Logs:Sex and Violence
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| RL Date: 17 September, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aishani and H'vier threaten each other. Then don't. Aishani maybe apologizes, if she hasn't poisoned anything. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 10, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Lia/Mentions, Fayla/Mentions |
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| The sun is setting, the caverns are full of people heading to and from dinner, which leaves the nighthearth somewhat quieter than usual -- not that it tends to be terribly busy to begin with. There's a tall, dark-haired figure in one of the chairs by the fire, profile lit by the flames she's watching; by the way Aishani's got her boots kicked up on the hearth, she's relaxed enough, slouched low. It doesn't look like she's armed, but then, does it ever? Since he got stabbed, H'vier hasn't been doing as much with his wing as he has with whatever paperwork Fayla has wanted to hand off to him. Which has been a chore in itself because his injured arm is his dominant arm. But he's healing and he has a tendency to push himself. He's not wearing his sling anymore, though he does seem to still be favoring the arm when he comes into the small cavern of the nighthearth. He doesn't notice Aishani right away as he makes his way to the hearth but it's not like there are many people here to distract him so it happens soon enough and he pauses to look at her when it does. There's a flicker of something unpleasant that crosses his features before he's all politically neutral. "Weyrwoman." Aishani... probably hasn't been doing a lot, as is her wont, these days. At least, not a lot that's apparent, but there's the odd meeting in the lower caverns, some lurking in the storerooms and the records room. And getting out of the Weyr besides, but that might just be a matter of fleeing before she and her queen are trapped. Her attention flickers the bronzerider's way as he enters, but she doesn't look up or over until H'vier's stopped to look down at her; she tilts her chin up to regard him for a moment before, "If you say so." A glance to the arm in question, then back up. "How are you?" Pleasant, just like that. "Perfect," says the bronzerider in a very serious sort of voice. "I could probably be better if I got my hands around your throat. But my grip isn't quite what it used to be." After that, H'vier smiles. It's not a friendly smile. But they've never been very friendly anyway. "It does make jerking off kind of new and interesting, though. Thanks for that. I think of you every time." Which is probably a lie. But he's a good liar. If Aishani looked worried, she wouldn't be the sort of girl that carries concealed weaponry, or the sort of girl that goes stabbing men in the middle of mating flights. Instead, fine brows arch, lips quirking into something near a smile, closer to a smirk. "Fortunately for me, it's not the best idea in the world to go assaulting goldriders now. And can't you use your other hand?" She leaves it up to him to decide whether she's talking about choking, or other things. Glancing back to the fire, "Whatever it takes to get you off, I suppose. Maybe you'll watch with the grabbing next time." Stabbing a man in the middle of a mating flight probably makes a lot more sense than stabbing one outside of a mating flight to H'vier, admittedly. "Unfortunately for you, my ideas aren't always the best, are they." It's only a thinly veiled threat. She can appreciate that sort of thing, can't she? H'vier moves to pour himself a mug of klah as he continues, "There won't be a next time, I imagine. Catching your gold means nothing to us. It's Azaylia's that we want." "Apparently not. Getting in my way is never a good idea." Aishani slouches down further to stretch long legs out that much more, uncrossing and recrossing them at the ankles. Reaching into her jacket, she pulls out something that flashes metallic -- only a slim flask, this time. Watching the bronzerider out of the edge of her vision as she uncaps it and takes a sip, "Mmm. That's why you were there, was it? K'del hates me worse than you, and even he was there. I'll believe it when I see it." "Don't flatter yourself, woman. Next time we'll have caught Hraedhyth anyhow and Reisoth won't care about getting his dick wet with your cow. Besides, hating you doesn't rule out wanting to fuck you. It might even help." Once H'vier moves to sit down somewhere that he can face the goldrider, he gives her a very thorough looking over and doesn't leave a lot of room for imagination in what it is he's thinking about. Amused, "Reisoth hasn't caught himself much of anything, so again -- we'll see. Maybe Vhaeryth again; he's caught Daehyeth here too." Aishani has to work hard to sound casual about that, but she manages it, even if she has to stare hard at the fire and follow it with another sip from her flask. Sadly, "And here I might have been in a sharing