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Dragonshy: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Rh'mis, Azaylia | where = Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr | what = Azaylia finally finds an opportunity to talk with Rh'mis and try to figure out why Rone wants ..."

2013-11-08T06:24:27Z

Created page with "{{ Log | who = Rh'mis, Azaylia | where = Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr | what = Azaylia finally finds an opportunity to talk with Rh'mis and try to figure out why Rone wants ..."

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{{ Log
| who = Rh'mis, Azaylia
| where = Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Azaylia finally finds an opportunity to talk with Rh'mis and try to figure out why Rone wants him so badly.
| when = Day 12, Month 3, Turn 33
| gamedate = 2013.11.07
| quote = "Information is power, Weyrwoman."
| weather =
| categories = General, A Crisis Of Succession
| mentions = Rone
| ooc =
| icons = azaylia pensive.jpg, rh'mis hood.jpg
| log = '''Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr'''

''With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.''
----

In the (roughly) two sevens since Iesaryth and Vhaeryth's clutch hatched, the newly-named Rh'mis (not that he regularly answers to ''that'' name) hasn't ventured far from the barracks... or even from his couch. Tonight, however, itchy feet have sent the young man away from the barracks as his lifemate dreams; he sits by the hearth, now, his hood pulled low over his eyes to give him some measure of anonymity - or, at least, encouraging the impression that he wants to be left alone. Those eyes stare into the mug he's holding between both hands, barely visible but nonetheless intent.

Be it by firelizard eyes or dragon gossip, ''someone'' is bound to have caught sight of Rh'mis in the lower caverns. Then again, that someone ''could'' have been mistaken, except that drums and flame find Rosvelth unresponsive and the lad isn't in the barraks... for once. The leather of Azaylia's boots might give a wet creek as she enters the nighthearth, brown gaze scanning the little nook and stopping on the back of Rh'mis' hooded head. There's a moment of hesitation, uncertain even as she walks toward him and decides to lean against the back of an empty chair. Her eyes won't hold a terrible amount of weight, but he ''is'' being watched; the Weyrwoman crossing her arms atop the cushiony back and resting a tilted jaw on them.

Rh'mis is far too canny to miss the sensation of being watched; too canny, too, not to have determined the identity of his observer, though there's been no obvious shift of his gaze. For some moments, he maintains his stillness, fingers still wrapped about that mug, gaze still lowered towards it, and then, abruptly, he straightens, his attention turned directly on the Weyrwoman. "You'll want to join me, I imagine," he says, with quiet sangfroid. "Ma'am."

When he straightens, Azaylia does much the same, though her sudden jerk is out of obvious surprise. "Oh. Hello. Yes?" She doesn't sound terribly sure, and yet the goldrider walks around that same chair in order to sit in it. "You're welcome to call me Azaylia." A reminder, as he might have heard her saying as much to others in his weyrling class. "I was just... curious." Clearly the Weyrwoman still is, head tilting once more as she focuses gentle eyes on Rh'mis. Specifically, where his own gaze might be if not for the hood. She'll contend with inspecting the rest of his features in what must be comfortable silence for ''her''.

Now, Rhey pulls back his hood, an arch little smile on his face: she's curious, and he'll let her see. It's no skin off his nose (at least - not now). "Azaylia," he repeats, though it's expressionless enough that it may be simply out of politeness. ''His'' gaze is less curious than hers, though he's watching her nonetheless. "Here I am, then," he says. "As you see."

When she catches sight of his smile, however small, Azaylia's own lips curl to match. There's too much going on behind brown eyes for there to be much warmth in the gesture, silence broken only by his words. Finally, in her quiet way, "You don't ''look'' like a thief." Though she doesn't sound terribly convinced of his innocence, either. Still, the Weyrwoman's tone is pleasant enough, finally turning to look at the fire and offer Rh'mis some respite.

"What does a thief look like?" wonders Rhey, setting down his mug with careful fingers, ''his'' gaze not shifting from the goldrider even as hers does. "A ''good'' thief would want to look as innocuous as possible, I should think," he adds, after a moment, as though this is the first time he's thought about it, though it clearly isn't. "I can proclaim my innocence for you, if you like. Fall to the floor and beg for your protection, too. I'm not sure it'll help, though. Or matter."

"That's a good point... In that case, you'd probably make an excellent thief." Where some might tease, Azaylia sounds pensive. Almost whistful. "With the scene Rone made, I don't know what I expected. I only caught a glimpse of you in the stands." And as much as she adores the dragonets, her visits have been few. When he offers to beg, it has the Weyrwoman's gaze snapping back over, "Don't do that." She honestly sounds ''worried'' that he will. "You Impressed at our Weyr. My Weyr." A more genuine smile blossoms, "It would take more than an army to get through Hraedhyth to you and Rosvelth." This time, her attention stays on the weyrling. "Why don't you think it'll matter? Why does ''he'' want you so badly?" Still thoughtful, the questions are airy enough to sound rhetorical.

