Logs:Debts Owed
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| RL Date: 28 April, 2015 |
| Who: R'van, Irianke, Solith, Vadevjiath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'van and Irianke resettle their ledger. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| Too late for lunch, too early for dinner, Irianke is sitting in a table near the center, the remnants of a quick meal apparent on her plate: a sandwich that was deconstructed and picked apart in distraction. There's work near her elbow, that must have been looked at at one point in the meal, but is no longer. Now, Irianke nurses a goblet of wine and studies the relatively empty caverns in silence. Sometimes, despite their best efforts, dragons get off a normal schedule. Thus, R'van has some little extra free time post-lectures for the day, and this brings him to the cavern to grab a snack and take advantage of the break. Irianke, alone, stands out among the light pre-dinner crowd, and it's toward her that he heads after a moment of weighing that option. "Weyrwoman." He hovers by a chair when he gets there, studying her. "Mind company?" It's not news that Rafevan Impressed. This is, however, the first time Irianke has come face to face with the favor that did not go as planned since it happened and the smile that curves her lips is one filled with some sort of broken humor. "Do I have a choice?" asks the goldrider, teasing. "How is that favor working out for you, R'van?" "Am I destined for eternal shit-shoveling in the barracks if I say no?" R'van wonders in answer to the first question. His answer to the second is slower in coming, as he seats himself first, busying his hands with slicing the apple he's picked up along the way. "Unexpectedly," he finally decides, with his own wry smile, "for all parties involved. Vadevjiath is well, though. He says Niavth checks in on him sometimes?" She peeks: a hint of cool movement in the summer's thick warmth, fresh as sea air without the salt. (To Vadevjiath from Solith) To Solith, Vadevjiath is drowsing: half-asleep already, but fighting it fiercely; and that breath of fresh air cutting through the headwind of exhaustion is enough to rouse him back toward wakefulness for the moment. He steers into her breeze instead. "Aye, she does," replies Irianke, reaching for a piece of discarded crust and beginning to nibble on it. "Niahvth enjoys being a mother from the pregnancy to the waiting on the sands to the hatching and the aftermath. She'll forget sooner or later, or realize when they've become adults and fade away. Forget. But," the Igen woman shrugs, that humored and humorless smile emerging again. "She mothers enough for the both of us. For what it's worth," she remarks, "I'm glad you found Vadevjiath, though your Hall must be regretting your decision?" It's not the most constant breeze, most days, but in the moment she sustains it, at once a lift and a lilt; with the latter comes a brief image of a lecturer, not Olveraeth's rider nor her own, droning. (To Vadevjiath from Solith) "He tells me he doesn't need it," Rafe admits of his dragon, shoulders shrugging, "but the fact he mentions it enough tells me he enjoys it anyway. I expect everyone needs a mother sometimes, even month-old dragons who are already chest-high." That draws a grimace from him: how quickly they grow at this age. He takes a bite of his apple, chewing slowly. "I'd expect so, but my arrogance has been both well-established and not especially supported by the evidence lately," he admits truthfully in the end. Irianke purses her lips and looks levelly at R'van. "Shall we dispense the bullshit, Rafe?" To Solith, Vadevjiath sails along those breezes, a pantomine of what he'll one day, not soon enough, do in reality. « Solith, » he says then. « What are you doing? » Or what, rather, is she listening to: this unnamed, indistinct lecturer has him questioning. Wryly, R'van concedes, "It does seem to be one of your strengths, Weyrwoman. So yes, let's." "I let you Stand. I pay my debts and I did appreciate what you did for me even if the status quo did not change." Irianke lays out what happened in her terms. "You don't owe me an explanation, but without one I will surmise that you wanted to leverage Standing against the Hall so that they'd fast track your promotion. One, apparently," the goldrider adds, "Seems delayed for reasons I cannot quite comprehend." Quite, but not entirely. She's a savvy enough politician to have some ideas. Solith, she shares, escaped and is escaping still: high above the lake and then higher still, the winds cool and familiar as she floats. (To Vadevjiath from Solith) To Solith, Vadevjiath isn't jealous, not precisely, but just for an instant, there's a flash of longing for a thing he doesn't even know just yet. It's burned into his bones already, that desire for the air. She recognizes that longing, somehow, swift-flashed and bright-flashed though it is-- and shares, if it won't burn him too: how it feels to soar, the winds there and there and everywhere along her sensitive hide, buoyant for the delicate architecture of her wings. The winds like it when they fly. They'll like it when he does, too. (To Vadevjiath from Solith) She's not wrong, says the slight inclination of R'van's head. His expression's more bland, though that's likely as telling as anything. "I'm not sure we came out even on the exchange, considering Vadevjiath. Or even which side of the balance sheet to place him on." "You owe me," states Irianke simply, her dark blue eyes daring him to differ. R'van does not dare, no, though his mouth pulls up at one corner, almost--not quite--amused. "So I do." "What's Vadevjiath like?" Instead of calling in that favor now, Irianke asks the bland, inane, bullshit question that returns them back to polite company. R'van doesn't looks surprised that she pockets that favor for now; he lets it go himself, in favor of those superficial touches. "Content, generally. Not troublesome," R'van says after a moment, finishing his apple when the subject shifts again. "But when he has a goal in mind... I didn't imagine a dragon being so determined." "They've their own personalities that sometimes complements but doesn't always." Irianke considers R'van, the public persona of warmth resettling on her face. The nibbled crust is polished off and a wedge of cheese is devoured. "Niahvth was always too bright, too cheerful. I always felt the sun was shining on me when I least wanted it to. Determined? Could bode well for you, as long as your determinations dovetail." "Vadevjiath is--not that," and R'van's smile is wry for Niavth's sunny warmth: surely Vadevjiath's passed along some idea of the gold's touch with his mentions of her. "But yes, I think our interests are more in alignment than not, probably for the best. I think I'd fear for whatever might get in his way of seeing them through--my own ambitions even, if it came to that." "Some day," and suddenly it's not so superficial anymore, though Irianke's mellifluous voice is light, "You won't want to keep your secrets from me for your own best interests." Those secrets that drove him to Stand. "Just be sure not to wait too long, R'van. In spite of common belief, my patience isn't limitless. But for now, I'll leave you to getting back to your dragon while I go make sure our new head cook is settling in." R'van's expression takes a turn for the considering, regarding Irianke across the table for that moment. "I'll keep that in mind, Weyrwoman," he tells her, nodding once. "And--thank you." That much? It's genuine, not even--mostly--begrudged. |
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