Logs:Of Jealousy and Love
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| RL Date: 21 August, 2006 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 11, Turn 8 (Interval 10) |
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| Your location's current time: 21:24 on day 31, month 10, Turn 58, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn evening. 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 The kitchens are bustling with activity, pre-dinner preparations well underway. It's no coincidence that R'hin chooses to head in, the cooks far too busy with their work to pay him that much mind. The bronzerider's got an empty mug in his hand, and weaves his way expertly through the counters, pausing to collect some bread and chowder - not to mention a refill for his mug - before angling deliberately for the very serving nook that is Satiet's normal hangout. Also a figure that garners very little attention is the slight one of Satiet, her glossy raven hair just one of many midst the dark-haired Reachians. She too, however, pays little attention to her surroundings, moving by rote to the hearth where her dinner is already ready on a tray, and takes tray with an absently selected mug of mulled wine to her usual nook, but it's not until she's reached the table, set the food down that the shadow of someone else that might be there hits beyond her peripheral attention. "You," is her overly sweet and amicable greeting to R'hin. "Me," R'hin agrees without looking up, busily soaking his bread in the chowder, obviously a mannerism picked up from too much time spent in Satiet's presence. "You should have stayed around the other night, at Fort," he says, as if picking up in the middle of a conversation, pale eyes finally flicking over to study the woman across from him, "That Telgarian is quite a woman." A sly smile curves his lips. Funny how one word can contain such emotion, her 'you' differing vastly with the nonchalance displayed in the succession of reactions and words that follow slowly after. Like R'hin, once she's seated herself primly on the other side of the nook, her day old bread drops into the hearty chowder to soak for a long while and using her mug of wine as fortification and a time buyer. The mug drops, making not a sound, and then the spoon pushes through the bread to sink it to the bottom before the low alto returns with a flat, "Was she a woman? I couldn't quite tell with her chest a foot higher than my head." "Zihsa's certainly a rival to Maja," R'hin agrees, the words and comparison deliberate on many levels, used as Satiet uses words: as weapons. The goldrider's soaking of her bread earns a twitch of lips from the bronzerider, as if she is following his example, and not the other way around. His voice is low, amused, pale eyes fixed on the woman to judge her reaction as he observes, "You've no cause for jealousy, lady of the spires. I saw a bronze on Teonath's ledge when I returned home." The vicious cut of her spoon isn't quite so visible beneath the surface of the chowder as a piece of bread is worked away from the rest of the sopping mess. Slowly, Satiet brings the spoon to her mouth to chew thoughtfully over both food and R'hin's words with pale eyes looking past the bronzerider to the door, as if bored and looking for a savior. When none appears immediately to her silent prayer, she turns the brilliant gaze back onto the sandy-haired man. "Was I jealous?" A beat passes. "Xalerth." A longer beat passes before a delicate arc of her brow punctuates the comment in quizzical challenge: does it bother you? His own food seems to offer less interest than his companion, R'hin leaning back slightly with mug in hand, waiting out Satiet's bored expression with equanimity. "Ah. Your imaginary weyrmate. Though, I've been assured by several Istans that he exists. At least I can now say I've seen the dragon, if not the man." He sips his juice, more to pace his words than any thirst. "As to your jealousy, only you can say. Zihsa seemed to think so, though." "Perhaps." Satiet neglects the bread in her soup for a spoonful of tuber and fish instead. "P'rhaps, she only desires to see jealousy in other woman. I daresay," pity flickers fleeting across the goldrider's expression, "It's something she must rarely see." Forgoing her meal, the young weyrwoman instead tenders more attention to the mulled wine, sniffing at its spiciness first before taste testing another sip. A slow smile spreads across her shapely features, first curving her lips and then creasing lines into the corners of her eyes faintly. It's a smile of sensual contentment that rings false only to the perceptive. "Imaginary indeed." "Perhaps," R'hin