Logs:Diversionary Tactics
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| RL Date: 17 August, 2014 |
| Who: Lilah, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin takes Lilah along on another 'lesson' that turns not so coincidentally into a theft. |
| Where: Telgar Hold / Somewhere South |
| When: Day 21, Month 7, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| It's been a while since the familiar, distinctive cold wintry winds of High Reaches sweeps over the Fortian queen's thoughts. Dragons have very little sense of time, though: there's no indication of anything out of the ordinary in Leiventh's brief touch. Wordlessly, he shares an image of flags whipping in the winds over a gather afternoon, crowds gathered below, Telgar's colors distinctive enough to immediately recognize. Acknowledgment comes not with Eliyaveith's usual heat but with the taste of ash, everything burnt. For once, she does not seem to mind the touch of winter, or the winds that stir up the flecks of her mind. There is a long while before the large queen appears over the gather and crowds, not exactly subtle in the way she winks in directly in front of the sun to cast a shadow before she finally lands, heavily, to deposit her rider. Perhaps for once Lilah has dressed appropriately, in a dress of grey linen that is meant for a Gather. It is cut in a low v that exposes a good amount of the goldrider's curves and gathered below the bust before flowing to the floor, light enough that even her steps stir the fabric nevermind the wind. She does not have her knot, but that is likely pointless given that she's sliding from Eliyaveith even as she scans for R'hin or Leiventh. Except appropriate is rather subjective, and difficult to discern when it comes to R'hin. Even as she's making to land, a shadow passes overhead, crossing over Eliyaveith. « Come, queen of Fort, » the cold winds of the bronze's voice beckons, as he circles higher. Strange indeed, that he should draw her to a gather only to whisk her away, but then the High Reaches bronzerider isn't exactly a bastion of normal. Minutes later there is another image, this time of distant jungles, and a hot, sultry morning as the sun rises. Eliyaveith is not the most graceful queen to ever take to the skies, and the necessary adjustment from landing to following comes at the price of an awkward, sharp twist that might make someone wince, watching it. She does not rise that much higher before she grasps the image, shares it with her rider, and then disappears between only to follow it. Though, it isn't without a thread of annoyance directed towards the other dragon that just reeks of Lilah for the stop to Telgar first. The contrast is amazing: while Telgar's is a dry heat, this southern location -- which doesn't seem familiar given it's an unknown piece of jungle -- is a moist heat, making flight gear near instantly unbearable. Downwards, Leiventh heads, a slow lazy circling until he locates a clearing large enough to land in. It's probably a tight fit for the pair of them, though Leiventh's quick to tuck his wings tight once he lands and R'hin is safely away, stripping off his jacket and leaving dark pants and dark gray shirt as he shades his eyes to watch the Fortian pair land. He looks... smug. Lilah does not immediately strip out of her own flight gear, not where instead her attention goes to R'hin with an annoyed narrowing of dark eyes as she slides off Eliyaveith once the gold has settled down beside Leiventh. "What was that about?" she questions. Her jacket is remembered and shrugged off a moment later, leaving her in the dress that is no longer close to appropriate for the jungle around them. The annoyance only serves to earn a low-throated chuckle from the Savannah Wingleader as his pale eyes fix on the Fortian as she approaches, giving her outfit the due attention it deserves. "You'll see," comes R'hin's typically cryptic response. He takes a moment to regards Eliyaveith, before one hand pushes aside some fronds, and the other settles into the crook of Lilah's back as if to guide her ahead of him. "She's looking well. I don't see what all the fuss has been about," is his bland, oddly humorous comment. "Mm." If R'hin doesn't see the fuss, it seems Lilah won't be the one to tell him. She even glances towards R'hin with a hint of gratefulness that is a mercurial replacement for the annoyance of before. "Just once, you're going to greet me by telling me everything I could possibly want to know, and then the world will collapse," she counters to that cryptic response instead, but she allows herself to be guided even as fingers twine into her skirts to hike them up as if it will help. "Where would be the fun in that?" It seems a genuine bafflement by R'hin, though of course underscored by familiar dark laugh as he walks, brushing greenery out of the way. If it weren't so muggy it'd be easy going; as it is, it's a little bit of a slog, heading uphill, and they don't seem to be following a particular path. "The known is comforting, familiar, boring. You asked to be taught the unknown." There's a flicker of a smile, brief as it is, at the gratefulness in the goldrider's