Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Villian and the Damsel"

« Timing is everything. » The statement is innocent enough, and yet it's accompanied by a cool, whistling wind and a voice that is rarely exercised, so it obviously means /something/. (To Tacuseth from Leiventh)

They must be nearby since they're not at home, at least, for Tacuseth's answering touch is one of arena sands being blown through Leiventh's whistling winds. « Where is it ya'll have us go? » the blue sends back, his mindvoice oozing open curiosity. (To Leiventh from Tacuseth)

It's dry and hot; the banners of Igen Hold flicker above red sandstone cliffs, though they're distant, from Leiventh. He can't see, exactly, but he feels, and sees through R'hin; the hot wind whipping through the tent-like structures of the bazaar. He watches from far, intent, focused, cold. « Enough! » he roars in a gust of wind, not for the blue, but for someone else. R'hin? Another? Either way it's accidental, slipping through on the heels of the shared image. (To Tacuseth from Leiventh)

Curiosity can be a dangerous thing for certain dragonpairs. Tacuseth's touch lingers, even through all that is sent - even accidentally. « We're comin' over, » comes after a moment - as if the blue had to confer with his wily rider - and then the sands and the shadows thin out near nothingness. There's several moments before Leiventh will feel the strength of his touch again, this time much closer and within his vicinity. Even if bronze does not yet see them. Then, « Need our help with sumthin'? » the blue is sniffing around for information, now addressing the focused cold that he felt. (To Leiventh from Tacuseth)

To Tacuseth, Leiventh rests on the high cliffs of the sandstone walls: he can see the comings and goings, even if he can't see, or get to R'hin. There's space enough, on the edge of that tent market, for a wily blue to land. The wind whips past images of one, two, three rows, then turns right for one, two, then left. The market is busy, but people don't look, and no one looks up. Leiventh watches, while the wind roars. « He needs... » a break, like static, then: « Go to him. »

That urgency along with the images has the blue winging in the land shortly after. Tacuseth is not one for worrying about anyone spotting him and his lady, and so, it doesn't take long to find his wily rider dismounting with her usual recklessness. He sticks around only long enough to send back, « She's here, » not asking for any other explanation before he's launching back into the sky and heading Leiventh-ward with easy grace through the winds. (To Leiventh from Tacuseth)

Leiventh is a tense statue, still despite the vocal and restless nature of his mind, gaze fixed forward and only a faint rumble, more felt than heard, to acknowledge the blue's arrival. On the ground, there's noises ahead as Jo rounds one of the last corners: laughter, and the thud of a solid impact of flesh against flesh. R'hin's bent over, spitting out blood onto the ground -- there's a large gash across his temple, enough to want stitches. Strangely, it's him that's laughing, something darkly humorous, like he's holding back some secret. The other man with him doesn't look like he's without injury: he's sporting a bloody nose and he's favoring his left arm. "This is practically foreplay for me, you know," R'hin's pointing out as he straightens -- not-quite covering the grimace and press of fingers against his rib as he does so. "What's next?" he asks, as he spreads his hands in anticipation. The other man appears to take this as invitation, and steps in to deliver another punch to the Savannah rider's middle with a loud smack.

With Tacuseth safely out of any potential harm's way, Jo runs a hand through her wild hair as she runs smack into the wall of noise and frenzied activity. There's no shoulderknot anywhere on her and there's something sharp-looking attached to both her knuckles as she pauses on the threshold with a frown. R'hin, she recognizes immediately in the fray, taking in his state along with the smile on his face. She's looking around to take in those about them, too, before she pushes in, already shouldering off her black leather jacket to reveal the off-white tank top underneath as she also shoulders past any men watching them. "'Ey R'hin!" she calls out, making her presence known even though he might get the wind knocked out of him should he try looking her way. Something must pass between rider and dragon since Tacuseth's touch returns, sending out, « Leiventh. He's laughin, partner. My lady wants to know if he's gettin' paid for this, or if he's in trouble? » An odd question, maybe.

