Logs:Speaking The Same Language
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| RL Date: 6 September, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and H'vier chat over drinks about wing shadowing and their pasts. |
| Where: Rider's Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: R'hin/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Fayla/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: It's Jo and H'vier in one scene. Expect language and all around raunchiness. |
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| The lounge is as crowded as Snowasis, but then, it usually doesn't ever get that crowded. while there's casual card games going around at some of the tables, the one Jo occupies is very vacant. She has a pitcher of something dark and a mug to match it as she settles facing the ledge and slumped a bit in her black leathers as she looks from the nearest card table to the ledge and back again with a sort of hollowed out look on her face. Clearly lost in her thoughts and not drinking. H'vier arrives in his leathers, coat open and ready to be shrugged out of once he gets himself a glass and a bottle, then finds somewhere to sit. He's clearly not here to meet anyone else. It takes a few moments of weaving through tables to find an empty seat with Jo, but even then there's a moment of hesitation, like he'd rather have a table like hers, but not with her, before he approaches, saying, "Need a seat. You mind?" "Ya can sit at my table anytime, H'vier," once Jo was startled a little from her thoughts to bother looking up at him. She gestures for him to sit as her composure draws into something more familiar - something cocky with a curve a lips as she reaches to claim her untouched mug to drink. "Ain' gotta ask. Yer lookin'....better." She's looking him over openly, nodding to that fact before she meets his gaze. "As alright as ya can be, anyway. How's it been?" "Done moping around like a sharding bitch," is H'vier's charming response as he sets down glass and bottle, takes off his coat to drape over the back of his seat and settle down. He eyes her pitcher as he pours himself a drink from his own bottle. "Been as well as can be expected." Whatever that means, if he's done moping about his lost love. "You? Can't say I notice you sitting around by your lonesome much." There's a low snicker for that first bit as Jo takes a drink. "Glad to see yer back to yer honest self, at least," she notes with a shallow wink. As for herself, there's a quick shrug and far too quick, "Aaah, I'm alright. Ya know me. A few glasses of this-" she gestures towards the full pitcher "-'n I'll be as right as rain 'round here. I do drink alone, normally. My crew's out with their wings. Good thing I ran into ya, though," and she turns a studying eye on him now. "Thought maybe, sometime, I'd come 'round and spy on how yer wing does things. Figure lookin' won' hurt. If that's alright with ya." H'vier offers a slow sort of nodding, casual and inviting, as he listens to the bluerider. He lifts a glass to mention of a few making things better, cheers to that, then settles back relaxed into his seat. "Doesn't bother me any. You're welcome to come around anytime, Jo." He offers a quick rundown of their usual schedule, the days of the week they drill, et cetera. "How do you feel about sweeps?" The question amuses him, like there's some inside joke there. One corner of her mouth lifting even more, "I'll be around, then," Jo promises, looking pleased. She seems to be mentally filing away everything said on schedules, nodding here and there and saying at the end of it, "Sounds good. I'll talk to Taikrin'n see if I can beg off drills one mornin' to come by yers. Sweeps?" There's a slight brow for that as her smirk grows, even if there isn't much of its usual heat behind it. "Mmm. Don' mind it," she considers it. "I'm over Greenfields'n Crom often. Helps flesh out the maps I've got stuck to my wall in my weyr. 'Less in your wing," she has to add, "it means somethin' else." "You thinking about jumping ship? She gonna be okay with that?" H'vier knows well enough how some wingleaders can take that sort of thing kind of personally. Not him, obviously. But some. Either way, it makes him grin at the bluerider. "Can mean a few things, depending. But don't worry, darling. I'm not gonna ask you for a ride. At least not while we're on duty." He probably will ask her for a ride some other time, because this is H'vier and that's what he does. "I'm lookin' at options," Jo is careful to answer that question with a direct look while nursing her drink. "Ain' nothin' wrong with that. Taikrin's pro'bly gonna think I'm just stalkin' some rider in Iceberg to jump his bones later. She's not gonna think on it further than that. I dunno how she'll take me