Difference between revisions of "Logs:Getting Along and Compliments"

It is a quiet evening in the galleries that overlook Eliyaveith's hardening eggs, the glows dimmed to a comfortable light for the queen, as her rider watches her dragon rearrange eggs with the drive of a maternal gold, unable to explain why each needs to be where but she knows they do. A half-finished buttery yellow scarf is abandoned in the middle of knitting, the reason clear if anyone were to draw close as blood well from one of Lilah's fingers, but she only nurses a bottle of rum rather than that wound.

H'vier and Reisoth haven't really bothered to come see Fort's eggs until now. And they weren't here for the last hatching, but word kind of gets around about those sorts of things. The bronze has a brief greeting for the clutchmother, not wanting to disturb her or earn any animosity. H'vier isn't so aloof with Lilah. Of course he isn't. "I needed a lot of that to deal with the boredom," he says conversationally as he approaches the Fortian goldrider. "Mind if I join you?" At least he's asking.

There is a soft startle at H'vier's voice; Eliyaveith is apparently focused enough on her eggs and family to warn her rider of the visitors. "Yeah-- I mean, no, I don't mind. Yes, I wish I had more," answers Lilah to that, her gaze lifting under the fan of dark lashes to take in the bronzerider with a familiar study. But she breaks it off with a quick swallow from the bottle of rum before extending it in invitation to the man.

"It's probably worse for you. Reisoth would leave the sands on occasion. Necessary duties and all," says the Reachian as he settles down nearby, but not overly close to. "Keep your booze. You'll need it." H'vier looks toward the sands and asks like a normal, not horrible human being, "How are they?"

Lilah withdraws that offer, but it is that finger that is put to her lips first, getting rid of the lingering drops of blood drawn that her needle drew before lifting the rum for another sip. Her gaze joins his on the sands, sweeping over those too familiar eggs. "They seem-- fine. It won't be long now before they hatch, at least."

H'vier acknowledges those words with a rumbling murmur, still gazing at the eggs. "This is her first clutch, isn't it? Do you really think that's a gold egg out there?" He sounds more impressed by the prospect than judgmental. Shiny things are impressive to men like H'vier.

"I've heard it's unusual for them to produce gold on their first clutch," is Lilah's careful response, her gaze leaving the eggs to settle like a weight on H'vier instead. "But it seems so obviously so. Everything a gold egg should be. Except for--." Well, he can likely see that himself, and the goldrider doesn't press it. Not where she can study the bronzerider for his reaction, for whatever she can see in his expression.

"Fort's luck with eggs hasn't been holding out of late, has it." It's not really a question. H'vier already knows the answer. Or likely assumes he does, anyway. "I'm sure it will be fine. Golds are dramatic. If it is a gold, she's probably just making sure everyone's gonna have their eyes on her. Typical woman."

A brow curves upwards at those two words, so simple and yet--. Lilah only drawls dryly, though, as she answers, "Yes, us women. I personally love being watched all of the time." There's a challenge in the way she watches him now, almost daring him to meet her gaze in the way it levels on him.

H'vier turns his head to look at the goldrider, but he's grinning at her challenge and doesn't seem terribly threatened by her in general. "You'd be prettier if you smiled every once in awhile, you know. And I know you can do it. Pretty sure I've seen it happen."

"I don't need to be prettier; I don't care if I am prettier," counters Lilah, her challenging brow only raising slightly more at his grin as if trying to break that response.

Well, she sort of gets a different reaction. This time H'vier laughs, thoroughly amused by the looks she's giving him. "Maybe you just need more rum" he offers with a glance toward it before he returns his attention to the eggs and the clutchmother.

The dry humor that infuses Lilah's words is subtle, as she tosses back easily, "To appreciate your compliments?" But it seems as if she might be subconsciously influenced, or that she already wanted to, because the bottle is lifted to her lips for a slow, thoughtful sip as she studies him.

"To relax enough to let whatever was shoved up your ass fall out." H'vier doesn't look at her when he says it. He's too busy being chill and comfortable. "Besides, I wasn't complimenting you. You know sharding well that you're attractive. Just like I know that I am."

"You're an ass. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for you to give a compliment. Or two," Lilah replies sharply, though she doesn't look away from the man. Instead, after a beat, than two, she adds, "And you aren't that attractive."

