Logs:Professional Liar
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| RL Date: 1 December, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: While visiting her family, Azaylia goes out shopping and runs into one of her least favorite people. Yes, they do exist! |
| Where: Keroon |
| When: Day 25, Month 5, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Keroon Hold Somewhere in Keroon. It only made sense to come back after such an ordeal. It wasn't Home, but, home. Azaylia was welcomed with open arms and curious ears, both her parents surprisingly interested in the politics and recent happenings of High Reaches Weyr. She told them what she could, what she felt the two holdbred folks could handle. Both her younger brothers were as fascinated with Hraedhyth as her last visit, though Wheayd tried to keep his teenage cool around the massive gold dragon. A day later, with Mama wanting to cook a special meal for Azaylia's return, the goldrider has volunteered to go into town. Upon Hraedhyth it's much quicker, though she has the dragon waiting on the outskirts of the Hold. Spring has been edging into summer in Keroon, and the young woman welcomes the warmth in a new easter blue sundress. With a basket in the crook of her arm, she's enjoying the anonymity despite murmurs of a gold dragon spotted in the sky. Azaylia? Why she's just a girl from one of the farms up the way, busily squeezing a redfruit and giving the vendor a shy smile. The noise from one of the nearby bars is clearly audible from the street. By the sounds of it, most of the occupants are enjoying their lunch with some beers, and have joined into a song about a lusty greenrider stumbling across a remote hold full of minecrafters. The laughter would suggest it's a mostly male audience, as would the mostly off-tune voices that join in. The door bangs open and smoke spills out into the pleasant spring air, along with a former occupant. The tall figure visibly limps as he ekes out a path away from the bar, accompanied by the sloshing sound of a mostly empty bottle of wine. R'hin's not too much interested in fruits, and so the vendors get a bare look from the figure -- for which they're probably relieved, since with his split lip and blackened eye -- together with the limp -- doesn't precisely make for a reputable figure. Still, something catches his gaze -- likely as not that blue sundress -- and he settles into the overhang of one of the stalls, watching, waiting for her to notice him. Leiventh, too, is settled somewhere on the outskirts of the Hold, still and barely noticeable, although his mind is quiet -- either deliberately so, or possibly through sleep. Hraedhyth is not as alert as she could be, not in these lands. There is no quarrel with the nearby Weyrs, and so the queen will settle in the late spring sun. She doesn't doze, still prepared to descend upon the Hold like a fiery hellbeast should she need to. Azaylia is having a bit of trouble being heard, with such a rowdy bar nearby coupled with her quiet voice. Leaning in, she tries to ask the price for several 'fruit, the exact number required for pie. The vendor's gaze is stolen away long enough to have her curious, turning and catching sight of the tall figure. Uninteresting, at first, she accepts the price and pays for the fruit, adding it to her basket. All of this happens in a moment, enough time for her to possibly recognize him and turn for a doubletake. She stares and blinks as the smile eases from her face. It would be best if she just turned and continued on her way, but she's rooted on the spot by confusion. "Azaylia." The familiarity of R'hin's address as like as not offered due to her current image of anonymity, and the lack of a knot. While she's paused in confusion, he takes advantage of it, a few limping strides taking him close to her side, a light, deft touch of hand on her elbow accompanied by an expectant look. "Shall I walk you back?" Undoubtedly the vendor's likely as not to be watching the man warily, though his tone is pitched soothingly enough to help dissuade concern despite his appearance. The half empty bottle is held at his side as his regard drops towards her basket, before he steals another look at her expression. "R'hin." Nearing unfriendly, she can't manage it for very long, her next words already softening. "You're far from home." Brown eyes drop to inspect his limp, lips thinning when she pairs it with lip, eye, and bottle. "I'm not done shopping." Her tone is firm, turning in the opposite direction and catching sight of the vendor's weary expression. This could end poorly. "You can join me, if you like." Not that she sounds thrilled, but the offer is still made. Now Hraedhyth is up and about, prowling the edges of the Hold and making quite a sight for