Logs:The Games They Play
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| RL Date: 29 January, 2013 |
| Who: R'hin, Vienne |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Vienne comes to Monaco to check up on Leiventh. Then they play a game or two. |
| Where: Beach, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
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| It's not long after the delivery of some harper blue chairs, nor immediately either, that with some hesitation, Oswinth seeks out Leiventh across the void, his mental presence announced by a buzzing that is more sensation than sound. « Leivanth, » he begins. « Vienne wishes to know how you are healing. » There's a flicker of memory, through his rider's eyes, of the bandages going on the bronze's wound, and also some sense that he, too, is asking after the injury, as it's only polite. (Oswinth to Leiventh) There's a lightness in the way Leiventh responds; it's not cool, precisely, more reserved, a reflection of his personality rather than anything personal. The icy, chill winds of his thoughts stretch out, curling around the Reachian blue, interest in his tone. It takes him a moment to remember; R'hin's memory, not his own, at first, but then an image of his own flank, no bandage as in Oswinth's, but the wound is visible all the same -- if visibly healing. « You may tell her, slower than R'hin would wish. » Oh, yes, that's amusement in the bronze's thought, indeed. « It does not hurt so much in the warmth here as it did in the cold there. » (Leiventh to Oswinth) There is some instinctive reaction from the blue at that icy touch, a moment's tense withdrawl at the contact, though it eases when its lightness is recognized. Still, the next sensation is his rider's disapproval and the dash of guilt that Oswinth allows to seep through. « Slower than she would wish as well. » There is a beat, full of whirring and static as the blue thinks on this, muses over the variable nature of healing, and then he is puzzled by Leiventh's amusement. « There is snow now. » There might be something else, too, but it's held up in conference with Vienne. (Oswinth to Leiventh) « There is never snow here. » Perhaps, a fleeting regret in the bronze's mental tones? Some remnant of the Reaches' chill winds that lace his very thoughts? Yet it is more statement than anything else; Leiventh waits through the blue's silent conference, ever patient. (Leiventh to Oswinth) Does Leiventh miss the Reaches snow? Well while he waits, Oswinth will show him his view. It's nothing grandious, given that his ledge is hardly more than a bronze's height from the bowl floor, but there is, as said, snow, piles of it with paths and massive flattened patches where dragons have been landing. Thankfully, the conference doesn't stretch on too long before Oswinth can continue. « She is uncertain how to thank him for the chairs. » Or 'if', perhaps. (Oswinth to Leiventh) To Oswinth, Leiventh takes in that image, and gladly; his own allegiances aside, there's a sense of something forever tethering the bronze (and perhaps, by extension, his rider?) to the Weyr that was once theirs. He lingers on that image, on the snow; it takes him a moment to respond, a moment in which, maybe, there is consultation with his rider, though far less of a concerted effort. « One generally uses the term 'thank you', » the rumbling amusement is no doubt R'hin's, more than Leiventh's, « But if she wishes to come up with something more creative, he would welcome that, too. » « She says, » Oswinth points out distinctly, his rider's thoughts absent even if he is passing on her words, perhaps because of it. « That is how an endless circle begins. » The blue does not seem entirely comfortable being used in this fashion, but he does his best and keeps his comments to himself, though that hum of his drones on. (Oswinth to Leiventh) To Oswinth, Leiventh appears to give that some thought, if the stirring wind of his thoughtful tones is anything to judge by. « Mine, » he replies, finally, « Thinks that might not be a bad thing. » There's a slow heat rising around the sharp winds of his tones, a beachfront still lit by the setting sun. An invitation, perhaps? Certainly a clear enough destination, if one wanted to see it in person. This is where Oswinth's awkward social graces can cause some interruption. It would be so easy for him to fail to pass that beach scene on to his lifemate where its possible suggestion could be realized, so easy for him to mistake the view as simple reciprocation for the snowy vision he shared, so easy for him to miss the invitation altogether. « That seems very nice, » he replies, with uncertainty, a little snapping sensation causing breaks in his usual buzz, like a hiccup in a thought process. (Oswinth to Leiventh) « It