Logs:More Harm Than Good
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| RL Date: 3 July, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Frustrated, Azaylia approaches R'hin with a proposition. He proves just how bad of an idea it is. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 2, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: A little backdated! |
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| A familiar intensity that is felt before it's heard, though the drums are quick to follow. « Leiventh. » The steady rhythm carries no alarm, a social call if anything. « We are visiting. » Not a request but a warning, though her smoke curls with an afterthought of floral perfume. Azaylia's influence, no doubt. « If yours would like to talk. » Ah, so he does have a say in the matter. (To Leiventh from Hraedhyth) There's a sense of... distance, of smoky, cold wind intermingled with jungle heat. The bronze's answer isn't immediate, despite the fact that her drums stir the thoughts in his head. « You visit Monaco. » Monaco, not home, and a statement, not a question. The surprise is there but it's not his own, and there's a longer pause before, « Mine would not dare refuse. » Yet there's that tinge of R'hin's familiar sardonic humor in the answer all the same. « We shall meet you at the beach bar. » (To Hraedhyth from Leiventh) Whatever anonymity Azaylia hopes for by the lack of a Weyrwoman's knot is compromised by Hraedhyth and the warrior queen's greeting to Monaco's Weyrleaders. Even as her dark wingsails soak up the warmth she makes the reason for their visit obvious. Pleasure, not business. For any who doubt, they only need watch as the warrior queen does battle against the locals in the warm waters. Meanwhile, her rider is tucked at the end of the bar, pastel yellow sundress acting as a form of camouflage and hopefully not betraying her as painfully 'Reachian. She's watching those dragons in the water with a soft smile, hair a dark curtain that shields half her face on it's way down to mid back-- unintentionally hiding in plain sight. Amongst the locals enjoying the warm waters is a familiar face -- and a familiar dragon. Leiventh would never go so far as to loll about in the waters though, no -- R'hin's giving him a good scrubbing, and when done, he pads up onto the beach and settles down to dry off, the bass rumbling in his throat a greeting for the Reachian queen as she arrives. His rider takes a moment to duck under the waves and then he, too, is making for the shore. He's wearing shorts, and while he pauses halfway up the beach to collect his shirt and shake it free of sand, he doesn't put it on, instead smoothing wet hair back from his face as pale eyes inevitably seek out Azaylia's. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And deigning to be in public -- it must be my lucky day. Remind me to put down a bet or two in the casino later." There's a distinct dryness in the words, but there's little doubt by the glimmer of pale eyes he's pleased to see her. "Shall I get you a drink?" before she has a chance to accept or demur, he's already holding up two fingers in the bartender's direction, settling himself on the stool next to her with unhidden curiosity in his regard. Leiventh is allowed his peace as he's scrubbed, until it looks as though he's going to be as physically inactive as always. That's when Hraedhyth pounces, skimming the edges of the bronze's personal space with playful ferocity. « Will you do battle for your not-home? » So it didn't escape her notice. Azaylia glances at R'hin with that usual twist to her lips, the scales neither tipping in either annoyance or amusement just yet. "Has it..." Her expression crumbles to a somewhat guilty smile, "Really been that long? I'm sorry. There's been a lot happening." There's no attempt to explain, the goldrider's assumption of what he's heard quite plain. Instead she reaches for his wrist, grip faltering once she has his attention, "You can order, but I'll pay. I still owe you." Not to say she intends to even the score with a cocktail. Leiventh fends her off with all the practice of a many-times-over-father dealing with a gaggle of children: he allows the drums to pound through the smoky, wind-touched plains of his mind, but her games are left at that: games. « I do not do games, » the bronze intones. "There has been, indeed," R'hin agrees, and with that simple statement he makes plain that he's well aware, despite not having stepped foot in High Reaches Weyr since the hatching. When she takes his wrist, it surprises him enough to look at her, but there's an interesting note in his voice: a firmness as he says, "I won't have you paying for me, too. I am the host here." That, with his fingers pressing over where hers are on his wrist, something of amusement brief in his gaze. There isn't any order perse: the bartender brings over a pair of drinks, like it's his usual: the liquid is dark, hers with ice, his without. "Do you think payment of drinks suffices for a favor? How is Kyouri these days?" There's a... warmth in his voice that might hint at his relationship with the Benden goldrider, but then, maybe that's put on, too. « You do not do much. » A spark harmlessly lobbed from her flames at the bronze, drums laughing along with her rough contralto. Hraedhyth will heed the call of more playful company, returning to her games that Leiventh is too good for. He'll still be able to hear her, mental link left in tact and unbothered by distance. Azaylia