Difference between revisions of "Logs:Emotions of the Emotionally Stunted"

Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr

The peculiar shape of this room suggests that it was unintentionally expanded, cement holding the ceiling together towards the peculiarly shaped alcove build into the back corner. It's larger than most personal quarters as a result, and though the uneven walls mean nothing sits flush, there's plenty of room for more than the usual amount of furniture.

The larger lobe of the lopsided kidney shape that the room has might be considered a studio room. A large bed is tucked into the roundest part of the alcove, though there's a gap behind where the straight headboard does not meet the wall. It's piled high with furs and pillows. In this curve there's also a wardrobe, a dresser, and nightstands. Hooks extending from the ceiling over the dresser have been rigged with two layered chain-link that holds a number of bottles of alcohol of different varieties. The highest drawer in the dresser which is bizarrely the largest locks with a key.

Opposite it, closer to the door, is a hearth that's had a throw rug and loveseat set in front of it, along with a few low tables. A set of shelves and a small desk sit opposite the curve of the smaller end of the room. Around the curve and into the little lobe, one finds a great change. There's color everywhere instead of the muted things in the front half. Scarves and streamers hang from little hooks installed in the ceiling, their lengths varying, and a crib is set up in the middle with two small boxes that have toys poking out of their not-quite-shut lids. There's a tall table stocked with all the tools a mother needs (well, those that are safe to be at toddler height) and a small dresser and wardrobe. The furniture is all hand-me-downs but in decent enough condition to make the occupants comfortable.

Tayte made arrangements for Yvalia to be elsewhere for the evening, and so she's waiting with dinner as they'd arranged, and drinks. There isn't a proper table, so instead to small end table have been placed in front of the loveseat, each one holding a plate and some kind of mixed drink that's a combination of colors and garnished with citrus. Tayte's door is unlocked and she's seated at her vanity, putting the finishing touches on an updo that has a braid snaked around the crown of her head and tucked into place with a pretty hair-comb with blue gemstones. She's dressed a little up, but in comfortable clothes, loose silky red pants that tie at the waist and a pale yellow long-sleeved tunic that hugs her curves, the blouse embroidered with red flowers and green vines. And, of course, her very classy fuzzy pink slippers.

When H'vier arrives, there's a precursory knock on the door before he lets himself in and enters to close the door behind him. "Hey, gorgeous," he says when he notes where Tayte is past glancing at the situated end tables. The bronzerider is wearing much the same as he usually does, trousers and a shirt, though his button down is of a light fabric that many Istans are accustomed to wearing, sleeves rolled partway up his forearms. His gaze pauses on what she's wearing, admiring both the clothes and what he's perfectly aware is underneath them.

"Hi, Havi," Tayte answers, catching sight of him in the mirror, a smile curling her lips before she turns to look at him directly. "Hungry?" She queries. The plates are covered, to retain the heat, but obviously she went to efforts to make tonight nice. After one more glance in the mirror and a final tucking pat, she rises and moves to meet him, slipping her arms around his neck and greeting him with a kiss. "I wasn't sure what your favorite foods were, so I brought what the kitchen was serving." She slips away to go uncover the plates, revealing wherry stew. Again. For the eightymillionth time this turn! What fun rationing is. But at least next to each bowl is a citrus fruit, and some bread that doesn't look too terribly stale. "I might be tempted to go back to Southern if we keep having meals like this." She notes wryly before settling on the loveseat. "The drinks are strong though, so that should help."

H'vier has even noticed that there's been effort put into the evening's plans and he seems impressed. Maybe slightly suspicious. He's not used to these sorts of things so maybe that's all it is. He smiles at the kiss, a hand touching her waist before she's slipping away. "Not too picky, really," he admits, moving over to take a seat and reach for one of the drinks. "It looks great. Really. Don't think you should go back to Southern, though. I like you right here. What's all the fuss for?" he asks the last, not trying to make it sound like he disapproves or anything.

"No favorites? Really?" Tayte has to ask, "So I'll never be able to get us a dinner of your favorite meal because you don't have one?" She could lie and say 'nothing!', could hold out for a moment when H'vier is more malleable, but damned if Tayte doesn't respect him too much to try manipulation (at least on the first go). "Well, and this won't always be the case," She feels the need to say before she even starts talking. It wouldn't do for him to always associate her extra effort with bad things, "There are some things we need to talk about. And you're not going to like some of them. And I thought it would be better if we'd had a nice meal first and a strong drink. Maybe two." Beat. "Or three." It might be a three drink discussion (or more). And when Tayte is mixing drinks for personal pleasure, as with tonight, it can be trusted that they're made strong.

"I probably have some sort of favorite. But I'd have to think about it." Ask him his favorite whiskey and he can probably tell you where it's from and who personally made it. Food? Not so much. H'vier seems somewhat satisfied when Tayte points out there's a reason for all of this. His suspicion was correct! "Maybe a drink," he says, lifting his up to take a drink. "You should just get on with it. Saying that it's going to suck isn't going to make eating any more fun." Though H'vier does eye the food before lifting his gaze back to Tayte.

