Logs:Daddy Can Su--
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2008 |
| Who: Kintryth, N'thei, Riye |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 11, Month 8, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| Dinner time! It sometimes equates to Quittin' Time for the laborers in the storerooms, which then equates to almost empty leaving Riye the vast majority of the corridors to roam. A hand steals out at intervals to test the locked state of some of the rooms, until one found unlocked is opened to reveal its inside contents: fabrics. Pleased, a throaty little sigh exhales over clasped hands. And that's where she remains for a good five minutes: hands-clasped together under her chin with bright, grey-blue eyes unable to focus on just one colorful bolt. Free-spirited ash blonde curls bobble about Riye's frank, tanned features; wide set cloudy grey-blue eyes seemingly incapable of deceit. A high-sloped forehead descends past thick brows, down a charming little nose to a mouth that's curled impishly more often than not. Lanky and athletically built, this blossoming teenager is clad in a loose, lime green tunic, fitted leather pants, and sturdy black boots. "Do we need to start hiring guards?" There's little hope that someone as loud-footed as N'thei could creep up on a person unawares, even a person as rapt as Riye, but he rounds a corner of the corridor abruptly and comes upon the girl all at once, surprises himself as much as anything. Time enough is taken to peer into the room, to notice what captivates her, before he adds, "Making a cliche out of yourself." Rapture-caught has nothing on loud-footed steps and N'thei's inability to surprise and while the trader girl's hands drop, she's not startled. "I'm a walking cliche, if you'd like to find out." And rather than take offense, the blonde curls bobble with the turn of Riye's head, a face-splitting grin, sweet and amiable, lighting up her features. "Just lookin' for something you might have worth trading rather than just marks. I've been in the market for something nice to wear to that picnic your Headwoman's putting together soon." Her sidelong gaze lingers on a particularly pretty piece of shiny green fabric, though the bulk of her 'focus' is on appraising the Weyrleader's tall, broad build. "Wouldn't mind getting caught if you were doing the guarding though, I imagine. Riye. Of the Vijays." As if he had no clue. "You imagine." N'thei doubts, tone heavy with it, eyes bland with it when they leave the girl and make their way toward the flash of green. "Not an authorized deal-maker for the lower caverns, but I might hand-wave the formalities if the price is right. --N'thei. Of the High Reaches." To counter her introduction, right down to a hand offered toward Riye in an oh-so-cordial way; held, there's less chance for those five fingers to find themselves a discount. A second stolen glance, or perhaps more likely fifth, follows N'thei's to take in that green bolt. Just a split-second. Then a low laugh, dropped lashes lifting with a jerk of her chin to seek out the Weyrleader once more. Her hand lifts. Her five fingers wriggle in the air between them, perhaps knowingly, before she leans forward to complete the gesture with an easy smile in return. "He told me about you," as if any such information passed on by her father was for her personal notice in regards to N'thei specifically. "I wouldn't talk to a man about fabric at any rate. Least of all you. Would talk to Hayda is it? But she might be too busy. Maybe one of her assistants. Likely, it's too late to get it made up anyway. Ah well." C'est la vie, says her shrug. "N'thei of the High Reaches. You're nothing like my father warned." N'thei purposefully, methodically, deliberately, openly pats down Riye's hand in search of any card-trick hidden articles that might have disappeared 'tween her fingers. "Play along and ask what your father warned about me? Or skip to pointing out that you're basing your opinion on thirty seconds of conversation." He returns her hand in much the same shape that he received it and brushes beyond her into the bedecked storeroom, as out of place among that much sumptuous cloth as the proverbial bull in a china closet. To the point; "What are you doing in here." "I'd be a poor trader if I couldn't size someone up." Her words pause, deliberate that, her mouth ajar and lashes dropping again as he pats down her hands, fingers seeking and finding nothing by hands too soft to be used to much of the harder, more physically demanding skills required by her craft. And when he finds nothing, a smile secrets itself, dimpling faint impressions into her cheeks, charmed somehow by his methods of sussing out thieves. Her light, "In less than thirty seconds," completes a previous thought and segues into the next. Simply put, Riye was, "Looking. What are you doing in there? Why the twenty questions, doll?" The go-to, the ready answer: "Not your business." N'thei lobs it out there without a thought behind the dismissal. His reaction to all the dimples and pretty hands and super-sweetness boils down to a brief narrow of his eyes, hard