mood if you hadn't called her a cow." The rider is fair game, but the dragon, not so much. It's perhaps that spirit that lets her forbear under H'vier's regard, as if it's not happening. But for a faint flush. "Don't expect me to help. Thanks." "Reisoth catches plenty of greens. You should pay better attention to the men you want to avoid, weyrwoman." H'vier sips quietly at his klah, holding it with the hand of his uninjured arm. "Oh, I wouldn't want you to help, gorgeous. That would be less fun." And he also doesn't seem very interested in her sharing anything. "It's a shame you're such a cunt." Pot, kettle? Whatever. "We could've been such good friends. You don't seem to have many of those." There's a moment where Aishani looks as if she might make a point, but for whatever reason, she can't quite manage it. It leaves her with a faint air of dissatisfaction, one she directs towards H'vier, with a wrinkle of her nose, a grimace. "Charming. Men are so fucking melodramatic. You act like no one's ever stabbed you before." Like it's no big deal. "I have enough. Forgive me for my skepticism, but I don't know that you have 'friends' that are women. Just a guess." Something she says makes him laugh. It's hard to tell what exactly but it's probably her continued quasi-politeness versus his, well, dickishness. Then, "You weren't the first to stab me, sorry darling, but you are the first woman that's actually gotten the blade past my skin. Congratulations." He considers the rest before bothering to say, "They aren't my first choice, usually. But some women are less useless than others. I get on pretty well with Fayla." Though calling them friends would still be pretty far-fetched. The way she speaks probably has something to do with her more cultured tones, the lack of accent to grace them -- nothing like the trader's edge Aishani'd had before she started with the knives. With a short laugh, a shake of her head, "If I'd been in my right mind, it would have been worse. Be glad for that. It's not as if I'm bearing grudges for potentially scarring my face." Unforgivable. Another drink before she'll cap her flask and slide it back into her jacket. With a sidelong glance, "Shocking, really. I suppose it's a start." "If I'd been in my right mind, it wouldn't have gotten anywhere near me," returns H'vier with the sort of blind confidence that only a man like him, despite never quite attaining his professional goals, has about practically everything. Granted, he probably wouldn't have cared enough to grab at her, either. But that's beside the point. "Scars give character. You could probably do with a few. I'm only disappointed that I don't really remember it." Again, there's something there that says Aishani wants to response somehow; by the set of her jaw, she's probably trying not to argue that she could too stab him no matter what, but that's hardly productive, or cool (more to the point). There's a snort for 'character', glancing over dubiously. "That sounds like something people tell themselves to feel better. I'd rather be pretty. Why do you care if you remember it or not?" Bemused. "You wouldn't have enjoyed stabbing me so much if you didn't remember doing it," is the only response the bronzerider offers for her last question. "You do seem to like pretty. I wouldn't be sure N'rov was actually a man if I didn't know he was a bronzerider." H'vier's gaze finally shifts away, though, sipping at his klah again and glancing toward the flames in the hearth. Maybe his asshole sails are starting to lose some wind. "I wouldn't say I enjoy stabbing anyone. I just don't like being... crowded. Touched." Apparently, that's not an across-the-board or all-the-time thing, but Aishani's pretty serious about it. She flickers an uncertain glance H'vier's way before, "There's been a lot going on and I've been jumpy." It sounds like it could be something near an apology, though there's nothing of it in the actual words. As for N'rov, smirking, "He's certainly all bronzerider. There might be other things I like, but I'd hate to correct assumptions and ruin any of your... fantasy material." Only looking slightly grossed out by that last, she sets soles of boots to the floor to start pushing out of her chair. "Maybe you should try punching instead. I find it quite enjoyable." But that's the last that H'vier says, glancing back only to watch the woman start to rise out of her seat. Not even any further comments about the Fortian interloper. If she's leaving, he can sit here and enjoy his klah in peace, after all. "I'm not all that bad at that either." Of course, Aishani doesn't offer to demonstrate. She just rises in one smooth motion and heads out into the caverns, presumably to do... something or the other. It's nice enough to watch her go, both in view and in getting rid of her, that it might take a moment or two to notice she's left her flask on the arm of her abandoned chair. Maybe it's part of the 'apology'. |
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