travelers. She might be searching for the bronze, or just working off excess energy now that one of them is in the Hold with her rider. "Likely not far enough," there's a thread of dark humor in the bronzerider's tone as he responds. The twitch of his shoulder suggests R'hin is amenable to her invitation, his hand lingering at her elbow in a posture of escort. "Far for you as well, without company," a beat, and a slight clenching of jaw at the inspection he receives in turn, though he at least manages to keep his voice largely neutral as he deliberately changes the topic, "What is for dinner?" Likely as not he's referring to her basket, although his gaze is more on the crowd than her, now. On a rocky outcropping on the far side of the Hold, Leiventh can be found, though the bronze is unmoving, undisturbed by Hraedhyth's mood. Azaylia keeps her elbow steady rather than yank it away, though he'll be able to feel how tense she is. "You know I'm not alone." It's a gentle reminder, possibly a threat when paired with Hraedhyth's persistent, probing drums. Should she come upon Leiventh, she won't go as far as to disturb him. That is, as long as the bronze is able to sleep while being intensely watched. "Meatpies. And 'fruit pies for dessert." It's a pie kind of day. "Some mashed tubers." She plucks a scrap of hide from her basket, inspecting the list as she murmurs, "I guess it would be silly to think that you're following me." Steps become a little quicker as she spots a butcher, "So I'll just say you look awful." Tone is quiet, hovering in the uncanny valley of joking and not as she clings to manners. "Neither was Iolene." While likely as not intended as a counter-argument, there's no doubt it could be interpreted as a threat by a wary listener, meaning or no. Still, R'hin's posture remains relatively at ease, even if he looks somewhat more alert now, little dissuaded by the tenseness of his companion. "Sounds delicious, actually. If I thought there was a chance of wrangling myself an invitation I would -- sadly not even I am quite that charming." Self-deprecating and amused, it's followed by a faint chuckle from bronzerider. The heat of Hraedhyth's stare is, indeed, too intense to ignore, and with little physical movement to betray him, Leiventh nevertheless acknowledges the queen's presence nearby him with a polite, deft touch, accompanied by a brief, chill wind. « Hraedhyth. » In contrast to her, his mental state is calm, a rock against her molten lava. Meanwhile, for the latter? R'hin's touch to Azaylia's elbow drops only long enough to rub at his chin, as if that was the cause of his awful-looking state. "It would be silly to think that," he acknowledges, neither acceptance nor denial. Then: "Did you say tubers?" his hand is back at her elbow to guide her in the direction of a likely vendor. Azaylia sets upon R'hin with a look at the mention of Iolene. Its wide-eyed innocence is replaced by wide-eyed intensity, and the stare should be familiar to R'hin. It's similar to the one she gave him a seven or so ago. She stubbornly turns her head to look over the cuts of meat the butcher offers, doing her best to ignore the man at her side. Hraedhyth feeds off her rider's attempt to compose herself, inky black smoke tainting Leiventh's chilly wind. « Leiventh. » The source is a fire all to eager to leap forth and scorch those who would harm Hers, but only if truly deserved. So for now, she watches. Azaylia has been staring at the meat during R'hin's easy conversation, and when his hand leaves her elbow, she turns with a surprising speed. "Don't." It's more of a plead than a command, a slip up that she doesn't address. "I hate that. I hate it when you... You can do that when you're speaking for your Weyrleaders, but not in my home." It seems she's claiming all of Keroon, then. A new stare, peering up from under faintly creased brow, and even the faint jut of her lower lip seems accusatory. And now it is is R'hin's turn to regard Azaylia with confusion, although in his case it's accompanied by a hint of surprise in his pale gaze. "Do what?" It appears to be genuine bemusement, enough that he waits for the answer, gaze lingering on the goldrider, hand dropping back to his side. He doesn't dispute her claim of Keroon being home, despite the faint twitch of eyebrows in response. The wind of Leiventh's regard takes a hold of that black smoke, and begins to twist it around, and around, in a lazy, casual sort of motion, and yet the bronze himself remains stolid under Hraedhyth's regard. At his confusion, Azaylia is instantly embarrassed. Her dislike for the man won't stop her from uttering a genuine apology. "I'm sorry." A finger points at a cut of herdbeast, fresh that day and not likely to stay that way for long. It's wrapped up and placed