Logs:Follow the Glows
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| RL Date: 12 March, 2008 |
| Who: B'yan, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: B'yan and Leova both did their homework. Leova realizes something else. |
| Where: Central Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 8, Turn 15 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hatha/Mentions |
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| Central Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr
Another late night and the storeroom is empty saved for one. For any approaching they would hear the talltale noises of someone rummaging, and upon closer inspection they would find the room occupied and boxes scattered about the table. With his riding jacket tossed over a chair, B'yan is currently looking into an open box and has his arm within it, the sound of things being shifted aside easily audible. Follow the glows. That's what Leova does, walking softly but steadily down the corridor. No sneaking. Just walking. Someone who knows where she's going. She's headed toward the textiles section but there's that noise, and impulse draws her nearer, a little more quietly now, until she's standing just within the doorframe. Just where she could lean against it, though she doesn't. While Leova's standing, B'yan continues his rummaging until he abruptly stops and seems to find what he's looking for. His arm coming out of the box claims an old bound deck of cards, and he draws it close to blow the dust off its surface. He brushes the last of it off, turns it over in its examination, and lets a small smile of satisfaction form before something catches his eye and turns his head towards the doorway. "Evening," Leova promptly greets him in that smoky voice of hers, grown amused and just a little pleased with herself. Probably not because of her hair, though: it's benefited from a washing and a trimming, so it's a little fluffier than it had been, but that's not saying much. "What's the deck all about?" "Evening," B'yan returns readily, hand tightening slightly on the deck of cards before he sets it on the table. "Didn't think I'd be running into you -here-, with no shears in sight and all." Hazel eyes shift to her haircut in emphasis now, promptly adding a wry "Nice haircut." He looks back into the box now at her question, and he answers her question with a quick "Been thinking. Thought I'd set something up nice in the bar with the wing soon. You know," shrug, "call it something of a 'card night'?" He dips his hand back inside the box, and the sound of something loose could heard moving within. "What's the hair all about?" he tosses back easily. Leova's eyes stay on him, though not so motionless to be called a stare, exactly. They roam: curly hair, shirt collar, table and cards and hands. They do not linger long. "Thanks," she says, though by her tone she must believe it no more than he. ""That's, what? Snowstrike?" She reaches up to touch her hair, a slow motion that ruffles it. "It's about not wanting to mess with it, and then changing my mind. Partway," but on that word she's walking in, looking over: the box, and anything he might have palmed. A man such as B'yan seems to revel in that stare, the corner of his mouth lifting into something smug and simpering. His eyes aren't exactly on her - seeing as how he's suppose to be paying attention to what else is in the box - but the focus in his gaze is nonetheless wane. "Snowstrike," he echoes her straightening his posture and turning away from the box to face Leova. "I don't want them thinking me a hard taskmaster with the drills I put them through, so..." and he collects up the deck of cards and as quick as the eye can look, tosses it in Leova's direction to catch. "Figure it would be a nice way for everyone to let their hair down," he adds with a nod. "Gambling and free liquor would do that. You're welcome to come, if that sort of thing suits you." As to the hair his gaze lingers on it, leaning back against the table and simply responding to that with a wry "Naturally." When Leova finally gets to noticing his expression again, her mouth gets a curl to it too, but less with pleasure. "You're new to it, aren't..." But then she has to catch, or try to, so the cards don't just crash into her. She gets a good handful but others fall, some up, some down, and is it her fortune or his? "...Aren't you. Thanks." That's even more dry than it had been before, and she crouches with deeply bent knees to pick up one of the cards, looking up at him without bothering with the others. "When's it looking to be?" The band holding the cards together must have broken for B'yan watches them topple everywhere about Leova. Amusement is his expression, not moving to forward to help as he instead addresses her words. "I'm new to...?" he prompts with a brow when she bends to pick up the cards. Once she meets his eyes, however, "Soon," is his answer on the event. "Don't worry, I'll send you a special invitation. I'll make it to that one woman that whacked her hair off. Descriptive enough? Since I don't know your name." The words are probing in its nature, but non-chalance in which they're delivered could prove otherwise with the bronzerider. "Snowstrike. There a reason you aren't helping, here?" Leova asks as she looks up at the man, single card held