is, » the bronze replies, simply. Either Leiventh's not yet realized the message might not have been passed on, or more than likely his rider interprets it a different way. « Sometimes they put fire on the beach, and the children come down to play with the dragons in the water. » The 'dragons' being a bit more vague, Leiventh, specifically, doesn't play, after all. (Leiventh to Oswinth) That snapping continues, irregular little dead spaces like a failing tranmission. But the blue still attempts to be polite, the static coming on again with a sense of confused agreement. Thankfully, it seems that Vienne must step in here, and there's some relief from Oswinth that she has, even if he doesn't quite understand what he's passing on. « She says that he should say it. » What, exactly? The blue is of little help. (Oswinth to Leiventh) To Oswinth, Leiventh, inadvertantly, voices that unspoken thought: « Say what? » The dragon, of course, could be playing coy. If dragons can. Certainly, Leiventh doesn't seem the type to play, but then R'hin's probably listening, so no guarantees there. Oswinth is full of hesitation now, increasingly concerned that he's at fault for whatever miscommunication is happening here, and let's face it, he probably is. « We do not understand, » he says finally, some sense that Vienne is right there with him to sooth some of his uncertainty, and perhaps in an attempt to avoid any further confusion. And then suddenly, he gets it. « Were you inviting us? » And that 'you' extends beyond Leiventh. (Oswinth to Leiventh) Amusement laces the bronze's tones darker, even if it's not necessarily Leiventh's amusement. « We were. » A moment, then, « Mine says yours is harpering. » The bronze, anyway, doesn't understand quite what that means in this context, but he passes it on, quickly, the chill winds of his thoughts bantering it over in Oswinth's direction for further contemplation. (Leiventh to Oswinth) This all makes so much more sense to poor Oswinth. He's so relieved. It might not even be entirely on purpose that the feel of Vienne rolling her eyes leaks through the link. « Now? » he asks, happily buzzing away. So clear is the question that it's unlikely there's all that much 'harpering' involved. (Oswinth to Leiventh) « The air is warm, and the drinks cool. » The drinks? Leiventh doesn't elaborate on that point, not overtly. « But if it does not suit yours, there is always another day, and the snow will continue to fall. » Still. The image he shares again does look particularly inviting. (Leiventh to Oswinth) Now that all the hints are behind them... (And someone accused someone else of harpering? Pot, meet kettle.) Oswinth's reply comes without the hemming and hawing, though still soft-spoken. « She will need a little time. But we will come. » To that beach with the sun setting. He checks to see that he has the image right. (Oswinth to Leiventh) To Oswinth, Leiventh, full of seeming ever-infinite patience, acknowledges that. His touch remains, lightly -- mostly, presumably, to make sure that image stays with the blue. Other details are added, like the momentarily flight of firelizards that flutter past, the lingering heat rising from the sand beneath. Leiventh's image is really quite accurate; the sun is hot over Monaco's beach, and though it's starting to set, that heat hasn't started to dissipate yet. The beach is part sun-part shade, and a familiar bronze pair appears to be taking advantage of the former. Leiventh's stretched out on the beach, head resting on his forelegs, lids closed, though his mental tones give the distinct impression he's awake, despite the lack of movement. R'hin -- shirtless, of course -- is leaning comfortably against his side, a bottle and glasses seated on his other side, protected from the direct sunlight by the curve of Leiventh's tail. A little time does pass before the guests arrive, but they do manage to make it in before the sun goes down entirely and it's apparently given R'hin time to get prepared. The small blue appears over head and wings down to an inexplicably bumpy landing on the soft sand. Vienne has apparently had difficult committing to her wardrobe, given the discrepency between Reaches and here: she dismounts in her tan wool coat with bare legs and furry boots reaching up her calves. Rather that start across the beach directly, she stands at Oswinth's head, continuing some silent discussion with him that makes her smile and glancing over at the not-asleep bronze and his relaxed rider. She might be waiting. The Monaco watchdragon greets the blue with an easy warmth, despite his Weyr. Leiventh, too, echoes a darker sort of rumble of greeting, though doesn't stir on the warm sands; by contrast, R'hin pushes to his feet, shading his eyes from the last rays of the sun as he watches the Oswinth