Logs:Farmer Leova
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 December, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin and Leova go drinking, and there's talk about farming dragonriders. And the twins, of course. |
| Where: Dockside Bar, Ista Hold |
| When: Day 6, Month 6, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Suireh/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
  |
| It's a balmy afternoon when Leiventh's cool presence can be detected around the edges of Vrianth's thoughts, like skittish prey seeking to find out the mood of the predator. (Or possibly the predator pretending to be prey for the interest of one such similar.) There's no words, just fleeting thoughts; snatches of white beach, a bright blue sky, the heat in the air, the feel of a cold drink sliding down a parched throat. Eventually, she'll recognize the outlines of Ista's Hold, and perhaps even recognize the bar by the docks. While R'hin's often been forthright on his opinions on Ista's bloodlines -- that far too much violence lingers in the dragons' blood there -- he's never knocked on their bars. It might say something that such fleeting thoughts aren't ignored in the wake of eventually. Vrianth has other things to do, not just wait for it, and the slowness acquires a hint of static. Still, it's not unfamiliar, these invitations and these excursions, and Ista... from static, a spark. Assent. It's not immediately that Leova shows up, and when she does, her short hair's spiked up and darker from dampness. She's taken her time, entering. The dockhands can go first. She's not in a hurry. Not looking for argument, at least not from anyone other than R'hin. There's certainly no sense of impatience from Leiventh; he has the infinite, steady measure of an elder statesman, flickering, partial sensations shared in the meantime: a darkness, the sound of laughter, the rumbling of thrown dice. It's not far off the actuality: it's definitely dim, and full of locals, more beer than cocktails, though there's some duty bottles behind the bar. R'hin, to his apparent disgruntlement, hasn't managed to secure the best table in the place: the one in the back corner is occupied by a game of dice, and pale gaze is fixed in that direction. There's a pitcher of beer on the table and two mugs, the one nearest him half full. Normally, he'd select something special, or exotic, or something to wet her throat on arrival: today it's beer. Still, it's warm enough that that's probably the best choice, given the condensation suggests a perfectly cool liquid. Once she's spotted him, once she's there: "Is it that you want to play," Leova asks, low, amused. "Or that you want their place?" Vrianth's prowling along the shore beyond the docks proper, loath to go deeper with her straps still on. It's not the human sensations she seeks out, bypassing them with her cool flow of energy in favor of their source. Her rider slips onto the bench across from his, taking the mug with a murmur of thanks, though she tips it to gauge contents or cleanliness before she drinks. "Can't it be both?" R'hin counters, without confirming either desire. He's taking his eyes off the gamblers in time to catch Leova's check of the glass with an obvious smirk, and a quirk of brow as if to ask silently, really? Leiventh is more subtle, settled further along the beach, almost obscured amongst the palm fronds like some patient, sharp-eyed cat: silently judging. "So how's that new girl of yours? Is she old enough to come out with you sometime, or has the ol' ball and chain still got her swaddled in silken, protective chains?" It's not really intended to be baiting, it's just typical R'hin, pale eyes amused as he watches her drink, tipping his mug silently in her direction in a subtle toast before taking a gulp. She meets his gaze, unperturbed. "Nearly count on it," and there's that one-cornered smile before Leova straightens, resting one forearm against the table's edge before she takes a long pull of the beer. "She's, well. Still better than her brother. Not that he's not better." Than he had been. "Tell me, R'hin, did you ever change a diaper in your life?" Perhaps it's the shift in the wind that has Vrianth eventually look Leiventh's way, and continue along her path. Eventually, past. That makes him smile. "I did." He could be lying. The only one who could prove otherwise is... well. Just a slight faltering of smile, but the bronzerider hides it another tip of his mug towards his mouth. "Dealing with something so... normal, with the girls was, well. Compared to Threadfall, it was welcome." R'hin's not normally so chatty about the past, especially when it comes to Thread, so it's probably not a surprise that he says, "So, farmer Leova, hm?" Leiventh remains dead still as Vrianth stalks past. He's not playing either, he's just being... Leiventh. More than two, she could have asked. Instead, Leova's got a slow nod for normal, for Fall. That, and a considering look that doesn't entirely go away when he detours. "Thought about coming here in sweaty overalls. Be glad I saved you that." It's dry. Vrianth continues on her way. Leova adds then, "Got to wonder if they'll take it as a matter of course, having done it once. What do you make of it? Of it all." "I'm glad," R'hin agrees, quickly, "It wouldn't have been the same without a straw. Besides, farmers and dockhands have a subtle, old rivalry going back to the first Interval; you'd