Difference between revisions of "Logs:No Strings"

It's late afternoon, the day after H'vier got his nose broken. Early enough that the Snowasis isn't yet very busy but late enough that the bronzerider is done with his duties. That or he just bailed on them in favor of booze. Tonight he's nowhere near the bar, though, instead tucked away at a booth by himself. His nose has been tended to by one of the Weyr's healers but there's only so much to be done for them and so his fabulous bruise is perfectly visible on that manly, scruffy face of his. He's been on decent behavior since the incident and seems to intend only on getting drunk tonight.

It's been a long day, and the cramping in her fingers is finally beginning to let up. Lourna arrives with a small scattering of other craftspeople of the weyr, some younger than herself, but more than a few considerably her elder. Shortly after arrival, the groups break apart and leave the young woman on her lonesome, which is just as well. As soon as she's away from them, the tension in her shoulders ease, and she reaches up to adjust the confining leather vest snugly strapped into place. It's not nearly as elaborate as Val's own jacket, but Lourna's attire is well made, even if not decorative. Smothering a sigh, the green-eyed youth goes slinking for a table, avoiding the bar, and casting a hunted, guarded look about herself. It seems H'vier isn't the only one who remembers the altercation well.

The bronzerider has a bottle all to himself and a glass to pour the whiskey inside of it into so he doesn't drink it straight from the bottle. While he's refilling his emptied glass, H'vier's gaze shifts out toward the floor and his eyes catch on Lourna. He watches her for a few moments as she starts moving to find a table, then speaks up. "You." Okay, so it's not anything world-breaking. "Come sit." At least tonight he sounds a lot less, uh, amorous in his intentions.

Amorous is something that Lourna might be better equipped to deal with than the serious manner in which H'vier speaks to her now. His voice is sufficient to bring her to an abrupt halt, head swiveling to seek him out with widening olive colored eyes. Lourna balks, but obeys; H'vier's authority as a bronzerider, at his own word, is enough to have her shuffling over to his table a little nervously. The fight did not end well for H'vier, and Bones' blows to his face have left significant bruising. Unnerved, Lourna seats herself across from him, and then stares very pointedly at the table top. "You uh--look like you're healing well," she tells the table.

"You should see my--" But H'vier stops himself before he finishes that thought, brows furrowing before he takes a drink to refocus. "I'll be fine. Are you okay? Didn't get hurt or cut or anything?" It's easier for him to care about these things now, after the fact. His dark eyes take her in, less leering and more looking for any sign of what he's asking about. Then, "Do you want something to eat? On me." A beat later, almost reluctantly, he says, "No strings. This time."

As H'vier almost slips into old habits, Lourna feels a grin twitching at the corners of her mouth, if only because it means he isn't going to lay into her for what he perceives as her fault for the scuffle. When he doesn't, she relaxes into her feet and gingerly flexes still-sore fingers. "Hurt? No, not hurt, I can handle myself--mostly. I don't fist fight much, though. I leave it to bronzeriders and overly concerned older men," she muses, green eyes tentatively lifting from the table's surface to glance at H'vier's face to judge his mood. "Eating would be good. Today was--a long day."

"Oh, can you? Well, then." H'vier manages a small grin for that. Anything bigger would probably hurt his face so he'll stick with the low key stuff. "He was out of line. I'd stay away from him if you can. I wouldn't have hurt you, you know. Far from it." He says that, sounding quite sincere, as he tries to get the attention of one of the staff to come over to take the girl's order. "Did I ever happen to catch your name? I seem to have forgotten it, if I did. I do remember the leather bit. You work with leather."

"You remember that?" She sounds genuinely impressed. No doubt Lourna presumed he was too busy internally masturbating to really catch the fact that she crafts. Either way, she is visibly pleased by the turn of events, and orders food for herself. Simple fare; mostly bread and whatever daily stew is available. Instead of alcohol, however, Lourna orders klah. As the server retreats, she settles in and gives a small, loose shrug. "I didn't give it, so you forgot nothing, but my name is Lourna. And I imagine he thought he was doing the right thing, but I'm not a child." That last is a somewhat petulant mutter, full lips pursing. "And you're a bronzerider." The reverence in that word marks her as clearly weyrbred.

H'vier orders some extra stuff that's not quite so cheap and commonplace though he doesn't point out whether it's because he thinks she's not taking full enough advantage or because he's hungry. His bruised countenance returns to her when they're left alone, though, and he nods, "Of course I remember. And I'll remember that, too. Lourna." The way his gaze shifts just a bit south of her face down toward her chest, his next words are probably unsurprising. "You're definitely not a child. A grown, able-bodied, beautiful woman near as I can tell."

