Difference between revisions of "Logs:Business and Pleasure"

Brieli and Iesaryth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

This hollowed out bubble cavern is large enough to fit at least three large dragons, the immensity dwarfing what little furniture is visible. A small portion of the room contains a personal bath, enclosed by a carefully carved out strip of rock wall. Faint tendrils of stream waft from the corner, permeating the immediate area with a merging of warmth and cooler temperatures.

In the outermost room, a large stone table is centered in the entranceway, five chairs of wicked wood surrounding it, atop it a bowl of seasonal fruit. Nearby is an old elevator-pulley trap door to the kitchens - rusted, but coming back to life. The further corner forms the ledge entrance; nearer the baths is a grouping of stands and ceiling hooks that hold a collection of lush, green plants and hanging brightly coloured glass beads. Just next to the greenery is a large glassed-in bookshelf built into the well - only holding a few books and keepsakes - as well as two large, cozy-looking armchairs.

Behind a curtain made of more brightly coloured glass beads is a smaller, blue-wash walled room, one that is mostly filled by the big bed, made up in shades of blue to match, and lots of pillows. On the wall over it is a large, beautifully made quilt, its deep blue oceanic tones broken only by the gold of sunbeams in rounded patterns, circling sunbursts in shades of blue. At the foot of the bed is a ornately carved chest that matches the sweet redwood wardrobe that stands along the far wall. A short tunnel from this room leads into another that is a little larger, and contains an ornate desk and set of shelves that are both almost too neat to be believed - a cozy, private study nonetheless.

A little metal pebble plinks into the waves, searching for ripples this time rather than the lazy reflections of the afternoon's drowsy sunning. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

Always ripples, always a reaction; though they seem minute in comparison to waves, they still circle out, are felt, reverberate between them. There's less drowsiness here, though a little jealousy of it - only a sense of strength, of steadiness, of the constance of the tide - which, underneath, might betray a touch of exhaustion, if only quietly, if only his way. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

He has energy, has hoarded it like treasure, can reach out and share in a warm torrent... just that touch, just what's betrayed, just what's just to him. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

Who's to say it can't work like that? It's a rush, a flood that brings the light back to play on the waves, sea breezes picking up in the air. It's something; it's enough that he doesn't need to be held up, maybe, on its own. Grateful. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

Warmth, he gives her. And, not above the waves but reflected upon them, scenery: a grassy meadow, idyllic skies, a whole lot of trampled grass... all right, maybe not quite as idyllic there, but there's a crowd of people, some in costumes, the toss of fire and the throw of knives and the taste of wine. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

Faintly wistful, she'd like to be there, with him and perhaps /away/. But though that's chased with the excitement of /soon/, there's also the heavy weight of duty - keeping Hraedhyth simply cranky, protecting Ysavaeth, /calming/ - all things that will take time. The warmth and the images are enough, some of them fascinating; some all too familiar to her stolen memories - thrown knives, she's seen that... (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

That Hraedhyth. There's dust on the wind, just a few coarse grains of it, smoky and uninhabited. There are children, even some with clean faces, and feats of strength, and... eventually, hard to say how long it really is, but there's the question: is she not just home, but /at/ home to them? (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

She could ask... but she doesn't. No more of her sister for now. And she loves it all, as she always loves to see anywhere else, and when the question comes around, it seems perfectly in line with the conversation, such as it is - it's how these things go. They are at home: she shows him the view from her ledge, always busy with traffic by the caverns; her rider curled up in an armchair, considering something hidden in her palm. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

No sooner said (at least, when so languidly said) ... than done, vanished from Fort Hold's skies. Not to home, but to Iesaryth's home. And there, dutifully, reporting in. It's on mute: Vhaeryth saves her the worst of it, this time.

Iesaryth is undoubtedly pleased to be left out of the reporting, but it's not all that likely that Vhaeryth should cause that much trouble - the mood is still somewhat sombre over High Reaches, despite the weather and the gold's best efforts. And effort is not something she loves! She's watching for the bronze when he appears, and though she doesn't voice a greeting, the tide rushes out, warm and foamy and welcoming, as if to make up for the lack of such from anyone else around. As for her rider - Aishani hasn't bothered to get up from her chair yet, given N'rov knows the way in by now - she merely shifts to hang bare legs and feet over one arm so she can tilt her head back over the other and look outside. Because that's easier than standing.

