Difference between revisions of "Logs:Taking Advantage"

It's an interesting time of night for anyone to be doing much of anything in Crom's stables. The runners are put up for the evening and all those who labor here during the day are off to sleep or, more likely, drown their night in alcohol. Except for Jadzia. Perhaps the tavern was just too far away for her to go before imbibing because now she's sprawled with a flask on the old, dusty couch where there's still something resembling warmth in the tack room.

The rain beats down outside, making it unlikely anyone would seek the barn as a destination that didn't have a reason to be there. It may well be a surprise, therefore, that the door opens -- and with it a gust of icy-cold wind and rain circles inside the barn until it's shut again. The tall, cloaked figure drips in place near the door as he pauses there, listening. Outside, distantly, there are voices, and that seems to be what the new arrival is focusing on -- he hasn't noticed he's not the only one seeking shelter in the barn, if perhaps for different reasons.

If there was any flicker of a light on in the tack room, it's gone now. And Jadzia, in her oversized jacket, is no longer sprawled on that couch. Even her flask has disappeared by the time she's peeking around the corner toward the barn's door. From here she can't tell if it's someone she knows, but the quiet runners are likely a tell that it's someone they don't know. Not well enough to nicker at, anyway. She steps out of the tack room and starts down the edge of the dark aisle. She'd probably be a lot more quiet about it, too, something she's perfectly capable of, if she hadn't been drinking.

It's sounds that, on any other night -- when it wasn't pouring outside and he wasn't otherwise occupied -- that R'hin might've caught on to. As it is, he's busy carefully sliding the plank of wood that was lying beside the barn's door into place, effectively locking the door. He goes dead still as a voice is audible outside over the constant sound of rain. "It's pouring out here," the voice is complaining loudly, as he jerks at the door unsuccessfully. "How long are we going to look?" The reply is largely inaudible, but it clearly doesn't make the recipient happy since he kicks at the barn door. After what feels like a long pause, the sound of his voice can be heard, swearing under his breath as he continues past the barn. The figure inside the barn stays dead still, listening carefully.

The runners don't seem to like the kicking at the door very much, already restless with the rain pounding against the roof. But their nervous snorting gives Jadzia the opportunity to grab a pitchfork without being too loud about it, a brief scratch against the dirt with the metal before it's lifted off the ground and pointed at the man. She only comes a few steps closer before she stops in a stance more appropriate to fighting than greeting a guest. It's not until the voices are more distant that she asks in a low pitch, "They looking for you?"

It's the sound of metal that makes R'hin spin, now, his left hand held out, palm open, his other dropping briefly to his waist. Pale eyes flick up and down Jadzia, taking in the way she holds the pitchfork, her stance and bearing, evaluating. While she's silent, he waits, as if she is in complete control of the situation. The fact that she waits to speak until the voices grow distant makes him smile -- a flicker -- and his hands ease to his sides in a traditionally harmless sort of posture, one at which he's at ease. "Uh-huh," he replies, his gaze unwavering from her, seemingly content to take his cue from her demeanor.

The pitchfork-wielding blonde doesn't sway in her just slightly glassy-eyed resolve at the drop of his hand toward his waist. She's clearly not afraid of whatever he might pull from there. But even though his hands end up at his sides, she only relaxes marginally, alert to any indication that his harmlessness is temporary. "Why?" is Jadzia's only question.

Here, R'hin grins -- it's a mixture of something that is charming and nonchalant but certainly not apologetic. "One of them thinks I took advantage of his daughter at Turn's End." He remains still, at ease despite the imminent 'threat'.

Jadzia considers that for a few moments. Then, just like that, her stance is more natural and she's turning away from him to walk back to where she'd picked up the pitchfork. He might not think she's any real threat, but she apparently doesn't think he's one now, either. "Did you?"

The man's posture doesn't change much -- that is, his appearance of ease seems like it was genuine, since all R'hin does is follow Jadzia's path with his eyes. "I did, but not in the way he thinks." A beat. "Words and promises are free, but of her virtue I certainly didn't partake -- I was long gone before the Turn... Turned, so to speak." His cocks his head to one side, then asks with a lilt of amusement coiling in the tones of his low tones, "Do you normally wait for men in a dark barn with pitchforks? Or is this a new... form of training for farmers-to-be?"

