Difference between revisions of "Logs:Live Simulation"

Interestingly, after Lilah sends along her messenger, there's no response. Not the next day, the day after, not a seven after. Again, when contact is finally made, it's without warning: Leiventh's wintry tones subtle and almost unnoticed before he speaks to the young Fortian queen: « Come, » an offer, not an order, along with an image of outlying Neratian farmlands, an image likely not learned during weyrlinghood, since it seems to be in the middle of nowhere. « R'hin says, do not wear your 'outfit'. » The bronze repeats the words with the air of someone not quite understanding the sentiment, but trusting it will make sense to the recipient. The image is set over a series of gently rolling hills, and Leiventh is crouched in one of the valleys, eyes closed. R'hin leans against him, dressed casually, closer to a farmer than a rider in his roughly-spun shirt and pants. The sun is warm, a far cry from High Reaches, and indeed, Fort's current weather.

It is almost impossible to miss the queen as she appears above the skies of this farmland, dark gold set in sharp relief against the bright skies. Eliyaveith wings easily down, indeed far more easily than she should almost a month after her mating flight. Her figure hasn't seemed to change, though she is a large dragon to begin with. And whether the message was passed along correctly or not-- There is the hint of the dark sage of the dress of last time as Lilah slides down to the ground, covered on top by dark leather of her flight jacket and matching boots that do not quite match the dress. "I have no idea what outfit you meant, but I wasn't going to show up naked," is what she throws towards R'hin in greeting.

The coil of the bronze's cold tones suggests he's well aware of the gold's presence in the Neratian skies, the acknowledgement wordless. He must pass it on, because R'hin straightens, shades his eyes, and watches their descent with a keenness that could bespeak interest -- or maybe there's not much else to do out here. "You're a tad overdressed," he says, with amusement, though not apology, despite the fact that he didn't warn her; his gaze takes her in from head to toe as he strides over to her side. "Nevermind; I'm sure we can find you something appropriate on the way." The way appears to be a dirt trail leading off over the gentle hills in the direction of Nerat Hold proper. There's a nod for Eliyaveith, and then he gestures, as if waiting for Lilah to precede him.

Eliyaveith rumbles softly even as R'hin nods at her, a quiet reply even as she curls herself up in the soft field. There is a certain pleasure for the warmth of this area from the sensitive queen, and her flames turn into banked coals as she prepares herself to nap, though not without a draconic glance over Leiventh nearby. "Would you have rathered I wore the matching grey?" counters Lilah, dry to his amusement, before she starts in the direction of that trail. Her fingers catch at the skirt of her dress, keeping it from the dirt kicked up by her merely walking.

Leiventh barely moves, though the slight glimmer of mostly-lidded eyes might well suggest he's still paying attention. He, too, seems content to doze in the afternoon sun, a welcome change from the snow of High Reaches. "What is it with goldriders and no actual outfits?" It seems to be muttered more than half to himself, the bronzerider bemused. "You know weavers would work for free, if you showed off their designs. You ought to take advantage of that," R'hin advises, as he falls into pace with her, shortening his pace so they keep abreast. "So, your homework. Tell me about it." The one she sent sevens ago.

It is very unlikely that R'hin's own outfit has gone unnoticed, confirmed when Lilah questions too lightly, sweetly, "And do you think that they would make me the outfit of a farmer for free, if I asked nicely? I'm sure they'd want to know why I would need one." As always, there is a hint of contrariness at R'hin's request in the way her brow curves upwards. "You want me to repeat what I already wrote down and sent to you?"

"You'd be surprised how generous farmer folk are, when the right tone of respect and understanding is used," R'hin says, fairly casually. They crest the small hill, and start down into the next valley, blocking the sight of their dragons. With a low throated chuckle, the Wingleader corrects: "No. I want you to remember what you wrote down and sent to me."

Lilah's dark gaze flicks back towards where they left the dragons even as they disappear from view, some hint of tension there to be leaving Eliyaveith behind, but she is quick to return her attention back to R'hin. "Actually," she replies thoughtfully. "I have a question for you." It doesn't turn out to be anything more serious than lessons, though as she adds, "If I asked you to skinny dip with me for my turnday--."

It's probably not the most off-beat of propositions the bronzerider's had in his life, given R'hin chuckles briefly. "We'll see how well you do today," he says, with an amused look that suggests his question isn't the sole test of today's trip. "First though -- here," he gives a slight nod of head towards a small farmhouse set back from the road a ways. "Try around the back. Most will leave clothes out to dry in good weather like this, and like as not this time of day they're far out in the fields." He's waiting, expectantly.

