Logs:Fix a Flight
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| RL Date: 4 May, 2015 |
| Who: H'vier, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke and H'vier at a Tillek gather and make small and not so small talk. |
| Where: Tillek Hold |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
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>---< Tillek Hold(#1202RAJ) >------------------------------------------------<
Great iron doors lead into the Main Hall of Tillek Hold, with bright
blue-and-white flags and banners marking each side - and in the windows
above. There's plenty of room for all kinds of action in the courtyard,
though most businesses and formal activities are conducted elsewhere: down
on the docks, in the winery, or in any number of cotholds that line the
roads extending away from the courtyard itself.
Wet, rainy autumns are the usual fare for Tillek. Even when it's not a
real storm, the sky is usually overcast and drizzly.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
H'vier M 40 6'5 big, dark hair, brown eyes 45s
Irianke F 37 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Winery Docks Road
>-------------------------------------< 17D 9M 37T I10, autumn afternoon >---< The sun sets earlier in the autumn than the summer, but there's still a glimmer of it along the horizon. The bonfires are just starting to get lit and the earlier bustles of crowds under the chilly autumn sun thin out, many seeking out food, others seeking a short rest leaving only the hardiest of Gather goers walking the paths. Irianke is one of those, alone for once, and though her knot is not prominent on her shoulder, her attire is in the colors of High Reaches Weyr dark blue and black, with the flattering cut paired with her trademark exposed back. She has a glass of wine in one hand as she looks at a jewelry stand. Hardy might not be quite the word for H'vier. Stubborn is probably more accurate. He's in his dress leathers, but they aren't quite as tidily put together as they might have been when he first arrived. Not sloppy, by any means, but they've definitely been handled by wayward hands. "Weyrwoman," comes the bronzerider's rough baritone from some point not very far away. He's been drinking, though not to excess quite yet. He is, in fact, drinking right now, now that he's greeted the woman, if the tone of his voice can truly be considered a greeting. Her back is exposed in more than one way to the bronzerider, the stiffening of her muscles visible before she turns. On Irianke's face is a bright, warm smile. "H'vier," she greets, a free hand extending to try and smooth out some of the muss of his leathers. "Fancy meeting you here." Truly, nothing untoward happened at their last encounter. "What do you think of that?" His opinion is requested of a pair of chunky wooden cuffs, the wood polished smooth, and inset with two brilliant sapphires. H'vier doesn't back away from her hand, but he stands up a little more to attention and his own expression is relaxed, but not exactly inviting. Never mind that he sort of approached her. Or at least acknowledged her. "Of all the places," he agrees. "I think jewelry is a waste of perfectly good money. Besides, you don't need it when your dress says everything a man would want to know." "Oh?" Irianke lifts the glass to her lips, watching H'vier curiously over the rim and turning subtly from the jewelry. "That's assuming I buy jewelry to please men." Her smile rises over the glass, it now being held under her chin. She hasn't stopped her idle pressing, uncaring of the attention and lack of invitation, finally reaching up to tug his collars to be balanced. "What does my dress say today, wingleader?" "You know perfectly well what it says." If nothing else, H'vier will allow that Irianke does nothing unintentionally. It's practically a compliment. "But if you aren't buying jewelry to please men, there's no point in asking one's opinion." His gaze turns from her and toward the rest of the displayed jewelry, though there's little else to read in his expression. "Unless it's all I plan on wearing tonight." Irianke's words are neutral to demure, that smile turning small and playful as she looks briefly at H'vier. Finished with tidying up H'vier's appearance, she gestures with her wine holding hand and begins to walk with the assurance he will follow. With a dress that drapes in such a way over her shoulders that the folds fall over each other just above the curve of her buttocks, won't he? "I saw this booth where this old man was making these delicate figurines and I'd like something to remember my time at High Reaches by." He will follow, but that doesn't mean H'vier has to be happy about it. It's even delayed, but his long stride has him coming up alongside her in short order, though his gaze is wandering elsewhere while he lifts his flask to his mouth for another drink. "Your memories aren't enough? I don't know what a doll would remind you of that you couldn't remember yourself." "I'm a very visual person." Irianke can't seem to find the booth, if it even exists at all, but walks companionably with H'vier. "I could have sworn it was down this way, but at the end of the day, it all looks the same." She turns to face him at a crossroads, taking a step back out of the way of the main stream of people. Her glass is empty by now. "How are you, H'vier?" H'vier won't be much help in finding something he wouldn't have been interested in enough to notice in the first place. So he only moves with the goldrider, pausing when she does, but only looking at rather