Whether he's manipulating her or not, the flattery works. What late adolescent girl doesn't like to be complimented, and considered adult? In spite of herself, a grin flourishes on her lips, lighting up the entirety of her gently tanned face. "You think so?" Lourna sounds mildly surprised, but not terribly shy. She leans backward into her chair, rolling her shoulders lightly and lifting her chin to take a better look at H'vier. In spite of her growing comfort, Lourna remains partially reserved. "I'm sure you tell that to all of the girls. But I can tell you aren't from this weyr. Bronzerider that I don't at least know the name of? Not even slightly. What brought you here?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it, darling. Do I look like the sort of guy that needs to butter up anything less than beautiful women to get them in bed?" Because condescending ego is super attractive. Stereotypical bronzerider is stereotypical. H'vier doesn't seem to think he's being anything but honest, though. "Transferred from Ista recently. H'vier. Reisoth's." He considers that for a moment, probably trying to remember if he didn't actually say that before. Getting knocked in the head will do that to people.

"You're certainly not short on ego, though bronze... That is worth something," Lourna says with a chuckle that fades into seriousness, waiting patiently for her meal to arrive. It does in short order, given the simplicity of what she desired. She doesn't dig in immediately, seeking to instead drain half the cup of steaming klah with only a half-hearted wince at the heat of it. Once her mouth cools, she wets her lips--nervously? "Free food is free food. I'm not underfed, but I'm an opportunist. And I've had worse company," she jests lightly. "But I did remember your name, and your dragon's."

"I'm glad you think so." Not everyone is impressed by the shininess of his dragon, after all. H'vier clearly thinks it's worth being impressed about so it's nice that someone else thinks it, too. He makes no move to touch anything else that he ordered, content with his whiskey. "I could leave you to eat by yourself if that would make you feel better," he says, amused. Then for his name, "Good. It's not like me to not tell people who I am."

Being a pissant in the scheme of things has left Lourna with a certain sense of admiration rather than resentment; her life is good, after all, and the weyr looks after her for her work. "Leave me?" She sounds puzzled, and oddly torn. "You do not have to unless you'd like to go elsewhere." Finishing off her klah, she presses the cup away and eyes her food without touching it. Truthfully, it's somewhere else to look besides H'vier, as Lourna feels painfully like the awkward youth that she is. "I'm sure I'm not the only one impressed with your rank, or your ability to turn everything into innuendo."

H'vier himself seems a little bit torn on whether or not he wants to go somewhere else or stay here. Being good must be difficult for him. And he already told her he wouldn't try anything. Tonight. "I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for me to find someone, no. But I don't know if the rest of me is quite up for that right now. Anyway, I think I should probably leave you to your food. I plan on finishing off this bottle and I can't promise I'll be as polite once I'm past here or so." He gestures to a spot on the bottle that the liquid inside hasn't fallen bellow yet then starts to move to rise. "Enjoy your evening, yeah?"

She doesn't really look at him as much as she stares at her food without immediate response. Perhaps there is a reason that Lourna was left to her own interests when her peers arrived with her. Gnawing on her tongue and peering intently on her bread, she finally ceases the quirk and sits a little straighter in her seat. "You weren't polite before, and it worked well enough. But if you want to leave, you don't have to ask. You can just--uh--leave." Smothering the sigh produced by her social ineptitude, Lourna reaches from her bread as if to eat it, but does little more initially than break it down into shreds. "Yes, I will. Enjoy your whiskey. Try not to break more of your face." Her laugh sounds forced.

"Oh, I know. I don't want to be polite." That's part of the problem, isn't it? H'vier offers her one last smile, leaving his half empty glass on the table (along with the extra food he ordered) and taking the bottle of whiskey by the neck. He reaches to pat her shoulder as he moves to pass her but he doesn't say anything else as he goes. Off to get properly drunk!

Although not shy by nature, her lack of assertiveness paired with her awkward reservations about people in general keep her in her seat and put her off her appetite. Tearing the poor bread to bits as he pats her shoulders, Lourna offers a soft grunt. "So don't be. See you," is all she can manage, giving a half-hearted salute and a crooked grin. And as soon as he's retreating, she just starts muttering to herself about stupidity, bronzeriders, and growling in general.