in her basket, marks exchanging hands. Now she's willing to turn towards the tuber cart, "You say the most upsetting things. Always." The goldrider doesn't look at him as she explains in almost a whisper. "Without ever actually saying anything." The glance she spares him has traces of that earlier accusation, "Why not just say you aren't following me? It's like a lie without having to lie." Hraedhyth allows her smoke to be manipulated, if only because he's so lazy and non-threatening about it. Beneath tawny hide, her muscles jump and tense in response to her rider's mood within the Hold. There's more surprise at the apology that follows, R'hin not even attempting to mask it this time, and perhaps even a smile at her accusation of upsetting things. While there's nothing apologetic in his tone -- and no attempt to deny it -- the bronzerider does at least have the grace to explain, "Habit, my dear goldrider. One should never get in the habit of telling the truth, if it is one's business to lie." The words are murmured in a low tone as they head towards the next vendor, his hand not returning to her elbow, but instead resting an inch or two from the curve of her back as they walk. "As for you, you're a very interesting creature yourself." Leiventh is apparently well used to his rider upsetting the apple cart, so to speak -- there's no sense of concern, and certainly no hint that rider and dragon are communicating. Instead, through half-lidded eyes, the angular bronze regards the High Reaches queen. "That." Azaylia is almost relieved to have something like a straight answer from the bronzerider, the mood combating with how she tenses beneath his hand. "How am I supposed to be able to talk to someone whose business it is to lie?" Not trust, but perhaps the young woman has a want to like everyone and R'hin makes it difficult. "Who threatens and..." An angry little shiver runs through her, one he'll certainly be able to feel. It's a battle, her anger versus the goldrider's attempt to keep things pleasant, at least around so many people. "Interesting? I don't see how." She doesn't have to make an effort to keep her voice low, picking up a tuber and testing it wit a fingernail. "I just don't lie." A fact. The gold dragon is used to her apple cart being upset, and while she's not rushing in as calvalry it's still not okay. Still, Hraedhyth will settle on her belly and watch the surroundings, as well as Leiventh. "Forgive me but, I'm sure you do it every day. You just don't always know it." While she examines the tubers, R'hin's taking a gulp from that bottle of his, openly and without apology, though there is a faint grimace and a touch of finger to his split lip afterwards. "Interesting," he echoes. His voice is a shade rough, but for once it appears the Monacoan is offering a blandly honest answer: "You're frank and honest in your assessment of people, and just as quick to apologize when you're wrong, even despite your own dislike. An admirable quality." A beat, then, he continues, his voice quiet, intent. "Perhaps not so well suited for a leader, however. Oh, you'll engage people well enough -- they'll like you. But as much as the dreams of our ancestors might've had it otherwise, one needs to be able to do distasteful things, make decisions that will make people dislike you, and make decisions you'll lose sleep over for the rest of your life." He's rubbing at the stubble of his chin as he says that last, not at her. Azaylia scores the tuber far more than she means to, startled by his own accusation and giving a short exhale through her nose. She makes another attempt, "I try not to lie, and don't if I'm aware of it." Which is still better than what he does. She takes the damaged vegetable and a few others, placing them into her basket and fishing out the appropriate marks. "Thank you." For what appears to be a compliment, she's not too touched by it, especially as he explains how it might be a fault of hers. "You're talking like I haven't had to make any hard decisions, lately." The junior gives him a doeful look, the very fresh remnants from three days prior. With one last glance to the list, she seems satisfied and turns to continue walking. "Why are you even telling me any of this?" Curiosity mingles with faint suspicion, "Shouldn't you be talking to Brieli?" R'hin grimaces momentarily, then seems to immediately regret it as it's followed by a wince. He waits until they're walking again, his hand reaching for the crook of her back as if by habit. "Of course you have, but -- I'm sure you've heard the rumblings of people who aren't happy that High Reaches enact justice on their own. I'm not saying it was the wrong decision, but you made a hard decision, and chose the easier path. There will be times when you can't always