leavin', really." She pauses as if to consider it before she blinks and makes a quick dismissing face of it. "Nah. She'll fight, maybe. Maybe not. Would it matter what she thought?" Asking for rides get laughter from her, the bluerider shaking her head as she looks H'vier over again. "Gonna be riskin' yer life gettin' a ride from me," she seems to warn, the touch of a challenge in her eyes. "I ain' a gentle woman'n I don' break. Hope that blonde I bought ya at the brothel did'ja well that day. I'd hate to have my marks wasted on an anticlimax." How tragic. "Doesn't matter to me what she thinks, no," H'vier admits in so far as Taikrin is concerned. "We don't cross paths too often." No doubt like he didn't cross Jo's path too much for so long, or Glacier's in general. "My life, is it? You worried about my heart giving out or do you have plans to go shoving things into it that don't belong?" For a guy who's been stabbed a few times, he seems pretty nonchalant about the prospect. "The blonde was nice. Bit quiet. But certainly worth the marks." "Consider yerself lucky," Jo says on not crossing paths with Taikrin often. "She ain' as sweet'n kind like I am." Right. There's low laughter on his life being on the line, draining her mug and reaching for the pitcher quickly as she answers, "Got no reason to kill ya, love." Meeting his gaze a bit slyly, "I have a question for ya, though," and once she pours herself another mug, she claims it with both hands and flicks a glance about them as if noting everyone else's positions around them before addressing it. "How often ya shoved in things that don' belong on folks?" she asks H'vier now. "Or," she adds wryly, her fingers rubbing circles into the side of the mug, "is that a question for pillow talk?" "If we go talking about shoving things into folks, I'll start getting hard, gorgeous." This is H'vier's particular brand of charm, clearly. "It's kind of rude to get a man hard when you don't plan on taking care of it for him. But since we aren't talking about my dick," a shame, "I prefer using my hands. Shoving things in places has its own merit, certainly, but it gets messy." And one might wonder how honest he's being if he's willing to talk about this so openly with a women he, really, barely knows. Leaning back with her mug, "Didn' realize that sort of thing got ya off," Jo notes, a touch playful. "Kinky. Trust me. If I'm lookin' to get ya hard, it's cuz I intend to take care of it after. I'm just tryin' to get to know ya, darlin'. See what sort of wingleader I might be able to work with." She hears his last, seeming to weigh indeed whether he's telling the truth or not. It's enough to have her nodding once on that as she considers him. "If you'd been through more wings," H'vier has apparently noticed her loyalty to Glacier, "I'd wonder if murder was the first question you asked all prospective wingleaders." He takes a drink from his glass, lets his gaze wander to a nearby table before it's drawn back and he leans forward to pour himself more. "I used to be a prize fighter in Ista. Still fight when I get the itch. Not opposed to breaking skulls when the need arises." It's easier to swallow than murder, no doubt, and is probably meant to encourage the idea that he was joking before. "You seem like you'd like to use your hands." "I know what folks say 'bout me," Jo notes blithely, referring to the rumors. "I'd be surprised if any wingleader would want me really in their wing. Save for R'hin'n we've come to certain understandins'. I mean, yer you, so." On prizefighting, there's a flicker of curious interest as she regards him with slightly furrowed brows. "Ya ever fight in the ring at Greenfields?" she asks him then. "I don' do it as much as I used to. Ya have the look. The demeanor." It's also in response to his last on using her hands. "Usually, it's been either fightin' or fuckin' with me. Not always in that order. Still so, sometimes. Why ya left Ista?" H'vier considers her comments on wings, on R'hin, without any of his own. Only a small nod of acknowledgement. The fighting, though, he seems willing enough to discuss. "I fought in lots of rings." It could be taken for him not remembering all of them. "Don't heal so fast these days. But it feels good to break someone now and then." H'vier, such a romantic. As for Ista, "Had a difference of opinion with my wingleader. He had a more beneficial relationship with our Weyrleader than I did." Which is to say, H'vier didn't leave of his own accord. And he clearly hasn't learned to have a beneficial relationship with his Weyrleader here. "Prefer yer fightin' under the furs, ya mean," Jo notes with a brief raise of her mug in a toast. "I don' blame ya. Can't beat a good brawl, though. Somethin' beautiful 'bout seein' someone's lip split apart from yer fist