to gauge if he's charmed or suspicious when he turns his back to Riye and feigns interest in looking up and down the shelves of cloth. "Will put you all out if it doesn't stop. Have to. Hope your father impressed that on you." In answer to the twenty-questions, sounds like. The girl is silent, taking that step into the lion's den to stand by N'thei in the room filled with pretty fabrics. Her hands clasp behind her back. Her chin lifts. The smile spread slow on her face is a little sad, the sentiment caught in the barest trace in her low, sober agreement. "He did." Sidelong, Riye's gaze takes in the bronzeriding Weyrleader: his height, the softness at his waist, his just-shy-above-average-looking face. N'thei's eyes. "Can't say I agree with the accusations flown, sir. It's too easy to contrive a reason to blame us even if it only started when we got here. But you have nothing to worry about with me." Her. Not them. Those five fingers he inspected lift, wiggling lightly in the air, followed soon by her other hand, just as soft and unworked. "Could barely lift one of these let alone find some ample place to steal it out." A smile hesitates, willing to work itself into full blown if given any reason. N'thei glances over to note Riye's shadow-approach, eyes moving, head still. He suffers scrutiny impassively while his arms fold, while he adjusts the set of his shoulders a degree to acknowledge awareness of her proximity. "/You/ aren't a thief then." He probably means it as a question, lilts a little higher at the tail-end, but there's frank demand in his address to this brave-little-girl. Her near smile, clever shyness on her part, yes, meets with a direct look down, brows drawn up over keen eyes-- so attentive of her pretty hands but glazed to imperviousness. Every man would respond by nature to Riye's ploys; this one means not to. Those pretty hands spread, finger by finger, apart and upward in a nonverbal supplication. "You make this so hard," says Riye, hiding behind nature, however contrived mixes with natural, and however he's figured her out and means not to fall for any of it. "No, N'thei of the Reaches, I am no thief. But I don't blame you for thinking this of some," she hesitates, "Of us. It's as easy to believe that we're what everyone says we are as it would be for me to trust my father when he says you're nothing but a brute." Does she lie so blithely? "Really," the smile is given reason to blossom, just a little to touch her pretty eyes. "I bet Jaispe would vouch for us. Well," conceded, "Most of us." A cold smile cracks with satisfaction, any interest in fingers and smiles fallen into the fissure when N'thei happily pins his eyes directly to Riye's. "Maintain your family's innocence if it works for you." /Works/ with such a dirty intimation, smutty accusation wrapped up in a word. "Let Jaispe vouch for you, would do wonders for public image. But I know exactly how the Vijays stay in business. So do you." "What you accuse my family of," begins Riye, a thoughtful pause preceding her thoughts, "Is something you've done for others, haven't you? Maybe I'll ask her to. It gets harder to do business when people think you're thieves." It's a naive way of looking at their situations, or at least as much as the blonde might admit to. "Really, can't you smile a little? It does wonders for your face. Makes it almost- handsome." The look she gives N'thei is steady but brief, her gaze inevitably drawn back to that green fabric and while she hasn't five-finger discounted it yet, that pretty little hand reaches to touch and caress the green sisal. "Do the crafts give the Weyrs their best still?" she wonders aloud, a little wistful. So quiet, a barely breathed echo corrects, "Know you're thieves." N'thei puts no more effort to correcting this facade though, only a derisive chuckle at Riye's persistence. Smile? No; nor can he dignify that question with a response. Instead, he takes the last reach to the bolt of fabric and, caressed or not, he draws it off the shelf and very much into his possession. "Good question. Does it matter to a trader if they do?" Honestly asked, so it seems. The bolt is drawn off the shelf, and Riye's bold fingers linger, drawing up those steps closer to N'thei as the bolt attempts to move out of reach. They are, albeit, attached to the very ends, fingering the threads that hang off. She's not quite stupid enough to push her luck too much. "Can't get crafter quality goods most the time. Can't afford to trade in them," honestly or not, "Can't afford them myself." The trader girl shrugs again, pulling her fingers away and up to caress N'thei's upper arm much like she just did the bolt. A sunnier smile aims up at the Weyrleader. "Know we're thieves," she says, either in mimic of the bronzerider or admission. "Doesn't stop you from wanting us around s'long as we follow your rules, mmm? I won't take this. Promise." Again, correction-- "So long as we get paid. Don't mistake me, little girl." So saying, N'thei lands a dismissive look at her hand, at his arm, back to her smile. "I don't care if you rob Pern blind and profit on its pennilessness. Only that we