There's a small crowd, but they don't seem inclined to get involved in whatever it is, standing back in the shadows. R'hin, of course, looks, because it's the thing you do when you're called, although normally it's not the thing you do when you're getting your face beaten in. "Why if it isn't the tempt--" the rest of that sentence goes unfinished as the other man takes advantage with a one-two combination, forcing R'hin to double over to catch his breath with a choking laugh. « He is not getting paid. » Which might be the cause of Leiventh's agitation, borne out by the harsh wind that continues to circle. « His reasoning is foolish at best. » The other man straightens and cracks his knuckles -- he has the knot of a Monaco brownrider, though he doesn't appear to be one of Savannah's -- "Gonna keep laughing, R'hin?", and given the strangled, amused note that comes from the bronzerider appears to be agreement, he pushes forward again grimly.

« What is his reasonin'? » Tacuseth's shadows creep in, acting as shade to those icy winds - his reassurances, at best. Jo is here. Things will either calm down or escalate, depending on the bluerider's current mood. All that gets conveyed, as if that will calm Leiventh's agitation. Jo connects with R'hin's gaze before he gets attacked, and the woman looks at the group watching again. It seems the bluerider, for the moment, is at a pause of indecision, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her sides as she hover within striking distance. Then, casually given, « Ya want this to stop? Cuz, with her, I can' promise it'll stop if she gets involved. » Maybe it's Tacuseth that's holding her back. Calm down or escalate. With the way she's eyeing R'hin and his injuries, it's gradually looking like it's going to be an escalating situation. Even though she calls out to him, "Yeah, the temptress in the flesh. Ain' gonna smash in yer manly ego or anythin' unless yer don' mind a threesome in this." Deliberate choice of words, innuendo laced with tension as she watches him.

Leiventh doesn't seem inclined to share that part: at least, while the winds continue to whip furiously around, he is still, silent, watchful, on a knife's edge. Tent walls don't make for good props, and so it's with an audible groan that R'hin straightens. "He'll go, when he's had his fill." The brownrider smirks a little: it seems he's not done yet, at any rate. There's another loud smack as his fist meets flesh, shaking his head. The brownrider's, "You're a disappointment, R'hin, and a traitor," quickly earns a, "Can't you see there's a lady present. Wouldn't want her getting ideas about my manhood, now," although the quip from R'hin is interlaced with pauses for breaths, gaze fixing on Jo's with a shake of his head. Tacuseth can hear Leiventh again, hear him roaring, « GO! » to the Monaco rider's dragon, and that fierceness sends the brown aloft, finally. "Leiv--" R'hin's gotten wind and for a moment there's a fleeting anger in his expression, gone in a flash and the word bitten away. The brownrider's angry now and stepping forward again for a well-placed kick.

"Hey, asshole!" Yeah, that's Jo, her words popping in towards the brownrider after R'hin speaks about manhood. Stepping forward, her gaze intent upon the man whether he looks her way or not, "I think ya've had yer fill, right? So get the fuck outta here before I might decide to get involved." So much for being a lady. It's the only warning he's getting from her, even though she spies the bronzerider shaking his head at her. Yeah, her fists stay, but she's not taking a step back, either. She's in communication with Tacuseth again, perhaps relayed to that the man's dragon has gone to air, and she briefly looks over her shoulder towards the entrance.

The brownrider's looking at Jo, gaze flickering across her features, perhaps trying to pick up a knot and grimacing when he doesn't catch anything identifying. What he does catch is the warning in her voice, well enough. "You'll want to stay away from this one," the brownrider growls to her with a pointing of finger in R'hin's direction and while grudgingly, he does go, cradling his arm and walking quickly in the direction his brown flew. "Rescued by a--" R'hin pauses, his half-laugh, half-snort interrupted by a sharp breath of barely suppressed pain as he straightens, "--baby bluerider. I'll never hear the end of this. My Monacoan reputation in tatters--" but he's laughing again, now, oblivious to, or enduring, Leiventh's wind-swept fury at it all. Gesturing towards Jo, "I could use a shoulder," he finally concedes.