His wings fly up with the tide, the saltwater all but bubbling against his dark wings, and if that makes for a showy landing... so much the better. Vhaeryth waits until his rider's dismounted before wandering over to bump noses with Iesaryth, his hide still warm with those summertime meadows beneath /between's/ chill. N'rov, though, he has to rub the feeling back into bare calves and knees, bare arms too, before poking his way inside. Literally poking, at first: at a bit of steam to watch it divide and float back together again, and later a hanging pot. "Did you have plants last time?" he asks, but by now he's not looking at the hanging garden, by now his warm gaze is on Aishani herself.

She's all too happy to touch noses with him, to run it along the length of his neck to his shoulder to rest there and feel that warmth for a moment. Iesaryth has a draconic huff, a sigh really - her life is so difficult lately, usually all sunny waves and the occasional plot or two. But Vhaeryth isn't part of that, /thankfully/. As N'rov distracts himself on the way in, Aishani tracks him with bright eyes, still draped back over the armchair, slowly grinning. "I've gotten a few over time," she tells him, straightening, if only to hold her arms out towards him, a touch dramatically. "Come over here, I'll warm you up. Isn't that what I should be saying?"

Poor, poor Iesaryth. And while Vhaeryth could endeavor to peek beneath those waves, might be /tempted/ even... she seems glad of it, so for now he'll stay out of it, and flop down with what /would/ be a thunk but turns into a scrabble for something quieter at the last moment. It seems to call for that, here, it seems to call for quiet. Even if his rider's quieter than hers is, walking into her arms if only so he can snag her fingers and kiss them. Or perhaps not /only/. Rather, "Do. Because it's summer out there, supposedly, but I am freezing. Lo, how I am cold." He shivers with drama of his own, far more than he had outside, before. "/Are/ you warm, 'Shani? And," here he's hopeful, "any chance of some food that isn't fried?" If not, perhaps he can /nibble/ on her fingertips in the meantime.

There's something that entertains Iesaryth about Vhaeryth's attempts for quiet while she's likewise touched by them - she knows quiet is not really his /thing/. So when she settles against him where he's flopped down, curled up to rest head on forepaws and look outside, she'll offer another look underwater: it's /daunting/ for her to help like this, though she is /certainly/ smart enough... it's just all so /big/. Sighing heavily, Aishani resigns herself to having to stand, though any kissing or nibbling at fingertips will put the lie to how put-upon she is, drawing her dark gaze so intently up to N'rov's mouth like that. Swinging long legs to put feet on the ground and push out of the chair, she frees her hands only to slide one arm around his neck, one about his waist as she presses close. "Better?" she murmurs, grinning. "And there's fruit on the table, and I think I might have bread and cheese."

That's one way to get Vhaeryth to sit still, or mostly, and he starts out pretty well: leaning back into her, curving his long neck over her shoulders... and yawning. Sunning was /such/ hard work, apparently, or else part of it was the energy he'd given her. He peers through the transition into the underwater zone, smooth as glass, and idly watches the creatures go by. So many of them. So many might be loud if it weren't for her swallowing them up under the water. "Better," his rider agrees, with a of that mouth she'd been staring at to hers, though he /also/ then leans in to taste her ear. Whispered: "Yes. All of those. How does it feel to be older, Turnday girl?" Turnday week, whatever: the note says he knows the date. If it got there.

Vhaeryth can rest, especially if he's helped her so; Iesaryth will watch and make sure all is well. As always content with his company, she considers his perspective, always so interested in how other things /look/, how they /seem/. That brightens her a touch as well, much as that rush of energy did - but loud must seem relative after a time. Aishani just has a breath for that kiss, a little shiver for the sensation of lips to ear, the whisper after. Her fingers already well into N'rov's hair, she points out, with no real interest in doing so, "Can't find anything like this." And, beginning to smile, pulling back only enough to look at him, into those eyes she's so taken with, "Not all that different. But it's been a good turn. I liked your terrible poem. You can write me one every turnday, if you want."