land, interest in his gaze as it lingers on the blue, then finally, his rider. He pushes away from Leiventh's side after an undertoned murmur, heading for the pair with a respectful nod for Oswinth, and a smile for Vienne. Mm, yes, despite his Weyr. There are probably things Vienne should know about that, though maybe she does come here in all innocence. Either way, her eyes do scan the immediate area with the look of someone who has not spent much time here and then they come to rest on R'hin as he approaches. The bluerider takes a deep breath and unbuttons her coat, the dress beneath prim and tailored from light materials that would be much more suited to Igen than her new home. The blue behind her chuffs, still apologetic from his part in the earlier confusion, but Vienne just looks at her host, all eyes and small mouth, no smile. And then, finally. "I feel flustered again." Skipping the greeting, apparently. Amusement slips into the bronzerider's gaze, possibly at the blue's chuff, or maybe as he sees what Vienne's chosen to wear? Either way, R'hin's expression is light as he nears enough for conversation. "Then come and have a drink," he invites, unbothered by the lack of greeting, his hand hovering near the small of her back as if to escort her. "It's fresh juices -- cold still, but not for much longer out here." He nods towards Leiventh, where the bottle and glasses are propped in the shade of his bulk. It is warm and the sudden shift between cold and heat has pink creeping into Vienne's cheeks. So she twists her slim shoulders free of her coat, folding it over her arm before she starts across the sand in her great bit winter boots. Finally, though, she slips a little smile sideways at up him. "Are you trying to show me up?" After all, she didn't have any such luxuries as fresh juice to offer him when he was the one visiting. But there's a hint of humor in her voice when she mentiona, "Did you know I have chairs now?" "Me? Never!" R'hin responds, his free hand slipping over his heart as if to emphasize the response -- though the glittering of pale eyes might suggest otherwise. "Besides, I had warning you were coming," that concession is offered as he escorts her across the hot sand. "Chairs?" The bronzerider's brows rise in mock surprise, only the faint hint of a smile touching his lips. "No, but that's good to know, for next time." His play is met with a scolding glance that doesn't really scold at all. And though she could probably take the lead and find herself a seat in the sand by those drinks, instead she turns to face him, a few backward steps remaining, her jacket held in front of her over both hands. "So now I get to meet this R'hin," she supposes lightly. "The real one, or less real, depending on your perspective." There's something cheeky lingering at the corner of her smile. "The real R'hin," if anything, the bronzerider's tone is surprised, maybe even a bit wary, rather than playful. "Perhaps. Though I won't tell you which is which. That would spoil the fun," he says, with an easier smile, now, before gesturing towards her jacket. "Shall I take that? Guardian of jackets and sweaters alike, I am." It must be that wariness that makes Vienne react, and instead of passing the jacket right away, she takes that half step forward to reaches a little hand for his chest. Her fingers hesitate instead of making contact, probably because he's not wearing a shirt, and she looks up at him apologetically. Whatever it is that's made him wary, she'd like it to stop. Her eyes drop quickly and her hand withdraws so she can relinquish the jacket to his keeping. "Thank you." While pale blue eyes note the gesture, R'hin neither encourages nor discourages, simply waits to see what she'll do. When she offers the jacket, he smiles a little, turning to escort her the short distance to the shady curve of Leiventh's bulk. There's a faint rumbling from the bronze, more felt than heard, and the bronzerider folds her jacket over one of the ridges of the dragon's tail. "How are things, at the 'Reaches?" Maybe a casual change of topic, to get off an awkward one -- or maybe not so casual, as he settles himself on the sand, with a gesture of invitation to Vienne to join him in the shade. Vienne follows to the shade, pausing to murmur Leiventh's name in greeting and to eye his wound as if she would be able to gauge its progress. