Logs:The Big 3-0
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| RL Date: 31 March, 2009 |
| Who: N'thei |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| When: Day 6, Month 5, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions, Milani/Mentions |
| Cold and wet and miserable. That's what dawnsweeps in the winter were. At altitude, rain froze, not really snow but it sure as hell iced over his goggles and left his riding jacket a wet, crunchy mess. He was happy to come home, even if it was to no more than a little warmth and solitude and-- a box on his table that was not there when he left. N'thei's very first reaction was to bristle, to look around, to ball his fists in a wash of territorial irritation. He didn't like people in his weyr, dammit, and the sentiment was echoed by the bronze on the ledge, who keyed in to the fact that someone had come a-calling without express permission. « Want me find out who? » Brushing aside the answer first, he approached the box with a very slow, sinking feeling starting to weigh the pit of his stomach. It was the twenty-third. He opened the box. It was a cake. He looked at it. It was from Milani. He closed the box. N'thei shed his clothes in a wet heap on the floor, convincing himself that his skin was tingling because he was still half-frozen to death. He took a bath, which failed to warm him. He drew a towel around his hips and poked at the fire, which failed to warm him. He sat down on his couch and looked at an unopened, very good bottle of whiskey that occupied a place of honor on his mantel, which he knew would fail to warm him. He felt a rush of mirage-heat, of high-noon grit, which warmed him. « It ain't that bad. » "No," he answered honestly, watching toward the ledge for a minute while a wet shadow lumbered in to the outer weyr, hunkered down here rather than up on the Star Stones. "It ain't that bad." Wyaeth liked being right, so why not give the bastard what he wanted now and then? N'thei peeled himself off the couch before he got too comfortable and morose, pulled on a robe and slippers-- Yes, all you assholes, he does own such things as a robe and slippers.-- picked up the box, and wandered out to the outer weyr. There, he poked that bigger hearth for a few seconds, then sat down with his shoulders braced against a lean belly to eat cake and play cards and be thirty and fantasize about insubstantial sisal robes and luminous blue eyes. |
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