He's not /so/ sleepy that he can't turn around and give her a shot of herself, double vision: dizzy yet? Does she look the way she thinks she does, or even the way she might look through her rider's eyes? /His/ rider has a solemn nod, an assurance, "Each more terrible than the last. Here," and maybe he can drag her along with him, towards the table, towards the food-food-food. "I've had a little more wine than is wise," N'rov admits, but cheerfully. "Come. Tell me all about what you've done, while I chew. And," he hesitates but says it anyway, more with concern this time, "What happened? Here?" He can feel it, Vhaeryth can feel it, its dismal miasma sunk underwater like spilled but sullied oil not light enough to rise.

If Iesaryth got a little dizzy, would she admit it? Probably not. But it might make Aishani that much easier to drag along - though she doesn't usually put up that much of a fight to start with. Though as they move over, she unwinds herself a bit, perhaps to go off in hunt of the aforementioned bread, smirking, "Well, I'm going to have..." And that sentence likely finishes with 'a drink' in some way, but doesn't - she moves back, holding N'rov's hands, brows drawn together for a beat before, looking a little ill, "Oh. You don't know, do you." It's stated rather than asked, and while /she/ merely looks unhappy, well. That's not the feeling. And Iesaryth... doesn't know what to tell Vhaeryth. Doesn't know what she can. Doesn't want to say what she knows... isn't true.

N'rov's thumbs free themselves, but only so he can set them over hers, even as those gray eyes lift. It's a very different shift from food to this. He looks into her eyes, keeps looking, blinks, but still looks, until finally he glances back over his shoulder towards the ledge and then back. Carefully: "If I asked someone in the living cavern, what would they say happened?" There's no joke, not even an 'assuming they didn't kick me out.' And neither does Vhaeryth push.

After a long breath, "Ysavaeth lost the clutch." Aishani leaves it at that, though there's a lot there in that flat tone, the way there's no real fear there in dark eyes that meet gray evenly, no real fear in /Iesaryth/. "And depending on who it was, you might get theories from there." She looks down to his hands, gives them a quick squeeze before releasing them; "Let me find you something else, otherwise you'll starve with the tragedy ratio around here." That's wry - she moves off to see what she can dig up. And Iesaryth leaves it there for now. Perhaps she's expecting questions.

"I'm sorry." N'rov's mouth slides up like it's working on a smile but hasn't gotten there yet, and the forecast, it is poor. "It sounds like quite a crisis." Though the forecast does move up a fraction, watching her sway away. "Anything else you want me to know, just tell me." He polishes one of the varied fruits on his shirt, then bites into it, his lips working to not let the juice slip past. When he can speak again, safely, "And when you're done... two things: one's your present, one's news that may not /be/ news. Which do you want first?"

"It's... something. But yes, it's awful. Everyone feels terrible." But for Aishani, perhaps - but that might explain all of Iesaryth's heavy mental lifting and soothing. And she does try to make a show of it, even in these times of crisis - and the little shorts likely help a lot in that regard. While poking around in the giant bookcase, "What I want to tell you and what I think you should know are two vastly different things." It is said sadly. But look, there's more than bread and cheese - she's come back with /two/ kinds of cheese and some sort of jam, and cookies besides. Setting all that down on the table, thoughtful, "Hm. I don't know. If it might not be news... I /suppose/ the present." If she must.

Two kinds! There's still a darkness to N'rov's eyes by the time she returns, but he doesn't hide his pleasure at being able to slice one kind of cheese on one half of a bread-slice, leaving room for the other: taste-testing of cheese, if not ale or worse. "Attached to my belt, there's a bag, and in the bag is your present. My hands are full, you see." With fruit, when not with bread and cheese. As for the bag, it's made out of sturdy but plain cloth and attached via its drawstring, just large enough to hold a light, roughly fist-sized lump. "You'll want to not squeeze it too hard," he adds, with a hint of a smirk.

She tries not to notice that darkness, tries not to look away guiltily - of all things - but that takes a moment of Aishani's fussing with the food before it passes. Then she can give N'rov the side-eye for having his hands full - but she's still game to move in and untie the bag from his belt, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes, however bright they may be, for that smirk. "You could have done this before you started eating, you know." But that wouldn't have been as entertaining, no doubt.

No doubt at all. "I know," N'rov says, wholly unrepentant, and has another bite. That brightness to her mood meets with its own smile, but he says nothing more, sitting forward a little in his seat: will she like it? When she eventually opens the bag, she'll find something else to roll, or maybe /un/roll: a substantial length of ruby-red ribbon, its otherwise satiny weave seeming embossed with latticework against snagging. It's all one color, except for the journeyman's stamp at one end. "I thought," he says somewhat self-consciously, "you might use it to trim this or that, and if it's too wide, it can be... trimmed." The phrasing is awkward enough that he stops there.

