Logs:Lessons in Larceny
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| RL Date: 10 April, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin's giving his wingrider Telavi a new lesson or two. There's breaking into things, running away, and celebrations. |
| Where: Benden Hold |
| When: Day 26, Month 6, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| It's a warm summer's evening, and Benden Hold is a lively place. Most are outside enjoying the evening's warmth with some impromptu games, creating quite a crowd and a convivial environment. Further away from the Hold itself, where they landed hours earlier, Leiventh is quiet and still as usual, only the faint gleaming of barely slitted eyes betraying his wakefulness. After their walk up to the Hold, there was some of what R'hin termed "acclimatization", which involved wandering around the Hold with brisk purpose enough not to be stopped, pausing to join in the evening's meal (and an insistence on partaking of the evening's wine, too), and then some more walking. R'hin's dressed neatly but plainly -- much as any other non Blooded member of the Hold might well do -- his hand companionably resting on Telavi's as one might do to protectively guide a cherished daughter, as he navigates them away from the areas earlier traversed, and deeper into the Hold proper. Telavi, in her similarly-stationed but subtly youthful apparel-- complete to a netted cloth that, however pretty it may be, dulls and distracts from that notable whiskey-blonde hair-- looks up to her 'father' literally as well as figuratively; her mannerisms are ingenuous but quietly so, not nearly as rebellious as Rosavia's, and she looks about the Hold and its Gather in the way of one somewhat familiar with the place who's glad to see it all over again... which she also happens to be. Even a 'good girl' can't resist smiling up to her father in a plea for some frippery or another, the latest a lovely cloth flower that can be pinned to collar or hairband, but whatever the results, Tela accompanies R'hin agreeably enough, and with rising interest that adds sparkle to Solith's own drowsy gaze. What she doesn't do is ask questions. Or, at least, none that the daughter wouldn't here and now. Though she does murmur, "I think I might need a new pair of slippers after this." "Well, that we can arrange. I believe Boll's gather is coming up," R'hin murmurs, completely indulgent of his daughter's whim. He seems content for the lack of questions otherwise, pace slowing briefly as he seems to get his bearings, turning left, right, left, left -- bringing them to the corridor running between kitchen and storerooms. With a look both ways that signals, in actions if not words, that the game is afoot, he waves Telavi to head into the storeroom door ahead of him. It's dark inside, though there's the faint line of light that indicates a shuttered glow close by the entrance. "Lovely," replies Tela, demurely delighted. And then left, right, left, left, she's tracking; despite having gotten more practice at staying in these sorts of characters-- more than variations on a Tela-- over the last while, she can't seem to resist a bit of a bounce to her step as matters pick up. Quickly she slides through that door, but with her arm up just in case, moving quickly to the side-- to the glowbasket's side-- to clear space for R'hin to join her. It's only once the door's shut again that she moves to, cautiously, unlid that glow and see what there is to be seen. It's relatively benign, all told: a typical storeroom, with shelving stacked with foodstuffs. The single glowbasket catches a faint glimmer of metal against the far wall -- indicating another door. R'hin leans against the closed door, listening for a few moments, before he's satisfied. With a grin -- now more R'hin, than father, there's a lively spring in his step as he heads towards that far door. It's a solid enough affair -- the metal bands suggesting more reinforcement than would be typical for simple food storage. "So, little sailor. Behind this door," with a little flourish, "Is rumored to be Lord Benden's best wines, including a little bottle of Molvalt '03, widely reputed to be the best red ever. But," he tugs at the door, but it doesn't give. Grinning knowingly, the bronzerider adds: "He's also been experimenting with a new lock type. Want to put into practice some of the things you've been learning?" Incentive. The wine, yes, yes, but also the practice. Telavi flashes a smile up at the man, thrusting the glowbasket towards his chest thereafter with a, "Hold the light." With that, she drops to a crouch-- no kneeling yet, not with the traces of grime it's bound to leave on her skirt-- and, humming one of those ocean chants almost imperceptibly to herself, slips the fine picks and wires out of her sleeve. Indeed more complex than the locks he'd given her tips on to date, it doesn't respond to her more accustomed maneuvers, though there is a promising click in there with a fine-tickled wire. That's incentive too; her eyes roll up in her head, the greenrider more feeling than seeing the mechanism at work, a faint furrow between her brows, and she tries keeping one levered in place while leaning sideways on the handle. While she's at it, "I'm surprised the outer door wasn't locked. He must be confident," or something else, says the faint dubiousness of her tone. R'hin obligingly takes the glowbasket, though he doesn't hold it up, instead shuttering it most of the way. "Close your eyes. You don't need to see it, you need to feel it." As for the last: "It's just after dinner hour; the kitchen maids are in and out of here during then so they leave it unlocked. The cook usually comes by to lock it before now, but she was distracted with a kitchen disaster." The bronzerider naturally sounds amused, and it probably explains why he slipped away earlier to have a chat with a fleet-footed young lad. "How convenient of the kitchen," Telavi murmurs, only