doesn't intend to linger, startled away by how quickly R'hin looks, hand escaping beneath the touch of his fingers. "Why not? I... was here first." Flawless logic, so there. The stubborn tilt of her chin is easily knocked back down by his words, warm as they are, "No. Of course not. I'm just... I'm trying to be nice to you." There's a flicker of accusation in her gaze as she looks up at him, settling into a protective stare at the mention of her mentor. "Kyouri is... fine. Amazing." Wellbeing, followed by opinion. A nod of thanks to the 'tender, the weyrwoman takes a gulp of the drink and braces herself with what experience she's gained for the stronger stuff. Once it passes, "She and Torith are both amazing. I really do appreciate your help in finding her." Gentle voice is made rough by the alcohol, but there's little worry about her being overheard. « I am a dragon. » The answer is simple and doesn't come accompanied by any other explaination; the words are answer enough, in Leiventh's mind. That's not to say he doesn't listen, even if there's a slightly disapproving air at the antics. "Trying?" R'hin echoes that, a dark chuckle accompanying the words, oddly pleased by that turn of phrase. He takes his time with the glass, tipping it this way and that to air it gently, before allowing the smallest sip to slide down his throat, savouring it. The Monacoan notes, too, the protectiveness over the Benden goldrider, with no small amusement. "I'd thought perhaps you two would work well together. She'll make a fine Weyrwoman one day." The words have a ring of inevitability to it. Hraedhyth is as stubborn as she is joyous in this moment, « And I am a queen. » Even that carries the crackle of amusement, so secure in what she is that his disapproval may not even register. Azaylia stifles a grimace as her words betray her, an unmistakable flinch crossing her features that has little to do with her drink. Finding strength in that first gulp she slows to a casual sip, "I've learned a lot from her. I..." She can't help that open suspicion before it's pushed away, "If she does become Weyrwoman, I agree." Toasting to it, she finally places the glass back down, looking as though she's about to say something. Her hesitation ends in a laugh, not quite bitter, "I was going to ask how you were. Would you actually tell me?" Her smile is more genuine, if resigned. « Yes you are. » Again, that air of disapproval, though Leiventh continues to hover at the edge of her consciousness, like someone watching from the edge of a dance, not willing to participate, but admiring the view all the same. There's the beginnings of a smirk, but it fades pretty quickly from R'hin's features; he lifts his glass, taking a sip whenever she does, in a manner that might seem deliberate. "Leiventh is well." He misinterprets that question, deliberately. "He bears a manly scar from Hraedhyth's flight, but no memory of it. With dragons; when things are forgotten they're normally forgive by default." The bronzerider sounds almost envious, a fleeting expression twisting his features momentarily. "And how are you, kitten?" Hraedhyth doesn't mind having an audience, even if it's entirely composed of a stuffy old bronze. Azaylia's expression falls at mention of Leiventh's scar, no matter how manly it is. She doesn't apologize, having done so several times already. Instead, her eyes shift to the side as a bland murmur passes through her lips, even more deliberate, "Hraedhyth is fine. There's no sign that Leiventh has to worry about another scar." Her eyes slide back over to R'hin, open and vulnerable as she takes her time in expecting the bronzerider's face. So genuine, and yet her lips are flat and her expression rather blank as she asks, "You care so much." Not about her, but, "But you left. Why?" As if she actually expects him to answer. R'hin's pale gaze remains steadfastly on Azaylia, noting her reaction to his comment with an intrigued tip of head. Though, since she doesn't comment further on it, neither does the bronzerider. "That wasn't what I was asking," he replies, quickly enough that the denial may well seem genuine. "Though," and his smile deepens, abruptly, "If she does show signs, you'll be kind enough to tell me so I'll not fall for Leiventh's ploy again?" it's hard to tell if he's joking or not: there is a smile, but his gaze remains on the goldrider all the same. It's the latter question that, finally, makes him grimace and look away -- towards the drink. He takes a deeper drought, pausing for gaze to follow a pair of riders as they walk along the beach. "It was the right thing to do," the ex-Weyrleader finally says. "For the Weyr. For Satiet. For me, too. And, I'm selfish, you know -- so that worked out for the best." "And I wasn't asking after Leiventh." Azaylia reminds, without smug or snark. Quiet, so quiet, there's no attempt to hide the pensive air about her, thinking even as R'hin smiles. The silence that follows might be unsettling, the lack of reassurance that she'll warn the bronzerider. "How was it for the best?" Her fingers stretch and reach, inching her glass closer until it's coaxed into her hand and brought up for another sip. "Satiet isn't..." The weyrwoman stops herself, a little exhale escaping her. Huff. "You don't think you'll ever come back? If... it was the right thing to do?" Now, whispery soprano carries just the faintest hint of hope. "You ought to know by now never to expect a straight answer from me," R'hin says, with no trace of apology. Over on the