn't bother the 'Reaches bronze and his rider who've recently taken up residence in one of the guest weyrs, but that doesn't make the Hot Springs less appealing, especially since it's one of the few places K'zin knows how to find. The bronze head that was following him in backs out once Vhaeryth is noticed. Not that they couldn't get cozy, but perhaps that's not Rasavyth's thing. K'zin's course diverts toward the Fortian bronze and his rider. "Just the man I was hoping to see." The younger rider's baritone delivers the phrase with dry humor as he stops at the edge of the pool. Dark brows lift even before N'rov's amiable-enough, "Hey." He's opened his eyes, too, no more cat-napping for the local. "Tell me it's all sunshine and shirtsleeves out there." And not frigid. Vhaeryth's not bothered to change much if any of his soaking; N'rov's going to have a mighty big prune on his hands if this keeps up. "You like being lied to?" K'zin queries as he bends to start unlacing his boots. "Because I'll lie to you if that's really what you want." The boots are then quickly kicked off and lifted to be carried toward the towels. He's gone and then back, without clothes, but with a couple towels and into the pool he invites himself. "I hear you're the man to see about Ali's needs." This is delivered in what could either be dead-pan or earnest seriousness. "Right now, if they're entertaining enough?" And also warm? "I'll take them," N'rov says darkly. Desperate times, desperate measures! Which doesn't mean he doesn't, after a narrow glance in the direction of the Bowl, eye the self-inviting bronzerider with a certain amount of wariness... which dissolves into laughter enough that Vhaeryth goes so far as to dunk him. There are only a few sputters before N'rov reemerges; he seems to have picked up a smirk somewhere down there, too. "'Ali's.... Needs.'" That may be just plain fun to say. "Go on." K'zin's lips curl into an amused smile as the Fortian is dunked, busying himself with finding a comfortable spot against the edge of the pool, his arms draped over the stone. He waits until N'rov has words again, brown eyes settled on his Very Pretty Face. The smile widens a little, "I'm told by your Weyrleader that you've attended to them before. And I just thought you might give me some insight as to what might be asked of me, or how I can be better prepared so she doesn't need to ask. The wisdom of your experience, if you will." Since N'rov may have been resuscitated but still hasn't a mustache to twirl, he settles for leaning back against Vhaeryth and rubbing his chin between thumb and fingers, meaningfully. "So you and N'muir," the man's tone stays easy, familiar, when it comes to his own wingleader, "got along after all? I suppose I could tell you about how she likes her toenails filed and prettily painted. In the wisdom of my experience, and everything." "I'm not sure I would say that we got along." K'zin comments thoughtfully. "But, I'm not dead and I'm allowed to be here, with a strict warning to behave. Now from two Weyrleaders. Although, only one of them mentioned dismemberment," Which is only technically true, "And the other one left the consequences more broadly to my extensive imagination." The fingers of one hand lift off the stone and wiggle a little, as if dismissing the whole thing. "Do we have to start with feet? I think if I tend her toes, one of those Weyrleaders will have something to say about it. Unless she elects not to tell him." He doesn't exactly sound dubious, but something akin to the feeling. A strict warning. "I never got a strict warning," N'rov complains. "If you like, I could strictly warn you to behave." K'zin arches a brow toward the Fortian, amused and challenging. "You could try," N'rov supposes, singularly skeptical. "Question is, which was worse, dismemberment or your imagination? Maybe you could save the toes for later." "Look, I'm just trying to appease the locals." K'zin quips in answer to N'rov's skepticism, his arms shifting so he can bring his hands up, palm out, in a disarming gesture. "My imagination, always. But then, K'del does know me better." There's a thoughtful moment then, "Although, N'muir didn't limit it to dismemberment, come to think of it..." So perhaps the Fortian is the more devious of the two after all. That gets a distinctly hooked lift of one brow, but N'rov settles in to listen, linking his own hands behind his neck pillow-fashion. "Imagine if the pair of them teamed up," he says, but with enough wryness to suggest that won't happen in someone's lifetime. "Ali, now." He's looking at K'zin, levelly, as though down a bar with a beer instead of the warm water that roils about them. "She doesn't like to ask for things. The first bronze that flew Isyath from High Reaches, Vhaeryth's sire? He left and never showed up again, so it's a pretty low bar. She does like to cook. If she cooks for you, appreciate it out loud and mean it, and she might do it again." "I guess there are reasons to be grateful for continued tensions after all," K'zin responds with equal humor to that imagined nightmare. "Done, and done." The younger bronzerider answers. "I'm very vocal with my appreciation." He quirks a single brow, "What else?" He asks the question, but it really sounds more like 'what's next?' Perhaps it's due to the need for concentration that N'rov winds up folding his arms after all; "Good sign," he says briefly. "Isyath's flying about like