look, but he doesn't seem apt to linger on the topic of her queen. "I believe I asked to be taught to pick locks," counters Lilah, her nose wrinkling for R'hin's benefit as she steps carefully over something spikey. "I wasn't aware I signed up to learn a whole philosophy of the unknown." In the damp of the Southern jungles, her curls quickly frizz and heat spreads splotchily across her skin. The effect of how her hair was done and the prettiness of that dress is ruined quickly, though she doesn't complain more than a grumble under her breath. "Yes, you did, didn't you?" R'hin responds as cheerfully as if she'd just totally agreed with everything he just said. "I'm a big fan of multitasking -- and expanding one's horizons. Besides," with a knowing, almost boyish smile at her, "You wouldn't come if you didn't find it fun, or at the very least intriguing." The walk continues, and even the fit bronzerider is breathing hard by the time they reach the rise, and descend into a small dip. There, almost invisible against the similarly-colored greenery, a shack made out of greenwood stands. R'hin makes a noise of satisfaction, and gestures her to proceed him. The reason probably quickly becomes clear -- the door is locked, though it is a fairly rustic affair, assuming she has her lockpicks with her. Lilah's tongue flicks to wet her lips against the heat, though it likely does little good with the damp air already around them not allowing it to dry properly. Her gaze slides after R'hin at that accusation, though she only murmurs simply, "Or maybe I just find you intriguing." She doesn't press that topic. She might not be able, as she focuses on trying to get air that is too heavy into her lungs. Her gaze flicks to the bronzerider as the shack comes into view, a clear, challenging question in dark eyes, but then she reaches for the picks that she had the sense to bring and moves to the door. With a low laugh and a shrug, R'hin's dismissive wave seems to suggest either reason is just as good as the other. While Lilah tends to the door, he does a circuit of the shack, though his movements are slow and careful before he circles back towards the goldrider's side. It might be deliberate that he leans close to her to watch, maybe as a distraction. Lilah's breath is already hitched short from the walk and the splotched red of her skin has yet to fade. Her concentration doesn't lift from the lock, either, so it's possible that R'hin's close presence does not affect her at all but it's hard to tell. She has been practicing. That much is clear as she quickly works at the rustic lock on the door, soon releasing the tumblers and reaching to open the door. An approving noise is R'hin's only praise, but it is undeniably praise. It's dark inside, and somewhat cooler, if only by comparison. There's a small glowbasket off to one side of the entrance, visible in the light from outside. It looks like a storage area as much as anything, there's no bed or place to sleep, but there is a desk, and plenty of boxes, shelves and locked presses within. Having kneeled to pick the lock, Lilah stretches now. The movement might cover the soft smile that lingers for longer than most of her smiles at R'hin's praise. It is gone before she reaches the glowbasket to uncover it. "Don't lock me in here," is what she calls over her shoulder, with every reason to be suspicious of that. "Who does this belong to? Should I even ask; will you tell me the truth?" "I won't," R'hin assures her, but then perhaps ruins that assurance with, "This time," and his familiar, low-throated chuckle. There isn't much space to manoeuvre around with both of them in there, and the bronzerider puts his hands on Lilah's shoulder briefly to squeeze past the desk into the corner. "Hold that up a bit, will you?" he asks, presumably of the glow. "You could say this belongs to everyone... in a way." He's squinting at several of the presses, looking at the rough markings carved into them before he knocks on one of them. "Here -- this one," he stretches a hand out to beckon her closer. "Let's see how much attention you've been paying." This lock is definitely harder than the outer one, well-cared for and more finicky than the rustic outer lock. Lilah's gaze lifts to R'hin at the brush of his hand, drawing imperceptibly closer for a moment before she realizes, perhaps, that he is moving past her. Then, suddenly, she is busy moving the glowbasket as directed, though she only finds a place to put it near where R'hin indicated to cast as much light as possible while also freeing her hands. She reaches for her lockpicks again, preparing them as she wonders casually, "And if I refused until you gave me a more direct answer about what it is and who it belongs to?" A careless shrug of his shoulders, though R'hin's pale eyes are full of amusement as he answers, "I'd take it as a sign you weren't up to the task, and I'd stop training you." He shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes unwavering from her, as if waiting for her to make the inevitable choice. A soft, noncommittal noise catches in Lilah's throat, her dark gaze meeting R'hin's for a moment as she considers that