hittin' it. Still gotta list of folks needin' that sort of 'gentle' treatment." So yeah, Jo gets it. She nods on hearing about Ista, the reveal getting acknowledged with a wry, "Nothin's new under the sun, eh? Well, yer better off here, like me. Some of the rumors are true. If ya bother with that," she tells him as she drinks. "The mines, for one." "I prefer most things under the furs," H'vier says with a shameless laugh. "I do enjoy having a wing of my own. If I could get Fayla out of it, it'd be all the better. Sometimes I wonder if Reisoth would've had better luck at Weyrleader there, but I suppose the autonomy of my own wing works better for me. Maybe he's known that all along." He's a smart bastard, after all. "The mines where you didn't kill the man that got you sent there, you mean?" He's clearly still not sure he believes that. Laughing, though a little hollow, "We think alike," Jo notes on furs (and things happening under furs). On the Weyrleadership, "I've always wondered 'bout bronzes'n their need to be Weyrleader," she states aloud. "I've always assumed the influence came from their own rider." Pause. "Ya don' believe it," which is more statement than question, and the convict rider is at least a little amused by it. "Yer one of the few that don'. Cuz I'm a woman?" "Reisoth is just as ambitious as I am. He just... he's not especially physical." H'vier isn't quite sure how to explain it to someone who seems to be just as physical as himself. In the end, he shrugs, already shaking his head for the rest. "You said you didn't kill him, didn't you? But I don't think you've never killed someone. So if it wasn't him, did you start after? Or is that just what you say to everyone." He doesn't answer about whether anything has to do with her being a woman or not. Seeming to understand on his dragon, "Tacuseth's blue," is from Jo, as if that should explain everything. "Not that he's complainin'." She falls silent though, watching his eyes more than anything else as H'vier works it out aloud. She doesn't react right away, choosing to play with the rim of her mug in the silence as if she was weighing what to say to him. Chin lifting a bit, "Girl's gotta take care of herself, don' she?" she chooses to answer him then. "Might've came from a hold, but I learned real quick that ain' no man's gonna come down'n and protect a rough'n tumble girl like me. Even if I wasn' in trouble. I did what I had to. Somethin' tells me," she notes slowly, watching him, "that ya can relate to that. This the sort of person ya want in yer wing?" The question turns out to be delivered seriously. The bronzerider listens, attentive without staring uncomfortably at the bluerider. It's a few moments after her question that he says anything, sitting up in his seat and setting his glass down on the table. "That's precisely the sort of person I want in my wing, gorgeous. So long as you aren't opposed to some teamwork." He probably doesn't mean that as a roundabout way of saying he expects the women in his wing to put out. H'vier is the sort of guy who would just say that outright, surely. "I know how to share, darlin'," Jo answers on teamwork, the look she gives H'vier casually pointed as she gets up from her seat. "That's never been a weakness of mine. Thanks for chat," and she nods his way, her smile more genuine than the one he got from the start. "'N the honesty. I'm needed elsewhere, but, we'll talk again. I'll come by Iceberg'n see how y'all toss up. Maybe we can even spar a lil' sometime," and that smile bares a little teeth. "I'll make sure to go easy on ya." The sound H'vier makes is amused, if not quite a laugh, and his brief smile seems genuine. "Look forward to it." All of it, no doubt, though he doesn't return her last sentiment. Instead he suggests, "And then we can take some of that sparring under the furs." He picks up his glass and tips it toward her before throwing back the rest of what's left in it. He'll at least wait until she's properly taken her leave before he starts looking for someone else to share his furs tonight. He's a gentleman like that. "Winner has to do whatever the person wants to them all night," Jo sets that wager when it comes to sparring under furs, the look she sends back H'vier's way enough to convey what she's talking about. They're both crass people. They have imaginations. With a soft snicker on her way out towards the ledge, "See ya 'round, H'vier." The hollowness he found in her voice and around her eyes, for the moment, seems to have left in the end of their conversation. |
Comments
Alida (01:45, 7 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Alida would be both upset and yet pleased at how Jo's going about her 'business' (both with and without H'vier). *chortles* ;)
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