that, that's... consistent for her." His shoulders lift and fall, less comfortable now. "Don't question it to Ali, just treat it like something that happens. Vhaeryth," here he doesn't exactly look at the bronze behind and beneath him, but his gaze flickers that way and his voice warms, "we teased her into staying much of the time, taking shifts when she really wanted to go fly, or else he'd fly with her and she liked it. Took it as her due, admittedly. But it's harder with Elaruth there too, easier to be gone. Except... you know about the stolen eggs?" "She did mention something about that, after the flight. I'm not sure I'd think to question it, really. Ras doesn't mind. The flying. Elaruth and her eggs..." K'zin purses his lips for a moment in thought and then shrugs. "We'll see." It's not like they've been here all that long. "Yeah. Weyrwoman Hattie told us that Rasavyth had to stay clear of the hatching cavern when we visited when we were weyrlings. So I heard about the stolen eggs." Beat. "He's been being polite, so far. But I know he wants to get a look at Isyath's eggs." His eggs. "Mostly, so far, he sits outside in the bowl, but I'm not sure his interest will really hold too long. Maybe once he's seen them they won't matter as much." "Yeah." It's agreeing with K'zin's. N'rov slouches, nearly to his shoulders, as the other man continues to talk. "Maybe," and that's conflicted too. "Wish I had a better idea of how it was all going to go down. Iesaryth and Hraedhyth managed back then, were you around for that? but this, the two of them, the one so possessive and the other not at all, maybe it does dovetail all right." Maybe. But, "Back to Ali. Make sure she's getting enough to drink, especially if she's spending any time near the sands. She doesn't go for the hard stuff," or at least if N'rov knows of it he isn't saying, "but she likes... tea and things." That last comes with a shrug: what's a man to do. "That's the clutch I Impressed." K'zin answers, apparently unbothered that N'rov doesn't already know that. It's not like they've been the best of friends, even if they are both Pretty. "Tea and things." Check. The 'Reaches man internalizes the advice. "Do they make snow drinks here 'round this time of the turn?" Drinks with snow in them, obviously. Or perhaps comprised primarily of snow with some fruit juice for flavoring. "Yeah? Which pair?" It's possible N'rov knew or should have known, but if so, he's not beating himself up over it either. "We do. A little's good, a lot at once and she might get a headache after the heat. If you tell the cooks you're working on a tray for her, likely they'll get you something extra good and enough for you too," or at least, that's how it works in N'rov's world. Why shouldn't it be the same for K'zin? "Hraedhyth and Szadath," K'zin's answer is automatic. "The only bronze from their lot," It might sound like a 'thank Faranth' belongs tacked onto that phrase, but he doesn't say it. "I'll just use my charm on them, shall I?" The kitchen staff, a single brow arching at the other bronzerider. "You know, the dastardly 'Reaches rider that over-stepped and was clearly seeking Weyrleadership at Fort, not to mention obviously just dying to bed a woman old enough to be his mother in the process." Well, if Hattie were a very young mother anyway. It's probably a blessing that there's no one beyond N'rov close enough to really hear the particulars of K'zin's speech. The most fervent inner thanks must go to the fact there's no one there besides N'rov to report back to K'del that he's uttered such a thing. It would hardly be seen as making strides in diplomatic relations. He chuckles, does N'rov, and that's just the beginning. "Water under the bridge." He even flicks some of this particular water K'zin's way from thumb and forefinger, first by way of illustration and then again because he can. "Although now that you mention it, there is that singular glow of authority that clearly stuns all bronzeriders worthy of the name into undiluted, drooling awe." "Right, and that whole 'it moves, fuck it' thing." That all bronzeriders have. Or are rumored to have anyway. K'zin grins over at the other man. "I think people really underestimate how tough we bronzeriders have it." His tone is dry, but it's hard to tell in this moment if he means the words in jest or in earnest or somewhere in between. "What, the goldriders?" Not really; N'rov laughs, even if it does turn into something of a grimace. "I'd like to think our collective reputation's slightly better than that. Even if it's only that whatever-it-is has to move fast." There's a slight uptick to his brows as he glances at the other man, then, what with the underestimating and all. "Oh, yes. You know. Those randy goldriders. They're everywhere. Can't keep their hands off things that move." K'zin delivers this more or less monotone with only a few inflections here and there, and his face is appropriately grave to the topic at hand. "You Fortian bronzeriders are optimistic about the stereotypes then." He decides after a moment and then moves away from the wall, hand finding some soapsand to set about the real reason he came to the springs. "So the walls, they're out of luck," N'rov delivers rather more mournfully. There's no reaching for soapsand or scrub brush from him, that job having been accomplished awhile back, but then Vhaeryth turns out to have other ideas. While idly scratching behind the bronze's