There's no change to Rhey's expression for Azaylia's first conclusion - and really, he remains impassive throughout her words, right until the last, excepting the way his brows raise for her concern that he might prostrate himself. "That's what I mean - it won't matter because as soon as I Impressed, I became... 'inviolate' would be the wrong word. He can't touch me. You can't hand me over." Some might seem pleased by this, but Rhey seems pensive for it; he gives every impression of having thought about it long and hard. "I'm not a thief," he says, finally. "Unless you believe information - knowledge - can be stolen." Does she? His brows have raised in question.

Azaylia lets out a gentle hum of understanding once he clarifies, relaxing back into her seat once she realizes she's been leaning towards him. "Won't." She corrects rather firmly. "We ''won't'' hand you over." To the Weyrwoman, there's a difference. Just as there seems to be a difference between stealing and ''spying''. "Since information can't be owned, I don't know that I consider it stealing, no." And yet there goes her chin, dipping in order to aim a look of disapproval over at Rh'mis. "I don't approve of eavesdropping," That's a nice way of putting it, "But it isn't something I'd turn you in for, even if you hadn't Impressed. Especially not to ''him''."

Rh'mis' raised eyebrows suggest he might debate the difference, but doesn't - verbally. "No?" he says, polite, in answer to her disapproving glance, her comments on eavesdropping. "Information is power, Weyrwoman." It's likely a deliberate use of her title in lieu of her name. "There are those in your Weyr who listen out and report back to others. There are certainly those in other places in listen out and report back to people ''here''. Information," he repeats, "is power. Nonetheless, I appreciate it. It certainly wasn't my intention to get caught." Or to Impress.

"A turn or two ago, I might have been upset by you saying that." There's only a hint of surprise at this revelation, and it fades quickly. "I'm not surprised. It's a big place, High Reaches Weyr." There are bound to be spies, and those who would make use of them. "Even with all of that, it's still standing." A statement that lacks any denial of the fragility of her home. "If someone were to try and use that power to threaten us..." This is where some might make an impressive threat. Instead, the Weyrwoman simply shakes her head and for once doesn't seem overly worried. Gently, "What happened, happened. I hope the Weyr will feel like home, in the end."

Quietly, "Know thy enemy." Rhey could certainly expound further on that topic, but that whispered remark - barely audible above the crackling of the fire and the rustle of people nearby - seems to be all he intends to say on that front. Even so, there's a suggestion to his tone; a hint, however veiled. "It seems as though I don't have much choice: a dragon belongs in a Weyr, and plainly I am not leaving without him. I'm sure I will become accustomed to it, in time." He smiles, seeming to intend his words to be positive, despite their restraint.

It's possible Azaylia doesn't catch Rh'mis' quiet words, having no answer for him as she looks towards the dancing flames. Despite the light illuminating her face, her eyes are dark with thought, though the rest of her expression isn't nearly as severe. There's a different kind of fire in her gaze when she regards the weyrling, though they're not ''for'' him. Her focus returns soon enough, "That's... not what I meant." Her amusement at his forced optimism falls somewhat flat, but it's there. "High Reaches was home to me even before Hraedhyth's egg was clutched. Still... I know it's not an easy adjustment for some." With a soft nod, and a glance that doesn't ''mean'' to be pointed, "I've gotten very good about making time to listen, if you ever need it." But then, there are also Weyrlingmasters for that.

Reaching for his mug and drawing it up towards his mouth may be something Rhey does to cover his expression, or perhaps to give himself time to come up with something to say; the glance he aims at Azaylia is appraising, but also faintly bewildered. "I'm not much of a talker, but thank you for the offer," he says. "It's fine. ''I'm'' fine. Everything will sort itself out."

Does the Weyrwoman look convinced? Not really. Still, Azaylia rises to her feet with another little nod, "Alright. Good." Smoothing her hands over her skirt, she can't help but smile when mentioning his lifemate, "I hope Rosvelth isn't ''too'' much of a handful." And yet, she sounds so sure of it. He must remind her of another difficult dragonet. "It was nice to finally meet you, Rh'mis. Have a nice night." Her farewell is genuinely sweet as she turns and strides with some purpose out of the nighthearth. People to do, places to see-- or more than likely, a stack of hidework is waiting for her.

A single glance at Rhey's face will prove the truth of her surety: he looks at once utterly exhausted and ''completely'' overwhelmed, even if neither expression remains in place for long. "Thank you," he says, in lieu of answering her directly, his words even despite that earlier expression. "Good night." Even after she's gone, he watches the door-- thoughtfulness reigns.

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 | what = Azaylia finally finds an opportunity to talk with Rh'mis and try to figure out why Rone wants him so badly.
 | when = Day 12, Month 3, Turn 33
 | gamedate = 2013.11.07
 | quote = "Information is power, Weyrwoman."

Logs:Rh'mis Found - Revision history

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