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she answers R'hin, even though it isn't what he asked -- but there was a moment when she could have mentioned the whole thing with the second gold and she let that moment pass instead of speaking up. "Things are... well, I'm sure you can imagine. Silly, if you ask me." But before she moves on from the clothing-rack that is the bronze, she lays a hand on him to steady herself as she pulls her boots off. And just like that, she's dressed for the beach instead of the snow. If people wear buttoned-up dressed to the beach, that is. She settles down gingerly beside the bronze and his rider, bare feet to one side and her attention mostly on the juice rather than the man. It looks as if R'hin's had a dragonhealer see to it -- the wound is bound by neat, tight stitches, left open to breathe and heal, the wound certainly far less visibly viscious than when she first saw it. "I doubt I would've been able to take it in, anyway," R'hin allows with a glance and a faint smile to suggest he's not holding it against her. He pours two glasses of the juice, and offers one to her. It's tasty, fresh, and perhaps surprisingly, without alcohol. "Silly?" he echoes that word, quizzically. Vienne might know enough to be able to cover up a wound, but not so much that Leveinth's healing can be scrutinized with any real understanding. It looks better, but sounds like it could be better still, and so there's no real satisfaction. And now she's sitting in the sand with her bare toes wiggling at it idly, a hand propping her weight to one side and the other taking the glass with a grateful, if polite, smile. She sips readily, heartily after she discovers there's no alochol. "It seems like two junior flights to me." Simple as that. "But what I think isn't important." "More important than you think, considering it's a sentiment others will hold," R'hin says, studying her expression while he takes a sip of the juice himself. "Playing it as anything else is going to make all of the Weyrs nervous -- and things didn't turn out so well for High Reaches last time they went to council." A brief, flickering smile. "Although, depending on your perspective, perhaps they turned out exactly as they were meant to." "Maybe. But I don't think it's a sentiment they're ready to hear." Vienne slips a glance his way; her expression is guileless, and there's no trace that she feels her opinion should have any more weight than it really does. "It seems like they're mostly concerned with who the Weyrleader is. Maybe they think that if they can find a reasonable solution on their own, they can avoid dealing with the council." As for perspectives, that does steady her gaze on him. "Is this why you asked me here?" R'hin's brow furrows at her mention of the Weyrleader. "Mm," he murmurs, taking a sip of his juice, though his expression is rather thoughtful at that. The latter earns a smile, head tipping to regard her. "Why did you think I invited you here?" The smile Vienne gives him is tugged to one side, thoughtful, but it fades as her eyes drop and she gives a tiny shake of her head. "You can't do that," she tells him. "You can't answer my questions with questions." A moment's stillness passes and then, "I think you collect people. I think you like to keep them in your back pocket, a card to play when the time is right. I think you're curious as to whether or not I'm of any use. You try to test me. You try to ingratiate me with gifts that are too grand for the favor they're meant to repay. Is that what you want to hear?" She wets her lips, or tries to at least. Perhaps her mouth has gone dry. "What am I supposed to think? Why else show any interest in me? I thought maybe..." She lets her gaze cast out away from him, toward the water and falls quiet. "So there. Do I pass or fail." She doesn't look back at him. "Of course I can," R'hin replies, but he's smiling like he knows exactly how frustrating it is. He takes a gulp of juice while she talks, but his intent, pale gaze never leaves Vienne's face while she talks. His expression is lightly neutral: curious, interested, not giving away much, though there's a dark chuckle somewhere in there, unbidden. "You're a trained harper," the bronzerider says, finally. "A good judge of people. You believe all of that is true, yet you still came." He pauses a moment, rubs a hand over his lightly shadowed chin, then continues, "I can only imagine to try and solve the puzzle. To figure out all of the pieces and how they fit together. To make things make sense... is that it?" "I believe all that is true?" she repeats, catching him in his own harper-speak, her gaze sliding back to peer at him from the corner of her eye. "Or it is true." It's a question, even if it doesn't sound like it. At least, while he supposes on her reasons for coming, Vienne can take the opportunity to sip her drink again, stealing another long if somewhat hurried swallow. This time when she wets her lips, it works and that seems to help with her composure. "I still came," she confirms, turning to meet his stare. She scolds him now: "Even though you couldn't just ask." Which he might not be able to get away with again, particularly since that blue dragon of hers did not