Logs:To Challenges
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 February, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In the dark of night, R'hin makes off with High Reaches' Weyrwoman. In the light of day, they drink and enjoy themselves. |
| Where: Azaylia's Weyr / Ista Hold |
| When: Day 21, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
  |
| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.
The path Leiventh cuts towards her weyr is what brings Hraedhyth winging from on high, coaxed from the ledge of a neighboring blue. Her once-hostage is obvious in his relief, spared the queen's forceful affection and her attempts to squeeze into his wallow. Oversized jaws part in a curious rumble for R'hin's usual greeting, following him with her intense gaze. "It's gotten too cold for that," comes Azaylia's amused reply from within. There's a squeak of a chair and some light shuffling before she walks toward the rider's entrance, "You should come back in the summer." Even with Hraedhyth's warning, there's a look of surprise when she catches sight of the bronzerider, especially in contrast to her thick, frumpy robe. The shock prompts her to answer again, "Should I be?" "I'll bear that in mind," R'hin replies amusedly, and his twitching lips give the distinct impression he's filing that away for later use. When she comes into view, his pale gaze takes her in from top-to-toe, with a dark chuckle. "Mm. Clothing would be advised, for where we're going. Well," after a pause, "Some, at least. A nice dress. Maybe that red one...?" Either he's been paying attention to her wardrobe, or more likely he's taking a stab at a color he thinks she might have. "Maybe I can pick something out," he suggests, and as soon as the words are out, he's stepping in past her as if intending to inspect her closet right now. The warm padding of her housecoat is far from flattering, a rosy fabric littered with blue flowers. Azaylia gives several startled blinks, "We're going somewhere?" There's little else she seems to question, following after R'hin and ticking off her fingers, "I have a nice, 'Reachian winter gown. It's dark blue. Then there's the green-blue one," Turqoise. "Oh, and a gold one if it's somewhere warm." The wardrobe holds all of these and not much more, as well as an embarrassingly old, patched up dress tucked in the corner. Though her selection isn't much, saying all of it out loud has the goldrider giving a huff, "I have too many clothes." "I can't sleep, and it seems wasteful not to make use of the time. I mean, granted, I can think of other ways to pass the time, but--" R'hin's grinning over his shoulder at her, unrepentantly and a mite bit suggestively, "--your Hraedhyth scares me a little. So, trip it is." Not that he seems overly scared of the queen. There's something poised and familiar in the way the bronzerider makes his way to her wardrobe, inspecting each dress and dismissing them before finally locating the gold one. "This one," he decides, pulling it out and holding it out for her to take. "It's perfect," with a knowing smile. With far too much delight, "Other things?" but before Azaylia's brown eyes can brighten with such inspiration, his mention of Hraedhyth has her laughing. As an attempt to reassure the browsing bronzerider, "She stopped hating you a while ago, you know." R'hin's familiarity with the weyr might bleed into her outfits, as he's likely seen her in most by now. The gauzy, gold sundress would be too casual if not for the flattering cut and sheer accents, easing its impromptu transformation into evening wear. The goldrider reaches for the one he's chosen, stepping past to find enough room to change, "I'll try and be quick." So much so that she won't wait for R'hin to make himself scarce in order to undress. Comfortable efficiency leaves little in the way of scandalous delight, should he call her bluff. "Mm. Queens have longer memories than most. I'd rather not take my chances," R'hin replies, rather flippantly. Since she's not asking him to leave, it appears the bronzerider's intending to call her bluff, choosing the nearest bit of furniture to lounge in while pale eyes track her. His voice is amused as he notes, "You haven't asked where we're going. I'm hoping that's particular trust in me, and not something you let just any one do -- whisk you away without a moment's notice?" Does Hraedhyth? There is a curl of dark smoke that reaches toward Leiventh, curiosity mingled with protective hesitation. At least the queen has sense to ask, though not with actual speech. Azaylia is quick, as promised, born from a growing sense of excitement rather than any rush to cover up. "Why not?" There's a glance for R'hin, voice too soft to carry genuine rebellion as she claims, "I like being whisked away." Once dressed, she's left to reign in her dark waves, hands not nearly as skilled as her assistant's. Azaylia does manage a mostly tidy side braid, pleats exaggerating already long locks. Finally, and all too aware of how long it's taken, "Where are we going?" Guarded as ever, the cold wind that comprises Leiventh's thoughts are held close to him, only stirring to take in that smoke as Hraedhyth reaches out. He twirls it, teasing and tempting her to follow -- leading her a vision of an