Logs:Of Trust
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| RL Date: 21 May, 2006 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Water Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 9, Turn 7 (Interval 10) |
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| Your location's current time: 17:14 on day 31, month 9, Turn 57, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn afternoon. You walk into the water cavern. Water Caverns The cavern's shape resembles a huge, big bellied ship, beached and turned upside down. Tendrils of steam fill the air regardless of the time of day or night. The soothing lap of water provides a quiet background melody. Two pools take up the majority of the cavern. The smaller one is used for laundry, while bathers prefer the irregular, larger oval. Pipes, with fanciful feline head spouts, continually supply the cavern with both hot and cold water, and hidden drains lure the used liquid away. Benches slouch back against the rough stone walls, and a few hooks painted in the hues of purple, blue, and lilac allow clothing to be hung during bathing. The cavern is mostly empty, with only a few loads of wash left to be done. The occasional rider, returning from sweeps, occupies the bathing pool for a long soak. Views: Laundry Pool Bathing Pool Contents: Satiet Obvious exits: Lower Caverns The warm, moist air surrounds you. It's rare to find Reaches' youngest weyrwoman in the public baths, but reclined in the steaming waters near the a bench with her clothes neatly folded is Satiet. Her dark hair is bound up, a few loose tendrils curling due to the steam, and those around her have been kind, or at least know better than to pose unnecessary conversation on her. As it is, her eyes are closed, head tipped back, and a sense of peace smooths out the typically aloof set of her features. R'hin has a clean towel slung over his shoulder, and it's about the only clean thing on him. His clothes and, indeed, his skin and hair are covered in the fine dust that can only indicate an afternoon working with firestone in some form or other. Despite that, he's whistling with an almost disturbing cheerfulness, a jaunty little number that mutates - by no coincidence - to a well known tune of a bawdy sea shanty about a fisherman's wife and her lust for... life. He's undoubtedly caught sight of Satiet out of the corner of her eye, but pretends otherwise, breaking into some of the more indelicate of the lyrics as he slings his towel onto a rock. Leiventh> Gruvfeath senses that Leiventh, having grown finely attuned to his fellow clutchmates, catches some sense of the excitement he can detect, crimsons flaring in interest and curiosity alike, offering non-verbal delight as he 'watches'. Where he goes, the eyes of a set of young lower caverns girls follow, as well as the beady scrutiny of some men. It's the song, really, catching their attention and then capturing it during the 'indelicate' lyrics. A few girls titter while the men shake their head and return to their cleansing activities. For her part, Satiet's lips twitch, shattering the pseudo calm of her features, and without opening her eyes perceptibly, recognition of the voice and song at least infiltrates her expression. A delicate cough emits, but she has no other words for him, nor the willingness, it seems, to invite him towards her nominally clear side of the bathing pools. Judging by the pleased twitch of lips, R'hin is not unaware of the attention - both positive and negative - and both are welcomed for varying reasons. He's quick to strip out of his clothes, giving them a quick and likely futile dunk in the water, before lying them flat on some rocks to dry. Invitation or not, R'hin takes it upon himself to grace Satiet with his presence and charisma as the song finishes, glancing her way deliberately with an unrepentant grin as he moves to the deeper water where she sits. "Was that one of your favourite songs growing up? Or did you much prefer the one about the drudge who becomes the most powerful Weyrwoman on Pern?" he queries by way of greeting, though it's followed soon enough by the obligatory salute, albeit with accompanying spray of water. Satiet's lips press thin as he speaks, and involuntarily, due to turns of practice, she opens her eyes to glance at the speaker though refrains from her polite hostess smile. She's half moving to acknowledge his salute with a tip of her head, when the spray of water arcs to dot her face. With squinty eyes and the vague recognition of the ridiculousness of her situation settling in her expression, she halts a beat before moving to delicately clear her eyes, at least, of water. "I don't imagine I have any idea of what you speak of, except songs like yours is best suited for your own brand of companions." The lower caverns girls look faintly disappointed and random phrases of their conversation drift over on the steam, including: 'frigid,' 'flat board,' and '/goldriders/' somewhere in the mix of low-mumbled catty statements. "You've gained a fanclub," the young woman notes coolly, "Must be those rippling weyrling muscles of yours." R'hin lowers himself into the water enough that he can duck his head underneath, a swipe or two serving as a wash of his hair. That done, he moves closer, settling himself uninvited on the bench next to Satiet, exhaling in a luxuriant and completely unnecessary way. "You never sang bawdy songs? I thought that was a prerequisite of a fisherman's daughter." Pale eyes travel over towards the group of girls, taking them in with look that's rather more longer than necessary, and a brilliant smile, acknowledgement and nothing more. "I had plenty of rippling muscles -before- weyrlinghood," he counters, without heat. "I imagine it's rather more the very large dragon that's now attached to me that's gained their interest." Despite even tones, there's a hint of something more beneath, resentment, maybe, detectable to one such as the goldrider, used to reading what's unspoken. Leiventh> To you, Leiventh's bemused. « They're