Logs:Fun
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| RL Date: 9 May, 2014 |
| Who: Leova, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Riahla's late, so Leova winds up with R'hin for beer, politics, and swimming. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 10, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| The day is blissful in what passes for Monaco's winter, brilliant blue skies with only a fluffy cloud or two to accent their clarity, but the atmosphere... not so much. Leova's found herself a small round table beneath a sunshade, her feet hooked into the rungs of the stool opposite to keep it reserved, alternately making lists on a waxed slate and glancing about. And listening, particularly to the clots of bronzeriders that form and reform. It's indeed a rather tense atmosphere quite unlike the normal, relaxed nature of the Monacoans. There's talk, naturally, of the current Weyrleader and his state (generally unfavorably), and plenty of speculation about who the next Weyrleader might be. And, too, the groups that form are fairly specific, those with similar wing badges generally sticking together and just about everyone -- not just the visiting greenrider -- interested in just who is talking with whom. Into this, R'hin strides brazenly, slapping this rider or winking at that one as he passes, from different wings -- and while it's not unusual behavior for him it wouldn't be a stretch for someone who knows him well to suspect he's doing it all deliberately, well aware of the attentions of others. He heads for the bar, flirting shamelessly (and uselessly) with Maiga as is his habit, before glancing around. While he doesn't acknowledge Leova, it's no coincidence that he calls back Maiga and amends his order, before sauntering over towards the greenrider, a pitcher of beer and three glasses in hand. "Playing substitute?" Leova inquires once he's near, even toeing out the stool for him in Riahla's absence. Not that she's put down the stylus, yet. "Rather feel like a 'neutral third party' all of a sudden." "Does Riahla normally flirt with you?" R'hin's surprised as he drops down onto that reserved stool, assuming she lets him without retracting the offer. "She does rather take after her father," he adds, in a amused chuckle, as he splashes beer into two of the glasses. "Hm, what?" he plays at oblivious, glancing around. "This? Oh, this is normal." Already amused by R'hin's having made the rounds, the dragonhealer's laugh now carries her right into, "Daily." As if. Leova steals one of those glasses once it's ready, adding, "Thanks. Right, 'normal.'" She looks sidelong, looks to see who's looking at them. She's nondescript as ever. He isn't, as ever. "Looked like there'd be a bar fight earlier, but it got settled." There might be a tinge of regret in her low alto, right before she stashes the slate. Of course people are watching, but Leova's High Reachian and a greenrider on top of it, so the attention probably doesn't linger overlong. "Stick around long enough," is R'hin's response, more to the regret he hears than the words themselves. With the merest tip of head, he takes a long draught of his glass, without any of his usual facetious-or-otherwise toasts before doing so. He plays at casual well, but it's no surprise his gaze strays while they talk. "So, Riahla's going to be a bit late. She's -- doing some work." For him might well be the implication. Leova could be passing messages of critical import, just for starters. But. What are the chances? "By definition," said greenrider says more drily. The change in protocol gets reflected in those amber eyes, no more, nor does she call him on the straying. "He said." Her dragon. "No details." She gives him lifted brows, but it's followed by, "Is she helpful?" There's a twitch of curious brows from R'hin for her comment of 'By definition', though he seems more interesting in imbibing more of that beer than satisfying his curiosity. As for Riahla being helpful: "Of course she is," he says with a tone of pride that suggests it's hardly out of the ordinary. "So, tell me, how are you coping without my presence at High Reaches? Do you cry yourself to sleep every night and have that boor comfort you?" Interpreting them anyway, "'Long enough.'" Leova's got a swift, one-cornered grin for his daughter and her quasi-niece. A long drink of her beer. A long look at the bronzerider. "Every lunchtime too, quick-like. I recommend it. How about you? Take a little 'Reaches sand with you in your boots, so you can feel it at every step?' "I thought so. Don't worry, it'll be our little secret." He's not watching her while she's watching him, however, and the response is habitual, distracted. It's the latter that makes R'hin look back with a snort. "Reaches' sand? Over Monaco? Woman, you did not just try and suggest you have superior quality sand to ours. That's duel challenging territory right there." She leans her elbows on the table, does Leova, and that one-cornered smile deepens. "Better than Ierne sand? Feel there's got to be a sand comparison chart up there somewhere." Her glance flicks to the Ierne rider over there, just hanging out, casual like he does it all the time. Maybe he does. "Ista would like to think they're up there, but it's all show, just like their