Logs:Nice Face
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| RL Date: 22 September, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, I'zech |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: I'zech promises, Aishani threatens. Another afternoon in the back corridors of the Weyr. |
| Where: Weyr Entrance, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
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| Weyr Entrance, High Reaches Weyr Cutting through the Weyr's massive outer flank, the tunnel from the outside spills out into a smooth-cut space where wagons often pull in to unload supplies or take shelter during bad weather. Crates and dollies line one wall, ready to be pressed into service for carting stuff around. Five other passageways, dimly lit by well-spaced glows, lead deeper into the Weyr; a draft from the centermost hints at the bowl beyond. It's a usual late afternoon, with the usual delightfully drizzling weather of a High Reaches autumn, the usual bustle of people about the bowl and the caverns. Perhaps it's the weather that has I'zech choosing to exit the Snowasis via the back hallway, jacket unbuttoned and boots half-tied as usual, the same blandly irritated expression as usual. And though the hallway might not be a high traffic area, it's probably not unusual to encounter another person back here, moving to or from the bar. To or from the bar or the storerooms or the records room, all places that Aishani might have reason to travel between if she did much actual work, that is. She supposedly doesn't really, still -- so that doesn't really explain why she comes from the stores, other than a rumored tendency to lurk there, creepily. She's as well-dressed as usual, with no sign of having been out in the drizzle. Surely I'zech has been out, but it's not like a little dampening and drying would make any difference to his overall disheveled appearance. As he prowls along the hall, a quick glance given toward the other body turns into a double take when he recognizes it's Aishani. As their paths bring them closer, his expression cools to a dark stare, some flex at his jaw. And if his trajectory shifts to squeeze the space she'll have to pass between him and the wall, well, it's not an overt thing. Not all that concerned with whoever else is passing through, except on a defensive level, Aishani is unbothered enough by I'zech's shift in expression and dark glare both to slide hands into jacket pockets. She still isn't wearing her belt knife either, which might be a plus. Her stride, as always, is brisk, and if the bronzerider is in fact angling to crowd her against the wall, maybe she's just aiming to speed up and shoot past. Smirking. I'zech's hands are not in his pockets. And maybe he marks the absence of her belt knife, but maybe he doesn't put it past her to have a little something tucked away in her jacket: a pin coated with deadly poison or brass knuckles. Still, few people have ever pegged him as a man who makes good decisions, so despite that possibility, when Aishani smirks at him, he turns into her, a hand grazing the stone to bar her passage and the full-body nearness angling to turn her back to the wall. "Is that how you want to play it?" he murmurs to her, head bowed near and voice utterly calm. Like he half expects her to freak out, he hushes with a quiet 'shhh', as if they're telling lovers secrets. Though it's likely that Aishani's fast, that she could duck out under that arm blocking her way, she doesn't just yet -- though one booted foot is partway there by the time she's turned to keep her back to the wall. If he's not touching her, she's not freaking out just yet, but her hands might be something to be watched. That other foot, knee too. With a grimace, nose wrinkling, "You started it." Because that matters. "I'm just taking the short way home. What's your problem?" Said as if I'zech must have many, so specifics would be helpful. She could try to duck. Maybe he'd let her get away if she did. "You aren't the only one who's good in tight spaces," I'zech reminds her, breath turned toward her ear and voice pitched so she's the only one who can hear the nuances of his words and the sound of a dark smirk. Not that there's anyone else around to hear anyway. At least not this second. So sure, he might not be touching her, but he's crowding her against the wall, smelling of leather and liquor and fresh air with a nearness that might neutralize what she damage could do with her knees. "We're gonna fuck like crazy," he promises. His hand moves up the wall beside her shoulder, the audible brush of skin against stone until the heel presses firm to give her just a little more space, perhaps a hint that he doesn't mean right here in the hallway. This time. But he fixes her with stare and the bare curve of something that could be a smile, teasing, if no so much that it hides the stewing violence under his calm. In a tone that somehow manages to be edged with boredom -- or would be if Aishani wasn't beginning to look annoyed, dark gaze stony -- "Somehow, I'm not concerned." Not concerned now, or not enough to loose a hand to find one of the weapons she's likely got hidden on her somewhere, but enough that her jacket is scraping the rock in her effort to be away from him. I'zech's next has her leveling a glare his way that is all visual 'NOPE'; not quite disgust, but definitely not-happening. Nothing near a smile from her. That's about all the recognition the suggestion, the supposed promise gets, other than low and serious; "Get out of my way before I punch you in the throat." That's both calm and a guarantee as well. Nice face, Lana. I'zech just smirks more solidly for her utter disinterest, the waves of irritation coming from behind her stony facade. She might as well have said 'yes, I'zech, I'd like that very much' from the way he grins at her. But it's clear he knows he's treading out onto thin ice. "Don't do it." Whatever options she's considering that leave him bruised or bloody. "Unless you want things to get physical." And it might all be his own brand of obnoxious noise if it weren't for the way he twists his head like he needs to stretch a bit of tension from the back of his neck. His eyes drift down over her and back up again, confidence in the way he meets her gaze, the tacit repetition of his promise, and the he turns to continue on his way. And hopefully she won't just punch him in the back of the head or something. If she thought she might be able to trip him as he turns to go without things 'getting physical', Aishani might; as it is, she doesn't really want to touch him to punch him, regardless. She's not thrilled with being given the once-over, and even if I'zech still thinks something is going to happen, the tall dark goldrider seems equally confident that it's so not. As she stands there for a moment, she stares after him like she'd like to throw something after him -- maybe one of those little knives of hers -- but instead, she turns on her heel and heads off as well, now making no effort to hide her newly rotten mood. Poor Aishani. Shouldn't she be flattered that she inspires such thoughts from the men of her Weyr? Or something? |
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