Logs:Theoretical Leading
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| RL Date: 11 March, 2015 |
| Who: H'vier, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'vier and Irianke chat while watching Niahvth, and he asks her about the weyrlings. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs) >-----------------------<
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of
carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground
-- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers,
and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from
falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into
the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off
some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even
feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.
The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire
cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the
expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is
easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a
broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels
that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks,
however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
Commands: +list/eggs The bigger Niahvth gets, the closer the clutching will be. Today. Today, Niahvth is just enormous and needy. So Irianke is sitting on that lowest bench staring aimlessly at the sands, in the glazed expression of absolute boredom, but wanting to be there for her soulmate. Bored. So bored. Reisoth has spent more time above the sands than on them, and only more recently, a presence to encourage other dragons, bronzes in particular, from getting too comfortable in the surrounding area. He's on a ledge up high now. It means that H'vier doesn't have as easy of a ride up to his own weyr. He hasn't, really, since the flight. So now he's striding his way through a row of seats toward Irianke. Niahvth watches her mate, and then her mate's rider when he approaches hers. This is Irianke's warning, and she says, low but pitched just so, "Now there's a beautiful face I don't seem to see as often as I'd like lately." She pats the seat next to her and scoots just a little to make space for the bronzerider. "Beautiful," repeats H'vier with a chuckle that isn't entirely sure if that's a compliment or not. "All you have to do is ask, gorgeous. I'll make time for you." The bronzerider settles down beside Irianke, enjoying his view of her as he does so before his gaze is turning out toward the sands. "The way he's acting already, I feel like I'll have more time on my hands than you'll know what to do with." "Oh?" The borrowed goldrider slants a look to the bronzerider, her brow quirked upwards in inquiry. "He can be very..." H'vier pauses to consider his words. "Focused. Stubborn." He glances up toward where the large bronze watches the sands. "He says vigilant." Of course he does. "Vigilant." Irianke repeats the word a few more times and then nods, smiling. "I agree. So what you're really saying is you'll be stranded due to his vigilance." The slim woman leans into H'vier's side all too comfortably and slides an arm about the man's shoulder. "I'm impressed. We've sat here for at least five minutes and you haven't mentioned one thing about the Igen trade. I have to admit I've been avoiding you. Or trying to." He turns his head toward her at mention of the trade. His expression changes for a moment, a tension in his jaw, but he swallows as he nods his head and it fades. "Your breasts are very distracting, I'll admit." H'vier looks at them as though to make a point. "And I've had time to consider various aspects of the arrangement." He doesn't sound pleased, but he's clearly far from furious right this moment. "Lucky for me, they don't have to make much effort to be distracting." Irianke glances down at her cleavage, a pleased smile shaping on her mouth. "Thank you," says the woman when she looks up. "For not blaming me. I'd invite you to move in with me while your dragon practices his vigilance, but I'm afraid that would give you the wrong idea. Maybe the guest weyr? Or a room down in the lower caverns?" "Are you suggesting that our physical relationship has already reached its peak?" H'vier does, indeed, sound disappointed by this idea. "I'm sure I'll be able to find some bed to sleep in if I can't bring myself to get a ride. But I have a whole wing of riders to call on, so I think I'll manage." Even if he would prefer the excuse to have to stay in Irianke's weyr. "Did you have any say in it?" The trade, presumably. A genuine laughter rings and Irianke's slung shoulder squeezes H'vier in an odd half-hug. "We could sleep together every day for a turn and I doubt we'd even make it through half our respective repetoire. For people like us, there's no peak. We just get better with age." But the serious stuff? The Igen goldrider's arm slips fractionally and then all the way down to about his waist, so her far hand curves just so against his hip in a way reminiscent of that flight night. "No. I had no say on whether to be transferred here either for what it's worth, even if Nimae gave me the illusion of choice. We're dragonriders. We go where we're told." A moment later, she thinks to add, "At Igen at least. Things seem quite different here." "Careful. You'll get me all excited with talk like that," says the bronzerider, leaning a little closer to the woman as he moves a hand to rest against her thigh. It doesn't go further than that, though. His focus is on the rest. He nods and offers, "My transfer here was involuntary. I think I was sent here because of the way it is." H'vier, not an especially well-liked man even in his (former) home Weyr. "But I've managed." Considering he has his own wing now and all. He didn't have that in Ista. "You would be eaten alive at Igen. And it is refreshing." Irianke unwinds her arm from around H'vier in order to slide it up his jaw to cup his cheek. "But, if I were honest, if I had a say, I'd agree. I can't think F'rain's changes at Igen aren't a direct consequence of Igen's growing lack in our more agile dragons. Our traditional drills don't work anymore. It is a problem." "I would be eaten alive." H'vier is not convinced about this, hand on his cheek or no. "I think I'd do just fine, darling." But he's nothing if not confident in his own abilities. "He has the right idea, anyway. Bronzeriders should lead proper wings. But there's room to... capitalize on our freedom now that we don't have to worry about Thread." If her hand were elsewhere, would he be more convinced? That would be a science experiment. For science! "What kind of capitalization would you look to be doing?" Irianke's question is posed with all the seriousness of someone actually interested but paired with a distracted levity that scoots her hip closer to his. "I'll do just about anything to put money in my pocket, gorgeous." The suggestive way he says it is probably meant to provoke thoughts of whoring, even if that's probably not what H'vier actually means. But he doesn't seem to intend on giving her a proper answer. "If you aren't gonna take me back to your place, it might be about time for me to go try my hand at finding other company." "Your pocket or the Weyr you would, theoretically, lead?" Irianke's question looks like it'll be left unanswered as H'vier makes ready to depart. She doesn't stop him, though her fingers come to her lips to nibble lightly at the tip of one and blows it, as if sending him a kiss. "Good luck. It's late enough that there should be easy enough pickings in the Snowasis. There was a green flight earlier too," as if that makes a difference. The bronzerider rises to his feet and turns in a way that his gaze doesn't stray from Irianke as he moves. He smirks at her and assures, "I know how to get my dick wet. But thanks for the tip." H'vier starts to turn away, then, but says as he goes, "My pockets are more important than the Weyr I don't lead." No theory here. But off he goes, leaving Reisoth lounging on that ledge above the sands. |
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