Logs:Of Plans Going Forward
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| RL Date: 8 February, 2007 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 10 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 17:38 on day 11, month 11, Turn 60, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn afternoon. Weyrleader Ledges(#12138RJs) A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs. Contents: Satiet Leiventh Teonath(#223JOQaep) Obvious exits: Hatching Grounds Weyrwoman Weyrleader Council Chamber Bowl Autumn in High Reaches is crisp with hints of the impending chill of winter. Despite it all, Satiet has stationed a chair and table out on the Weyrleaders' ledges and nurses a mug of something or other that was presumably steaming once while reading over reports. Idle humor hovers about her mouth and in the drop of her lashes that veil amusement in pale eyes as she finally reaches the end of one hide and moves onto the next sheet. Nearby, Teonath basks in the clear afternoon, sunshine drifting across to light up her luminous hide. Far above, the watchdragon sounds one of his many challenges throughout the day, this one answered by a low, familiar rumbling tone. Shortly thereafter, the cinnamon bronze figure of Leiventh circles down and lands on the ledge with a scratch of ivory talons against stone. His head turns towards Teonath, giving a low greeting even as his rider dismounts. Helmet, gloves, and goggles are divested by the Weyrleader, held in one hand as he moves across the ledge, pausing to examine Satiet with a quirk to his mouth, R'hin observes, "I see you've made yourself quite comfortable... Weyrwoman." Far above the watch dragon calls, and to the sound Teonath stirs, her sinuous neck unraveling from about her lissome body to stretch forward in greeting towards the arrival of Leiventh. His low greeting is tendered, considered in the quizzical tilt of her coy head and then returned in kind, whisper-soft in her vibrating rumble to the Weyrleader's bronze. "And-," Satiet throws her lashes up over the edge of her hides, "Is there a reason you can think of that I shouldn't make myself at home here?" Slowly, with the rise of her chin, a crooked smirk emerges over her hide following after those brilliant eyes. "Have a pleasant trip?" "It was an observation, not an accusation," R'hin returns easily, pale gaze drifting over the raven-haired woman, as he begins to unbuckle the jacket of his flying gear. A faint grimace follows at her query, not quick enough gone that it could be missed: "Ogren," he supplies, succinctly, running a hand through his hair. "Not the most exciting place to be, but the Lady.. cannot be faulted on her hospitality." Teonath's neck twists, curving along side her figure before a yawn overtakes the width of her massive maw. After another pensive look for Leiventh, the young queen winds back into her pseudo slumbering state. "I'm sure you enjoyed whatever hospitality their lady can provide for you," singsongs the goldrider, her crooked smirk turning impish about the corners. The hides she reads is set on the table, and her lounging position, half-slouched in her chair straightens as R'hin continues to go through the little things post-flight entails. "I can only offer you some cold tea and a hardened biscuit. And, of course," she inclines her head, "My company." R'hin finally divests himself of his flying jacket, slinging it over the back of one of the empty chairs, grabbing another and turning it around before seating himself with arms resting along the chairback. "I'll pass on the tea and biscuits," he begins, with a curve of lips, "But I'll take the company. I'm well pleased the Weyrwoman is so generous with her time." Leiventh's attention is on Teonath as the queen settles down, the bronze himself adopting his normal statuesque posture-- upright rather than comfortably lying down, almost as if he were guarding the ledge, or Teonath herself. "So I take it you've settled in, or is there something heavy in your weyr you'd like me to move around?" She must be aware of Leiventh's movements, his guarded stance somewhere near, for Teonath exhales soft contentment as she continues to feign sleep. The rise and fall of her back only further delineates the line of muscles and shadows that the sun's light draws against her abnormally pure-lit hide. "For you." Satiet's back drops into a slouch once more, possession coloring her alto. "My time is yours. And unfortunately, I've no excuse for you to come be manly in my weyr of late." "Then it will have to be-- a simple desire for the pleasure of you company that draws me to your weyr," R'hin responds with the briefest flicker of fingers towards the archway in question. The Weyrleader's smile deepens somewhat, pleasure in the Weyrwoman's words and, perhaps, a little in the possessiveness he detects, as well. "Teonath is looking-- well," he says, eyes straying towards the gold, intent look punctuated by a knowing grin. "What will you do, when you have to break in a new Weyrleader?" "Ask them to take lessons from you," Satiet returns, smug about her mouth, "In all things." The latter is most obviously a little lewd, breaking past the proper and aloof facade she dons, and with it comes a knowing lift of her brows and a smirk that becomes her more than anything more pleasant. "What is the news from Ogren? And how fares your plans at world domination? I mean- becoming a self-sustaining Weyr?" "So that you may have another of me, only far