than turning toward her when she turns to face him. "There's no need for pleasantries between us, Irianke." It could be suggestive, but the bronzerider isn't leering in typical fashion, so it might just be genuine. Irianke tilts her head a hand coming up to loosen some of her dark curls and then falls to rest on the curve of her neck and shoulder. "I don't ask questions I don't mean. You've made it clear how you feel about how I spend my personal time and while I think you hoped it would bother me, I am what I am. I would have shared my time with you if you hadn't been hellbent on..." The goldrider's voice trails off and she looks past H'vier to a lantern hung from a pole. "How are you? Because, honestly, I feel like I'm drowning without a friend or a lifeline at the Weyr." "Sharding women," isn't a phrase that H'vier actually tries to keep to himself. It has him taking another drink. "I don't care how you spend your personal time. I don't like being reminded about the other dicks you sit on, but that doesn't make me an unusual man." The bronzerider gives her a pointed look, not exactly challenging her to argue, but suggesting he knows damned well it's the truth. "You can't tell me you aren't neck deep in people ready to do your bidding." It's the same thing as a friend, right? Irianke just looks at him; that slanted face look that is askance and so many things she could say but does not. "Most people recognize that my term as Weyrwoman is temporary, and once Roszadyth rises, I will have to see what my options are." Those gray-blue eyes are no longer looking at H'vier, but instead at the bottom of her empty wine goblet. "If I even have options." "If you start crying, I'm leaving," H'vier warns the woman. There's a deeper tension, but he continues with, "You are the Weyrwoman until then. It will be two turns until she rises and maybe Niahvth will decide she likes being senior enough to rise before then." He doesn't even mention the male half of that equation. It's better for everyone's health that way. Especially his. Irianke stares at H'vier and his warning, those gray eyes flying up to seek the bronzerider's face. She bursts into laughter and reaches out to cup the man's cheek. "What kind of woman do you think I am?" But the rest of everything he says has her fingers twitching against his skin, an emotion deeply contained flickering just for a moment on the surface, like some aching longing. "If it were up to me, she would rise first." The pronoun might be a deliberate misdirection, except it has the slightest edge to it. Possessive. Her she. Not Farideh's. He doesn't move away from her hand. For all their differences and dramas, H'vier trusts the way she touches him. Even when she's laughing at him. Which doesn't make him any less tense, admittedly. "I would much rather call you my Weyrwoman than her," he assures her with a small sigh, like he's still not sure he wants to say anything particularly nice. "I have heard," Irianke says lowly, her fingers still on his skin, but more a thumb stroking his chin now, "There are ways to push your dragon to rise earlier, but I've never had cause to look into it or learn how to do it. I can't ask anyone now cause then people would know and I'm not sure if I want people to know I have ambitions." The stroke turns into a hold, his chin pressed between the crook of her index finger and her thumb before the thumb climbs to press into the corner of his mouth and she takes a step forward, all a flutter of artfully arranged black and blue fabric that covers everything and yet. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your gather. I like the between the stalls mussed look on you. It's... charming." "I could ask," comes out of H'vier's mouth before he has a chance to actually consider what he's saying. But even once he has, he doesn't take it back. "If any bronzerider were going to try to fix a flight like that," he trails off, but the implication is that it would be him. "I'll enjoy it, Weyrwoman. Don't worry about that. But I wouldn't mind a kiss if you've one to spare." H'vier starts to shift closer with every intention of expectation. A surprised look dawns on Irianke's face as what he says and implies sinks in. She says nothing to encourage or discourage it, her expression schooling itself from surprise to neutral, but the Igen woman takes another step, a small one to acquiesce to his request, her arms slipping about his shoulders and neck with a familiarity borne of many nights spent together. Her lips are sweet with wine, her tongue seeking and her fingers curled into his hair to bring him closer. But it's only a kiss in the end. H'vier makes the kiss worthwhile, wrapping arms around her in a way that might be just a little bit possessive, but only in a temporary way. In the end, the kiss is all he seems to want, and he withdraws readily when it's over. "Enjoy the rest of your gather, Irianke," he returns her words back to her before he's turning to continue along his charming way. Don't mind Irianke. She's just going to stand there and appreciate the flex of muscles and the way H'vier moves with his back to her. There might even be a regretful little sigh. But once he's out of view, lost in that crowd, she turns and loses herself in the crowd the other direction. |
Comments
Alida (20:18, 5 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Hooooo man. These two working in concert would be a force. ^^
Faryn (01:31, 6 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Yessss. The plots thicken...
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