Logs:Looking After
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| RL Date: 6 October, 2015 |
| Who: Ebeny, Kh'tyr |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ebeny and Kh'tyr's conversation isn't really business, nor is it pleasure, but it sure is something. |
| Where: Hot Springs, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: From morning straight through until well into the night, large, soft-looking snow falls steadily. |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
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>---< Hot Springs, Fort Weyr >-----------------------------------------------<
The Hot Springs are contained within a high domed cavern, the walls
perpetually glistening with a combination of condensation and mica. Steam
drifts through the cavern from the surface of four different-sized pools.
The largest takes up most of the cavern, big enough to hold three
full-grown dragons and is easily reached through the archway from the
Bowl. Three smaller pools, more suited for human use, are clustered near
the entrance leading toward the Inner Cavern. A set of shelves and benches
line the wall nearest the Inner Cavern, fully stocked with pots of
soapsand and towels for those without the foresight -- or means -- to
bring their own.
While the dragon pool is a natural creation, the human pools are the
result of Ancient ingenuity and have been constructed with hewn steps and
seating. The water in all of the pools is warm to hot, and are a perfect
place to bathe young weyrling dragons or for residents to relax after a
long day of work. It's a good time of the turn to be an assistant weyrlingmaster. It's proven in the fact that Kh'tyr is here soaking in the hot springs instead of out where the snow is falling. Mograith is here, too, though from the near dejected slump of his sinuous yet angular shoulders, not by his own desire. He's perched precariously on the edge of the largest pool, dripping only here and there which might signify having been splashed rather than surrendering to the need to bathe. The pale brown must be keeping a mental ear toward any weyrlings in need of assistance, but whatever task had occupied Kh'tyr for the morning seems to have been completed to leave him time to lounge, head back on a towel, arms curled along the edge of the pool and toes bobbing just out of the water. For one with reportedly much more free time than the many months past, Ebeny has been unusually sullen for the past few days, building only on the silence that has so often defined her for more than that. The time she's chosen to brave the springs must be one that she hopes will not mean a crowd, for she inches her way into the cavern at first, then gradually works her way up to striding through upon not discovering a vast audience. There's no sign of Laurienth, her perch one high on the rim of the bowl, rider left to her own devices. And thus left, Ebeny finds Mograith first and Kh'tyr second, not that the presence of either is enough to keep her from just pulling her shirt off over her head. It must be Mograith who cues his rider when the Weyrlingmaster is close enough for the man doesn't open his eyes to muster the words, "Business or pleasure, ma'am?" As ever, his use of the respectful term has just a tinge of humor infused into the word, enough that one might think it didn't carry quite the respect it ought, and yet he's generally good about following instruction and order to the letter. "Neither." There is a half-second's hesitation before that single word, as if Ebeny might manage to play along, but those two syllables are ultimately easier than summoning a smile or humour. She lets one of the towels that she's clutching fall to the floor, while allowing the other to unroll and keep her at least semi-decent while she steps out of and pulls off the rest of her clothes. "You can be safe in the belief that I wouldn't track you down while either of us are disrobed to discuss business," is a poor attempt at a joke, dry though it is, as she slips down into the same pool and leaves her towel at its edge. "Well, so long as it isn't business," Kh'tyr will look quite shamelessly at the half-decent Weyrlingmaster. It's not a lurid look, but it certainly must take in what of her can be seen before brown eyes settle on her face. "I learned the hard way not to do business without clothes on," is added with an edge of humor to the words that makes his smile softer than a smirk. "Join me?" is invitation that comes with a flick of his fingers to a place along the same wall. "You can tell me what's got you in knots. Or not." Also, it seems, an invitation. If Ebeny notices that he looks, she does a very good impression of someone who is completely oblivious to it. "I'm almost afraid to ask what kind of business you were broaching with your clothes off," she sighs, and almost up to her shoulders in water is when she stops, in response to invitation (and invitation), to study Kh'tyr for a blank moment or three. "That's how rumours start," the greenrider eventually decides, albeit quietly, her path, once resumed, one that looks set to take her to the opposite side of the pool. "You could tell me what you're going to do, now that we're not running lessons all the time," is her counterproposal. "Why, what it would take to have me render my services to you, of course," Kh'tyr's smile twitches like it might like to be broader as he answers the first. "Of course, it was framed more in how I might be of service to another woman at the time," that's almost thoughtful, but if it could've become so, it's dismissed too quickly to actually do so. His gaze, settled so intensely on Ebeny's eyes, doesn't falter. "I'm very good with secrets, when there's a need. One of the few things that stuck from my study at the Windbags' Hall. Still, you needn't trust me with yours, even if it seems you should trust someone with them, lest they fester." That last word gets an expressive wiggle of his brows. "I'm considering my options. Igen pays better," is offered offhand. "And there's no snow in Igen." There's something near to a grimace from Ebeny, who murmurs, "That'll teach me to ask questions, I guess." She at least turns away before her expression twists towards pain, sinking lower in the water as she approaches the edge of the pool. "And I don't have any secrets," she insists. "Not that someone or other doesn't know or has made up, so I'm not dragging around any great burdens. Trust me." She turns her back to the wall and leans there, flattening the line of her shoulders against stone. "It isn't snow out there, you know. It's just cold rain. If you think that's proper snow, you need educating." "Technically, you didn't ask. You only wondered aloud, which can be just as hazardous if you have a suggestible imagination." Kh'tyr's answer has his smile tempering to a line. "Mm, I'm not so sure that's something I ought do. You've had a lot to deal with this cycle. Are you?" Dealing with it. It's a probing question whose tone doesn't quite become challenging. Probably, this is pertinent to his decision-making process. "Who on your team do you