Stay away from this one. Jo snorts at the return warning, watching the brownrider with those piercing, dark eyes of hers. "They say the same shit 'bout me, too, darlin'," she tosses back, her lips coming together for a brief air kiss in his direction. Jerking her head towards the entrance, "Just get outta here," goes in his wake, only turning once she sees the threat walking (or limping) out towards R'hin's words. Now she assesses him once more with a furrowed brows as he speaks, "Baby, huh?" she returns that absently as she closes the distance between them, studying him from head to toe. "Yer only sayin' that cuz ya haven' seen me kick ass yet. Ya must have a death wish, though, lookin' the way ya are." She meets his gaze now before adding, "No wonder I'm attracted to ya," she adds in brief dryness before she moves to lend him her shoulder. "Lemme guess. He an old friend of yers from way back yonder?" The rest of those in the tent could suck it for all she cares. Her focus now lies solely on him.

"Relatively speaking," R'hin clarifies, with a brief chuckle that ends abruptly, pressing a hand into his rib. The exhale he gives after his hand settles against her shoulder and he can ease some of his weight is a chorus of relief, easing some of the strain in his expression, though that gash on his temple looks like it'll need attention. He can't help but chuckle at her words. "I do like it when a damsel rescues me. Except, I can't remember which way to the healers. Inside, I guess. Right. Old friend." He doesn't sound convincing, doesn't try to sound convincing. "Some old debts hanging around, is all." Leiventh isn't happy, is he?" The short, distracted phrases are punctuated with slanting glance upwards, eyes gone distant, still except where his fingers press against her shoulder and it tightens, briefly. The cold fury practically radiates out from the bronze even if he doesn't move a muscle.

"More like the villain than the damsel," Jo states on coming to his rescue, giving a short chuckle after it as she looks for a way to the healers. "Some old friend, though," she adds with a side-long look going his way as she starts guiding him further inside towards another exit. Yeah, by the sound of her voice, she doesn't believe that for one second. "Think I've got at least three of those. I do find it interestin' that he should warn me away from ya. I was half expectin' him to tell me that ya took his weyrmate from him next." When R'hin brings up his bronze, there's a brief pause as if she's conveying something to her blue before she answers him with, "Fuckin' pissed, more like." At the same time, one can't blame Tacuseth for attempting, for his heated winds flicker in as he sends to Leiventh, « Who was he? »

Every step elicits a slow breath, and if there's a wince or two here and there, possibly a groan as they tackle stairs, R'hin's not otherwise complaining. "No weyrmate. Don't think so, anyway. I might've done that too, but this was... personal." As if there's something more personal than stealing a weyrmate. "Pride. Honor. Loyalty. All that. Hard to fault a man for that, even if he is a dumbass about it." Another wince, this time less in physical reaction than her description of his bronze's mood. "He hates when I'm dumb. Don't worry, he'll rub it in later," there's fond affection in his tone, as if well-prepared to bear the brunt of his dragon's mood like a old friend being welcomed. The cold wind continues to scour, and it bleeds into Leiventh's answer for Tacuseth: « One of Feyzeth's. » He doesn't think M'kris deserves to be named.

"Ain' it always?" Jo quips on it being personal, grimacing whenever R'hin winces. She listens in silence to the rest, grunting at something said before she cuts a gaze his way. "Pride...honor....loyalty....shit like that is pretty important," she seems to agree as she continues to guide him. "There's a story here," she notes, nodding. "This man that's a dumbass. If ever ya feel the need to tell it...." That's all she offers, turning to his dragon with a slight crooked grin on her face as she shakes her head. "Tac'n him have somethin' in common, then," she states in good humor. "Can' remember a seven' where I don' come home bloody. Must've gave that bronze of yers a scare, though," she notes quietly, all joking aside, "for him to come callin' us." « And, this one of Feyzeth's thinks yers owe him sumthin'? » coming from Tacuseth, the blue watching the skies, and Leiventh.