drawls in deliberate echo of Satiet's casual response, "If you talked to the woman you would find her exceedingly sharp of perception. I see... considerable potential in her." There's that tone in his voice, that firm, intense one he uses around specific subjects. The even look he gives Satiet is, perhaps, enough to see through the mask of a smile, brow hitched upwards. "Are you suggesting, lady of the spires, that he keeps you completely satisfied? I'd imagine, then, you'd have no need to go... elsewhere." "So you believe that I am as jealous?" Pointedly, the smile disappears, the faked intimacy vanished, and in its place is another arced brow look that is more fitting of Satiet than any false cheer. What he says, the ulterior meaning behind them, might have made their mark, but there's no telling with the cool way in which she regards the bronzerider, deliberate in her ignoring of his latter commentary. At least verbally, for one of her feet, sandaled heel and all, has slid across to graze accidentally against R'hin's presumably booted toe. "It is exceedingly difficult to know -what- you want, weyrwoman," R'hin returns, far too even of voice to be casual, "When you send me cryptic notes." There's a hint of something in pale gaze, possibly anger, though it's difficult to tell. He moves his foot out of the way of her feet - but only to stretch leg out beneath the table, booted heel resting on the seat opposite him, next to her. The mug is set aside, and he makes a show of eating his food, leaning over briefly to take one of her tubers. "Notes?" It's possible she's simply forgotten, the note so long ago sent, or she mistakes his commentary for something else entirely, cryptic signs, as her gaze drops to the boot by her side. To it, one hand drops, mindless of the dust gathered there, the pressure of her fingers strong against the leather, while the other continues to feed herself. After a moment she lifts her face from the bench to spy out R'hin with an even look, drawing calm from even the slightest hint of strong emotion that might exude from the man. She can even forgive that tuber stealing, gracing the movement of his pilfering hand with a faint smile. "Do you mean to replace me with your Zihsa then? For her insightful perceptiveness?" As the question is finally revealed, there is at first surprise on R'hin's face, quickly chased by amusement, manifesting with a low chuckle, "Oh, ho! So now we get to the heart of your concern, Satiet of High Reaches. No, I doubt I could find any to replace you, even if I'd a mind to." The anger's gone, relaxed again now, spooning up a mouthful of the chowder. "We've a position to fill, still. I've met your C'len," interesting choice of wording there, "And I've found him... lacking in vision. Not that it's a pre-requisite, but he would at least need to recognize the need for change. He does not, as it stands. This Zihsa, however, just might." The green vein of jealousy, it's true cause little to do with the less than woman Satiet deems Zihsa as much as to do with ambition, seems subdued by the surprise on R'hin's face more so than the caress of his flattering words. Nor does she take over offense at his artful designation of Vildaeth's rider, instead responding to it coolly. "He is neither my C'len as much as his heart seems to lie in other places. I did not know you sought someone out of -our- Weyr." Beneath her fingers, the pressure curls around the end where the big toe should be possessively to punctuate her emphasis. "I -have- sought inside the Weyr, and have thus far been disappointed. Thus, I extend my search." There's a hint of frustration in the words, curbed but for the company. "I care not where the person's heart lies, so long as their vision is in line with our own." Hard to tell if it's deliberate or unconscious that he designates it 'theirs', now that he has told her all of his ideas. Either way, it's telling that he does as much. Eyes flicker upwards at that pressure on his boot, even, unswayed. Always perceptive - usually at least, unless events cloud her judgment - Satiet tilts her head as their pronouns seem to be in conjunction with each other, fully aware of each of the bronzerider's betraying emphases and gestures. Ours, us, we. "We will find someone," and in this, she concedes, "If it is Zihsa, /I/ shall see if she is worth our time." Her smirk slides crooked at that oath, and then the weyrwoman resumes eating, glossing over the past few minutes of conversation with her idle chewing and change of subject. "Imaginary weyrmate or no, you did not wish to ascertain his solidity last night?" A beat or two, R'hin's intent stare on Satiet. "As you command, lady of the