Tayte's look to the food is... unexcited, at best. She, too, bypasses the spoon and stew bowl in favor of picking up the drink. She drinks, and drinks, and doesn't set the glass down until it's gone. Strong and quick. That ought to be potent and helpful for calm and logical discussions. But if straightforward and without delay is how he wants things, that's how they'll come. "I want to sleep with Jo. Without supervision." Her voice is even, as though she'd just commented that she'd like the next drink with a little more berry flavor. She doesn't linger on the couch, but starts to rise, glass in hand, eyes going toward the booze dresser. The top has been set up for drink mixing. She did say a drink or two or three.

"No," says H'vier without, apparently, even giving it any real consideration. Like her voice, his is neutral. For now. And there doesn't seem to be any anger readily visible on his face at the moment. But then, that's not always the best thing that could be happening where he's concerned, a man like him prone to violent outbursts.

Tayte stops once risen, instead of heading for the booze dresser. The glass is set carefully down on the end table and she stares at H'vier. It isn't shock or surprise, it's a slightly narrowed look of consideration. Maybe she's trying to read through the expression on his face. She doesn't immediately say anything, although the fact that her hands slowly settle on her hips probably doesn't bode well for 'that being that; issue closed'.

H'vier is plenty experienced with women to know that look. It's probably just something all men are born knowing, even. But his expression doesn't change. He takes another drink before rising from where he'd settled and stepping toward her. "No," he repeats in a way that he probably doesn't realize sort of sounds like a challenge.

She's not far, since she didn't get further than standing up and turning toward him from where she was beside him. Only now she has to look up at him to maintain that kind of eye-contact. Tayte's head tilts up, and to the side, her chin either accepting the challenge he didn't know he was giving or offering one of her own. "Why?" The singular word is spoken clearly, though, as yet, without anger.

"Because you're mine." Which is a totally valid reason as far as he's concerned. "Why do you need to fuck her for when you have me, anyway? If you're off fucking other people, there's no fucking us." He doesn't even mean it as a threat or anything. Just an explanation of a fact that he seems to think is kind of important. There's a hint of anger in his voice now.

Her hands move off her hips but only to fold across her chest. Tayte's lips shift into a displeased purse, only she doesn't seem to have the words to say what she wants to say. Or maybe she doesn't really know what that is. "What does that even mean?" She demands after a minute. "I'm yours. What does that mean?" There's no anger in her voice (yet), but it's colored with annoyance, frustration, and even confusion. What is the big deal?

"What the fuck do you think it means, woman?" There's a rise in H'vier, in his voice, in the way that he holds himself that anyone that's seem him get into a fight would probably be able to recognize. Except rather than punching Tayte or something like that, the bronzerider turns away to down the rest of his drink. He looks like he might throw the glass for a moment but instead he sets it down, lifting his now free hand to rub at his jaw while he's turned away from her before he's shaking his head. "You know what. Fine. Fuck her as much as you want. Fuck anyone as much as you want." Except then he's heading for the door.

"Flame it, H'vier!" Tayte curses as he starts heading for the door and she does something that qualifies as one of the most stupid things she possibly could do here and now. She puts herself between the bronzerider and the exit, nimble feet stealing her past him and into his path. "For Faranth's sake, I wouldn't be asking if I knew." She holds up her hands upon arriving in that precarious spot, a universal gesture for peace.

"Don't act stupid, Tayte," H'vier growls at her when she ends up in front of him. The way he grabs her by the shoulders and shoves her back against the door seems to be somewhat reflexive but his head leans in in a way he'd never do with someone he actually thought would get physical back. "If you're fucking someone else, there's no reason for me to just fuck you. And if you don't care about that, there's no reason for us to be doing this bullshit in the first place." He gives her a relatively even look but his jaw clenches with his restraint before he's moving her out of his way.

"Wait, I don't understand," Tayte blurts as H'vier's moving her. She doesn't make it easy for him, resisting the movement and causing herself to stumble in the process, though not fall. He's got plenty enough strength on her to make her move where he wants. "Havi, I want to fuck you, but I don't understand." Her tone starts to take on an edge of desperation. "Don't go, please." She pleads, eyes showing her obvious bewilderment. She'd not expected this conversation to go well, but apparently she'd not anticipated this either. Then again, when has H'vier's reactions to things ever not surprised her outside of the bedroom.

That tone in her voice seems to have the strange effect of both causing him pain and making him angry. Since it's clearly not a physical pain, the emotion might be where the anger is coming from. "And you're not going to understand, are you? Serves me right for falling for a fucking whore, doesn't it." And maybe that will shock her enough that H'vier can open the door and storm his way out properly.