island, banners whipping on the ramparts of a familiar Hold. The weather there is pleasant, warm, and welcoming: certainly no cause for hesitation. "Do you now?" R'hin replies, with a dark laugh. "I'll remember that." And, rising, he walks towards her as she fiddles with her hair, reaching out with the intent of doing up that last, top button at the back, fingers steady and sure. "That," he says, with a faint cluck of tongue, "Would ruin the surprise." Assuming Hraedhyth hasn't already shared it, anyway. Hraedhyth's smoke takes to Leiventh's wind with ease, weaving in familiar patterns that have been forgotten since last time. Fire's heat spikes as the intensity of her attention shifts completely onto the bronze, primal but pleasant. She snatches up the vision, roasting it slowly over flame's curious tendrils. Hm. Azaylia might ruin his attempt at being helpful, turning with baffled amusement, "But you said..." No doubt she's endured R'hin enough as of late that acceptance comes easily, facing forward in order to let him secure the last button. With a soft smile, "Never mind. I was being silly." For ever expecting a straight answer out of him. There's a pleasant, dark chuckle from the bronzerider, though R'hin doesn't seem inclined to be baited at her words. Once he's secured that button, he's moving past to find something warm enough to travel in her closet -- heavy coat or flight jacket, with the intention of helping her into that, too. "You should get out more," he says, instead. "Sneak away -- something. It lights you up," he says, as he regards her for a beat or two. "Come," he adds, stretching a hand out towards her. There's her cloak, although the deep midnight doesn't go well with her dress at all. The pale, tawny leather of her flight jacket is a much better choice, and Azaylia accepts his help with a murmur of gratitude. R'hin's advice has her eyes flicking up to search his own, sudden scrutiny slowly easing into a relaxed smile. "Oh?" Only somewhat distracted as she accepts his hand, "It does?" Her only resistance will be felt in a small tug, glance aimed at the Weyrwoman's knot on a nearby table, "Should I..?" "I'd answer that, except," R'hin's grinning down at her now, as he settles her hand in the crook of his arm, "You'll surely let it go to your head." A quick, dismissive shake of his head answers her unfinished question, as he leads her out to the ledge where Hraedhyth waits. It looks like he intends to give her a boost -- not that someone riding as long as Azaylia has now probably needs it. "You'd know." Light and airy, it sounds as though Azaylia takes his expertise on ego quite seriously. The knot is left behind as she accompanies R'hin out onto her ledge, where she'll accept his help in securing Hraedhyth's straps. His offer of a boost finally earns a polite decline, the goldrider moving with practiced ease in scaling her sizeable lifemate. "She says there are flags." The hue and emblem of which are enough to hint at their destination, not that she says it. R'hin's certainly not intending to disagree -- given how his lips twitching knowingly. He takes the refusal of assistance in stride, but waits there anyway until she's settled, his hand daring to rest, albeit briefly, against Hraedhyth's hide. "Does she?" he replies, amusedly. "Well, we'll see." He turns, quickly striding down the ledge, shrugging on his jacket. The Savannah rider's quick to climb up Leiventh's straps, and moments later, the bronze leaps aloft, circling slowly in anticipation of Hraedhyth's joining him. The image is sharper, now: the sky light, not dark like High Reaches, the sun still warm in the sky. There's no sudden twitch at R'hin's touch and no way to tell if Hraedhyth notices his palm against her dusty hide. It's far more favorable than other, more tempermental reactions. It's Azaylia's turn to watch as he mounts the bronze, and then as Leiventh takes to the air. He's given only enough time to ensure that they don't collide as the High Reaches queen launches herself after him, looking as though she intends to give chase. Tempting though it may be, Hraedhyth allows him his space once her fire has consumed his image, burning hot enough to hopefully combat the chill of between. Leiventh seems largely unruffled by the both Hraedhyth's nearness and her mental fire -- taking it all in stride, his chill wind whipping around her briefly, like a preview of the cold of between. Below, flags fly, whipping in the wind on Ista's ramparts in celebration of the day's gather. It's warm here, the sea breezes lingering in the day's heat, the lush forest-circled clearing having been turned into a sea of tents. There's space enough for the dragons to land on the outer edge of the clearing, and it's here that Leiventh heads, touching down only long enough to be divested of straps before taking off to make room again. R'hin shrugs out of his jacket, then shades his eyes to watch High Reachian queen and her rider, while Leiventh chooses a spot on the heated beaches to settle down and wait. Ista Hold Lush tropical foliage and extensive coastlines comprise the main areas around Ista Hold, from the Lord Holder's prize citrus trees to the white, sandy beaches stretching to the south and east. Glittering shades of green and blue cradle