choose a path when you can tell the truth, when you can be... liked." Oddly, there's a regretful note in his voice as he says it, though it's gone swiftly enough. "Why?" there's a brief lift-and-drop of his shoulders in the merest of shrugs. "High Reaches was once my home. I hope for it to prosper, no matter whose leadership it falls under." It's the latter that draws a look, and a rueful sort of smile. "Brieli," he says, with the merest of pauses, "Already knows how to lie. It's her obstinacy that she needs to learn to work around." With a spread of hands and a dark chuckle, "We all have our weaknesses. Knowing what they are an accounting for them with the people around us is what makes us better -- makes a better leader." Azaylia does step away from his hand this time, pinning him with a look of shock. "The easier? The... No. We made the choice that your co-..." Another deep breath, her eyes close and she straightens, "We worked with what Monaco was willing to give us. You should know that." Given that he was in the thick of it. Something she's not willing to let go off now, keeping her distance as she resumes her path. "Because," She's at least willing to explain out of reach, "You're a Monaco rider and they probably still want Iesaryth to rise first." It has been an enlightening few months for the young woman. If she can no longer manage to be pleasant, she'll combat hysterics and does her best to calm herself. "I have a problem with a Professional Liar," By his admission. "Being anywhere near my weaknesses." At least she has no issue acknowledging that they exist. Despite her anger, her dislike, the goldrider's tone is quiet, a courtesy for R'hin's sake. Casually, R'hin responds, "What Monaco gave you, and what you could have done are two entirely different things." He seems content to let Azaylia keep her distance, his hand resting behind his back, the other twisting the bottle around. "Brieli made her loyalties abundantly clear," he says, as if that's plain counterpoint to her argument. "And the truth is, Monaco wants nothing more than to distance itself from High Reaches Weyr, given everything." Thought, granted, it's difficult to tell truth from lie with R'hin, though it seems to have a thread of genuineness to it. It's the latter that prompts a genuine, pleased laugh, warmth glimmering in his gaze as he regards Azaylia. "I'm certainly not offering my services. They're... owed, elsewhere -- you already know that. Just -- think about it. Find someone, at High Reaches." "Good." Said with far more passion than she's shown so far, "High Reaches would appreciate some distance." Or perhaps that's just Azaylia. Even if it's a lie, she's willing to believe it until something is said or done to contradict it later. The goldrider's lips thin in the way that they do, "I don't think I will. If something difficult needs to be done, I'll take responsibility for it." Unlike certain Weyrleaders. "We serve the Weyr and its people. Not the other way around." Said quietly, almost a prayer. She glances down at her basket, adjusting her purchases and straining out, "Thank you for at least being kind of honest with me." A glance from the corner of her eye. "If you were." "Just -- think about it. Everyone needs someone, to give them... perspective. Even the Professional Liars." R'hin's smiling at that label of hers, not ashamed to own it. "And everyone wants a leader to be... to be without reproach." As she's looking down at her basket, he gives a slight bow, the gentlemanly nature of the gesture perhaps ruined by the amused glint that lingers in the Monacoan's gaze. "If I was," the smile widens, as if he knows how ill-received the lack of clarity will be, "Then you're welcome." His retreat is, perhaps, ruined by the limping nature of his stride. And while he does disappear from view, Hraedhyth doesn't see him return to his dragon's side for some time -- perhaps just long enough for him to see a certain weyrwoman safely to her destination -- and a respectful nod towards the High Reaches queen, before the Monacoan pair depart. Azaylia bristles almost to a comical degree, the hold on her redfruit tightening. No, Mama needs it for pie, so she shouldn't throw it at the back of the retreating bronzerider's head. Horrified by the urge, not to mention terribly embarrassed by it, her return to Hraedhyth's side is a quick one. Hraedhyth's gaze isn't tainted by red at the sight of the Monacoan rider, but a growl and wing rustling is sent their way. Azaylia might have appreciated the escort, secretive or no, if it was anyone else. The flight home is long enough so that she's not too agitated to help her mother in the kitchen despite the way R'hin's words linger at the back of her mind. |
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