probably be drummed out of here," he adds, drumming his fingers on the table for dramatic effect. He doesn't answer immediately; takes another drink, takes his measure of the bar, then finally the greenrider in front of him. "Back before the Comet Pass started -- I secured land, at great personal cost. K'son'd been a Farmercraft Journeyman before he Impressed Mereith. We'd planted the first seed. It felt oddly... satisfying." An exhale of breath follows that, as if in remembrance of surprise at the satisfaction. "Leiventh and I flamed it all once Thread fell. For a long while it felt like it was some sort of punishment for stepping out of the boundaries of Weyr and Hold." But the twist of lips suggest that particular sentiment hasn't lingered. "In my experience, if you give a Lord an inch, he'll take a mile. If you give a Lady an inch, she'll take three before you're even aware of it." She laughs for that, says, "We'd have to take the beer to go, clutch the pitcher and run." But while R'hin's measuring the rest, Leova considers him. Until that 'back before the Comet Pass,' at least, when she can't help but lean forward a fraction. Can't help but watch as well as listen, like it's a story. Land. Personal cost. Planting... and burning. Her whistle is all but silent. "Reckon you're right," she says of that last. But neither does she linger there. Instead, "Land." And, "Different, got to be, when it's your own." A deep breath secures, "Do the girls know?" "We'll have to use the pitcher to douse the flames," R'hin agrees, and as if reminded, reaches for it to refill her mug, whether it's only partially needed or not. Certainly he seems to expect Leova to pull at least half the weight of that thing. "Different when it's your own, and when you're less than a hired hand for a Hold. But... K'del's a practical sort. He'll be thinking about winter, and worrying about what to do about the other Holds later. Hope it's not too late by then. Winter's when they have time to think the most." A raise of brows as if to ask, 'know what'? As if there could be plenty of other things she might be referring to. If past experience is anything to go by, half isn't going to happen. Doesn't mean Leova doesn't slide her mug to where it's in easier reach, though. "Seems like we just got out of winter," she admits with rue. "Hope not too," only then Leova eyes R'hin, that one-cornered smile twisted wry and awry instead. "Very funny. Do they know about what you've got, the land. The inheritance," only she says it testingly: could he, would he pass it down that way? "Not to be in a hurry to off you." It also doesn't mean R'hin'll stop trying, past experience or not. Once her mug is full, he tops up his own, empty one. It's her latter question that surprises him, with a quick glance up, then a more considering look. "It's not mine to hand over." Whether it was ever is another story that he's apparently not intending to share. "As much as Suireh might one day love to become Masterharper and Lady Holder of That Place Where Her Father Failed The Weyr Miserably." He enunciates each word deliberately, a glimmer of dark amusement in his gaze. "But, if you ever decide to retire from High Reaches and become a farmer full time, come and find me. I'll always have a place for you, wild cat." Amber eyes register that, not widened nor narrowed but level, just before she drinks. Which also makes it shortly before a laugh escapes her, and nearly the beer, too, so that Leova has to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She doesn't ask questions, not about that. Rather, "Plowing a furrow? I don't suppose you have runners there." That last winds up tinged with humor, but also something else. "You're a rider; surely you're as strong as a runner? Can't have those Holders thinking we're weak and human, after all." He's watching that game in the corner again; hard to tell whether it's a deliberate gesture or unconscious. Either way, R'hin's posture's relaxed, casual. "Did Riahla mention she was pregnant, last time you visited?" He's looking back in time, just. "Yes, and shoed with iron, too." Leova's gaze drifts, fleetingly towards the corner, then back to the bar before R'hin yanks it back hard. He may look relaxed, but she's clearly startled, knuckles paling with her grip on the mug's handle. At least the beer's safe, this time. "Was she pulling your leg?" She waits, intent. R'hin takes another, deliberately long sip (not gulp) from his mug, while she waits, until finally: "No, I was pulling yours." There's a glimmer of pale gaze: completely unapologetic. That waiting narrows those eyes, fractionally. The rest completes the job, until it's nearly a wonder the greenrider can see, and that hand gesture of hers is distinctly rude. "Good thing you bought the drinks," Leova says, and swallows a laugh as she sits back. Until another glance... "Table's clearing. Shall we?" Her expression makes him smile; but her gesture earns a dark laugh from R'hin, well pleased with the result. "I'm hoping you'll pay it forward and tell that ball and chain the same. Then share it with me next time. I'll purchase anything behind the bar, your choice." He's quick to snatch up the pitcher, already leading the way towards the favored, back table. It probably won't be the only pitcher to make it to the table before they part ways, and if most of it is imbibed on the Monacoan's part, well... who is he to complain? |
Leave A Comment