answer. There's a stubbornness to the goldrider that makes it clear that she would really, really like to test that, but eventually she turns to the press with a dismissive shrug of her shoulder. She has been practicing, though perhaps not on locks like these because there is no immediate or even forthcoming click. A faint, knowing sort of smile appears, R'hin taking in her acceptance of his ultimatum with silence rather than any sort of gloating at the victory. This time, interestingly, R'hin doesn't apply any external pressure, negative or positive. He's silent while she works, watching intently. That he doesn't gloat probably proves that R'hin has come to know more about Lilah than Lilah would suspect. "Fuck," slips out of the goldrider's lips as she fumbles a tumbler and pinches a finger between the lock and the pick, but she doesn't give up. Eventually, eventually, she gets it and without waiting for R'hin's permission, moves to look inside. It's probably a little anticlimatic, all told. Inside are rumbled, old tatters of hides that have obviously been used and reused. They're marked with figures and what looks like a random word, and even if she doesn't know the code, Lilah's probably been working at Dice long enough to recognize the look of markers when she sees them. R'hin's still, watching her -- watching for her reaction, more likely. Lilah reaches for those hides, familiar enough dealing with ones that are at the point of crumbling to be careful with them as she reads them. Though, she's not so careful is dropping them back into the press. Her lips twist into annoyance when she identifies them, before she offers to R'hin dryly, "We could have practiced on the locks in the comfort of a weyr, you realize. There wasn't any point to drag me all of the way out here for this. Shells, I could even practice on the lock to Dice's books." "Of course there was a point." R'hin leans past her, his arm brushing against hers as he seeks to scoop up those markers. "You don't practice on known locks. You practice on locks that have been used. Locks in different places in different situations, owned by different people who take care of them with a variety of determination. Variety you best teacher," a brief pause, chuckling under his breath as he grins down at her, murmuring, "Besides me, of course." He straightens, putting those markers in a thin bag he's acquired from the desk. "I'm starting to reconsider that," replies Lilah to the last with a dry edge to her words. Yet, she doesn't miss the fact that he puts those papers into that bag; she'd have to be blind to miss that. It is no surprise that there is a quick quirk of her brow in challenge, even as she does shift closer even as he straightens away, purposefully erasing the distance between them in a challenge that matches the way she questions, "What are you doing with those? Where are they from? I think I at least deserve some answers." "Lock that press again, would you?" R'hin asks her, as he eases back towards the door, tucking that bag safely away. "You know what they are," the savvy bronzerider knows where her other day job is, and he doesn't attempt to play dumb. "Of course they're useless without the code, but the man who has the code will find that useless without the markers. A stalemate, if you will, that will allow me to open up a dialog." He steps towards the door, but there's no threat that he intends to lock her in; pale gaze is on her, waiting. "That doesn't answer where they're from," Lilah tosses back, though she considers R'hin for a moment before pressing on with one clear, concise question, "Bitra?" The way she waits and watches R'hin for the answer makes it clear that this question, at least, is important. "An answer for an answer," is R'hin's own counter, waiting at the doorway for her. Lilah's brow curves upwards even as she points out simply, "You didn't ask a question." She remains unmoving, for now. There's not even really a pause for R'hin to think about it. "Tell me something about yourself that no one else but you knows. And not," with a knowing and equally charmingly familiar smile, "The color of your favorite pair of underwear. I can guess that." "That no one knows except myself? Not even those involved? That is quite the question." There is no smile that meets R'hin's, not as wide, dark eyes settle on the bronzerider thoughtfully as Lilah considers the question seriously. She answers carefully, "I went Between after Eliyaveith's flight to--. I never told anyone, not considering my friend found herself pregnant after it as well." Cocking his head briefly, R'hin studies her a long moment. "The chances of getting pregnant from a flight are low," he says, lips pursed. "Or was it because of who won?" He moves over to shutter the glow, and leans past her to close the press, letting the lock click back into place. Unceremoniously, he guides the goldrider out of the shack. "Best go, before..." what isn't explained. Lilah stiffens at the touch, at the attempt to guide her out. She tries to shrug the touch off even as her gaze narrows slightly on R'hin. She points out with an edge of sharpness to her words, "You owe me an answer. Just