then there's a snick that's not the good kind, something that slips... perhaps due to the reminder that time is running out. It's just as well that the glows aren't bright with how her face has flushed like that; a deep breath later and she's back to her task, feeling, listening, her expression increasingly abstracted... until it turns joyous just before the lock gives way. There it is. Of course she wants to go through first. There's a brief noise of satisfaction (and maybe approval?) from her Wingleader. The space behind the door is immediately cooler, a few steps sinking the floor lower than the storerooms. The gleam of glass reflects in the dimness of the glowbasket before R'hin unshutters it further and follows her inside. Most of the wine is stored in well-spaced racks, however at the far end of the room is a locked cabinet -- by itself enough to draw attention -- and unusual for the glass front that allows the contents to be shown off. The carefully printed wording on the labels suggests that this is home to some of the Lord's oldest bottles -- and amongst them the prized Molvalt R'hin spoke of. Tela does glance at the bottles along the way, and those at the cabinet as well, just in case-- but there's that other lock, and she hisses at it, more an expression of breath than anything raised. "I suppose," she says, already starting to work, "we shouldn't just smash it and run?" and this is rather wistful. "Just open it, slip another bottle into its place?" Stalling the inevitable hue and cry, so boring. "And get caught?" The very idea is abhorrent to R'hin, who steps back towards the door, presumably to keep an eye out, making lighting a bit more difficult. "I mean, if you want a challenge, you had only to ask." There's a definite tone to the bronzerider's words, a kind cheerful anticipation, as his footsteps (and the light) recede. "No, no, dash away in the nick of-- hey! Bring that back." At least Tela manages to keep her voice down, and at least this lock is easier, more decorative than the newfangled kind; when it does open, she's quick to stow her tools in the habit she's working on ingraining, but also quick to snag the chosen bottle... and a positively tiny one, towards the back, that gets slipped into a pocket of her skirt without even glancing at the label. Then it's time for substitutions. And closing. And following, light-footed, after her wingleader. Well, the following might be more difficult, because she can distantly hear R'hin's baritone barking that someone is attempting to sneak into the Lord's stash. There's the thump and clutter of booted heels coming from the direction of the kitchen area, though the direction they came from looks relatively unimpeded. Thanks, R'hin! Telavi bites off a different sort of hiss and, as long as it's relatively dark because he took the light, stashes the bigger bottle in her 'shopping sack'-- not wealthy enough to have a lackey carry her packages around, after all-- and hotfoots it out and not towards the kitchen area. Neither is her route right, left, right, right, but rather a sequence of more turns and doorways that, if that knowledge gained from a weyrgirl's running around with holdgirl friends is still current, might even get her out more effectively and certainly a bit of a distance from where they'd come in. A touch to her hair later-- mustn't have spinnerwebs-- and a general brush-over later, she steps out of the Hold as neatly as a girl with some shopping left to do. The quick greenrider manages to get out of sight just as the stomp of guards boots emerge from the kitchen. It seems they're headed directly for the storeroom, and by the time they realize the culprit has already fled, the Savannah rider is long gone. The games are still in progress out in the courtyard, and its inhabitants unaware of the issues going on inside the Hold itself. She has a few minutes of mingling with the crowd before there's a subtle sense of a presence at her back, a familiar voice murmuring into her ear, "Well done, little sailor. Did you at least," R'hin's hand settles at her hip, then glides around her front in a totally none-fatherly way, "Get the prize?" She wasn't terribly hard to find, not for someone knowing whom he was looking for, not when she's admiring a particularly fine length of cloth-- as well as sneaking a peek at a bolt that's closer to her usual colorway-- but it's the voice that keeps Telavi from kicking sharply at his shin instead of just leaning to step on his foot. Not too hard, not yet. Not when she can make use of that indrawn breath to murmur ingenuously, "I even shook it up to make sure it was all still there." Because that's what one does with the finest of wine. R'hin's voice changes only marginally at the pressure on his foot. "Mm. We should go and find a place to... enjoy it." His fingers are still exploring until he locates that bump of the promised bottle, though he doesn't seek to dislodge it. At that, at that lack of horror, Telavi twists enough to steal an astonished look at him; if that's also in the direction that lets the pocket with the miniature bottle swing away from the sack and what his hand's found outlined within it, so be it. "Then call someone to clean up afterwards?" she inquires dulcetly and-- after a little more pressure-- completes the turn to take his arm and, in that much, follow his lead some more. If there's airiness in her walk for their having gotten this far with their prize... so be that too. Well, that's part of the game, is it not? When she twists around, R'hin's hand has to navigate to try and find the bottle again, and he steps in closer to disguise the movement from others around them. "Depends just how much mess we make," he replies in a low whisper, grinning as she takes his arm, stepping adroitly through the crowds. This may be her once haunt, but he apparently knows where to find a quiet place to sneak off to in celebration. |
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