There is a moment that it looks like Lilah may object or question, sliding a look to the small farmhouse and back again to the bronzerider at the suggestion. But then, she doesn't. Instead, the goldrider moves away to explore around the house until she finally comes upon a clothesline. And when she reappears, it is with her dress and jacket tied together in a neat bundle and her clothes replaced with a soft, worn blue tunic and biege trousers, her hair thrown up into a messy bun rather than left down. The only thing that bothers her is, "I didn't have any marks to leave for them."

R'hin waits by the dirt road, ostensibly as a lookout, managing to look the part by lounging beside the road until she returns. There's an approving grunt as he eyes her choice of clothes, nodding as he straightens, though he does give her a bemused look at her latter words. "Bring something to them later. Wash the clothes, return them to the clothes line. You have a dragon." He starts back along the path, barely three steps on before he prompts, "Your report?"

Slinging that bundle of clothes over her shoulder, Lilah falls in step easily. He apparently won't have to prompt a third time, because this time she finally summarizes the observations that were so carefully recorded and sent along. And while usually the goldrider may have a sharp memory, between proddiness and a flight and everything in between, she glosses over a few details that she might remember otherwise.

When she finally finishes, the immediate reaction from R'hin is a grunt -- it doesn't seem overly enthusiastic, but neither is he vocally critical. Her report, however, serves to fill in the time it takes them to walk the distance to Nerat proper. Here, there's plenty of activity, with Holders similarly dressed heading in or out, or moving around on some sort of business. R'hin picks up their pace, from casual to purposeful, leading them into the Hold itself. It's relatively uneventful, except for that brief run in -- literally -- with one of the guards, R'hin accidentally knocking into the bulky man, apologizing profusely and subservient, and bowing their way past the finally mollified guard. The fact that, moments after turning a corner and stopping in front of a door he produces a key is mere coincidence. There's a click, as the door unlocks, and he gestures Lilah to precede him into the dark room.

Lilah doesn't do well at subservient, and so she hangs back as R'hin apologizes, watching with dark eyes and the hint of a frown. Even without her knot and her clothes, she still has that certain hint of confidence in herself. That will surely help her blend in. She is quick to slip inside the dark room ahead of R'hin, learning to listen, at least.

R'hin's quick to slip in behind her and shut the door, plunging them into momentary darkness before he reaches for one of the glowbaskets to the side of the door. A quick twist of the key, and the lock clicks again. "This is the Lady Holder's study." It's certainly a well-appointed room, and surely the bronzerider wouldn't lie about that, would he? There's a large desk, writing implements, a comfortable looking chair behind it. A couch and a pair of chairs are placed in front of a low table, no doubt used to entertain visitors near to the currently cold hearth. The curtains are drawn over one wall, possibly covering up windows.

"What are we doing in here?" Lilah questions with murmured tones, quiet in this illicit endeavor. She does move away to pace the length of the room, studying it as if she expects a quiz on it later.

The older rider watches her inspecting the room, pale eyes keenly interested, familiar amusement lighting them. "Here? Well, in, mm, let's say somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes, Lady Biatrix is apt to walk in, to sneak in a little pre-dinner drink or two, as is her ritual." Reaching into his pocket, R'hin extracts a small pouch, closing the distance and reaching for Lilah's hand, pressing it into her palm. The bronzerider doesn't wait for her to open it; he lifts the key as he retreats to the door, and, crouching, deftly flicks his wrist, sending it skidding under the door, out into the corridor. "Unfortunately for us, we're locked in. That would look terrible, wouldn't it? If we were in here, drinking her liqueur?" Why, yes, the Savannah Wingleader is indeed busy determining the contents of that sideboard near the curtains. The pouch he's handed her, meanwhile, appears to have the tools of their salvation: a pair of lockpicks.

Just as she started to trust you, R'hin--. There is a hint of disbelief as Lilah processes his words, the fact that he has sent the key underneath the door, and the contents of that pouch. And when she does, it's to sharply point out, "You haven't taught me anything yet." It doesn't stop her from stalking to the door, frustration in the look she shoots the bronzerider even as he investigates the liquor. "If they catch us, if they recognize me--. Hattie is going to kill me."