seem to have the easiest time with the hint. "There are a lot of reasons why I came. I don't think making sense was one of them. But maybe it was." There's a low sort of laugh from R'hin, unbidden, a shift of shoulders that is deliberately, undoubtedly frustratingly, non-commital. "I could ask. I was being deliberately vague so you could choose to ignore it politely, if you wanted. I'm glad you didn't," he says, simply. A sidelong glance; the sun is starting to sink away, and already the wind's starting to cool, though Leiventh's bulk shields them from most of it. "I confess. I am curious about what's going on at High Reaches. That's part of why I invited you, but not the whole reason. I like... interesting people." His pale gaze is level on her again, a hint of a smile now. "I see," Vienne replies as if she's understanding something beyond his excuse for being politely obtuse. She lets her gaze be pulled after his, to the encroaching dusk and then away. That he's glad she came only makes her tuck her lips in between her teeth. Her eyes dart to Oswinth, and though the blue is unmoved from the comfortable little spot he's found in the sand, he is looking her way. She draws in a deep breath that doesn't seem to bring her any relief and finally turns again to meet that pale stare. His smile doesn't appear to buoy her either. "It's very nice of you. To say that about me." She puts her smile on a beat late, polite and shy, but late nonetheless. "Do you?" R'hin asks, his gaze lingering on her even as she looks at Oswinth; he doesn't follow her look. Instead, he reaches for the bottle, leaning forward with it half tipped in offer to refill her glass. With an exhale, he asks plainly, "Do you want to run away now, Vienne? You can say it if so, and you're too polite to do so. I promise I won't take offense." His first question goes unrewarded, but to the second she answers. "I do," and it comes readily, the kind of answer that doesn't require any deliberation. She glances down at the glass in her hand, turning it in her fingers but not just yet deciding to extend it for that refill. After all... maybe she will run away. "I'm disappointed," she tells him, lifting her face to look at him again, or perhaps to let him look at her, not shy about the regret that lingers behind calm eyes. Regret, but not apology. R'hin lowers the bottle, then sets it to one side as she continues to speak. The fact that she doesn't stand immediately after the confession has him regarding her thoughtfully. "Disappointed," he echoes, softly. Only a beat or two passes, and he says, "I don't like the idea of deceiving you. I find you interesting. I like you. I'd even take you to bed, if you'd let me." There's a quick smile, like he knows his chances of that are somewhat remote at this stage. "But--" a tip of his head, sharp pale eyes noting that trace of regret. "--I'm not a man one should pin hopes, or emotions on, Vienne." And while she's looking back at him, she'll also let him see every one of her reactions as he speaks, the skepticism that flickers there, the snotty look she gives him when he mentions bed. Snotty, but at least it's a little playful? It doesn't last long. Vienne lets him finish, though, lets him get it all out, until the last words urge a weary shake of her head. "You don't like the idea of deceiving me, but you would. You find me interesting, but it's a one way road; you get to ask questions and I don't. And on top of all that, at the end of the day, you think I'm just a foolish girl." For that, she'll drink; even if there isn't alcohol in it, she downs the last of juice in a mouthful and still doesn't hold her glass out to him. "You were different. I liked that we could just... talk. It was..." But frustration steals her description and so she sticks out her damn glass. Fine, he can fill it. And through it all, he watches her with that same, intent, interested gaze. "I'm not used to..." R'hin exhales a slow breath; finally saying, "Then talk to me. Ask me anything you like." It's not an offer the Monacoan makes very often. In fact, rarely to judge by the shift-and-tensing of his posture, as if gearing himself for battle. Sharing, it seems, doesn't come naturally or easily to him. He does -- with the allowance of a faint smile -- refill her glass. Does he remember that expression of surprise she wore when he accepted her offer of hospitality against all her expectations? Well, it makes a reappearance now. Vienne's eyebrows pop up and a smile starts to tug at her lips. It's not fully formed yet, hesitant around the edges, a bit restrained, but it's growing. As she watches him build himself up, prepare for battle, it's not just surprise on her face, but amusement. And what does the little bluerider choose to ask? With a laugh: "Can you do this?" Setting aside