shore, there's a faint whuff of breath from Leiventh, though the bronze remains solidly silent, whisper quiet air spinning distantly away from the Reachian queen. "My presence would've caused more harm than good, with Crom-- the Minecraft. As it was, things didn't go well, but if I'd stayed--" the grimace perhaps suggests his guess and how well that bad period in High Reaches history might've been made with his presence. His gaze, finally, flickers back towards her at the mention of Satiet, but his expression is somewhere between neutral and guarded at this point. "The right thing?" he echoes her intonation precisely, with a slightly more questioning lilt at the end. "For High Reaches; perhaps. But I can't imagine a situation where my presence would do more harm than good, kitten." More silence. There's no doubt that Azaylia's listening, her focus on R'hin even as his drifts away only to snap back at mention of Satiet. "That makes sense." She doesn't sound terribly invested, curiosity sated, but neither does she sound bored by what sounds like the truth. It could be that she doesn't believe him. Sitting up a bit taller, she sweeps her hair over her shoulder in an obvious fidget, "Don't call me that." Distracted and predictable. Unlike the words that follow, "I need to pick a new Acting Weyrleader. I need to do what's rig--" She gives her head a little shake, dislodging the loaded word, "What's best for the Weyr. An experienced bronzerider would be a good start." R'hin's smile rises and fades fairly quickly at her predictable protest: it's her latter comment that makes it fade. The bronzerider's silent -- one might even say caught off guard -- looking to the depths of his glass again and taking a moment to drink, before signaling the bartender for a refill. "It would," he finally agrees on the latter, and with barely a pause, adds, "K'del is perfect." Azaylia, for once, is not caught off guard. "K'del... wants to be a normal rider." Her glass is placed back down, arms crossed not to be stubborn, but to hug herself despite Monaco's favorable weather. She's struggling, swallowing, speaking only after her nails have had time to press into her arm, "You can say no. I just... wanted to ask." "K'del wants what's best for the Weyr, as much as I do. If it means stepping up beside you, he'd do it." R'hin seems matter-of-fact -- indeed, it seems like he trusts his fellow ex-Weyrleader a great deal. The bartender refills both glasses, earning a nod from the Monacoan; he cradles his glass, not drinking yet, allowing the silence to stretch. He's intrigued, that much is obvious, and surprised, too. "Why me? I can think of a dozen reasons why it shouldn't be. Can you think of a dozen why it should?" This time it's the weyrwoman who shifts her gaze away, squinting though the sparkling waves can't be that bright. When she finally does glare at R'hin, not a stare, her vision isn't entirely clear. "Because at least I expect you to lie to me." It's not directed at the earlier topic of K'del, Azaylia preferring not to comment on R'hin's recommendation. Closing her eyes, she takes in a slow breath, careful in reaching for her glass and only disturbing the liquor as her fingers bump into it. Bringing it up for another gulp, she husks with not quite amusement, "I can't think of eleven other reasons." "That's hardly a glowing recommendation, kitten. Remind me never to ask you to be a character witness for me." R'hin, as ever, is light-of-tone, though his expression suggests he's taking the conversation seriously enough, gaze steady on Azaylia. "Well, for me: I'm an outsider, to all but the old guard of High Reaches. I'm selfish. I'm untrustworthy. I'm a liar -- you used that as a pro, but I can use it as a con, too," a dark chuckle follows this, before he continues, holding up fingers with each point: "My last stint at Weyrleadership nearly permanently lost us a Hold. My presence will never gain you the support you'll need. I buck authority, I should not be authority. Well--" he glances down at his seven fingers held up, "Not quite an even dozen, but more than you." A pause, before he clinks his glass against the goldrider's: "I'll tell you what. If you can come up with a convincing refute to each of my points -- because those are the answers you'll have to have ready for every High Reaches rider that will ask you -- I'll do it." The gleam in his gaze suggests he's confident she won't. Perhaps she shouldn't, but Azaylia does. By the time R'hin's glass chimes against hers, the Acting Weyrwoman of 'Reaches is battling a smile. Sad, resigned, but it's still stubbornly fighting for a spot on her lips. Pressure relieved, frustration brought back down to reasonable levels, she brushes a knuckle over each eye, "You really are terrible, aren't you?" It's not endearing, it's not. Still, she sounds relieved, "I'm sorry. It's just hard and... I should really stop coming to you for help." She realizes with a sigh, "I'll end up owing you half of Pern." Fine. He wins. "Terribly, devastatingly handsome, yes I am. And thank you for noticing, dear Weyrwoman." R'hin tugs a hand through hair that's already mostly dry, chuckling. "I'd settle for a dozen bottles of fine Benden wine and a lovely dinner. I'm cheap." He taps at her glass, as if directing her to drink, before he hops up, abruptly, walking around the other side of the bar, lending against it -- faux-rubbing the top with an imaginary rag. "So, doll. Tell me all your problems." Not even that can wipe the smile off Azaylia's face, though