"I have a belief that genuine pressure aids concentration." Or it could well be that R'hin is just that much of an ass; perhaps even both. The bronzerider's pulled out a decanter of something, takes a deep breath, and splashes some into a glass. With a glance over his shoulder, he grins at her mention of her Weyrwoman: "Then you'd better get started. You broke into my weyr, remember?" With help, although at least that time he gave her instructions that she hopefully remembers; certainly he's being less helpful now, strolling over towards that couch.

Lilah growls at the lock rather than the bronzerider, too busy trying to shove the picks in to even bother to look at him, "No, you broke into your weyr. I was only holding the hairpins." And, that, at least, is one point on the goldrider's side: she has actual picks to work with while she attempts to struggle with what he taught her before.

R'hin takes an appreciative sip of the liquid, nodding to himself. "She does know how to pick her drinks. I always admire that in a woman." He settles on the couch, throwing one arm over the back, the other balancing the glass on his thigh, pale eyes resting on the goldrider's form. "I've told you everything you need to know," he says, his voice far too casual. "Focus on one tumbler at a time. Feel them out with the pick."

"I am glad you admire her, because when I get out of here, I am locking you back in," Lilah throws back in idle threat to the bronzerider. She doesn't look back, but at least those words and the reminder seem to focus that panicked energy. There is less desperate shoving of picks as she carefully feels out the first tumbler. She gets it, but it falls back into place as she tries for the next one, and she has to start over again.

"I could have locked you in here by yourself," R'hin points out, with a dark chuckle that suggests that's a tactic he's tried before. "Besides, if you finish quickly enough you can share some of this drink with me." He tips his glass in her direction, in silent salute, even if she's not looking. Footsteps go past outside, though thankfully they don't stop, fading away after a few tense moments.

Lilah has the sense to stop as those footsteps pass, rather than chancing the noise of lockpicking alerting who might be outside of that door. "If I get this, we're taking a whole bottle with us." She doesn't seem to have any problems with stealing from Lord Holders, apparently. There is no quickness in this task, no matter how much she might brag about being good with her hands. She does, though, eventually get it on her own without resorting to begging R'hin, the soft click of the lock followed shortly be a relieved sigh.

That R'hin's finished his drink and has managed to step closer, silently, is probably a testimony to her concentration; he makes himself known by the murmured, "Good," just moments after the click. He offers her a hand to help her up.

Despite everything, Lilah still accepts that hand to leverage herself up, only after she has tucked away those picks back into the pouch and into her pocket. Even if R'hin didn't mean for her to keep them, they are hers now. "You have to go back to your drink so I can lock you in," she tells him, once she's on her feet.

R'hin's gaze flickers to the lockpicks in Lilah's hand, to her acquiring of them with a snort of amusement. He doesn't seem overly fussed, so perhaps they were a gift, or maybe he intends to acquire them back later. "Mm, well--" They have a hair's breath of warning, the sound of quiet steps halting outside. Without warning, the bronzerider pushes her against the wall, and his lips are pressing against hers, insistently, a hand tangling into her red hair and the other loosening that tunic.

It isn't likely that Lilah is a good enough actress for the way she responds to that kiss. There is a moment of surprise, but it doesn't last more than a breath before she is pressing back against him, arching up into the bronzerider as her lips move demandingly against his. Her own fingers catch on the curve of his arm, twining into the fabric there as if she could pull him more firmly against her.

Of course, it might be fun if it weren't a little awkward when the door opens, and a rotund older man steps in, blinking in astonishment and growing anger. His knot marks him as a steward of the Hold, and he's staring at them incredulously. "How did you two get in here?" He demands, eyes narrowing in disgust as he takes in the slightly dishevelled pair, "Get out of my office." That certainly breaks up the moment; R'hin awkwardly tugs his shirt straight as he takes a step back from Lilah, once again, well-adept at playing apologetic and subservient, murmuring an embarrassed apology under his breath. His hand snakes out to catch Lilah's, seeking to pull her along while edging out past the steward.

At least the flush of Lilah's skin can be put to embarrassment, even as she ducks her head to follow R'hin quickly even as he pulls her. It is only after they are out of earshot that she whispers the accusation, "You lied to me. That wasn't her office."

