Difference between revisions of "Logs:Restraint"

>------------------------------------< 10D 12M 38T I10, winter afternoon >---<

The galleries are warm and cozy, and Farideh, somehow bundled in several layers -- what looks like a fuzzy pullover under a wooly sweater -- occupies the bench closest to the rail. She's got a skin of some sort, a plate of cheeses and assorted, sugary pastries, and appears to have nestled in to stay, with her legs up in cross-legged style and her hands occupied by a book; for once it's not hidework.

The bronzerider is windblow when he makes his way into the galleries, his face a little red across his cheeks. He's looking at the eggs as he makes his way along the first bench, but as soon as he notices Farideh, it's clear that his attention has changed course. "Don't you look comfortable. Don't you have a job you should be doing or something?" Whether H'vier is teasing or not, he keeps coming close until he can sit down nearby.

Open-mouthed and distracted looking to boot, Farideh's head snaps up when H'vier speaks directly to her, but her mouth quickly closes and she offers the bronzerider a welcoming smile. "H'vier," she says, voice warm. "Sometimes, even goldriders get breaks, but only when we aren't wooing the Holds or counting silverware in the stores. How have you been? Iceberg seems to be doing well, and outside of the cut people are so scared K'del will do, now that's he's--" Closing her book, she sets it aside, giving the man her undivided attention.

"I could sooner picture a herdbeast dancing in a gather dress than I could you wooing anyone. Let alone Holders." H'vier must not think very highly of Farideh's ability to be an inviting or sincere human being. "Iceberg is doing just fine, thank you. Even now that K'del is yet again Weyrleader and I'm not." He tilts a smile at her because he's not taking that bait, intended as such or not.

"I could sooner picture a herdbeast dancing in a gather dress than I could you wooing anyone. Let alone Holders." H'vier must not think very highly of Farideh's ability to be an inviting or sincere human being. "Iceberg is doing just fine, thank you. Even now that K'del is yet again Weyrleader and I'm not." He tilts a smile at her because he's not taking that bait, intended as such or not.

"I'll have you know that I can be quite convincing when I want to be. Not that holders are people I particularly want to woo, but we do what we must," Farideh replies, ending on a pretty sigh. "Again. It should be routine by now, watching him fumble and always succeed. I wonder how Cadejoth always manages it, time after time, gold after gold." Her lips purse, her expression contemplative as she gazes off towards the eggs. "It's annoying."

"Perhaps being the Weyrleading bronze gives him some advantage," suggest H'vier with a small shrug. "Like how dragons generally obey golds, on some smaller scale." Perhaps he's given this some thought before. "I suppose it's unkind to Cadejoth that I sometimes think that knife should have found its mark. But I don't know how I'd feel about someone even more incompetent with the knot." Annoying isn't quite the word H'vier would use, presumably.

"That's a thought, but one I'd rather not dwell on. I don't necessarily dislike Cadejoth, and I don't hate K'del either, it's just--" Farideh's eyes, with eyebrows uplifted, comes back to H'vier. "You would wish a dead Weyrleader on us? On Irianke? No, it would have been better if he could restrain himself, his dragon, instead of putting everything in jeopardy. I'll never understand why men could just give it all away for-- what? A fancy knot? What is the lure?"

"Why would he restrain himself? He wants to be Weyrleader." H'vier shrugs out of his jacket, laying it across the bench beside him. It's not exactly cold in here. But he pulls his flask out of a pocket at the last moment. "What exactly is a man giving away by being Weyrleader? Most bronzeriders are wingriders. At best, you're a wingleader. And you're not required to give up control of your wing. Even if you were, you're in charge of all of the wings." The rest? H'vier isn't answering the rest.

"We were at Greenfields on a diplomatic visit and he got stabbed, but he couldn't stop?" Farideh makes a face, obviously displeased with the answer. "I'd have my limits. Life over death and--" She slants the bronzerider another look, pointed. "Family. Meaningful relationships. Other, more worthwhile dreams. I don't think I'd ever chose a title, power, over any of those. He tries to balance it all," is the goldrider's reply, with a shrug.

H'vier gives the young woman a curious sort of look. But instead of whatever might have been on his mind, he glances out at the eggs and says, "It's not entirely his choice. Bronzes are just as ambitious as their riders. Moreso, in some cases. But you can have your dreams, and we can have ours. Not all of us are suited to families and relationships, Farideh. This is all some of us have."

"You're depressing, H'vier," and that is clearly reason to stuff her face with those snacks so close at hand, though she does gesture to the plate of cheese and pastries before she shoves a chunk of bread in her mouth. While Farideh continues to dissect the rest of the pastry in her hand, she jerks her chin towards the sands and the eggs. "What do you think?"

The bronzerider shrugs, unscrewing the top of his flask so he can take a drink. He won't disagree with that. After a glance at the plate, H'vier looks at the eggs again. "About what? They're eggs. Ones that Reisoth has no interest in, thank Faranth." He even lifts his flask to that.

"You don't make bets? Have dreams about what dragons will Impress to whom? I hear that the biggest pool is on a gold, a bronze, two browns, four blues, and seven greens. There are a bunch of apprentices swearing this one healer apprentice will Impress the gold, too. The one that might not even be," Farideh says, conversationally.

"What do apprentices know about Impression," is entirely rhetorical because the answer is nothing. "There's no gold out there. And no I don't bet on eggs. I bet on cards and runners and women. Things that you can make an educated decision about. Eggs are mostly guessing." H'vier takes another drink before the flask settles against his thigh and his finger drum along the leather. "Do you actually care who any of them Impress to?"

"They don't have to know anything. It's adorable that they want to try and guess. Only a little over a turn ago I Impressed. I remember when we used to try and guess what was in each other," as she points at individual eggs with her forefinger. "You're getting old, H'vier, and boring." Farideh flashes the bronzerider a smile before snatching a cube of cheese. "No. It doesn't matter as long as there's enough candidates for all the eggs, and none go between. Otherwise, does it?"

H'vier must be in an agreeable mood tonight because he doesn't try to argue his oldness or boringness, either. "No, it doesn't matter. Not sure the Weyr would really miss another pair of mouths to feed that much, though, would they? Besides. You seem to be eating plenty to make for it all on your own." He looks at the plate, then up at Farideh. He doesn't seem interested in any of it himself.

"H'vier," is less than enthused, "how can you say that? Dragons going between--" Farideh frowns at him, with evident dissatisfaction, and then glances down at the plate, never mind the cheese still in her hand. "What? Can't I eat? Are you calling me fat?" Again, with that frown, aimed solely at the bronzerider, and, paired with squinted eyes.

"It happens," H'vier says of dragons and between, his gaze drifting down to take in the rest of the young weyrwoman. "Well, I can't see much under all that. But if you'd like to take it all off, I'd be happy to let you know if you're getting fat or not. I'd fuck you either way." It's an important point, obviously.

Farideh makes a choking sound and turns her head sharply, to stare at H'vier. "Really?" She pushes to her feet and grabs her book like she's suddenly in a hurry. "You're obscene, H'vier. It was nice, until--" Her face pinches in distaste, and then she starts to move away, down the row towards the exit.

"C'mon," is a bit drawn out on the vowel as it follows Farideh. "It was a compliment. How is that even obscene?" It's probably not a question that H'vier actually expects her to answer since he's not moving from where he's sitting anytime soon and his gaze wanders back to the eggs before she's even out of sight.