the sands, with the ample docks jutting out to the south providing easy access to ships for both transportation and delivery of goods. The hold itself is rather large, built into a seaside cliff that overlooks marshlands, jungles, and water alike. The courtyard that leads to the entrance of the Hold is made from slabs of light grey limestone. A layer of gravel has been laid as a mortar for the large, irregular slabs. Moss and other trample-hardy plants grow between the slabs, spilling green onto the stark rock and creating a constant headache for gardeners trying to keep the green away from the Hold. Herb and flower gardens sit on raised beds and simple benches and tables litter the courtyard. Inside, the great hall is lined with tables made of a hardwood specific to the Istan jungles, the decor reminiscent somewhat of a ship with carvings and bright, tropical colors. The hold extends several floors up with rooms and offices for its inhabitants, while the lower level is occupied by the Ista Harper Hall. Hraedhyth tests the limits of Leiventh's patience when she can, reveling in the freedom his unruffled nature allows her. Once clear of between the queen makes her presence known with a thunderous roar, sounding far more ferocious than the warm greeting it's meant to be. She's visibly excited when it's her turn to land, and once her straps are off Leiventh won't have to wait long for company. Rambunctious company. Azaylia sheds her own jacket, slow movements hinting at the fatigue of a day already spent. It doesn't show in her smile, hands rubbing the sun's warmth into her bare arms as she approaches R'hin, "Do you ever sleep?" Once Hraedhyth has safely landed, R'hin's already heading towards her, reaching out with the intention of taking both straps and her flight jacket, it would seem. Her question earns an amused response: "Why do you think Savannah never has early drills?" As he leads her towards the gather, he grabs the attention of one of the attendants with a nod, then when the boy gets closer, hands him both sets of straps and jackets. "Take good care of this, my boy. I'd not want to face the lady's wrath if it were lost," there's a hint of amusement at the glance he gives over his shoulder towards Hraedhyth; the boy's eyes widen as he sees the gold, nodding quickly, before scurrying off. "What strikes your fancy? Drinks first, or a turn or two around the dance floor?" Of course, being a gather, there's shopping, too, though he neglects to offer that as an initial option. Azaylia keeps a close eye on her straps and jacket out of habit, relaxed as R'hin hands them off to an attendant. Distracted by the revelry, she only catches the last of his tease, "Don't scare-- Oh." until she catches where he's glancing. Her amused silence makes her an unaware accomplice at giving the boy a fright, the correction meant for Azaylia's temperament. She considers his options, hand moving to take his arm, "I know you'd like a drink, first." Not that she's decided yet, other than choosing to wander for a few moments. With a thoughtful murmur, "If 'Reaches was warm like this all the time, it'd be perfect." "Best way to ensure we get them back at the end of the night. It is a nice jacket." R'hin could be talking about her jacket, then again, given it's R'hin it's likely he's talking about his. An amused snort, "You know me so well," is accompanied by a brief brush of fingers over hers, as he leads them into the throng. There's people everywhere, most of them attired in Ista's native clothing. The sound of music is audible, and the scent of food enticing. The bronzerider might well make it seem that they're taking in the sights, though his path is surely, but inevitably, guiding them towards one of the tents where they're serving drinks. At the touch of his fingertips, "I don't, actually." Not that Azaylia sounds terribly bothered in offering her cheerful argument. There's a sweet smile of reassurance, just in case he thinks otherwise. Though the option of shopping is not one R'hin has voiced, there is obvious interest in the way she stares at the Istan garb. Just before their destination becomes too obvious, "Do you think they have those fire drinks here?" If he doesn't remember, she does, with obvious amusement held in her brown eyes. R'hin, certainly, doesn't seem inclined to disagree, even if her counter earns a low chuckle. He's aware of her interest in the garb, though he expertly steers them away from any clothing tents for now. "If they don't," he counters, "Then we'll teach them how to make it on the spot. Here," he turns, abruptly, guiding them into a tent, holding the flap open for her to precede him. It's cool and dark inside, cushions replacing table and chairs. To one side, there's a couple of bartenders serving, and R'hin gestures in that direction, content to let her choose the drinks, it seems: the bronzerider's studying the other occupants with interest. Azaylia ducks beneath the flap, manners failing just long enough so she can take in the tent and its luxuries. It's R'hin's gesture that has her moving out of the way, looking up at the bartenders only when she's reached them. Perfectly pleasant, she does her best to explain the flaming shot, the actual name of which has been long since forgotten. Her