the one. Are they from Bitra?" "No," R'hin says, simply, meeting her gaze with a fleeting smile. Then, after a beat, "Monaco Hold. We really should--" there's the sound of distant voices echoing in the small valley. Is that relief or disappointment that flickers in Lilah's eyes? Regardless, it doesn't last long before she catches the sound of voices as well, stilling to try to listen where they are coming from. "If they hear us leaving--. They won't recognize me," is a quiet offer, for all that the goldrider doesn't spell out entirely what she may be suggesting. At least she's stopped fighting against his guidance. "And they won't stop to ask who you are," R'hin says, and while he might've noticed the goldrider's reaction, such things aren't suitable for a discussion right now. He reaches for her again, seeking to grab her upper arm, determined this time to leave, and in a hurry at that. "Eliyaveith would make it clear," murmurs Lilah, but she doesn't press that point. She is quick to follow R'hin's lead, careless now of the dress and the jungle around them except to attempt to minimize the noise she makes. R'hin doesn't have any of his usual quips or retorts to that; he's concentrating, listening and keeping them heading in the correct direction, his grip on Lilah's arm a steady constant. He slows, then stops abruptly, a finger held to his lips, as some voices echo down, but they're more distant than the first noise might make it think, and so he resumes the rapid pace, glancing over his shoulder now and then to make sure Lilah's keeping up. When they finally reach the clearing where their dragons are, R'hin grabs for that jacket of hers that she discarded earlier, pushing it at her. "You first. We'll see you at Telgar. Use the image Leiventh gives you." Even if he gave it to her earlier, the bronze's cold tones offer it again, almost exactly the same as earlier; only a few subtle changes in the light to suggest time has passed. Given the discrepancy of their strides, it is likely that Lilah does lag some, but she merely picks up her own pace when she finds herself falling behind. She shushes with the gesture, stops when he does, and even when he gives the order for Telgar, she doesn't speak. Instead, she nods and accepts her jacket from him with only a quick brush of fingers. She shrugs into it before she climbs up Eliyaveith, watching R'hin for a moment as if to make sure he makes it to Leiventh first before the gold launches herself into the air, which isn't exactly a subtle thing. She disappears Between, presumably on the image that the other dragon shares. And, mere moments -- seconds later -- Leiventh emerges beside her, circling down to land just outside of Telgar proper. The bronzerider dismounts, but he's not in any hurry -- in fact he looks positively at ease as he waits for Lilah to join him, though there is a little chuckle under his breath at the state of her dress. It seems the state of her hair is more important to Lilah than the state of her dress. Even as she does move from Eliyaveith to rejoin the bronzerider, her fingers are busy twisting and combing to capture it all back into one messy bun rather than leave it hanging loose. "Don't," she warns R'hin. "Just-- don't. If you could ever give me just one straight answer, one little shred of--." There is a hint that her volume is building, as if she might fly into a lecture. "I gave you a straight answer," is R'hin's murmured response, "More than." Though that doesn't stop the amusement in pale eyes. "There are many bronzes, but few golds as distinctive as Eliyaveith and with a rider with red hair. Let's solidify your alibi, shall we?" The bronzerider extends an arm towards the Fortian. The spark in Lilah's gaze only sharpens at the response, or perhaps the amusement that she finds in R'hin's. Those dark eyes slide slowly over the bronzerider, to the arm that he offers, but instead of moving to take it, she answers flatly, "No." And then again, "No. Enjoy the Gather, bronzerider." She turns to move back the way she came to the waiting gold dragon. The disappointment is probably mostly feigned. Probably. "One day I will get you to dance with me." But for now, R'hin is heading towards those bright, flapping flags, seeking the anonymity of the gather without a backward glance. The cool winds of Leiventh's thoughts remain distant, but he's listening keenly, if the quick whirl of eyes in his otherwise still posture are anything to judge by. "You are so stupid," is all Lilah murmurs in Leiventh's hearing, though whether the accusation is aimed to herself or R'hin or otherwise isn't exactly clear as she moves about the business of retreating to Eliyaveith's back. Eliyaveith at least offers a polite farewell to the other dragon, before the gold is once again disappearing over the skies of Telgar, likely to the confusion of any number of people watching as to why the pair isn't staying. There's a puff of amusement in the quick, cold draft that swirls in the wake of Eliyaveith's take off. « Humans, » is the bronze's dismissive assertion, which serves as a farewell for the Fortian gold as well. |
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