dragons." Oh, burn. But then R'hin's never much tried to hide his opinion of Ista. The bronzerider follows her glance, more casually, then grins abruptly. "As for Ierne, you think Tiriana's still keeping tabs on things?" He probably means High Reaches things, although he doesn't specify. This time, he's genuinely interested in her answer. Ista. The dragonhealer's expression verges on pensive, there for a moment, before her low chuckle. "Maybe you're right." Maybe. "Tiriana... reckon she'd let it go a whole lot more if there weren't people nudging her, did you hear about this or that, all waiting for her to spark. Keeping track is one thing, keeping tabs on K'del another, but if she had her own hands in... we'd all see it, hm?" "Maybe." The tap of R'hin's fingers against his glass might be a brief betrayal of uncertainty, though it passes with a shrug of shoulders. "I'd imagine she, as well as many others at the 'Reaches, are watching Hraedhyth as closely as our riders are watching Evielth." The tension might be a little less obvious, and yet the bronzerider seems just as concerned. "You'll keep an eye on her?" After a beat, "And him?" K'del, presumably. "Likely. Seeing which of her bronzeriders visit where, come to that." Then, "Hraedhyth?" Leova questions before she ever gets to K'del, as though it could be the other way around. "I'd imagine she'd feel vindicated if a bronze out of Iovniath won Hraedhyth's flight and High Reaches." And even as much as R'hin might not like the idea, the notion of the chaos it would cause seems to amuse the Monacoan all the same. More beer is poured, for both of them, while his head tips at Leova's question. "Azaylia, of course," he says, as if it should've been obvious. "She feels as though she has no one she can trust. That's a dangerous position for a Weyrwoman to be in." "Not as though most of our younger bronzes aren't out of Iovniath and Cadejoth's line, Leova notes. By way of explanation, "Satiet asked me to watch over Tiriana, at the end." And, "Don't know as I'd be any better about it now than I was back then." "But they're out of Iovniath and Cadejoth's line. Not just hers. That distinction matters a great deal." R'hin goes still at the next words, the line of his jaw hardening briefly. "Won't know until you try," he says, finally, after a gulp of beer. "Mm." Leova's been drinking hers, but more slowly. She glances away, towards a further table where conversation's burst louder for a few moments, but it gradually recedes and with it her gaze returns. "Reckon there're a lot coming to her, encouraging her to... trust them. Have been, for a while now." It's not exactly refusal, not yet. There's a sharper look for a moment, though whatever prompted the hard look fades after R'hin exhales. "She's not quick to trust," is all the bronzerider says, finally. "But it's hard not to remember how... difficult it was to keep perspective. To have fun once in a while. You remember fun, right?" The sharpness doesn't seem to cut. "Not many of us are, anymore." Leova's pause is slight. "Or that. 'Fun.' Sounds more like something for Via and the littles. Or else it's not 'fun.' What about you, R'hin? How's your 'fun' coming along?" "I'm rather enjoying the game," R'hin says with an expansive wave towards the Weyr-at-large. His grin rather seems to support that assertion. "Fun isn't just for children, wildcat. If you believe that, you're not doing it right." He clinks his glass against hers as he says it. Granted, says that one-cornered smile, solemnity broken for a moment. "'Fun' sounds so light," Leova says now. She drinks from her glass anyway, letting it be a toast. "Not something you grab with both hands, hm?" "Sometimes one hand is enough." In fact, that's what R'hin offering her right now: one hand. He gets the tilt of quizzical brows. And Leova's hand, though it starts out as a light slap before it comes to rest. There's a brief hint of a smirk from R'hin, before he closes his hand around hers and, standing, pulls her up with him. Unless she protests (and possibly even if she does), it's clear his intent is to lead her further down the beach -- away from the crowd. "Enjoy our beer," Leova says wryly to the teenager who's making eyes at their table. She shades her eyes from the sun, but says when they're past the last of the bar proper, "Is it that she's going to be a while longer, or are we meeting there?" "No," R'hin replies, letting go of her hand and flashing her a grin. "We're going to have fun while we wait. Take off your clothes." It's probably the least romantic thing ever said, at least in the context of casual advice from a bronzerider who's unbuttoning his shirt. "Not planning on it," Leova says mildly, though she is fingering the unbuttoned placket of her loose, sun-protecting shirt worn over twin tank tops. "I can survive a splash-a-thon in clothes." "Honestly, Leova. You've lived in a Weyr how long?" He's mocking her. Definitely. He's also taking off his pants. "At least a sevenday. What are you up to?" Leova's not about to stop him, though, and even sets about unbuckling her sandals. The shadow of a dragon's approach passes overhead, and splashes into the deeper water near them. Quick, but not so quick that distinctive hook-nose and angular shape of the bronze can't be identified. "Leiventh's