interested in me? » He rolls the images he pulls from you around in his head. « They are very tiny. I don't find -them- interesting at all. » "And you don't enjoy such attentions since it's most likely due to Leiventh and not your own merits?" The question is posed in an idle fashion, Satiet sinking further down to submerge her shoulders beneath the surface. As her chin skims the water, brilliantly pale blue eyes latch onto R'hin's frame in a distantly studious manner, before a faint smile curves her lips lopsidedly, amused no doubt, due to her vocal assessment of the bronze weyrling's figure, "You look like the type of man that'll drink too much ale sooner rather than later, and gain a liquor belly before long." If she's heard his resentment, she makes no note of it, and instead turns her attention towards those girls once more: looking without actually seeing. "Do you imagine my aspirations are truly that high, R'hin, once of the Beowin traders?" Near imperceptible smugness flatters her rose-hued cheeks by flickering in a flash of her pale eyes, accompanied by a noticeable lift of her chin that speaks of regalness that wasn't bred. "To become the most powerful Weyrwoman on Pern? Truly, time for that has past as no heroics will match that of Lessa nor Moreta even." His eyes still on the girls across the water, R'hin leisurely stretches an arm up, then places it around behind the weyrwoman's head. His other arm extends out in the other direction, giving it an air of casualness. The question goes unanswered, and his voice takes on a coolness that is more in answer to her comment than the query. "I've already been through that, Satiet of the Reaches. It is not a state of being I have a ready wish to return to." The formality is deliberate, too, and he's silent for a long moment, eyes drifting away from the girls out of boredom; they clearly don't interest him at the moment. "Heroes," he murmurs, voice lowering enough to be muffled to those but them, "Can be created. It is not beyond your reach, Weyrwoman, should you wish it." Leiventh> To you, Leiventh's aware of the sudden turn the conversation has taken, and is thus paying attention, though he doesn't necessarily grasp the thoughts in your head. He just knows they're important to you. A beat passes, Satiet silent and even accepting of the arm that's behind her head and the proximity of R'hin to her. Such peace, however, only lasts a moment, three, maybe five breaths at most, before she sidles one space over along the underwater bench for bathers. "You speak of mutiny." Distant and cold, but with an undercurrent that those skilled in the trade of non-verbalized tells would be able to tell of testing: prodding cautiously on the fringes of his motivations. Finally, the bronzerider turns his head to take in the woman beside him, but only when she moves away, a faint smile lingering in his features. His arm remains where it is, and he makes no further attempts to enroach on her personal space. Leaning his head back, he focuses his attention on the roof of the cavern, and what can be seen of his features are unreadable. His voice, however, is simple, unmistakable: "Yes." It's lucky the pair are alone, and that Satiet's reputation is formidable enough to keep most of the tittering young woman at bay. Where some woman, ambitious or not, might blanche at the prospect of such plans said aloud, the young weyrwoman instead seems thoughtful, even going as far to regain that space she lost in her sideways sidle to lean in towards the young man in a gesture that would surely seem intimate to many. "And what," the once fishergirl says, quiet determination threaded in her alto, "Would drive a simple trader to speak potentially dangerous words aloud?" Gruvfeath bespoke Leiventh with « I flew with my lifemate. It was good to share that with her. » It's not by chance that R'hin speaks such words when they have the closest thing they're likely to get to privacy here. There's a faint twitch of lips as the goldrider moves closer, though for his part, the weyrling remains as still as if he were mimicking Leiventh. "Someone who believes the consequences might outweigh the dangers. Someone who has found themselves shackled to a system they disagree with, and must live with it - or try to change it. Someone who has trouble following the dictates of people he doesn't respect. Fear, of what will happen." The words are offered, low-voiced enough that they carry little sentiment, beyond honesty. A faint pause, then a thread of his usual mockery, "Pick one, my lady." Leiventh> Gruvfeath senses that Leiventh seems a little distracted, crimsons flaring here and there in his voice. His agreement, and lingering excitement for you and yours is clearly detectable, however. « There will be many more chances to do that, mine says. » "Someone would be unwise to place undue faith in another when their allegiance and loyalty don't follow suit. And that other would be equally unwise to join in partnership without trust." Satiet, for her slight height, manages to pull back from her lean to gain a few inches as her shoulders emerge from the water, and with a toss of her head, the loose tendrils of her bound hair shaking as she does so, she favors the opposite wall with an emotionless look. "Consequences," the word is spit out indelicately, and a sidelong glance keeps tabs on R'hin. "Would my system agree with you more, bronzerider? I'm told Josilina is a good and fair leader and there have been no," a pause, "Indications I will be the same. Or," in a flash of bemused remembrance, she continues, "Do you eagerly await the day I will make true the promise I made before you Impressed?" Gruvfeath bespoke Leiventh with « That's what we do. We fly! » "I do not ask you to place faith in me, merely wish it known that I am not alone in my thoughts." R'hin exhales slowly, as if controlling himself, trying to keep his voice unheard by any beyond them. "Josilina may be a good and fair leader, she may be a lovely person, and I might be her fondest friend, but