spires." Those words, so dry, are a lifeline so magnanimously offered. The latter comments earns a slight tensing of jaw, voice lowering into a hard whisper, though intent enough to convey brittle ire, "You, Weyrwoman, have an -appearance- to uphold. Even drunk, I would not destroy that. To destroy that, would destroy all I have worked for. Even I have lines that I will not cross." She eats as if by rote, sustenance required rather than desired causing Satiet's spoon to move slowly, her chewing slower, and the eyes that linger on R'hin watchful of the man rather than her food. Capping the last spoonful off with a swig of the mulled wine, much of the sodden bread remains in the bowl with the exception of that first bite. "And what other lines might you have, my bronzerider?" "They are few," R'hin admits with a wry twitch of lips, "But they exist. However, I will leave it to you to determine. You have not yet ensorcelled me that greatly, weyrwoman, that I should bare all my weaknesses for you to use against me." The words, to anyone else, might be accusing, though to Satiet they are probably intended as compliment. That she enjoys the challenge flares bright in the pale eyes, the bemusement going so far as to drop and bracket her enthralled grin; smirk really. "You wear not your leash," Satiet notes, though her chin lifts, her gaze attempting to slip past the man's tunic to see what lies against his chest. A tip of head, equally challenging. "You'd have to disrobe me to discover that particular information, weyrwoman," R'hin's easy retort is given, though amusement colors his tones. He takes another mouthful of the chowder, though his eyes are still on his table companion. "What exactly -did- you speak of with the brownrider?" "Ah-," Satiet exhales above the rim of her mug, the expectancy that's hung over her finally fulfilled. "Her. I hope, in the future, R'hin, that you do not allow your worlds to collide so. That I do not find women seeking information of you on my ledge steps." "Perhaps if you showed less interest in me, weyrwoman, they would not seek to do so, thinking you hold my leash?" The retort is made with a flicker of brows, the bronzerider amused. "And I hardly think it beyond your capabilities to handle a love-sick puppy. Besides--" a glint of eyes, R'hin's lips curving, "--you can't deny you didn't enjoy playing with her." Silence passes, the curl of Satiet's satisfied lips all the response required though she does quip with dry affection, "I enjoy playing sport with others far more. She loves you, you know." "Would you deny me the pleasure of doing the same?" comes the bland query. "I'd gathered that, from her... gift." R'hin's unsurprised, and the words aren't any particular revelation, the shock already played out on an island beach. "She said otherwise, but I'm not so blind that I don't know the difference between appreciation and affection." "She seems to be in denial," the weyrwoman notes, before finally relinquishing the grip she has of the boot's toe. "Perhaps she will seek you and ask the whereabouts of that little necklace, but perhaps-," she smiles flatteringly, sly and remarks, boldfaced, "I might ascertain where it is myself tonight." "Mmm," is R'hin's acknowledgement of Satiet's assessment, seeming agreement. "Love is... a powerful motivator." The bold words earn sharp gaze from the bronzerider, assessing her mood, before becoming something more... possessive. "Perhaps," he echoes, their catchword of late it would seem. His boot, released, drops back down, but not before he brushes it along the length of her thigh, pushing his plate away. "Love-," spat out, the goldrider's face twists dry before she too pushes her plates forward for someone else to clear. Louder than the tone of the conversation, deliberately so, Satiet inclines her head and spares a cool, "Good evening, bronzerider. I thank you for your thoughtfully intrusive company." This is -her- nook after all. The slight frame rises midst her words and stands still near the table for as long as it might take for a response, any from R'hin. "You're welcome, goldrider. I'll take your gratitude as invitation to continue to do so in the future." R'hin's voice rises to match Satiet's, a hint of mocking in the words, pale eyes fixed on the goldrider until she leaves. About to leave, Satiet doubles back a second, the pause momentary, but long enough for a slim hand to reach out and brush back a supposedly errant lock of R'hin's hair. With only her own mocking smile in return, she departs in silence, heading towards the revolving door to the lower caverns, her loose skirts swirling in her turn about. |
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