attempts to describe it will only buy the bronzerider more time to investigate, her pantomime at least somewhat endearing. Eventually, Azaylia will settle on a cocktail that burns with sweet spices instead of fire. For the second drink, she stresses the importance of quality to the 'tender, which has her handing R'hin a glass of wine. In the way that she watches, big eyes aimed over the rim of her drink, she's curious about his reaction. Her explanation does earn an amused sort of indulgence from R'hin, who doesn't appear to enjoy the thought of helping her out as simply listening. His backward lounge against the bar with a casual elbow on the top is well-practiced, allowing him to scope out the best place. There's an approving glimmer of gaze as he accepts the glass from the bartender -- though he doesn't drink yet, instead curving a hand around to rest comfortably in the center of her back, looking to guide her towards a set of cushions off to one side of the tent. "What appeals to you most about the drink?" he asks in a low murmur as they're heading there, "The contents, or the idea of it?" The goldrider lacks R'hin's restraint, stealing a sip of her mixed drink before he's guiding her away. Again. Azaylia gives a gentle hum of approval, lips chasing the edge of her glass before she thinks better of it. She might spill! "Mm?" Her response comes with a breathless laugh, as if it's all too obvious, "I like fire." Balancing her drink, she lowers to the cushion with far more grace than usual-- tucking long legs beneath gauzy skirt once she's settled. In that time, it seems as though she's given his question actual thought, gentle words following a sip, "I like that it's something different. It's like a... challenge?" Embarrassment has her words carried on a rushed exhale, "Even if I know it's not. Not really." "Do you now?" It's hard to tell whether that amused tone is R'hin humoring her, or just a natural tone; he waits until Azaylia's settled in case she needs a steadying hand, before he moves to seat himself beside her. Only then does he take a savoring sip of the wine, nodding his approval to her. "Do you like a... challenge, kitten?" he asks, as if this is a natural question that follows her answer, head tipped so that he can study her, their seated positions putting them on the level with each other. Azaylia shifts from self concious to curious as R'hin sips, his nod met with a small curl of her lips. Good. The smile even survives his petname, although there's a telltale slant of tolerant amusement. In the time it takes her mouth to open, the instinctive response is replaced by genuine curiosity, "Why do you call me that?" It seems like she might be holding her own answer hostage, but in reality she's taking the time to enjoy her drink further. "Maybe." Azaylia lifts her gaze to catch the tilt of his head, prompting her to add, "Talking to you is a challenge." "It suits you," R'hin replies, simply. "And," an all-too-familiar unrepentant grin surfaces, "It stirs you up." Either reason could be just as compelling as the other, as far as the bronzerider is concerned. With another appreciative sip of the wine, he says, "Ahh," with a knowing sort of nod. "That's the only reason you allow me to spirit you away. For the challenge, hm?" Still, the response doesn't appear to be taken negatively. "See?" Azaylia can't help but laugh in her quiet way, "A challenge." Her eager sips turn slow, pensive as she regards the bronzerider. Another uncertain, "Maybe." Far too genuine to try for mystery, the goldrider doesn't mean to be vague. "That, and even if I don't know you," not really, "I know I'm safe. Even if it's because of the Weyr." R'hin's pale-eyed regard is intent, almost uncomfortable -- if it weren't something he's done many a time before, followed by dark, mirthful chuckle. "To challenges," he proposes, lifting his glass to tap carefully against hers as he takes another sip, his regard unwavering. "Here," he rises, abruptly, stretching down to offer hand to her. "I've an idea." Azaylia doesn't shrink beneath his gaze, though familiarity doesn't banish all of her discomfort. Instead, she matches his intensity with a lack of her own, curiosity held in brown eyes. With a chime of their glasses, "To sneaking out." She gives a start as R'hin suddenly stands, hesitant to take his hand as she swallows another spiced mouthful. Fortified, her hand slides into his, "I'm worried." And just moments ago she felt so safe. There's a low, throaty laugh from R'hin, as if her momentary hesitation is pleasing. He doesn't pull her hand into the crook of his elbow -- not with his other hand still carrying his glass -- but instead keeps a comfortable grip on hers as he leads the way out. Outside, the heat is almost oppressive against the skin after the cool dark of the tent. The Savannah rider seems to know exactly where he's heading, walking with a purposeful stride -- though not so fast that he doesn't pause to observe those they pass by -- and was that a flicker of recognition in that young man that hurried past them? The bronzerider slows, then stops outside another tent, holding the flap open again. Inside, it's much more brightly lit with glows -- the better to highlight the dresses, sarongs, and other Istan-style