Strangely, the muttered 'old enough to be her father' that comes from the steward moments before the door slams shut behind them earns a pleased chortle from the bronzerider. R'hin releases his hold on Lilah, his posture changing from slouching and uncertain to a more confident stride as he guides them through the halls, glancing sidelong at the goldrider as he tugs a hand through his hair. "So I did," he admits in a low voice, without a trace of apology. "But you wouldn't have felt nearly as much pressure if the thought of disappointing your Weyrwoman wasn't foremost in your mind. Her opinion must mean a great deal to you."

"It doesn't matter whether it matters," Lilah replies dismissively, her own fingers lifting briefly to brush against her lips. "My Weyrwoman will likely never think highly of me. I would just rather not give her a reason to kill me or ship me off or--." She shrugs a shoulder upwards as if she doesn't care, instead moving to twist her own tangled curls back up where they have been mussed by fingers even as she picks up her own pace, eager to be out of the Hold.

His tone is still lightly amused; it seems R'hin doesn't take her reasoning seriously: "As hard a time as Fort has had recently, somehow I highly doubt she intends to add 'goldrider killer' to her list." A beat, "It's hard to please someone when they're intimidating, isn't it?" Oh-so-casually, except... hardly so, because it's R'hin. It's still light outside, and warm, and he seems content to set a pace to match hers as they walk.

Lilah's lips part on an answer, but it never comes. Instead, she shoots a sidelong look at the bronzerider and suggests, "If you want to discuss this more, I'm afraid you're going to have to use one of your questions."

R'hin doesn't seem particularly off-put by her answer, such that it is. "If you don't want the help, that's your loss. I've wrangled many a goldrider," and yes, he does mean that to sound like it sounds like, chuckling briefly.

"Somehow, I doubt even you would be skilled at wrangling Hattie," Lilah counters with the curve of her brow upwards, the hint of amusement in dark eyes as they drag over R'hin. "Speaking of," isn't really, but maybe she never learned, "Turnday, skinny dipping? Otherwise, K'del has already promised, so I don't have to alone."

A slight twitch of shoulders seems to suggest the bronzerider's not particularly intimidated by the notion. R'hin doesn't linger on it, however, with her latter question. "K'del has promised?" That certainly gets his interest, and with a low-throated chuckle, says, "Well, I couldn't possibly take that from him."

"No?" is a murmured challenge as Lilah's gaze remains weighted on R'hin, watching him before she finally turns her attention back to the path. "Well, I promised that I would try to find someone else."

"And risk disappointing High Reaches' Weyrleader? Oh, no," chortles R'hin, "You really shouldn't. Besides, you did try," he gestures towards himself, "But sadly I have some dreadfully important chore to attend to." The farmhouse to the left looks familiar -- it's the one Lilah acquired her current wardrobe from.

There is a soft laugh that infuses Lilah's words even as she counters, "For some reason, perhaps given his relationship with Ali, I doubt he will be that disappointed." She does glance towards the farmhouse, but she doesn't stop. Changing out of her clothes seems to be not in the plan for right now.

"And yet did promise, and he will keep his word," R'hin says. They crest the hill, and their dragons are visible, to the naked eye asleep in the afternoon sun. The bronzerider picks up his pace, subtly. "You may keep my lockpicks, but you owe me something in return. I'll give some thought as to what might suit as an equitable gift."

"Yes, but I did ask you for a reason--," Lilah starts, but she only cuts herself off with a shake of her head, dismissing the rest of her words even as her gaze goes to her dragon. Eliyaveith stirs from her nap reluctantly, rumbling discontent even as she stretches herself out much like a feline as she rises. "And here I thought they were payment for lying to me and almost giving me a heart attack."

Undoubtedly there's curiosity in the pale gaze that settles on her, but R'hin knows her well enough by now to recognize those moments when she clams up. Instead of pressing, he chuckles. "No. Lying to you and giving you a heart attack is merely business as usual, for me." There's a bland honesty to the statement, as his gaze flickers to Leiventh. The bronze doesn't stir to movement, and yet he is awake, not given to extraneous gestures. The Wingleader reaches for his flying jacket where it is hooked over the bags, casually shrugging into it.

"Then you'll have to let me know if you think of something," Lilah offers in farewell even as she unbundles her own jacket and dons it, careless of the fact that she'll be returning to the Weyr wearing a different outfit than she left in. It won't be the first time. And then she moves to climb up her dragon, casting only a quick glance to R'hin before she does.

With a grin that is a mixture of amused and knowing, R'hin climbs up onto Leiventh's neckridges, and the pair departs moments after the bronze gets a few wingbeats of air beneath them.