in a dangled hand. "And sounds like a plan. B'yan." "Do you -need- my help, candidate?" B'yan returns, tacking the last on as an afterthought. There's a catch in the pause before he hitches on "Looked you up. You're Searched for this clutch." Glancing down at the single card being held, "And you know my name!" he adds, this time with cultivated pleasant shock. "Saves on introductions, then. Someone's been looking me up after all." Head tilting slightly, "Find your Hatha while you were at it?" he asks, low mockery falling in his tone. "And here you say you don't know my name," and Leova ups the Tillek in her voice for a notch or two, right there. The card flicks, gesturing toward the others, though it doesn't reveal its face. "Likely I found out about as much about her as you thought I would." Her smile lifts to him, brightens, sparking in her eyes. "Just think! Could be in your wing, someday." "I prefer it when a young woman offers her name of her own volition," the banter comes easily to B'yan, stepping forward to step one foot on one of the fallen cards. With the smirk in his voice than on display, "Call it," he challenges, "and I'll supply your name if you beat the number down there. If it's low, then the least you can do is properly introduce yourself." Nevermind the fact that he hadn't done it himself. "Might as well learn how now in case you find yourself saddled when those eggs hatch." As to Hatha there's small laughter, and her last gets a dry "Getting ahead of yourself, I think." Leova's eyes narrow, less for the fact of his approach than that he stepped on the card itself. "One way to make that easy to remember," she points out, considering the likely, identifiable scuff. And for that, she doesn't play his game. Instead, she slips the card she'd held within what was left of the pack she caught. Sets it neatly on the floor. Stands. "So? Possibilities. You may call me Leova." Like everyone else. "And as long as you're in that mood... Tell me about timing it. Have you done it? B'yan?" B'yan's face turns into one of disappointment, though the dramatic sigh that accompanies it pretty breaks the spell on whether it was sincere. "You're not a gambler," he guesses when Leova doesn't play his game, and bends to pick up the card that was trapped partly underneath his boot. "Well met, Leova," he drawls then as he holds the card up. "B'yan, wingleader with Jaireth." He flicks the card over, sees that the number is a three, and chucks it to land ontop of the table. "Is there a mood for talking about timing it?" he directs her way as he returns to the box, finally setting it aside for another. Looking over his shoulder towards her for a few seconds, "What need have -I- of timing it?" he puts to her evenly. "I have enough trouble trying to -stay- out of trouble in the present." Leova approaches the table, every footstep carefully placed to avoid what cards remained, if only to lean a casual hip upon it and watch the rider at work. "Is that why they made you wingleader." She doesn't demand a more exact answer, has he or hasn't he. She just says the obvious, her gaze slipping away from him and roaming higher, up towards where the light disappears, "I don't know what you need." And then, "I just want to know what it's like." "To keep me an eye on me?" B'yan surmises on his position, pausing to touch the tip of his chin with one finger - as if this thought on the matter was the first ever occurence. Then snorting, "Likely." The next box gets a long look inside, then he picks it up to return it to its place. "The records in the that room there," and he motions with his head towards the opening leading towards the records room, "would likely be a place to start about that thing. As for me, not my thing. If I'm late, I'm late," and the box is put away, straightening up and returning back to the table and Leova. "Why are you so interested in timing it?" "Couldn't think of a better way?" Leova says doubtfully to the ceiling, or perhaps the corner of the room: is that something crawling, up there? She does look down later, but upon seeing the records room pointed out she says, "Whole lot of writing in there. Not much doing." She rolls her head toward one shoulder, to the other, backward, loosening her neck all up. "Someone was humming Lessa's Ride the other day. Reminded me. And where do you think's better to learn about it? Here or back at the Hold?" Speaking of possibilities she still keeps in mind. Watching Leova in open study now that his search is over, "You want to learn how to go back some odd turns....for what?" B'yan shows his own skepticism, arms coming to a fold across his chest. "Looking for revenge of some sort? Or are you just the curious sort that you've been coming across to be?" Musing, the bronzerider pushes away from the table to approach the cards the on the floor, and he starts scooting the lone cards together into a pile with the heel of his boot. Her questions gets a quick "Here, naturally." before his pile of cards is made and he crouches down to gather them up. "It gets talked of, here and there," he tells her, "but usually coupled with the dangers of it. Kind of like going Between. Act stupid with it, you'll end -up- stupid by it." Leova stretches a few more times, then shakes her head instead of rolling it, dismissive. "Revenge? Let it go." Only