get paid." At her 'promise,' he delivers his least convinced look, his most really-now roll of his eyes in answer to Riye's persistent sunshine. "You'll understand if I escort you back to the more public caverns, of course." Escort you back, deliver you from temptation, same. Wyaeth senses that Kintryth unlike a certain, recently previous time, this communique is all cool control, mists touching with a certain caution. « Is he available? » No mocking this time, just cut to the chase. Exactly like every other time, Wyaeth's response is all grit and spitfire. « No, he ain't. » Unfocused flashes, like his mind's eye is watery, shows N'thei, some blond, something about hands-on-arms and flares of silky green fabric, all disorganized. (Wyaeth to Kintryth) "Of course." She understands his intentions, but it doesn't mean she won't put her own slant on events and claim his elbow for herself. Escorting to the perfectly dotted i and precisely crossed t. And she beams, a halo of blonde curls floating about her frank face, her slender shoulders shrugging inward girlishly as she leans into the broad, strong visage N'thei presents. Her ability to prattle in their exit hovers in the part of her mouth and shine of her eyes up, but is paused long enough for one question to be asked. A serious, solemn question. "Do you think I'm pretty?" Wyaeth senses that Kintryth looks all that over, and...perhaps disappoints you. No flares of jealousy, no strike of claws to avenge his rider. Just caution-cold curiosity. « Sad, that. If you decide to tell him, he might know what he's missing. » Mists bob and weave, never in one place for long enough to pin down. N'thei puts away the fabric on a high high high high shelf near the door, stops the promenade enough to stretch on his toes to push it toward the back, a great show made of depositing it out of reach of the average human-- provided the average human can't figure out how to work a ladder. By the time he gets back to the escort business, sounds very wrong phrased like that, he seems hardly to have noticed Riye's pretense for propriety. "Yes. Do you think you're obvious enough?" Wyaeth> Kintryth senses that Wyaeth's disappointed? It would take a serious overstatement of his interest in N'thei's doings to find a modicum of disappointment for lacking jealousy. « Y'know, think you got the wrong idea in here somewhere. Don't /care/ enough to keep it from him, but he ain't exactly gonna come running anyway. » That much, that much at least, he knows for sure about his own rider. "Yes," states the pleased teenager, unwilling to elaborate on just how much she knows of her transparency. Willing, however, to bask in the compliment, however much she had to ask for it. Another smile graces Riye's face and she claims the elbow all the more securely. "Rech tells me you've become one of his clients." Clearly a calamity that a good-for-nothing like Derecho has snatched such a worthy client. Making people happy just rubs N'thei the wrong way. While Riye goes to the trouble of securing his elbow, he counters by bracing a hand on her shoulder and pretty much prying her off his arm, unlooping his arm with a bothered frown. "I don't know who Rech is, and quit clinging to me or I'll settle for dragging you out by the scruff of your neck." Means it. A very light, very soft, smooth tenor chuckle. So understated. « Of course he isn't. Must maintain proper male decorum. » Again, drawn from a past encounter, the image of N'thei with ridiculous-sized limbs like tree trunks - arms crossed over his chest with a sneer of disdain. Shrug. (Kintryth to Wyaeth) "Daddy wouldn't be so happy about that," warns the daddy's girl, but out of fear or just not wanting the humiliation of being dragged in such a way, Riye acquiesces with a shake of her blonde hair. She meant to do that. Really. "Second thought, don't need an escort I think." Singsonged, the lithe trader teen's call precedes her leisurely walk back out towards the lower cavern hallways, "Have a good day, Weyrleader N'thei of the High Reaches." Wyaeth> Kintryth senses that Wyaeth cuts to the chase, so well-paired even to that ludicrous image-- « D'you need something? » A snort of those mists, wry and cool. « You're not quite female enough to be to my tastes, so no. » No swirling, no sense of withdrawl this time, just instant evaporation...and the blue is gone. (Kintryth to Wyaeth) N'thei starts with a snappy reply; "Daddy can su--" But there she goes. He'll just stay here while she goes prancing off, definitely not making sure she doesn't deviate, definitely not having highly inappropriate thoughts about little blonds in compromising positions. Anyone else think the world was better off when he was an alcoholic? White noise. (Wyaeth to Kintryth) "Suck me off?" Dirty words from the blonde as she exits. She wasn't so far gone to not overhear those abruptly cut off words. Or else eavesdropping is one of her less than up-and-up skills. "I'll b'sure to tell him that!" Not a word. Not even to clarify that what he was going to say rhymed with pluck-my-sock, but close enough. |
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