Logs:Of Accusations and Anger
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| RL Date: 20 June, 2006 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 2, Turn 8 (Interval 10) |
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| Your location's current time: 21:05 on day 6, month 2, Turn 58, of the Tenth Pass. It is a winter evening. You push the hides aside and step into the kitchen. Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr The kitchens of High Reaches Weyr are contemporary, spare and simple in design, free of clutter. The sleek surfaces are a hallmark of the current Pernese style - polished marble and granite, metalwork, and woods. The background colors of the kitchen are light and neutral, allowing for bold tone accessories to take center stage. The lighting and entryway opening treatments are low-profile and minimalist. The hearths have been fitted with modern equipment and simple, sleek metalwork to add an up-to-date touch to the heavily used areas. The polished granite counters are long and wide, allowing for ample work space. The woodwork is lightly stained, bringing out the natural hues in the grain. A simple cording, in the same bold color as the accessories, borders each cabinet door, accenting the room. Two large islands break up the kitchen into work areas: baking center, butchery, vegetable and side center, and the serving organization center. The floor is tiled with large marble squares, each section carrying a different, yet complimentary color to direct the flow of traffic. The entryway into the Living Cavern has been expanded to fit two doors - in and out - each marked with its own identifying color that matches the tiles just inside the doors, to keep collisions from occurring. The cavern itself has been expanded to include breakfast nooks, where residents can sit to eat, while leaving the main kitchen free from tables and the traffic that accompanies a busy Weyr. Contents: Satiet Obvious exits: LIving Cavern Lower Caverns Despite the fact that dinner is still being served out in the caverns, R'hin makes his way into the kitchen through the lower caverns entrance. Given that he's rarely seen eating dinner in the living caverns, and a few of the kitchen staff acknowledge him with a glance or two, he's obviously become a more familiar presence here over the last few months. He's clad in his flying leathers, but his jacket hangs open in deference to the inside warmth. Given R'hin's familiarity to the kitchen workers and Satiet's own preferences for kitchen dining as opposed to a thriving living cavern, it's an odd coincidence that their paths haven't crossed until now. With a bright-knit shawl tossed over her shoulders and the remnants of a hearty meal before her: chowder, mulled wine, crusty rolls, and a medley of vegetables, the distinctive sheen of the weyrwoman's raven-hair is bent over a stack of hides, unbothered by the noises of the kitchen around her. Perhaps not so much an odd coincidence as a deliberate move on the bronze weyrling's part? Doesn't seem that out of the question, knowing R'hin. It's certainly with no surprise that the weyrwoman is noticed, as the scruffy-haired ex-trader goes about filling up his plate, before moving to join the other rider, settling uninvited across from her. "All work and no play makes Satiet a..." he trails off, voice drawling, waiting for a moment of acknowledgement before snapping out a salute - or half a one, anyway, made a mite more difficult by being seated. As the shadow of R'hin's frame darkens her table, the young woman isn't startled, though a reflexive glance flicks upward to ascertain who, and immediately down and then up again as the image sinks in. When he takes a seat uninvited, Satiet keeps her expression even, lips thin without the blemish of lines creasing her forward, and simply watches a long while. "The bread's stale, you'll want to soak it in the chowder," is said coolly, her own attention returning in apparent boredom to her hides, though one arm drapes across to obscure its contents. "All work and no play makes Satiet an ill-tempered and unapproachable goldrider. Did you come to give me indigestion, R'hin, or-," she spares his own meal a cool look, "Hoping I would give you indigestion?" "Stale bread for a goldrider of the 'Reaches? Surely not." It's not that hard for R'hin to affect a shocked expression, clearly exaggerated. He does, however, take her suggestion in stride, breaking the bread in half before placing both sections in the chowder. He sips his juice instead, leaning back, eyes flickering over the woman with an odd measure of possessiveness - something he's not much bothered about hiding. "In point of fact, you help me to lose weight. For some reason, I seem to lose my appetite around you, lady of the spires." The words have the air of facetiousness to them, accompanied by a rise of brows, and the slight twist of lips to