that wouldn't change the fact that she has not fixed what is broken. A leader who maintains the status quo, when changes cry out to be made - is that a true leader?" His eyes glimmer, darkened with intensity, "Do you want S'din, or Melata or their ilk to train the future leaders of this Weyr? To produce more like them, people who do nothing but rely on the traditions," he spits the words, "As a basis for their authority, and not a whit of original thought in their heads?" The latter comment earns an angry jerk of his body, and the bronzerider lifts a hand as if he means to grab her arm, before recalling in time where they are, and the fact that they are being watched. His voice is hissed, angry: "You mistake me. I -dread- that day." She listens, interest flickering in pale eyes, though never long enough before they're reigned back in behind the stoic facade she pretends. His hiss lingers in the air, as she returns it initially with a long length of silence where she makes movements to cleanse herself, the scrub towel behind her head reached for and soaped, and her hair unbound to gather up some suds. But when Satiet speaks, instead of the cold distance she favors, her voice breaks initially on the first syllable, before gaining muted strength to inquire, "And you would have me be that leader, when you dread an event that would most definitely bring the changes you so desire?" It's as if she gains calm the more he gets riled, relaxing backwards into the stone to pay attention to one lifted leg at a time with her scrubbing. "I do not need to place faith in you. /That/, I already did months earlier when I predicted your Impression. But you. You would have me be the leader you'd like to see when you don't actually like or trust me? Am I a last resort, R'hin, or is liking your leader a sacrifice you're willing to make for change?" Where she feigns cool and collectedness, he is the opposite, fire to her ice. R'hin's entire body is rigid, radiating barely controlled anger. If they weren't in the water he would stalk away; as it is he moves further from the bench, sinking in the water as if to deliberately enforce a distance that would prevent rash actions on his part. His motions in some way mimick hers, though his is more a pretense of cleansing than an actuality. Finally, inevitably, her words draw him back, though he maintains the personal distance that she sought earlier as he settles on the bench. His eyes, however, maintain the intensity of earlier, focused on her, flickering over her face, her body, her eyes, reading her unspoken expression and reactions. "As a person who can demonstratably read much into the unspoken, you are surprisingly mistaken in judging my thoughts of you," he says, anger making what otherwise might be an intimate admission an accusation. "Like or trust have nothing to do with it. You are intelligent enough to do the job, and ambitious enough to pull it off, to avoid falling into the easy comfort of the status quo." "Like or trust, at the least, has everything to do with it," Satiet returns shrewdly, bristling only at his unflattering honesty of her non-verbal skills. "A leader that has not the trust of the people who wish to propel her to a position she has no traditional claim to would be a fool to believe she'd last long in the spot." The foam-soaked rag is dropped so the water can claim it and without watching, her hands work water over it to clear it of soap. "But I accept your faith in my skills and," she flashes a crooked smile, rarely genuine despite his fire to her ice, "Ambition. Likewise, I stand by my belief you would be the best possible companion for the changes this Weyr should see to not just survive, everyone -just- survives," scoffs the young woman, "But _thrive_ in this Interval, with or without those who hold us back." Pale, angry eyes study her for moments more, before R'hin edges closer, using the excuse of the reaching for the dropped rag to catch her fingers. Unconcerned for those that watch, allowing them to think what they will of the scene, he lifts her hand to his lips, brushing them against her fingers. "Then, if it is my trust you desire, you have it, my Weyrwoman," he murmurs. His anger doesn't abate at her latter words, his own opinion of such matters already made plain and clear. "Some believe it is to the Weyr to decide who shall become your companion," is all he says of that. A smile is evidenced, though it is closer to a grimace, in truth. "In this, both your wishes, and mine, coincide." As close as Satiet skirts the line of propriety many times, when he captures her fingers to pledge his allegiance with his lips to them, her cream-colored cheeks flush and while instinct twitches her shoulders to pull her hand back, the delicacy of the situation forces their stillness in his grasp until released. "Those some have yet to fly and match the skills and shrewdness of my dragon in mating," she returns, "There is no chance in who Teonath chooses to be her mate, unless a dragon outfly her choice and then her initial selection was flawed." But another time for the discussion of how dragons choose their mates or whether they even choose, and while she doesn't step back, the temptation to provoke further reactions, of intimacy or anger, flares bright in her pale eyes. "You should go," is all she exhales. He holds her fingers in his longer than necessary, allowing them to slip free only after some moments. Where she resists the temptation to provoke further anger, her attempts to resist inadvertently provoke it nonetheless, R'hin straightening ever so slightly. "As you will, lady of the spires," he says, deliberate echoing of that phrase spoken only twice before. Without a backwards glance he turns to leave the pool, pulling clothes still damp onto him, heedless of the looks, the whispers, and the speculation that comes from those gathered nearby. Slinging towel over his shoulder, he stalks from the caverns. You stride back out to the lower caverns. |
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