Logs:Bait & Hook
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| RL Date: 25 June, 2015 |
| Who: H'vier, Yesia |
| Type: Log |
| What: Yesia's kind of desperate, but she's not that desperate. |
| Where: Rider's Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: I bet this isn't what you thought it was. |
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>---< Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr(#1803RJ) >---------------------------<
About as high up the bowl wall as it is possible to get before hitting
clear sky, right up against the rim, this ledge is tiny, narrow and not
terribly inviting. Though angled towards the sun, there's not enough room
to properly stretch out, and that same angle ensures it receives the worst
of bad weather, with no shelter whatsoever. From above, there's not even
an obvious passage inside, as if this particular ledge is, in the end,
nothing more than a natural outcropping. It's only from atop the ledge
itself that the cleverly concealed entrance becomes clear, angled into the
stone as it is.
Inside, there's a cavernous space, more than making up for the stinginess
of the ledge. There's one large main room, and a much smaller back room
that could probably be used as a bedroom - if this weyr were in
traditional usage. Instead, the main cavern is largely filled with a
collection of mismatched tables and chairs. Towards the back, there's a
bar made out of old, recycled wood, manned during peak hours; there's
plenty of alcohol on display behind it, though most of it tends towards
the cheaper end of the range. Old, but still impressive, hangings cover
the walls, all depicting scenes of High Reaches in glory. The back room
has been turned into a storage area, with several cases of whisky and a
variety of other spirits ready and waiting.
A strange pipe contraption comes through the ceiling and towards the stone
floor, where a large bucket sits beneath it. A lever turns on water from
the pipe: fresh rain or snow, ready for drinking. It's oppressively dreary outside, and extremely cold, but the conditions are not the same inside the Riders' Lounge. Not that it takes cold weather to draw a crowd, especially after the day is through, but as a general observation the shared warmth of so many people in a small space must contribute to the draw, at least a little bit. For Yesia, it's ostensibly the company that has her, for all she's been a staple here for the past seven, in progressive stages of interaction with the patrons. Today she's sitting on one of the tables with a glass of wine in hand, laughing among a group of Icicle riders she's found camraderie with, if only because of the green accent in their own knots.
Elsan is closest as H'vier approaches, and her response is mistrustful: "Not it," she says, plucking up her glass and giving a meaningful look to her partners. Come on," it says, though when she departs it's with only one other person, a man who she tugs along insistently; the others, including Yesia, don't see H'vier as much reason to retreat, even if it seems nobody is volunteering for lap sitting. "It's not that cold," is what Yesia says instead, adjusting her position on the table carefully, enough that he might be able to occupy the chair next to her with a little room to spare. "She's very sensitive," she adds as explanation, tipping her chin after Elsan. "The temperature isn't really the point of it," says H'vier, possibly too shameless to even realize it could be a thing to have shame about. He waves a dismissive hand after Elsan for the rest of what Yesia says, unconcerned about anyone's particular sensitivities. He does, however, settle himself down beside the weyrling, and even does so without making the effort to put as little space between them as possible. So thoughtful of him. "And just how sensitive are you, gorgeous? I can think of a lot of ways you could keep me warm." Or lots of variations on one way, at least. For all she's got a reputation, and a little flirtation shouldn't have much affect, color rises high and sudden on Yesia's cheeks, offset all the more by the way she shakes her short curls out, still growing from the mandatory chop they took at the beginning of weyrlinghood. She's coy behind them, bringing her glass to her lips to hide half her surprised expression behind red wine. At least when she brings the glass down, her reply is even. "I'm not sensitive," she assures, though she shifts on the table slightly, maybe enough to move her leg so it's not resting against his side, a little. Coy, yes, but not obtuse, she says, as diplomatically as she can, "You're too -- ahm. I'm a little -- young? For you." "Perhaps," allows the bronzerider, considering the redhead with a long, thorough once over. "I'm not interested in children." It's casually baiting. Is she a child? H'vier might not realize he's doing it. "They're so unnecessarily concerned with age." That's less casually baiting. So he probably does realize he's doing it. "Shame," he says, glancing back at her remaining companions, then beyond, as he rises back to his feet and his full, rather well-maintained height. So easily his attention strays once he's been rejected. The color in doesn't disappear under his consideration, and Yesia seems to find her glass rather more interesting than it was a moment ago, at least until he all-but outright calls her a child. Then she puts the glass down, straightening, and looks at him with considerable affront. Hooked. "I'm not a child." She's crossed her arms over her chest and is looking at him curiously, eyes going up to follow his face as he stands. When his attention wanders off, to whomever, wherever, she scoffs quietly. "Well, that was anticlimactic." "Aren't you?" asks H'vier, his dark gaze returning to the much smaller woman he faces now as though he might be genuinely curious. "You've got your arms crossed like a child. I might be able to write off the