betray amusement, "Need I a reason to seek the most eligible woman around?" That he follows her advice elicits a tiny curl of satisfaction at Satiet's lip corners, though his continued words garners a nose flare that quickly dampens any smugness. Any possessiveness that might betray itself in the bronze weyrling's gaze is lost on the dark-haired woman, so intent is she on maintaining her composure, her gaze on the neutral ground of the food between them. It's unclear what drives the flush to her cheeks, either the sarcastic flattery or his general presence, or whether it's the girlish blush of embarrassment or anger-induced. "And yet, here you are. Subjecting yourself to a weight loss program the weyrlingmaster might not approve of." "S'din approves of very little about me," where she uses the title, R'hin deliberately uses the Weyrlingmaster's name, separating the man from the position. "I'd imagine he'll have me in weyrlinghood until Leiventh's thirty-- much like I hear your erstwhile mentee, X'dyr is." A beat, then with a smile, "He is similiar to me in some ways. I'm beginning to see a pattern, and I'm half wondering whether I shouldn't feel my ego being crushed at not being the first in your line of bronzeriders." Sharply, breaking through the faux veneer of boredom that's set in her face, Satiet's brilliant eyes lift to fixate onto R'hin. "The -weyrlingmaster-," there's faint emphasis there, rebuke that wraps around a layered challenge that sparks mostly in the blue fires in her eyes, "Approves of very little beyond his narrow scope of the world." Enforced calm relaxes into a lopsided smirk, one that twists the woman's sharp features into an expression that's none too gentle, and though she says little more other than an uplift of her brow, the bemusement beings at the mention of X'dyr, anticipation for the name forthcoming from the bronze weyrling's lips satisfied when Isorath's rider is named, the emotion lingering far past when R'hin goes silent, and completely willing to allow the silence its place in this conversation, the goldrider returns to her meal. It's only after she's moved a piece of sodden bread around in the chowder, scooped it up to eat, and swallowed that she comments blithely, "You think too highly of yourself to think you're even second or third in my line of bronzeriders." "Indeed." R'hin's agreement is fervent, and he seems to take the rebuke largely in stride - though there is a sharpening of gaze, thoughtful expression layered beneath the casual demeanor. "Even within the narrow scope of his world, he is no longer the master of his domain. He allows others to rule it, and brooks none who point it out. Though, perhaps, he is merely resentful of those in the blush of youth... but I don't imagine he would take any criticism better from anyone." He allows the silence to lengthen, leaning forward to close the distance between them, under guise of picking at his meal when it is clearly the woman opposite who remains the focus of his attention. A twitch of lips from the bronzerider, blossoming into a low chuckle, voice quiet, intimate, "Have you forgotten so quickly, lady of the spires, how very frequently I think highly of myself? I believe that's one of the reasons you asked that I stay." One hand reaches up to rearrange her shawl, tightening it at her chest and sinking backwards to rest her shoulders against the nook's wall. "Was it?" Satiet returns, not denying his remembrance of her words or the situation in which they were said. Silkenly, she continues in her low-pitched alto, "I can hardly remember now, so many turns ago was it. Weyrlinghood does not agree with you," notes the weyrwoman, her free hand reaching out to try and brush her curled fingers to the bronze weyrling's cheek, though she stops short a breadth away from touching, allowing him the chance to move away. R'hin leans a bit further across the table, but only to reach for a chunk of bread from her chowder, heedless of his own. He chews slowly, eyes still on Satiet, as he murmurs, "Forgive my audacity, but you are not one to forget. Nor, I think, would you forget the debt owed me." There's a hint of something creeping into his voice at that last, warning perhaps, certainly inaudible to those beyond them. His jaw sharpens briefly as teeth are clenched together, more in response to her words than the gesture, though his emotional reaction leads to an inevitable physical one, his hand moving to quickly tap hers away from his face. The tense lines of his body betray the accuracy of her words. "Now -you- grow far too bold, and far too familiar, -weyrwoman-," the last like an accusation of his own. Unruffled by his filching of her food, though it does garners a quick glance down and up to follow the path of that cream-soaked bread, Satiet then lifts her chin that last measure to favor R'hin with a sly little smile. Well aware of the hit she's made, though