going to give us a bit of a ride -- so to speak. Come on," R'hin urges her as he wades into the water where the mostly submerged bronze waits. Leiventh. Which means that Vrianth's got to be out there somewhere too. Leova ditches her outer shirt, anyway, wrapping her sandals up in it before leaving the package by his clothes, and out she wades, starting to swim if the water gets too deep. Leiventh's beyond standing depth, and he's deep enough in the water that his neckridges make the perfect hand hold, the gleam of his eyes barely visible above the water. R'hin's grin suggests he's pleased that Leova's followed, and he bids her, "Grab a tight hold of his neckridges. Like this," he folds the fingers of one hand around his chosen ridge, and folds the fingers of his other hand over the first, then glances at her to make sure she does the same. She swims to the other side of that lean neck, then, taking up the neckridge in front of his with one hand and swiping wet hair out of her face before going for the true copycat. "Let me guess, we get to go fast?" has anticipation as Leova glances back at R'hin. "Fast," R'hin echoes her with a grin, and once he's seemingly satisfied (even if there's no visual clue), Leiventh begins moving underwater, tugging them along. At first it's a leisurely pace, but once he's sure they're holding tight enough, he goes faster, creating a spray of ocean mist as he leads them out into the ocean. Underneath, the water is blue and clear, and once they get out far enough, they can see schools of colorful fish and other sea creatures far below. They're briefly shadowed now and again as Vrianth passes overhead, reinforcing that she's there and keeping an eye on things. But Leova's laughing, at least until she has to close her mouth against the spray, and when they get further out... "Oh." Leiventh is well aware of Vrianth's presence, in that the cold winds of his thoughts brush and tease at the edges of her awareness, though his manner is of caution, especially with regards to the green's rider. The bronze slows his pace somewhat now, probably to allow them to better take in the view. R'hin's grinning, as much at the trip as Leova's reaction. "He could take us under, but we'd never get close to them. They're fast," he says, like he's tried. Vrianth welcomes those winds, if with not-so-latent electricity that slides along them as though she'd take the ride, her coolness made warm by comparison to the cold. "Shells," breathes her rider. It could as well be that oh all over again. "Do you see shipfish ever? Those colors." The hand on Leiventh's neckridge is more for stability now than safety, R'hin's attention more on the waters beneath than anywhere else. "Once. We were pretty far out -- it seemed fascinated with Leiventh, though Leiventh seemed to think it was just laughing at us the whole time. I'm not sure if he meant us or me, but I suspect the latter." "Why wouldn't he," Leova remarks, only it can't be sufficiently deadpan when she's hanging onto a dragon in what seems like the middle of the ocean and looking at all this. "Heard so many stories... They always run? These fish, I mean. Swimming with them all around would be," she pauses only to duck her head underwater and peek that way for a moment. Coming up, dripping, "Something else." "Maybe Vrianth could take you down. She's quicker." Shameless flatterer, especially towards dragons, R'hin. "She could. But would you go?" Vrianth's rider looks back through neckridges' gap at him, though if her timbre implies a dare, there's also the suggestion that he's unlikely to take her up on it. R'hin, who hadn't so much as leaned against the green. "Leiventh would be jealous," the bronzerider replies with an absolutely sincere looking expression. No telling whether that rumble felt from the bronze is agreement or not, though. "I'll keep an eye out." For... something. "No need. She wouldn't keep you." Though since there's that something, "Wait for me." Leova doesn't wait. She lets go, taking a deep breath just before her face hits the water, already tucking over herself and heading downward. Not that she'll be able to get so very far for so very long, but it seems she's got to give it a try. R'hin does indeed wait. Once she resurfaces, he tells her Riahla's not far away, and the return trip is somewhat quicker than the one going out, whether through the Monacoan's urging, or Leiventh's comfort that Leova has a strong grip. On the beach, the bronzerider tugs on his shorts, merely grabs his shirt, and with a jaunty tip of imaginary hat, strides down the beach, away from the Weyr and coincidentally in the direction of a bronze that lands further up. His rider wears no identifying marks, as the pair greet each other and head into the cooler shade of the jungle canopy. That other bronze is crouched further up the beach, watching. Waiting? Interesting, except a familiar blue appears over Monaco's skies, and Vrianth gets an earful: « You would not believe what happened. Telgar's queen said I was rude. She's clearly jealous because I'm smarter than her! » Riahla's dragon's talking a mile-a-minute, though probably interrupts himself long enough to pass on that Riahla's waiting at the bar as previously arranged. |
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