Difference between revisions of "Logs:Awkward Menage A Trois"

>---< Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1207RJ) >---------------<

  This hollowed out bubble cavern is large. Tendrils of steam come from a   
  corner near the lower caverns entrance to the weyr. It's situated near a  
  separated cave that has hanging glass beads obscuring view of it, likely  
  the bed chamber. The outermost room is decorated in bright colors and a   
  lot of interesting pieces of art hung on the walls. A large stone table   
  sits in the entrance from the ledge atop a yellow and teal rug. The       
  furniture is chaise lounges on other sectional carpet pieces and a cabinet
  of liquor. The glassed-in bookshelf is filled with volumes and volumes of 
  books and scrolls and locked from prying eyes.

The girl leads them quickly through the lower caverns, and then through the records room, and to Irianke's weyr. There's a platter of the feast offerings on the table and a few slices of cake. "Oh, dear one," says Irianke finally, silent throughout the escape from K'del's wrath. Presumably, she does not mean R'oan. "Put me down there," on one of her hearth-side chaises. "And bring me some cake please?"

"Your wish is my command," is R'oan's promised murmur, even as he strides across the room to the directed chaise to set Irianke down gently. His fingers linger for a moment, sliding into hair as he stares down at the goldrider, but he says nothing before drawing away towards the food laid out there. "You should get more in your stomach than just cake and wine." And the plate that he makes up for her seems to reflect that opinion, only a single slice of cake paired with more of the substantial food there.

"When," asks the goldrider, reclined on her couch, "Did you become a gentleman and a healer?" as opposed to a gentleman and a scholar. "Cake will do just fine. And some bubb-, oh, I have the best assistant. Open up that bottle of bubbly while I take this damnable boot off." Irianke is ignoring the ot her food, her sweet tooth requiring satiation after the debacle of the evening.

R'oan's words are dry when he answers, "It is something that I am forced into when no one else will. Don't tell anyone or you'll ruin my reputation." Regardless of whether she ignores it or not, it is on the plate he sets near her, returning to seating with the bottle of bubbly in his other hand that he settles in to open while perching on the arm of the other chaise casually. "That was quite the unique party. And I've been to my fair share of them."

The bronzerider meant to go wash his face, but on his way out of the living cavern and into the bowl, the stairs leading up to the ground weyrs must have seemed a better option than the trek back to the baths. It's from the ledge that H'vier arrives. There's still cake on his face, but there's just a bit of blood, too, from the hand he was using to wipe it off. "I need to use your--" he pauses when the fact that Irianke has company fully processes and his focus settles with lingering tension on R'oan.

"I don't think we throw shindigs like this one at Igen. Ever. The idea of it would likely cause Nimae's head to explode from the fuming." Again, ridiculousness wins out and Irianke's shoulders tremble in a giggle. "Pray tell, what is your reputation that you see-." The footsteps at her ledge and then the man who appears with them abruptly end her word and sentence. To her credit, though her lips press tightly and her eyes look anywhere but H'vier and R'oan, she doesn't throw the wingleader out. "You know where it is."

It's ok. With H'vier looking at R'oan and R'oan looking at H'vier, it's unlikely that R'oan, at least, notices that Irianke isn't looking at him. He just deliberately pops the cork on that bottle of bubbly, abruptly overly loud in the space, even as he speaks around the same time as the goldrider to explain with easy amusement, "I think it will be occupied, tonight. And tomorrow morning."

The bulk of his rage subsided when K'zin's nose broke under his fist, but the bronzerider is still on edge and wired. H'vier looks from Irianke to R'oan, back to the woman in her appealing dress, then he turns to help himself to her bathing chambers. He's probably not planning on a full-fledged bath, just to get the damned cake off of his face. But he'll take his time because screw whoever this guy is.

From ceiling to floor, floor to ceiling, and then finally at R'oan, once the sounds of H'vier heading down to the bathing area sound, Irianke's brows lift crookedly. How awkward is this? "If you had a saber, I'm told some guards at Holds can do incredible things with them in slicing the tops of those bottles clean off. From the bottle then? What shall we toast to?" She speaks to R'oan, but her gaze flicks once, and then twice to the obscured corner where her bath is located. "Do you think," she asks in a faux whisper, "If we asked him to stay and join us he would mind?" She must be teasing.

"To your dragon's lovely eggs," R'oan repeats with a hint of a smile as he takes the first swig from the bottle, though it disappears at her teasing. That is only met with the curve of his own brow upwards in a challenge before he offers the bubbly towards Irianke. "If we're inviting other people, then I have a few higher on my list," he adds dryly. His own grey eyes remain on the goldrider as she looks towards the bath, studying her as she does.

By the time H'vier reappears, his face is clean. His hands are clean, too, though the skin over his knuckles is split in a way that can't be very comfortable. "Why the fuck are you still here?" is his elegant question to the foreign brownrider. Clearly he expected R'oan to leave now that he's here to claim the rider of his dragon's mate.

"He's here because I enjoy his company." Irianke responds, the joke flying out of her now curt voice. "You may join us if you will, but R'oan doesn't seem as thrilled about that idea as I." For good measure, the goldrider slides her slim legs, encased in that form fitting red dress, up so her knees bend and then down, so the fabric pulls back. Minx. "And honestly, I don't sleep with men who would assume bullshit about my motivations. So you have a choice, H'vier, leave now while I spend time with my friend and come tomorrow night, sober and apologize for hurting my feelings," yes, she is totally lining up her horizontal dance card brazenly, "Or leave." She reaches for the bottle, drawing it to her after all this and lifting it in a toast, "To High Reaches' lovely clutch."

R'oan seems to have no issue in allowing the goldrider to answer, to answer for him, even. If his attention catches at that arrangement for tomorrow evening, drawing his sharp, attentive focus back to Irianke for a moment, the brownrider does not comment on it, at least. He does offer only after with a dry amusement, "Because while you were busy ruining your party with fights, I was busy getting the girl."

There's a chance H'vier might have been just a little more agreeable with taking one of Irianke's options before the other man speaks. Judging by the way his eyes were straying to her legs, she has a certain power of persuasion over the wingleader that R'oan is just seriously lacking. There's only tension when the brownrider chimes in, eyes lifting toward him. He stares for several moments, jaw clenched tight with his restraint, before he's turning to leave the way he'd arrived without so much as a 'go fuck yourself'.

If she drinks more, she might forget and let it slide and have some good times tonight, but what R'oan's says stiffens Irianke's back. "No." A sharp breath is taken in. "No. Both of you out." But then H'vier's leaving. "There is no getting," she indicates her body with an offhand gesture that slides along her torso, "The girl. I am not a prize to be won or fought over or a vagina to fill." The goldrider smooths out her dress. "Leave me to my cake, my bubbly, and my bath, if he hasn't soiled it already." Gray-blue eyes look to where H'vier goes off and then swings to R'oan, relenting in this, "Come again soon. On a better night than tonight." Shooed, both of them out. Out! For good measure, she picks up a book on the coffee table and begins to thumb through it while alternating between swigging champagne and eating cake. It'll be a good night no matter what.

R'oan's lips twist into what might be a smile, if it weren't so sharply edged as the goldrider dismisses him. He doesn't reply, doesn't make any promise to come again, but only moves closer to take that bottle of bubbly back from the goldrider as she thumbs through the book. No, he will not leave her to the bubbly. He is taking it with him. And with that, he strides from the weyr just as silently as H'vier.