she's probably wishing it away as he speaks. "You are." She's playing along, only to realize how it could be taken, "Cheap. You're cheap." Not handsome. The goldrider is sure to twist the glass around so that his invisible fingerprint is the furthest from her lips as she drinks. Following R'hin with her eyes, she squeaks from behind her cup and lowers it, brushing over her lips with the back of her finger. "Well, I've got to pick an Acting Weyrleader. The Holds hate us and are using the tithes against my 'folk... I don't know which gold will rise first, if not both." The last is spoken quickly, as if that will make it less likely to actually happen. "Oh, and there's a bronzerider who won't stop calling me a silly name." "What can I say? I have a weakness for cute brunettes and booze." R'hin certainly doesn't try to deny her accusation, with an easy shrug of shoulders and a grin that is all-too-knowing and unapologetic. "Well. I've already told you who I think should be Acting Weyrleader. You, kitten, need someone who will be strong when you can't be, and iron fist that you should hide. For me, the choice is obvious, and you need to remember whoever you choose -- they'll likely not be your permanent partner." A breath, as he leans over as if to refill her glass again, even if she hasn't touched it, "As for the Holds -- they'll always squabble and squirm and get as much out of you as you let them. Truth is, you've been so caught up in your own dramas inside the Weyr you all but forgot about them. Gotta keep an eye on them all the time. Set up regular visits, or appoint someone as your diplomatic liaison and have them do it. As for... well, not much you can do about the queens. Hraedhyth or Iesaryth will rise. Hopefully obviously one over the other this time. But -- tell me more about this bronzerider? He sounds like a charming, and fascinating fellow." He leans closer, as if to better hear. If only to keep him from refilling, Azaylia leans back and takes her glass with her, undoing his 'generosity' with a long sip. "So another color, not brown, might not be the worst idea? They won't be permanent." Not out of spite, there's genuine thought behind it. The advantage is, of course, avoiding the uncomfortable sting that comes with speaking about R'hin's first choice. Just like with Kyouri, she's an eager pupil and pays close attention to what advice the older bronzerider might have for her. As focused as the potent drink will allow, that is. "That's... hm." A good idea as far as the Holds are concerned, swept up by her surprised little hum. It's not the talk of queens that pulls her back from the various possibilities that have ensnared her, but R'hin's ego. Leaning forward with an elbow on the bar, she doesn't expect to meet him as he does the same and decides to hold her ground. "He's not." Gentle voice is playful, "He's a butt." She'll drink to that, swallowing back a laugh along with the burn, "Thank you, though." "One of my Weyrseconds was a greenrider. She took over Acting duties for a time. The color doesn't matter; the rider's abilities do. You want -- need -- someone who will compliment you. Who will play the bad guy -- because you will never do that well, I'm afraid, kitten." His lips twitch as he gaze roves over the goldrider as she leans forward. He lifts a hand to brush a finger under her chin, like one might do to a tiny kitten. "A butt with lots of alcohol. And since I have plied you with it -- I insist you stay for food. I'd not like the entirety of High Reaches after my hide for returning you in poorer state than you arrived -- not to mention Oriane would kill me." He steps out from behind the bar, offering his arm, eyes glittering. Feeble, even to her own ears, "I could learn." Which is almost proof positive that Azaylia can't. While trying to recover, "I could--" his touch interrupts her. A flash of familiar fire in her gaze is the only warning he'll get before she's snapping at his hand, jaw pulling back to ensure her teeth are empty when they click shut. She's the epitome of maturity and class, 'Reaches Acting Weyrwoman is. "Still want to feed me?" Not sounding terribly guilty, the goldrider will accept his arm if R'hin's offer remains. "Then we'll be even?" What with her saving him from 'Reachians and Oriane and all. Aside from her obvious joke, "You can tell me more about how Leiventh is doing." And Azaylia won't be returning home any worse than when she arrived. Hopefully. There's a snort for the first, and a low-throated chuckle for the second: R'hin's as irrepressible as ever and he doesn't seem inclined to retract the food invitation, snapping or not. "Even? Oh, not by a long shot, kitten." He'll be quite the gentleman -- they eat in the caverns, R'hin happy to introduce Azaylia to the (many) curious folk who approach, but he always somehow manages to wave them off rather than inviting them to join. Finally, when it's time to leave, Leiventh stands as an attentive mental guard, with only a flicker of teasingly cold touch to the High Reaches queen's mind moments before she disappears between on her way home. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:More Harm Than Good"K'del (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 03 Jul 2013 09:22:07 GMT.
You chase one little out-weyr queen, and... So maligned. XD
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 03 Jul 2013 13:50:29 GMT.
At least your dragon-dad doesn't work /against/ you, K'del. ;)
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