then... then, there's something about his words that finally sinks in and forcibly turns her, towards him as he works on the cards, staring with amber eyes gone wide. She blinks, of course, she has to, and this time when she shakes her head again it's faster, possibly even frightened, possibly also unseen. Hers is no longer a relaxed lean, braced instead against the stone so that she could stand at any moment. At least her voice becomes normal enough. "Pretty dangerous, is it. The normal kind." The dismissive way that Leova speaks of revenge gets only a light snort from B'yan, and he gets to his feet with cards in hand before he approaches the table again. He doesn't catch her change in demeanor until something in her seemingly normal voice causes him to turn around to look at her, noting the stiffness of her posture and the look in her eyes. Pulling the deck together slowly, "Getting cold feet?" he quips in a mild joke despite the slight furrow in his brows, the slight intonation at the end bringing with it an open prompt and a chance for the candidate to explain. "No one mentioned that." Leova orients further on B'yan as he moves, but it's not entirely as though he's what she's seeing. She swallows but shows a good semblance of composure. Steady breathing. Hands purposefully relaxed. She doesn't smile, but that doesn't seem to be so unusual. But she's still poised, and she's still not just seeing him. Until she does, with a jolt. "What do you wish they had told you? Before." "What, Between?" A hand dips into one of the pockets on the jacket slung over a chair, and B'yan fishes out a band of dark twine. "The dangers of timing?" Wrapping the band tightly around the deck, "Anything's a risk if placed in the right light, to me." Hazel eyes flick in her direction every now and then as he works, catching little glimpses of her regaining composure and the poised demeanor. The deck is bound and the wingleader drops it unceremoniously into the small box placed right beside the table. "There wasn't much they left out with us," he answers her, stepping away from the small box and turning to face Leova. "They made sure we knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into. Told us about all the risks, the joys, the what-have-yous..." both hands lift in a vague gesture before immediately dropping. "Even then, if they haven't told me about it, I reckon it wouldn't have changed my mind much. Was too certain that I wasn't going to find anything out on those sands." The small sound of the deck's landing makes Leova blink, glance its way, and only after a few more moments turn back. "Why so certain?" she asks him straightforwardly, just a little more intensity in her voice than the question really should warrant. "Must have been... a surprise." With a long pause and a long look at Leova's face, "Because I was," B'yan answers blithely, the indifference showing that it's definitely not the likely answer. "Are -you-, Leova? Don't you have a place in Tillek you're looking to go back to?" There's a small smirk that appears to what she says then, eyes involuntarily going out the door and towards the direction of the bowl. "I prefer the word 'irritating'," he muses with slight blandness in his tone. "Imagine going sevendays, months without a drop of good wine. Jaireth seemed to get a kick out of my discomfort for a good while." "You might at least pretend to put on a story," Leova says, only then her eyes narrow again. "Wanted to get back to..." Can she remember? Can she be bothered to remember? "Haggling. A tinker's route, that was it. B'yan." She gauges his reaction, unyielding, but something about his further explanation softens her reply. "I've got something to go back to, but nothing that means no wine." Of course, it probably isn't at all good wine. She pushes away from the table, takes a step even further now that the floor's all clear. "Enough to make anyone irritable. Night, Jaireth's rider." Bending to hoist up the smaller box with both hands, B'yan dumps it on the table on and with closer inspection it's easy to see that it's the old deck of cards among various others. "Why pretend when I could just trick you into telling me one?" he responds on that account, dusting his hands off and rubbing them on his pants. "Well, I had something to go back to," he continues on now, hazel eyes now catching the expression on her face. His own is unreadable at best now, but atleast he's stopped joking. He moves to pick up his jacket since he doesn't explain himself further, tossing over one shoulder before he returns to the box. Leova's last elicits something lopsided in him, and it stays through her open farewell. "Night yourself. Leova." And yes, there's that little haughty pause in between before he picks up the box. "Everyone should." Leova leaves him with that, pausing only long enough to glimpse him claiming that box before moving out into the corridor with long, quick strides. Someone who knows where she's going. Even if, now, it might be somewhere else. With box and jacket in hand, B'yan watches Leova clear out just as quickly as she appeared on him. He lingers in the direction of the door, her words falling on the silence of the room before he finally saunters out and relies to the walls themselves, "Everyone definitely should." |
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