"Ain' it always?" Jo quips on it being personal, grimacing whenever R'hin winces. She listens in silence to the rest, grunting at something said before she cuts a gaze his way. "Pride...honor...loyalty...shit like that is pretty important," she seems to agree as she continues to guide him. "There's a story here," she notes, nodding. "This man that's a dumbass. If ever ya feel the need to tell it..." That's all she offers, turning to his dragon with a slight crooked grin on her face as she shakes her head. "Tac'n him have somethin' in common, then," she states in good humor. "Can' remember a seven' where I don' come home bloody. Must've gave that bronze of yers a scare, though," she notes quietly, all joking aside, "for him to come callin' us." « And, this one of Feyzeth's thinks yers owe him sumthin'? » coming from Tacuseth, the blue watching the skies, and Leiventh.

"Important," R'hin agrees, "But also important it's not done blindly. Like I said, hard to fault the man for--" a hitch of breath, and a lift of hand as his weight, leaning on her, increases a moment. "It's a long story," he goes on, after they resume walking, "And I'd need a comforting bottle of fine whiskey and a beautiful naked woman to tease it out of me. You've got one of two going for you, so it's a story you might hear, one day." But not today, it seems -- he half chuckles as one of the serving maids in the Hold gasps at seeing them as scurries away, but fortunately it's not that much further to the infimary. "He's... he'd normally call Saindyth," the Savannah rider says, after a pause that might suggest uncertainty about why he called them, instead of Bristia. « There are debts. » Whose, he doesn't specify: there's too much fury folded up in thoughts of Feyzeth, unusual for the normally taciturn and aloof bronze.

R'hin increases his hold on her, and Jo hunches that shoulder more to take on more of his weight. "Ya'll have those few that'll believe otherwise," she says back on blindness before she quickly addresses the next. "Well, yer in luck. Fine bottles of whiskey comes by easy for this girl. So, one day." He gets a more genuine smile for it, a sort of smile that doesn't come often to the bluerider before she turns to watch the serving maids scatter about. That Leiventh called them instead, "Maybe he did, and somethin's holdin' her up," she takes a guess, shifting to keep her jacket tucked under the other shoulder. Tacuseth, for his part, seems to shoulder those waves of anger coming from Leiventh much like his rider's shouldering his. His shadows elongate, bleeding through that fury. « Get him outta here, and ya'll be golden, » he sends, the warm winds threading through the ice, keeping up with that reassurance.

"I figured," R'hin says, amusedly, of her having the ability to acquire fine whiskey easily enough. "Maybe," he adds, for the latter, not lingering on the subject of Leiventh, or Bristia. Instead, he sinks down onto one of the beds, though he refuses to lie down, silently bearing the lectures and ministrations of the healer-on-duty. There's the occasional wince and sharp inhale of breath, particularly as he pulls off his shirt to allow the healer to examine his mid-section, bruises already beginning to form beneath the redness. His pale eyes, however, track Jo, rather than the healer, who -- having given up on R'hin, asks Jo what happened. The bronze agrees with the blue's wisdom, though there's an edge of frustration in the sentiment, too. « He is dumb. » Like Leiventh's confiding something that is blindingly obvious. « Pride gets in the way. He is more prideful than me. »

Once in the infirmary and R'hin is seated, Jo keeps standing and casing the place out while the healer talks. On occasion, she looks his way, watching the healer poke and prod at him with interest. On those occasions, her gaze meets his and she holds that gaze that shows the flicker of concern and amusement with the whole situation - there and gone and easily missed as she seems to be trying to maintain the dragon poker face of composure. It's what she healer sees, anyway. Shrugging, her arms folded as she slowly paces the length of them, "Guy grabbed my ass and it went from there," is all she gives the healer in response, her tone both suggesting that she's lying and that it's no big deal to her if it was the truth. She's as short with her as R'hin is, her face betraying nothing at all. « He is one of those that lives on pride? » Tacuseth seems to find familiar amusement to that, the blue remaining easy about all of it. « Mine is more prideful than me, » he relates, echoing those words. « She always thinks she has sumthin' to prove. So, she does stupid things, too. Maybe the red will keep'im outta trouble for a bit. » The red. Blood. Pain. He conveys all of this, familiar memories kept of his own rider's antics.