jaw, "Had some, ah, too-enthusiastic well-wishers? Or the reverse." "Damn shame, isn't it?" K'zin's tone mirrors N'rov's, "But thems the breaks." This last holds less sympathy for the neglected walls. The younger man's hands still in their sudsing of his chest to level a look at N'rov. It's part curiosity, part something less definable, "Are you asking me about my love life?" Or the history thereof. Even if lust would prove the better term. "Are you sure you want to go there?" There's a smirk as his hand resumes the cleansing motions. The Fortian glances away from his dragon, towards the questioner, and there goes the uptick of one brow again. "Does anyone ever say yes when you put it that way?" The way he rolls his eyes, that gives him a good view of his dragon's jaw again, and habit has him poking to check out the bronze's gums. That low wave rippling across the pool, that's Vhaeryth's being less than enthused. "Maybe that's the point." K'zin suggest, smirk staying firmly in place. There's a moment of silence as he scrubs, but then an answer is forth-coming: "I went through a phase. And might've revisited it a time or two, where I wasn't as particular as I probably should've been with the women who approached me." Implying that it was more them to him than he to them. "I've been more settled in the last... well, it would've been a turn, only I had a slip up for a while there, so probably six months back on the wagon." The non-slutty wagon. Skimming right past those bona fides, N'rov says, "And this has to do with them underestimating how tough we have it... how? I'm assuming we're not back around to Ali," but both brows quirk wryly upward now: help a fellow rider out. "You were the one that asked about my well-wishers." K'zin's brows dip, "If you can't follow your own line of questions, how do you expect me to be able to piece it together for you? I'm pretty, not smart." Then there's a smirk, "So, back to Ali, then. What else do I need to know?" "Hey, I thought those were your troublemakers," N'rov says with an all too offhand shrug and a look of his own that becomes even more dry as K'zin goes on. If it also starts to head in the direction of a reluctant smile, it isn't for long; he even postpones Vhaeryth-examining (not as though his bronze can't suck up attention practically forever) in favor of practicalities. "Insulated boots and good socks are your best friend if they let you," 'make you'? "spend any time on the sands, but that's common sense, not Ali as such. She'll probably have K'del by, but if the two of them and Shani and me survived spending part of Turnover together, can it really get more awkward than that? And," there's got to be more, but no-longer-attention-getting Vhaeryth's flexing his talons underwater and generally starting to get restless. It's all distracting. "There's a lot less death and revenge involved in the awkwardness between K'del and I," K'zin's answer is dry, "But I'm sure we can have some of our own special version of the Red Star to hang out on when the occasions arise." Clearly, he's looking forward to it. Not. "So you're saying I can leave the toe-tending to K'del, and just bring her drinks if she's on the Sands at all?" Fine, N'rov can let himself smirk at that, and never mind how his dragon's gone and started dripping on him. Red Star, indeed. And, "Fine, fine, he can have the toes." Perhaps, when that smirk widens, it's from the sheer thought of it: K'del, filing and buffing and painting. "Drinks, food, she needs to rest, she'll overwork, she'll over-fret, and meanwhile Isyath's just going to sail around and around and around until further notice. Run messages if she wants. Keep track of her shawl. Humor is good, except careful, she doesn't always think things are funny." Imagine that. "If she says, 'oh, no, it's all right, I'll be fine,' stick around anyway; just bring something to do that's more like writing or doodling or straps-polishing and not so much knife-polishing or darts-throwing. Out of the way but there, that's the thing. And... actually, try and make sure she does get space when she needs it. There's always someone coming up to ask her about this or that, you know? And she's got..." he shrugs, then just says, "things on her mind." There are small nods as N'rov gives him the rundown. Even if K'zin isn't consciously memorizing, certainly Rasavyth is filing the information away for him. "Not knife-polishing or darts-throwing. I figured I'd stay away from that kind of thing what with everyone being so touchy about my being foreign and near at least one of your goldriders." There's no roll of the eyes though, this much is, at least, quite serious. He falls silent then and focuses on the scrubbing that's getting him closer and closer to clean. "Yeah." The acknowledgement doesn't play it down. Further silence; then N'rov says, abruptly, "Something comes up, I'm around." When he's not at the other man's Weyr. Not that N'rov's sticking around this particular locale, not this minute; with Vhaeryth having more than completed his own soak (for some reason, Hematite's junior ledge prize doesn't accommodate dragons in its tub...) there come the usual splashing noises of someone's pulling himself out of the large pool and heading off to change. He doesn't even try to filch K'zin's towel. Vhaeryth's going to make rather more waves, but if the 'foreign' rider is quick or just plain used to it, all will yet be well. |
Leave A Comment