flush with your wine." But his tone suggests he's not convinced that he's not at least in some part responsible for the color in her cheeks. "Would you like to sit somewhere more private with me?" he asks, gesturing toward a table that's empty, but not out of the way or anything. He's not trying to separate her from the herd quite yet. "You only have to sit in my lap if you'd like to," he adds even as he starts to head that way, expecting her to either follow him or not. Either way, he'll end up sitting at that empty table. Yesia rolls her eyes. "I've seen plenty of people cross their arms," Yesia counters, irritable. "I'm pretty sure I saw you crossing your arms the other day, watching your wing drill. I didn't realize I was supposed to take that you were a child away from that." It seems like she's going to let him go, but her persistence at the lounge lately has motive, and that it has yielded nothing is probably why her expression is so sour when he chooses to depart, even if he does leave a conditional invitation in his wake. "I'm not some floozy," she prefaces, when she can make her in a slightly quieter setting. Notably, she doesn't go for his lap, proving she's not entirely foolish. She doesn't sit at all, yet, just standing there, and with nothing to occupy her hands she seems to struggle with not crossing her arms petulatly. "Just because I'm a greenrider. I know what you think." Since she's basically making his point for him, H'vier doesn't feel the need to rub it in her face. He's getting comfortable in his chair when she comes to the table, but he doesn't look at her for more than a moment before his gaze is taking in the rest of the lounge that he can see from this vantage. It doesn't mean he's not listening, though. "And what is it that I think, darling? Since you know me so well." "That I'll just fall into your bed if you ask," Yesia says after a moment. She's not blushing so much, now, save the little that the wine is actually responsible for. "Because we're all a little boy crazy, it comes with the dragon." She intones it mockingly, like someone told her that directly. "And we can't resist a," admittedly really very attractive, "bronzerider. If," she emphasizes the word strongly, "I were to do that, it wouldn't have anything to do with you." H'vier laughs. Is that the reaction she'd been expecting? At least it doesn't last for very long. "I don't expect any one woman to fall into my bed just because I asked. Mind, I know I'll find someone. Sometimes it just takes asking around a bit before I find one who's willing." The bronzerider's attention is on Yesia again, quite focused. "I'm not interested in you because I think you're easy, you realize. I'm interested because you're very attractive." Perhaps less so with all the talking, granted. "If you aren't interested, just say so and move along, gorgeous." For all the goal is in sight, and for all Yesia's thrown herself at people with reckless abandon, it H'vier has her hovering around the edge of the table carefully, a little warily, though what's one more person to not take her seriously here? And the compliment softens her, for all the intent behind it is not at all noble. "I'm obviously interested," she says, "Or I would be. If you weren't so..." she fishes for the word, but can't find it, not exactly. "Unpleasant," is what she finally settles on, with a lingering look. "Don't you even talk to people before you--" she gesticulates with both hands, something without substance, but certainly he knows. Well, now. Admitted interest sparks more of his and H'vier takes a drink before he sets it down on the table. The better to focus on the young greenrider, even if his eyes are straying from her face. "What is it that makes me unpleasant? That I'm honest about what I want? That I'm not trying to lull you into a false sense of security by pretending to be interested in the inane details of your life. If that's what you want then, by all means, talk away." He waves a hand for her to go on. The greenrider takes a deep breath, her brows going down. "That's not what I mean," she insists. It sounds suspiciously like she's on the brink of admitting something when she says, "I'm supposed to find someone --" but cuts herself short, biting her lip as she looks at him. "I can't trust you if I don't know you, that's all." H'vier draws in a deep breath and then he sighs it out slowly. He offers her another smile, this one less charming but more... friendly? Like maybe under all of the, well... the H'vier, he's an actual human being. Maybe. "How about this. Will you go on a date with me, Yesia? We can go wherever you like. You can ask me anything you want. And I'll try very hard not to think about you naked. Or have any expectation of sex." Yesia blinks owlishly at him for that, but eventually a smile slips into her uncertain expression. The approach works better, though, than his bravado. At heart, then, she's still just a hold girl with whimsical expectations. That makes his offer a small victory, if a strange one, and with that smile she's careful with her answer, just in case she's about to step on a mine. "Yes, I will." "Good. Perhaps your next rest day? Or the evening before? Whenever you like, really. Just let Reisoth know." H'vier starts to rise, reaching for his drink as he does. "I look forward to it," he says, tipping his drink toward her before he's moving off. Perhaps to find someone more agreeable for tonight. No explosions, and Yesia's smile is actually genuine. "Alright," she says, all at once more at ease, the tension relaxing out of her shoulders. "I will." She watches him go, under no pretense as to his goals, and turns to make her way back to the group she left initially. |
Comments
Squishy (19:49, 2 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
No this was pretty much exactly what I thought it would be XD
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