Logs:Looking for Answers
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| RL Date: 9 March, 2009 |
| Who: N'thei, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'thei drops by to visit. |
| Where: Tiriana's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions |
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| Though Satiet arrives well before her, Tiriana doesn't remain at Fort very long herself, consider that weyrmate of hers their. Just as it's getting dark, Iovniath reappears over the Reaches and glides straight for their weyr. In short order, Tiriana has holed up on her couch, changed out of her hatching finery into a pair of unbecoming loose pants and a worn shirt that was probably R'uen's at one time. She's also got a bottle of liquor, of course; apparently, no visitors are expected. N'thei beat them both home, but business before pleasure: he's only gotten as far as loosening the collar and sleeves of his finery, not shedding it entirely, though he manages to wear it now without the stiffness of discomfort. Within a few minutes of Iovniath's arrival, time enough for her to change and start drowning her sorrows, the unapologetic sound of heavy footsteps intrudes on Tiriana's retreat. "Please tell me you're not decent," he calls from the tunnel, announces his presence with just enough time that she could snatch something with which to cover herself were it necessary. Alas, so says the brief fall of his expression when his eyes find her fully dressed, it's not necessary. Tiriana starts at the sound of footsteps, sitting up and twisting to look over the back of her couch. "If I say yes, please tell me you'll go away," she answers, though it seems not to have quite the desired effect on him. She sighs heavily and sinks back down in the cushions, feet pulled up under her; the Weyr's cold still, fire just stirred back to life. "What do you want." A derisive snicker is all the answer N'thei's got for that question. That and a moment's pause to his footsteps, just long enough to really allow the mental image to overtake him before he resumes his trek, stops by the renewed fire to make sure it is indeed going to perk up; he, of all people, appreciates a roaring flame. Maybe he didn't hear her question-- "Why aren't you still at Fort?" For a change, it does not have a baiting ring, and he even turns from toasting his fingers to face Tiriana with honest confusion. "What, do you want them to keep me like that--that /woman/ said?" Tiriana can't help but snap back at N'thei, even if she's not being deliberately baited for once. She shakes her head, takes a deep breath and releases it. "I didn't feel like staying there. R'uen has to go put in appearances and I hate the rest of them. So I came home." Brows go up, surprised by her venom. "No," N'thei answers simply, dispels the startled expression with a last glance at the fire. Lack of invitation hasn't deterred him yet, so he occupies the space at the other end of Tiriana's sofa, unfolds his legs before him, crosses one arm and reaches the other toward her bottle. "Got under your skin then?" Automatically, Tiriana leans over to offer him the bottle; chances are she's probably had enough even this early in the night. "Yes," she answers, a sullen rejoinder. "I don't want anything to do with her or that place. Do you know, R'uen said she wanted us all to have dinner once. Dinner!" As though that is some terrible new form of evil. And finally, as it occurs to her: "What are /you/ doing back here?" Her turn to be mystified. Not that he could recognize one if he met one, but N'thei muses, "Maybe Cirse's just a decent person who wants to make it less awkward." Followed by a drink, the idea given just a little extra thought while he fights the harshness of anything straight out of the bottle. "Same as you. What's there at Fort worth staying for," when there's free liquor right here in his hand. A second drink; "Do you know what's wrong with her?" Tiriana aims a flat look at N'thei, dismissing that option entirely. But thoughts of Cirse are fleeting in light of her own Weyrwoman, and Tiriana hesitates at his latter. "She doesn't talk to me anymore," she admits finally, glancing down. She scoots forward to the edge of the couch to poke at the fire again, a gesture to buy herself time. "Except... she wanted--she needed me to help her." She's worried this time when she looks at N'thei; and hopeful too, as though just maybe he can explain it to her. N'thei nods in the slow, distracted way of a person processing information, listening and sifting at the same time. "That would be a no, then," he assumes with a disappointed chuckle, the bottle offered back across the distance. He's able to meet Tiriana's worried look with a much less clouded expression on his part, to add, "If it makes you feel better, she doesn't really talk to me either. Which is why..." He's here. Answerless. Tiriana snorts and does not look reassured. She does take the bottle back, though, for her own swill from it. "No, I don't guess you two would," says the younger girl. "It's... she asked. Me," she repeats at length, seriously; it's hard to tell just which part of that is more bewildering for her, the asking itself or who she asked it of. "That's bad, isn't it." N'thei, after a long breath, "Definitely not /good/." The bewildered look elicits another contained chuckle, much easier to go on laughing at Tiriana than to delve too deeply into whatever-it-is. Only-- "I don't know what to do, Tiriana." The effort it costs him to admit that is monumental, so everyone realizes, and he picks up a nervous filing of his lip with his teeth, eyes raised to hers like maybe she's got some ideas? Hopefully? Tiriana doesn't know what to say to that, so instead she offers the bottle again, scooting closer to N'thei in the process. She shoots a look at him askance, exhales her own deep breath. "But you /always/ know. You, and her. You--" Such faith; but it's unrewarded tonight. "I. Me, I... never know. You don't get used to it." "How can you stand it." Disgusted with even temporary uncertainty, N'thei takes back the bottle with every intention to drink, only he doesn't. He gets it to his lips again, but never tips it back, only lowers it to his lap with his head shaking away some thought or another. "It's like she's-- dissolving. Thin and... so nice. For her." Frosty for the rest of the world, sure. "Thought maybe she'd told you something or..." With a shrug, he finishes the gesture and drinks way more than he should in one go. "Oh well." No answer for that. Tiriana looks down sheepishly, then crosses her arms. "Nice to you, maybe," she retorts. Drawing up deep wells of self-pity, "She hates me now. Doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, I think. So I can't help. You or her. Don't drink it all, it's mine first." That long swallow of his has her grabbing back for the liquor. N'thei, irritably; "I swear, if you so much as sniffle in your self-pity..." Threat unfinished, he shoves the bottle back into her graspy hands and stands, surprisingly steady for the equivalent of several shots in a row. "You're so fucking selfish," he informs Tiriana, looking down with a mixture of mystified frustration and downright disappointment. "Here, then," Tiriana insists. Nevermind she just asked for it, she pushes the bottle away. "Take it." As though that's what he were talking about all along. "And go ask her yourself if you're so fucking worried." Impotent to do anything that he'd really like to-- like choke her out or break her nose or really just about anything that would involve a lot of pain on Tiriana's end-- N'thei snatches the bottle back again, shakes it violently by the neck, and places it on neatly on the mantle in a gesture that, in light of his current mood, is bizarrely careful. "I love her, you spoiled, selfish child. Keep that in mind while you're crying yourself to sleep that she won't be your best friend any more." At which point it's best if he leaves anyway. That carefully set down bottle? Tiriana stirs herself from the couch only to throw it after him when he leaves. And then she flops back down, and does indeed spend the night crying herself to sleep, friendless and now liquorless too. |
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