The wincing and masculine posturing of it really doesn't hurt, honest, gets a bit easier with the dose of fellis that the healer retrieves from the cabinet and bids R'hin to drink. "You'd best check her over, too. I think she may have hurt her shoulder," the bronzerider says with a gesture towards Jo and his best concerned boyfriend expression. Of course, the fact that there's a trace of amusement underneath is perhaps more obvious to the bluerider than the healer, who is turning to regard the bluerider with obvious concern, stepping over and gesturing her preemptively to sit on one of the beds. Behind her, R'hin eases off into a standing position, testing his weight, before glancing at Jo a moment as if seeing how she'll fare as distraction. Well, for someone other than him, anyway. « Stupid, » Leiventh agrees, straightforwardly. « That slows him down for a while, » he allows, after consideration of red, but a while is nowhere near long enough or slow enough, in his thoughts.

"I'm perfectly..." Jo starts to say when R'hin suggest she get checked out, a hand already lifting to try and ward the healer off with a look going his way, until catches his expression and a snort peters out. "...fine," she gives, abruptly turning and dropping to a seat on the bed. Distraction. The bluerider seems to know the game, for all that she doesn't really make it easy for the poor healer to check on her. She'll give the woman an arm and a shoulder, at least. Tacuseth seems to catch what's not said from Leiventh, his humor hitching up to it. The shadows warp to send traces of sympathy, always a mere layer to the mysterious calm that is him.

"She was complaining the entire way here," R'hin murmurs, to help the story. Okay, and because he wants to see Jo's reaction, amusement threading through his voice. When he's confident the healer is focused on the bluerider he eases over to the cabinet, left open while she administered him the fellis, and reaches in briefly, tucking whatever he takes under the edge of his belt before easing the door closed again. That done, he walks closer, his stance and breathing somewhat easier as he tugs his shirt back on. Either the fellis is kicking in or he wasn't quite as bad -- though the bruises suggest likely the former than the latter -- but either way his eyes remain bright and fixed on Jo. « Stupid. » "Yes," R'hin's answering Leiventh's thought, but stretching a hand for Jo, "We should... go. She's well enough?" that to the healer, playing the part perfunctorily.

Eyeing R'hin something fierce as he continues to make up stories, "Yer concern brings tears to my eyes, darlin'," Jo remarks to him rather than the healer, rolling those shoulders to the woman's touch. She watches him grab something from the cabinet, and when he returns, there's merely the flick of brows upwards in silent askance. « I wonder which would be the bad influence on the other, » Tacuseth sends over, his mindvoice lazy while Jo straightens up in preparation to depart from this place.

The healer doesn't let them go that easily: there's a lecture for R'hin, and instructions about numbweed and getting that cut looked at, and further checkups, but the bronzerider's gaze is all for Jo, that faint curve of lips teasing at withheld laugh. And while he doesn't need her support, it doesn't mean he doesn't want it, stepping to her side, his hand sliding familiarly around her waist rather than her shoulder. His breath might still be somewhat constrained, to the observant, but it's enough to hide it well, as he seeks to guide them out. « I would not place a bet. » It's not judgement, certainly not on either rider, just matter of fact statement from the bronze.

Jo stands, watching R'hin through all the lectures and offering none in return. She just merely sends him one of her cavalier smirks, and when he comes over, she lets her arms grip his own waist. "Thanks, darlin'," is all she gives the healer on their way out, ticking a nod in her direction as they go. To R'hin, "Let's get ya home, hm? I think I'm due a good deed for the month." As for their dragons, there is merely the faint trace of laughter on hot winds, the laughter from Tacuseth, something borrowed and sounding very much like Jo. To him, it's so true that the blue doesn't even argue it.

"Home," R'hin echoes, and there's amusement in there, too. The glittering of pale eyes becomes more distant, but he seems to trust in Jo to get him there -- to his home, her home, their home. There's more words, but they become less sentences and more sentiments. Pretty. Warm. Tired. When it comes time for the image, Leiventh seeks it not from his rider but from Tacuseth. No judgement: but he and his rider have been partnered long enough for the bronze to know his limits.