"You're a pain in the ass." But it's said fondly, and perhaps a bit possessively - one that Aishani isn't looking to go anywhere. And even that bit of false pique melts away when she's opened the bag, quick fingers carefully unrolling the ribbon, eyes wide. "Oh..." She blinks a few times, caught somewhere between an instinctive ability to assess value and just being awed by how /pretty/ it is; perhaps that's why her throaty, quiet murmur to N'rov sounds so sincere: "You shouldn't have. Too much." Luckily for him, all that awkwardness might not even register - is she seriously looking a little teary? Quickly, "I can use it for anything. This is beautiful." She's rolling it back up even now, tucking it back into the bag like something might happen to it.

It also earns a short-lived deepening of that smirk. But then later, after he's gone and relaxed only to have her go and put it away, "Just as long as you /do/ use it," N'rov says hastily. "I mean, it doesn't have to be on clothes. You could dangle it between your plant plots, if that makes you happy, 'Shani." If the bag hadn't originally been part of the present, he certainly doesn't say so, doesn't even allude to it with so much as a darting glance. Instead, "I hope your Turndays keep getting better."

Well, the bag's put on the table, not hidden away - so maybe he can snag it back at some point. "Of course I will," Aishani reassures N'rov, trying not to make it sound like 'are you crazy?'. "Why wouldn't I? I /like/ clothes." She doesn't even bother dignifying the whole plant-pot idea with a response, instead - now that she's not all misty over the gift - slipping arms around his neck, leaning in for a long, slow kiss that properly demonstrates her appreciation. Leaning her forehead against his, fingers playing in his curls, she murmurs, "I'll admit, you're helping." A shorter kiss before, "Tell me your maybe-news." Before she keeps talking about /him/.

"Do I have to?" N'rov questions, tilting this way and that so her fingers rub against his scalp, nudges that leave kisses on the tip of Aishani's nose every time it passes by. "I'm busy," he claims, smiling against her cheek during another pass, and aims to loop his arm around her waist and tug her onto his lap... leaving another hand for the food, because there's still some left to put away. When he has his mouth free, anyway.

It's an easy thing to pull her into his lap, despite the fact that she hasn't gotten anywhere near a drink yet. Maybe Aishani's busy too - busy smiling at those kisses, busy wrapping arms around N'rov's shoulders to keep her close - and presumably, in the chair with him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she tells him lightly, though she does give a glance back at the food on the table like 'really?' - but it's unsurprised. Practically resigned. "But you brought it up. What are you busy with?" Arching fine brows, like she's really curious.

"Eating," N'rov points the obvious, luckily not while a bite's actually in his mouth, and /leans/ just enough to try and nibble along Aishani's collarbone. "Tasty." His eyes slant upward, their lids a light movement against the soft skin beneath her chin. "All right, so that wasn't exactly original, but it needed to be said." And laughed at, which he does, a low chuckle. Continuing even if she frees her poor neck, "So, there's this traveling 'troupe,' they call it, in the area, like a mini-Gather, and a bunch of us went down and checked it out. Some pretty exciting stuff, like a knife-thrower which I admit isn't /so/ unusual, but he /was/ good. And a fire-dancer." It's starting to sound like a story, but he takes a break to work on finishing the impromptu meal.

Aishani tilts her head back /just/ enough to let him, laughing as well, the sound reverberating along her throat, against lips, nose, eyelashes. Poor, poor neck. "If it weren't /true/," she points out, putting on a tragic tone, "I'd let it go and keep you busy that way, but..." She shrugs, as if it doesn't matter much to her either way, but her fingers have found their way to the nape of his neck, twining through dark curls as she listens. "If you throw knives, you want to be good. And a fire dancer." Something about that quirks her lips into a smile. "Wonder where she learned that. I haven't come across anything like that before, a troupe or anything."

"Like a fire-lizard, but different, by which I mean a few more clothes," N'rov explains and then, with his meal done (for now: there's still plenty of fruit left), leans his head sideways against her chest. "I hadn't either. Sure, jugglers at a Gather to catch attention maybe, but this was giant. And the knife-thrower tossed the knives /at/ someone," and here his cheek might be felt to curve upward, smiling. "Who didn't get hurt, of course. No blood allowed. Unless that's part of the after-hours events, I suppose."

Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, tone warm with amusement, "That gives me images that I doubt you intended. Perhaps it's something I have to see myself." Aishani's sigh likely isn't meant to sound quite so contented as he leans into her like that, but she just runs fingertips lightly through his hair, rests her cheek there briefly. Musing now, "One would think we might have crossed paths, but... I suppose my people don't travel all that openly, and I've been gone some time even so." With a little laugh, "I'd guess any knives that people stick themselves with will be their own, at any point." A pause, before, "I've seen knife-throwing. That might be interesting. If how he does it is different."

"They'll be around for awhile," N'rov interjects invitingly. "How much longer?" Until she can /between/, until she can... oh, all sorts of things. But, that bit about her people: he starts to sit up before leaning back again, but his body's not so relaxed any longer, not until she's done and he can say, "/That/ was it! The girl that was helping the knife-thrower, I didn't get more than a glimpse of her, but she sure reminded me of your cousins. Funny how that works, isn't it? Next I'll see one in the kitchens."

"We're working on it now," Aishani tells him, pleased to be able to pass on /that/ bit of good news. "We should be going to different places escorted soon, but within weeks..." On their own. Or on their own with N'rov and Vhaeryth, far away from annoying Cadejoth. Possibly used to sit-up-lean-back-I-have-something-to-say, she doesn't find it all that unusual - but what he /says/ is/. Blinking down at him, "Really? But -- well. It's not like it's that unusual, is it? To look like them, like me." She's uncertain, tentative.

"'Weeks.'" Forever! "I guess it's a little less than forever, now," N'rov teases before getting back to talk of her cousins. Or, almost getting back. /And/ still teasing, although his tone has grown tender: "I don't see women like you around every day, no. Another man would suspect you of fishing for compliments... but you know I know you're remarkable." He rounds his eyes at her: doesn't he look benignly believing, and believable? But, "It's funny how your cousins look like you, but the girl reminded me of them, not so much of you. Maybe it's the way you move." Though the good feeding and the mission in life can't hurt.

With what appears to be a very promising grin, "I'll make all your waiting worth your while." As if Aishani hasn't done her very best at that already, but she'll take any excuse to wrap herself around N'rov. "Even if the last few weeks /do/ drag." She has to concede that; she likely hears about it enough from some quarters. That tone of his softens her into a smile, though dark eyes can't meet gray for long - perhaps embarrassed, "No, I didn't mean it like that. But... thank you." There's a moment where she glances up through her lashes, about to offer something up - but instead, over a sigh, "Maybe. I can't see too many of them leaving, though. I suppose if I were to go over /anyway/, it wouldn't hurt to look."

N'rov's smile can't help but linger when he asks, even after his nothing-to-urge shrug about not hurting, "What was that look about, what were you thinking?" And that grin certainly hadn't gone amiss.

Reluctant, "I just..." Aishani looks down, wrinkles her nose, uncomfortable - for once, dark curls /not/ doing her the favor of falling in front of her face. "You know I know you're remarkable, don't you?" Maybe easier to use his words.

N'rov starts to reach for her, and then doesn't so much think better of it as remembers to dust his hand off on his knee before, finally, he can reach up for her hair after all. "I like to think you let me think so," he says after a moment of just smiling at her, and only then toys at bringing a curl forward, back, forward again to tickle against the corner of her mouth.

That curl playing at the corner of Aishani's mouth quirks it into a slow smile - it's that, and maybe the way he's looking at her. There's a flicker; a little sigh before, "Remind me to tell you something before you go." Because business would ruin this nice moment they have between them, for all that she looks just a little wide-eyed when she rests her hand along his rough jaw, leaning in for a kiss. It's gentle, barely a brush of lips - and when she draws back, she whispers, "If you're done, I'd like you to take me to bed."

"I... all right," is all N'rov can say to Aishani, because if he wasn't done before, he sure is now, all ready for the proverbial fork. "All right," he repeats to her, and then starts swinging her forward... forward so he can stand up with her still in his arms, pass the beaded threshold, and head for her bed. Though it's an even toss as to whether he'll remember to remind her, or remember in his own right to pass along the vague memory, dragon to dragon, of the girl he'd seen; right now, he has eyes only for this one.