"And it probably wouldn't hurt for you to accept them." But it is what it is. And Lilah must be amusing because H'vier is grinning at her again. "Now you're just being spiteful." Fortunately for him, possibly unfortunately for her, he's not an insecure man and doesn't seem to mind her difference of opinion. A lot of women surely find him unattractive in some fashion or another.

"Well then, if it wouldn't hurt for you to give them or for me to accept them-- I suppose we are at a standstill," murmurs Lilah in agreement, though the lingering, dark gaze seems to reflect some humor of her own as she meets that grin with an otherwise neutral expression.

"Maybe you ought to try complimenting me instead. You can help me figure out how to make up for being unattractive." H'vier reaches into his flight jacket for the flask that's been stashed away, but he seems inclined to finger it rather than take a drink just yet.

Lilah's gaze slides with clinical precision over H'vier at the invitation, though a hint of a smile catches at the corner of the goldrider's lips before she 'compliments', "You are very-- large."

That makes H'vier's grin pop back, but there's something a little bit more wicked about it now. "Darling, you have no idea." But he won't make any vulgar jokes or gestures just now. Give him time.

Don't worry, H'vier; Lilah is sharp enough to pick up exactly what he means, if the faint hint of color to her cheeks is any indication. She doesn't blush. She isn't some naive Holder girl, but even she can't quite meet that implication without any reaction, though she murmurs easily in counter, "And maybe one day you'll get the chance to prove it."

"I sincerely hope that I do," says H'vier quite pleasantly before he's finally uncapping his flask to take a small drink. "Do you and the sire's rider get along very well?" It's sort of a change of subject, but presumably only because the bronzerider probably assumes that Lilah doesn't want to keep talking about his genitals.

"No," Lilah replies simply to that, her gaze sliding sideways to H'vier as if to see if he's surprised by that answer. "It seems to be a common thing, doesn't it? Dragons being caught by the dragons of those their riders can't stand." A pause, before she adds, "Or their weyrmates."

He's not surprised. Curious, if anything. "Reisoth has caught a fair number of green whose riders I'd've sooner punched in the face than fucked. But, so far, I've been able to stand the riders of the golds he's caught. For the most part." H'vier was quite friendly with Irianke before they weren't anymore, after all.

Lilah is surprised by the answer on his part, as she studies the bronzerider with her own open curiosity. "For the most part?" she challenges.

"Aishani was a difficult woman. She stabbed me once, during a flight." H'vier needs to prove that she was a difficult woman. "We didn't catch that time. But by the time Reisoth did, our relationship was... different. And I got along quite well with Irianke until Azaylia died and she became Senior."

"Nsath's rider-- If it were not for the problems after, we may have gotten along better," Lilah offers in return for H'vier's explanation, a soft, sad smile playing at the corners of her lips briefly as she brushes back curl behind her ear. "Pressure on a situation like that-- I can imagine that Irianke has a lot of pressure on her, as a foreign Senior."

H'vier has a dismissive grunt for anything that has to do with Irianke at this point. But he still adds, "She's not foreign anymore. She belongs to Reaches." There might be some sense that it doesn't mean much to the Istan bronzerider, though. More of a practiced script than his own true feelings.

"Just like Ali isn't considered Fortian," is Lilah's dry response, subtly disagreeing, but she does not press that point as she watches the bronzerider. And after a moment, her gaze slides back to those eggs, falling silent as she does.

"She shouldn't be. It shouldn't matter where someone comes from." But that's apparently not a conversation that H'vier is in the mood to have right now, so he leaves it at that and takes the weyrwoman's cue. "I suppose I'll let you get back to your knitting. Try not to stab yourself, hmm?"

"And someone else?" is Lilah's response to that, rather than anything as mundane as 'good bye' or 'farewell' or 'Fort's duties', as she straightens to look back towards H'vier.

"So long as it isn't me," then H'vier probably isn't terribly concerned about who else Lilah might be stabbing. "My duties, weyrwoman." His duties. Not Reaches. And then he's turning, taking another drink from his flask and tucking it away in his jacket as he goes.

Lilah's dark eyes widen slightly at that, before she's searching for-- something, but then she is only searching his backside for it as he turns away. She adds, lifting her voice to do so, "Have a good night, wingleader." And she will watch him go, before she returns her distracted attention to those eggs.