clothing inside. One of the women takes them both in, though R'hin jumps in before she can say anything: "The lady would like to try on some dresses. I'm... here to approve them." The grin he slants Azaylia is a little bit challenging: will she disagree? R'hin's laugh isn't terribly comforting, but the warm bite spreading through her stomach is. It's overwhelming when paired with the heat of the day, Azaylia squinting and literally blind for the first few seconds of following him. She's quick enough to catch the bronzerider's reaction to that stranger, too slow to see more than a glimpse of the young man. She's still searching, lingering just outside the new tent, which only adds to the pleasant surprise when Azaylia is faced with the selection. A squeak of surprise quickly turns into a delighted murmur, "Yay." The Savannah rider's grin catches her off guard, wide eyed and looking caught despite calm words, "Of course you are." Too good to be an act, she is oblivious to any harm. "Shall I mind your drink while you pick out your first one?" R'hin offers, as if amused by her reaction. He stretches out a hand for said drink. The woman gives a nod of approval, then gestures as if to lead Azaylia back. There's a change room back there where she can change away from those (definitely watching) eyes, once she's chosen something. "Try something in red," comes the bronzerider's suggestion as he settles himself down all-too-comfortably in one of those chairs, waiting with anticipation. And wine. Now there's suspicion, however light, at Azaylia having to hand her drink over to R'hin. She takes one last defiant sip before he takes it, finding comfort in the airy fabric that surrounds her. Her natural progression brings her to a crimson gown, and the bronzerider earns a glance for his suggestion. "I'm not... I like blue." But surely, R'hin is the one with the marks, which is why the woman is so quick to agree with him on the color. Two is all it takes to convince the goldrider, who looks only slightly confused when being led away. It's some time before Azaylia is able to navigate through all of the spare fabric, the layers necessary to achieve any modesty. Though the hue is opaque, the silky material has so little substance it can't help but cling to the figure. "It's nice..." She admits, although the rich scarlet is the obvious source of her uncertainty. The shop's owner helps, buttoning up what needs buttoning up, and murmuring an agreement with her assessment. R'hin's not idle while she dresses; he makes it all the of way through his glass of wine, and sets his empty glass on the ground next to hers. Boredom finally gets him, and there's a certain impropriety as he twitches the curtains enough to peek. "Surely you must be dressed by... ah," again, his gaze flickers from head to toe, and he looks pleased. "Here, let's try it out," he stretches out a hand for hers, and assuming she takes it, intends to spin her around as if in the midst of a dance. "Definitely red," he's murmuring in quiet satisfaction. Azaylia's startled smile contrasts with the shop owner's tightly pursed lips at R'hin's peeking, silent on the fact if only because the goldrider is dressed when he does. Pushing past her reservations, the weyrwoman is willing to turn in place so that he can see all of it. Even that simple motion has the dress shifting, although it's nothing when compared to when she accepts his hand and is spun. Suddenly the fabric loses its grip on her legs, a rippling fan waiting for the moment she falls still so it can cling once again. "It's not me." She attempts to argue, even with bright eyes and a wide smile for his pleasure. "But sometimes it's fun to not be yourself," R'hin's quick to counter her protest as he steadies her, hand sliding comfortably into the curve of her back. "Come on, kitten. Indulge me, just for today." Then, to the woman, firmly, "We'll take it. Will you wrap her dress up? She can wear this out, and we'll come back for it before we leave." And then a look towards Azaylia, as if daring the Weyrwoman to protest. Not as quick as his rebuttal, "...is it?" Still, it doesn't take much for Azaylia to give in, pet name aside. It comes with a gentle pat-pat to R'hin's chest just as he reaches for her waist, "Oh... alright." She can't even manage to sound reluctant, far too delighted by his insistence. His silent challenge is met with a knowing smile, although whatever insight she thinks she has is not voiced. With a firm little nod of her head, "After this, we're going to dance." Not that she has any great love for the music, but, "This dress was made for it." That much, she can admit. The woman waits until Azaylia agrees before she gives a nod, collecting Azaylia's dress and departing after an exchange of haggling and marks passes hands. "Yes we are," R'hin agrees, vehemently, a grin touching his lips as he leads her out of the tent and in the direction of the music. The harpers are playing a joyful tune and fast pace, and the bronzerider's a keen and apt dancer. Later, after the dancing finishes and there's more drinks, he might let himself be tugged along for some shopping, though he'll only bear this for a short time before insisting on escorting the goldrider safely home, with her new dress. |
Leave A Comment