more pliable to your whims? I love this weyr, lady of the spires, I would not seek to harm her so," R'hin responds, yet there is amusement coloring his tone nonetheless. It fades swiftly enough, however, at her question, and serves to distract him from his unacknowledged observation of Teonath. "I've no desire to rule Pern. It is this Weyr I care about. The rest can--" his hand waves sharply, dismissively, clearly telegraphing his meaning. A slow breath, though his voice still contains a hint of sharpness to it, "K'sen and a few others have tilled the lands to the south of the Weyr, at the foothills of the mountain. It's the Weyr's land. Ogren's to supply seeds, though they don't know the purpose of it. If it works, this Turn, we can extend it, create more fields." "You would make farmers of the honorable dragonriders of Pern," Satiet muses, a note of sorrow hinting in her alto, though whether it's a leak of true or false emotion is unclear. A slim hand reaches across the small table, reaching to try and brush idly at the bronzerider's wrists - dusting away whatever was there. "Some would find offense in such menial labor where once they flew the skies and were heroes." For his comments on her choice in Weyrleader, she says nothing, acknowledges nothing, and instead focuses all her considerable attention R'hin. "I would make farmers of people who -trained-, and intended to be farmers. K'sen was a Journeyman, before he was searched." A slight tip of head, amusement leaking into R'hin's tone, "He's far happier with his fingers in a little dirt, than he is throwing firestone." His eyes track Satiet's movements, and the brushing motion elicits a curve of lips. Turning his wrist upwards, he seeks to catch her fingers before she draws back. "-Were- heroes. Now, simply mark time. But--" he allows, with a twitch of shoulders, "I don't plan on forcing the Melata's of the Weyr to undertake such work if they do not want it." Satiet listens and then rises to draw about the small table to drape slim hands about R'hin's shoulder at the twitch of his shoulders. Soft by his neck, her fingers knead lightly. "There are those who prefer to bide their time and complain rather than be active. I don't believe I will join in your venture, but don't doubt that it is a necessary evil - to be able to grow our own food and livestock for at least the next two hundred turns." Her face lowers to come on level with that of the Weyrleader's, looking straight rather than whispering sweet nothings to tickle his ear. "Will nothing convince you that it is you who I wish as my Weyrleader?" R'hin's head half turns as Satiet draws behind him, before shifting his gaze back towards Teonath, eyes somewhat distant. "Necessary," he agrees, "And it may cause us trouble when the Holders find out-- then again, maybe they'll be happy. Hard to say. I imagine we'll get an unhappy mix of both." The faint tension in his shoulders relaxes somewhat under the goldrider's fingers, eyes closing. "I know your wishes, Weyrwoman," R'hin contradicts quietly, his tone remarkably mild, "But your wishes don't necessarily coincide with Teonath's." The fingers about R'hin's shoulders tighten reflexively, a look shot her luminous lifemate. Satiet's lips thin and instead of answering immediately, her face turns to brush her lips lightly against the Weyrleader's cheek. "Perhaps your Leiventh should woe my Teonath with sweet words and thoughts of the stars." Mocking to hide her own discomfort, the fingers relax and she truly drapes over the bronzerider's back, her weight light and relaxed. "They will wonder if we are fulfilling our duties, though nine Intervals have passed and none seem to have carried with them the lessons of a Pass to the end. There is nothing to make us believe holders will remember gratitude this time." R'hin's hand reaches up behind him as the goldrider leans against his back, seeking out the silky softness of her hair, fingers drifting through it in a familiarly possessive manner. "Leiventh's not one for wooing others," is all the bronzerider says, with a brief shift of eyes to the still form of the cinnamon bronze. "Nor does he seem to take any interest in the flirtations of greens, for which I'm immensely grateful." He falls silent on the subject of the holders for sometime, slow breaths felt through his back. "No, there is not. Not everyone shares that view, though some of the younger ones are starting to see," and if there's a hint of satisfaction in the bronzerider's tone, who can blame him? Unbidden, a sigh exhales with the hand to her hair, and in a gesture that's affectionate, for her, Satiet turns one hand about to caress the back of it against R'hin's cheek. "I will hope, my bronzerider," taking ownership of the Weyrleader's being for herself, "That Teonath will be charmed by Leiventh otherwise and leave you to your work." Though no work is in immediate sight other than her own, the goldrider rises, attempting to capture his hand as it will surely fall out of her hair with her movement, and kissing his fingertips lightly. "Clear skies, sir." "And you, Weyrwoman," R'hin's low voice returns, pale eyes affixed on the Weyrwoman as he rises and heads towards his weyr. |
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Comments on "Logs:Of Plans Going Forward"Lisa (91.203.97.146) left a comment on Fri, 11 Nov 2011 01:21:09 GMT.
Your wbeiste has to be the electronic Swiss army knife for this topic.
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