the bottle, R'hin's gaze is fixed on her. Waiting. And when she laughs; when she asks that question, his expression becomes lighter, barely, though the tension doesn't leave his posture. "You're not making it very easy," the bronzerider mock-growls. Behind them, Leiventh stirs as the cooler nighttime wind starts to sweep over him. A bare glance, brief, towards the bronze, before the rider answers, sounding plainly honest, "I don't know." That cool wind makes Vienne shiver, but she hardly seems to notice it. She's too busy smiling just a bit more brightly -- encouraged by that hint of light in his expression and that fake growl -- until she has to pinch her lip in her teeth to keep her grin under control. "I like that you would try." At least she seems to recognize how much effort it takes him. She lifts her chin, narrows her eyes, not quite serious but not entirely in jest either. With levity in her voice she wonders, "Are you pretending to try just to manipulate me?" She may not notice, but R'hin's sharp gaze does. He stands just long enough to scoop her jacket off the makeshift perch of Leiventh's tail, stooping to drape it around her shoulders. "Pretending to find it difficult to share in order to avoid sharing? That's convoluted even for me." It's habit. Habit to provide a deliberately obtuse answer, and it takes him a moment -- lips pressed together briefly, slight shake of head before he finally answers, simply, "No." Vienne is distracted for a moment -- that he gets up so suddenly, that he's bringing her jacket -- and maybe it means that she doesn't really pay close attention to his habitual sort of response. Maybe she does and she's just not docking points for it. "I think you're perfectly capable of being convoluted when it suits you." It might even sound like a compliment. A hand comes up to hold the jacket in place and even as she smiles at all the determination he's exhibiting, trying to keep his answers clear, there's another question. "Are you sending me home?" Because, apparently, she really did not notice her own shiver. "You were the one who said you wanted to run away." Again, it's out there, quickly, and R'hin's regarding her, chin tilted downwards, still standing. "It's getting cold. You were shivering," he finally says, and yet the tension is still present in his posture. "Shall we say, when the juice runs out, no more questions?" As he reseats himself, reaching -- immediately -- to refill his own glass, and to set the pitcher between them, before looking at her expectantly. Vienne gives him a properly chastised look, but it slips back into a smaller, more private smile, grateful as she tugs the jacket closer. As he sets the bottle down, she reaches out, not to take it but to lay her hand on his wrist. "R'hin, relax." She tips her head to peer up at him, perhaps a little concerned that he's still so tense. But this agreement he'd like to make, she's interested. Her teeth chew her lip again. "Okay, so... I don't want to have to play games. I don't want there to be rules. I just want to be able to talk to you and not have it feel like I'm the only one talking. You don't have to answer every question I ask. Just... will you try to answer me sometimes? When you remember?" Then the bluerider's smile grows impish. "That said... I kind of like the sound of that game. You mean neither of us would ask questions. We'd just... talk in statements." She might be trying it out now. "I'll try," R'hin says. See? It's a statement, though it's doesn't come without a knowing curve of lips and a distracted rub of his chin. He's taking a (relatively) big sized gulp of juice, but the way he's looking at her when he does so, with amusement, suggests he's doing it on purpose to see how she reacts. With a lightening of eyes, he murmurs, "As much challenge to a harper as to myself, I suspect." Vienne spies that look he's wearing while he drinks and it makes her own eyes dance rather merrily. She lifts her glass and takes one, very dainty, ladylike sip, her gaze gleaming right back at him. It would seem she's not in any hurry to reach the end of the bottle, no matter what the rules of the game might be. Instead, she just takes the bottle, sets it aside and goes about rearranging herself. Her aim, it would appear, is to sit right beside him, under his arm perhaps, leaned back against Leveinth if the bronze is amenable to being their chairback. "Do you want to ask me anything before we begin or should we just start now?" "I think we've already started," R'hin counters, with another pointed gulp of his juice. "And given you just asked a question, that means you owe me an answer. Later." Oh, yes, he's enjoying this game. He's surprised, at first, at where Vienne settles herself, but he's obliging enough with an arm settled around her shoulders, Leiventh's