it's intentions weren't altogether meant to pierce so keenly, the goldrider isn't above taking what victories she can, despite the implications of his prior words. His tap is met by the reflexive uncurl of her fingers to try and catch his wrist in a grip that would bely her slight frame if given the chance. "Too right, I forget little and more and more I anticipate the question you might pose of me." Whether this is true or not doesn't reflect in the pale eyes that holds in steady boldness onto R'hin's light blue. "Am I, R'hin of High Reaches?" "Do you? Interesting, as I haven't yet decided." He's angry now - at the verbal hit, and the fact that she's clearly noticed the effect - and he doesn't bother to hide it. R'hin's eyes flick away, to take note of who's watching and who is not, and on that basis he allows her to retain hold of his arm, his other hand reaching over to fold over hers in an outwardly fond gesture, though there's a hint of strength that telegraphs his ire quite clearly to her. "Do you attempt to take the place of Leiventh? Confidant, guardian, mindhealer in one? I give credit where it is due, dear lady, and you yet fall short of the mark." Bolder yet, the young weyrwoman purses her lips in a faux air kiss, allowing that curve of smugness to sink into her sharply attractive features. Slowly, she wrests her fingers free, prying them out one by one until one lingers to play along the back of R'hin's hand. "I ask for no credit, nor do I wish to take your dragon's place. A pity if you think that's my sole aim with you, once Beowin." Satiet, once having attained some upper hand, apparently finds little will unsteady her from that high point, but midst the cool sparring, there's a sudden relief to her pale eyes, sympathy clouding the coloring. "Weyrlinghood agrees very little with those who retain a sense of self. It's how," she drops her hand over his, the cool length of her fingers light to the touch, "You play your cards in the end that'll prove who comes out intact from under the insufferable restrictions and rules of another time." The roughness of the pads of R'hin's fingers play along Satiet's hand until she pulls free, and he makes no move to retain possession. That particular sense has long since departed, superceded instead by the simmering, tense moves in every shift of shoulders, and the sharp gesture he makes with his hand as if to cut her off. "It is very difficult to know what your aim is. Though, as every wish of yours appears to have come to pass thus far, I imagine I only have to wait to find out." Lips twist, a verbal concession to her victory. His eyes no longer follow her so intently, focusing instead on his meal at last, sopping up some of the chowder. The abrupt tilt of head indicates that recognizes that a rope has been cast towards him, and he accepts it, though remains mildly resentful all the same, "And how did the lady of the spires bear such plentiful restrictions of such ridiculous stripe? Somehow, I can't imagine they sat well with you." Over his hand, hers stills, no longer playing her fingers lightly over his coarser skin. "I stood, of course," is her dry quip, no true answer in Satiet's alto. "I'll leave you to enjoy a meal without my presence. It wouldn't do for all this food," her little hand waves in mock expansiveness, "Good night, Leiventh's R'hin." Despite her words of departure, she's slow to gather her hides up beneath one arm, hitching the shawl over her shoulders, and pauses to stand by the table, her free hand rested at the table's edge. She's either striking a pose, or just waiting with watchful eyes latched onto the bronzerider, the keenness of which seems to try to drill down beneath any hard exteriors with their supposed discernment. A low growl in the back of his throat leaves no doubt that the answer is not one R'hin is happy with, nor is it one he needs to hear right now. He doesn't bother looking at her anymore, telling in itself, concentrating on his food while she gathers her things up. Eventually, as she stands there, voice cool: "Look to your mentee. He could use the help of someone who understands, else I fear he will forever remain a weyrling. We will need those with strength of purpose, when the time comes." Only now does he raise pale eyes towards hers, anger coiled in expression but held in check for the time being. And too, that growing sense of exhaustion, of burden, that she would recognize since the night that they talked beside Leiventh's newly shelled sleeping figure. Where, at times, his words might have drawn out a tell-tale flush or anger, now, at least, the young woman returns that gaze just as steadily, leaving R'hin with just a faint curl of a smile before a rustle of loose skirts, with the edge of her shawl trailing in her walk, follows after Satiet's meandering departure towards the lower caverns. |
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