Logs:Fuck Nabol
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| RL Date: 6 September, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'vier is in a mood. He and Aishani do not get along. They're both lovely people, really. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 9, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Z'ian/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Fayla/Mentions |
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| It's afternoon, closer to dinner than lunch, and H'vier has been here since the crowd started moving out to deal with the rest of their day's duties. He's currently slouched against the couch near the hearth with a glass of whiskey resting on his thigh, fingers wrapped loosely around the cool surface. He looks like a man lost in thought, which is kind of an odd look for the usually so present bronzerider. Though it's a nice enough day outside, it doesn't seem that Aishani's been taking advantage of the last few gasps of good weather in favor of... doing something inside that requires a clipboard, apparently, and a pencil that's twisted glossy curls into a messy bun. And though she's inside, she still wears her belt knife, as who knows when one might be attacked. The bar is where she stops and where she'll usually stay, but perhaps the chill in the air and H'vier's unusually pensive look both are what draw her to the hearth, drink in hand. There's always travel. Who needs good weather at home when one can skip off to Ista or Southern in their time off? When it's not raining there, at least. When Aishani approaches, H'vier doesn't look up or seem to notice her right away. But some sound or rustle of cloth or maybe something with no explanation has the bronzerider blinking back to focus and tilting his gaze briefly toward the goldrider. Another man might offer some respectful greeting or, well, something other than the quick once over that H'vier gives her. She is quiet, Aishani, with soft-soled boots worn more often than not, buckles covered in leather, the ability to stand silently, even when it would honestly make more sense to speak. But no, she looks at the fire long enough that she can ignore the once over entirely, almost as if she hasn't noticed it at all. That might be the case, if she weren't smirking. "What are you considering that seriously? I doubt it's Nabol." That's all anyone else is talking about, but her expression is doubtful; she can't see H'vier caring much. "Fuck Nabol," is H'vier's quiet response to that, little emotion behind his words. So it's probably not that, no. But it draws his gaze back to Aishani again. No doubt he's heard things, whether he cares about them or not. "Nothing," is his eventual answer. He's a good liar but it's easy to tell that that is a lie. He just doesn't want to talk to her about it. "Shouldn't you be darning socks or washing your hair or something?" Setting down her clipboard on a nearby table, Aishani seems to think that's a fair response. Or at least, not one she's hugely surprised by. Leaning a hip against it, she sips from her short glass -- rum or whisky or something -- and shrugs at H'vier's 'nothing'. The question, though, warrants a faintly amused smile. Dryly, "Yes, that's exactly what I do with my time. It's there in the duties, under 'entertaining dignitaries', 'washing hair'." "Well, I know you must do something. I just can't figure out what it is for all that gets done." Which is also a lie, but one that sounds a little more believable. It's easy to be snarky when you're already feeling sort of down. And H'vier is pretty decent at snarky when he's feeling just fine. Hopping up to sit on the edge of the empty table, crossing long legs, Aishani tells him, with what sounds like something near candor, "I actually don't do that much these days, if I can help it. Why should I? It's not as if anyone appreciates it." She swings one boot idly, attention shifting back to the fire. Mostly. "I've never really sorted out what Wingseconds do other than say 'yes, sir' in an Interval. Doesn't seem like your style." "Better a 'second than a wingrider. I'll have my own wing soon enough. Or I'll have Z'ian's knot the next time the senior queen rises." H'vier probably could have just said her name but then he wouldn't be pointing out that Aishani's gold is not said senior queen. "Besides, Fayla and I have an understanding. We work together," he says in that way that suggests he might have added 'and nobody gets hurt' and it would have sounded like it belonged. Arching fine brows, "Why should anyone give you a wing? You and your charming personality? If I were a betting woman, I'd lay odds on you losing the knot you already have sooner than later by punching the wrong person." Aishani's boot is still swinging as she glances back the bronzerider's way, with a sweetly condescending smile. "That's what everyone says. And that sounds like the sort of understanding that has me carrying weapons. Lucky Fayla." Her tone suggests the Wingleader is anything but. "I wonder what Z'ian has against her." If he were in another mood, he might rise more easily to Aishani's baiting. As it is, H'vier's gaze shifts away and he lifts his glass up to take a drink of his whiskey. "I always punch the right people," he assures her. "Perhaps you should ask Z'ian. Or maybe he's just aware that I'm a damned good rider and I can deal with Iceberg. Fortunately for me, it's him I answer to. Not you." His smile is neither sweet nor condescending, just politely neutral. Well, he started it. Aishani would think so regardless. "Not always," she notes. "And maybe I will. I think the jury might still be out on your usefulness. I know you can't manage to punch someone you're supposed to, so..." She trails off, with a little shrug. "Too bad. And..." Her tone sharpens. "You still owe me. So maybe you do answer to me. Don't get cute." 'Nobody gets hurt', indeed. With that, she finishes her drink and sets the glass on the table, sliding feet back to the floor. "I'll leave you to... brood." The bronzerider snorts but his eyes are fixed on the woman with a certain intensity. "It's not my fault I agreed with him. And I'm not sure I owe you anything at this point. What are you going to do? Cry to Z'ian?" That is condescending. Of course H'vier doesn't think a woman can do anything but run to a man for help. "Enjoy your silks and featherbeds, my lady." Taking up her clipboard slowly, Aishani has her own derisive, not entirely ladylike sound for H'vier. "Hardly. And I ought to have known. Men are pathetically unable to think outside of the narrow confines of their own ego." She tucks it under her arm, glancing back to H'vier, dark gaze calm, but sharp, observant. "Oh, I have business. Enjoy your... whatever." There's an eyeroll before she heads out to the bowl; if he bothers to check through Reisoth, Iesaryth does, in fact, leave the Weyr shortly after. |
Comments
Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 07 Sep 2013 03:52:08 GMT.
< Still the charmer, H'vier. ;D
Jo (Jolie (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 07 Sep 2013 04:20:14 GMT.
<
This was Love-leeeee. XD
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