hide a warmth against their backs. "Any question you like," Vienne answers now, settling her jacket so that it's over her lap and a portion of the bare legs she has stretched out in front of her. She sips her juice again and her feet wiggle, which is probably a safe sign that she's enjoying the game as well. "So we've started," she supposes, teeth catching her lip again. "And we should talk about something. Talking about the game while we play the game... I don't think that sounds like as much fun." The bronzerider nods, confirming her statement, looking pleased with himself. "So," R'hin says, "Then we talk about something else. I'd love to hear about where you came from. Before High Reaches. Where Oswinth came from." Another gulp of his juice; he can't quite see her entire expression from this position, and it probably vexes him a little, judging by the way he tips his head slightly. It should be an easier topic, right? If Vienne doesn't want to talk about High Reaches? But there's a little hesitation in the bluerider. "I impressed Oswinth at Igen. I was posted there. It was... Igen. Sandy, dusty, dry. We had a hard weyrlinghood, a few relatively decent turns where everything was pretty..." She trails off, but words like 'usual' or 'normal' probably fit. "And then things got... confused. And we mutually decided to part ways." She turns to look up at him, and there might just be a cheeky twist to her grin, knowing that he's likely to have a follow up question he'll have to pose some other way. "Confus--" yes, it's already mostly out before R'hin catches it, so he commits to the rest, "--ed?" An exaggerated sigh concedes that there's a figurative question owed in her favor now, too. The fingers of his hand around her shoulder absent run up and down against her upper arm, as he muses, "Interesting place, Igen. The nomads lead such a fascinating life." Vienne lets out a little gasp, all show and no shock. His over the top sigh has her smiling broadly, proud even if he probably could have stopped himself. "One each," she remarks, apparently the scorekeeper. There's a pause, because he's not the only who with an impulse to ask questions first. But she manages. "It's as interesting as anywhere else. I think that it's all a matter of what's familiar. Some people get bored." She glances over at him again, as if considering whether not she'll do him the favor of answering his question, her expression sly. "It's not a good story. I saw something. I thought it was something everyone could see. It turned out that it wasn't and when it got around that I'd said something, it didn't go well. It was silly and petty and embarrassing. So embarrassing." She grimaces for show, turning her face against R'hin for a moment before she fake-shakes it off and turns, dramatically, to her juice for solace. "We're talking about me again. I want to hear about you." "Harper," R'hin chastises, for her scorekeeping, though the word is accompanied by a smile. He listens with obvious interest, something sympathetic creeping into his gaze. "Sometimes the worst thing you can do is stand up and point at a thing that everyone's trying hard to ignore. But sometimes... you can't not do it." He's obviously curious about the embarrassing part, but he can't ask. "There's not a lot to tell." That's very clearly a lie, even just out of knowledge, if not from his expression. "Well, nothing hugely interesting, anyway. I enjoy Monaco a great deal, though I tend to travel all over." "Pretty much. It wasn't really all that sensational, I promise. It just... sounds like it is." Of course, Vienne can say there isn't much to tell, but when he tries the same tactic, she rolls her eyes. At least it's with a smile. "I know some of it, from what I've read. Where-" Oh, so close. But she catches herself. "Tell me about your favorite place." She settles her head against him. "You let me talk for too long," she mumbles. "That's not in the spirit of the game." The rumbling laugh of the bronzerider can be felt through their contact, and R'hin's grinning at her almost slip up. "My favorite," he muses, needing a moment or two to consider. "It's a place Leiventh and I once found. It's so deep in the jungle that if you close your eyes and lie still there, you can honestly believe you're the only person for hours in any direction. The jungle shades overhead, and underneath, it's just the sound of creatures skittering back and forward." There's genuine warmth and emotion in his voice as he answers. And there's more back-and-forward, and careful sidesteps from the both of them to try and avoid further questions. They, at least, manage to keep the score apiece by the time the cold air drives them to part ways and head back to their respective homes. |
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