trust? Ones that know what snow looks like?" A single brow raises, now there's challenge, but just for the snow. Ebeny has nothing but patience in her muddy-green gaze as she regards Kh'tyr, her expression soft and focus just that little bit away from sharp. "No offense, but I don't need looking after," she says all too gently. "I'm not a kid. I'm here to look after them and to try and do whatever you and the others," her assistants, "need from me. I sent my own kids away to try and do all of that better, so just... let me get on with it." The plea follows a moment later, near murmured into the water. "Please." When she tips her head back to speak properly above the water level, it's to say, "I trust all of you to do your jobs and your best for the weyrlings. And even when none of you know what real snow is." "We all need some looking after," Kh'tyr answers that gentility with some of his own. "No man-- woman," he nods toward her, "-is an island, Ebeny. Seems to me the one who's supposed to be looking after you is a bit busy these days, and it is alright to lean on those who are willing." He watches her, expression thoughtful. "I'm not the one angling to stop you from taking care of anyone. I'm just one of your assistants. It's generally my job to help you do yours the best you can while doing mine the best I can, as I understand this whole arrangement," his fingers rise to wiggle and indicate the intangible relationships between weyrlingmaster and her staff. "Snow isn't the only thing I don't know very much about." The pointed look at the woman can leave little doubt what else he's talking about just now. "I'm supposed to look after him," Ebeny immediately attempts to correct, the words out of her mouth before she can stop them. She looks away and at some distant point above Kh'tyr after blurting that out, taking the time to school herself back to silence and composure. When she finds words that are more mannered and less instinctive, it's not so clear whether she's being genuinely obtuse or just evasive, her bland smile so misplaced that it could easily be either. "It's just as well that we don't have little dragons underfoot anymore then, isn't it? I think we can probably both manage our jobs without self-destructing." Hard on the heels of the heels of that declaration, she states, "Snow is the only thing worth knowing anything about." This first attempt to correct has Kh'tyr's arms moving from the wall and shifting so he can use his hands. They join, fingers intertwined in front of him, his eyes still on the greenrider. "Each other," are two very clearly enunciated words. "In relationships, you look after each other. It's not so different than you and I, except for the lack of romance, sex or children between us. Our relationship," he offers the clarification of, "our professional relationship," in case there needed to be that clarity, "is one where we look after each other. If that's not going to happen with us, you should probably tell me so." There's a consequence not stated but there in the serious set of his expression. "And here I was thinking you were falling for me," is uncharitably bitter for a woman both assuredly okay and of Ebeny's usual easy temperament. She tips her head back against the edge of the pool and stares up at the ceiling, low note issuing from the back of her throat. "'Faranth's sake, Kh'tyr, I didn't come here to have our professional standing interrogated," she complains. "Just because I won't cry on your shoulder," and maybe, in another universe, she might try, "it doesn't mean I don't understand that you've got my back when it matters." "I believe you already warned me off about that," Kh'tyr responds blandly, "To the point of telling me not to let Mograith chase, which is fairly extreme measures to stop me from losing my head and my heart in one fell swoop." The brownrider, whose dragon definitely did chase in Laurienth's last fight, asks with furrowed brow, "Is that the trouble then? Someone's gone and fallen in love with you?" It's definitely out of his realm of what's his business. "If you'd rather, we can table the discussion of our professional standing, but you did ask," as opposed to wondering aloud, "about my plans now that the weyrlings are fixing to join real wings. The discussion is cogent to having an answer for you." The last is delivered dryly as he eases back against the wall again. "Not that you listened to a word I said." That is darker, her narrow-eyed gaze fixing on him as she lowers her head and stares steadily across the way, like she could make him listen now through sheer force of willpower. Try as she might, it's evident which of his words sets her off, for she seems to completely disregard the rest of what Kh'tyr has to say after he asks his not-his-business question. She turns away, as if to haul herself from the pool there and then, only to mutter, "Out of. Maybe. I don't know." Ebeny goes still, hands curved to rock, then turns back again, voice hoarse, but growing better the longer she goes on when she says, "Do you want to learn about snow and why you shouldn't chase?" more directly than anything else she's said. "Maybe-" Kh'tyr answers, pushing away from the wall to turn and stare at the greenrider the way she was (and he met with his own even look) moments before, "-I want you." He almost certainly watched her get out of the pool. "Maybe I'm just an asshole from Igen that listens selectively," he offers an alternate explanation for his insubordination. "Maybe I would. There's no saying the lesson would stick." A hand rises to touch his ear. "Selective," he adds. It's a troublesome condition to be sure. Ebeny offers a single note of laughter in response, something faintly hysterical there. "No-one in their right mind wants me," she informs him, so very matter of fact and somehow fitting of the fact that she's securely covering herself up as she says so, towel neatly wrapped around her. "In the bowl, half an hour, geared up. If you can manage it. Both of you." Him and Mograith, she must mean. And, should they appear at that time, it's to the north and the snowy wastes and the mountains she and Laurienth will take them, the latter given the freedom to fly as pleases. In a word: dangerously. "Only once in my life have I ever claimed to be sane," Kh'tyr answers with a sort of certainty that makes the words sound almost dangerous. "Mograith took me though, but I can't say as that says much about him." He casts a glance to the brown, "Alright, but next seven, you and Laurienth will come with us." He doesn't say where, but then, she hasn't really either. Call it weyrlingmaster-assistant bonding time. If that deal is made, he'll be in the bowl with a moody brown whose natural grace will help keep things on the line of dangerous rather than deadly. "Sure," Ebeny calls back, as she moves through the cavern to find somewhere more private to step back into her clothes, her accepting and yet dismissive attitude that of one who believes nothing further will happen after today. "What's the worst that could happen?" What indeed. |
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