"If she has a father chasing after men he thinks have partaken, there's probably not much virtue left to be had. Not that I've ever understood the preoccupation with virtue." Jadzia says the last more to herself as she sets aside the pitchfork, right back where she'd picked it up. There's a glance back to the cloaked stranger. Her smile might not be entirely visible in the dark. "If I'm waiting for a man in the dark, it's usually for him to partake of my virtue." There could be air quotes around the way she says that last word. "I'm not a farmer. To-be, or otherwise."

"You handled that pitchfork well enough," R'hin says, as if to dispute her dismissal of his guess at her occupation, though there's laughter in that, too. As for the girl, "Mm. Well, a father often doesn't see the real daughter, only the sweet little girl he remembers in his head." A weight in that statement, but he doesn't linger on it. Instead -- he takes a couple of steps in Jadzia's wake, then stops to consider her, as if wondering what she'll do. "So, not a man. Then, you must be doing the same thing I am." A beat. "Hiding out."

His... compliment? Whatever it is. That earns a snort, further dismissal. "I'm sure my father would be thoroughly disappointed to know the real me. But I suppose it would serve him right." As the man steps closer, Jadzia turns toward him, betraying both the fact that she still doesn't trust him to not be a threat and that she's willing to face him head on if he is. "I work here. It's nice, quiet when everyone's gone on their way." She can drink in peace here. So, basically hiding, yes.

"You work here," R'hin repeats, a note of disbelief intended to hit just the right note of incredulity. He remains where he is when Jadzia turns back to face him, like he's trying not to spook her too much. He glances towards the runners, clucks his tongue enough to earn the ear-twitching attention of the nearest, before he chuckles under his breath.

"And what's so funny about that?" Jadzia sounds defensive. And agitated. But that might just be lingering from finding him in the first place.

Still watching the runners, R'hin observes, "They don't seem overly bothered by the rain. Do the runners crave your company so badly that you indulge them?"

"I'm sure they couldn't care less if I were here or not." It's not as though Jadzia is going to feed them, this time of night. They know that well enough. "But they don't need strange men barging in here to disturb them, either." Even if they don't seem all that disturbed. He's certainly disturbing her, though.

And there, R'hin's attention is drawn back towards Jadzia with an affronted expression, "And here, I was just about to thank you for being so kind as to allow me a moment's respite from the vigilantism of your fellow Cromese..." except, he's laying it on a little think, deliberately so. "But, for the runners sake," a twitch of lips, "I'll make my leave then. Out into the ravages of the winter weather." Is he being overdramatic? Most definitely, but there's an air of light-hearted amusement in his pale eyes.

If he catches Jadzia rolling her eyes in the darkness, she can't really be blamed for that. He's earned it. "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other if you go freeze your ass off outside." Just so that's clear. "But if you want to see if the rain will let up, at least sit in the tack room where you can shut the door or something." Which is where she's headed now, whether the stranger decides to follow or decides to leave.

There's silence for a long moment. Either he's debating or not coming, but eventually there's the soft, nearly inaudible sound of footsteps behind her following her to the tack room. Instead of stepping in, though, he lingers at the door, gaze flicking around -- maybe he's waiting for her to shed some light on the situation, so to speak?

It's a few moments before Jadzia has gotten the candle in the lamp in the middle of the room, away from anything too terribly flammable, lit. It's a dull light, but it's enough to see her settle back down on one end of the couch with, reaching into an inner pocket of her jacket to find her flask. "So what were you promising your little lady friend?"

Now that that room's revealed, R'hin slicks back dark, damp hair against his scalp, easing into the room and closing the door behind him. He takes note of that flask with a low, appreciative laugh, "Now I see what you were doing here. Have enough for two?" Her question earns a shift of shoulders, a wry smile. "She wanted to see the world. They all do, until they see the world, and then they want to go home. Everyone dreams big, but few have the... balls, so to speak, to follow through." Pale eyes are resting on her intently while he says it, and there's an air of challenge in the tone of his voice as he does.

"Plenty," she admits even if she doesn't seem entirely sure she wants to. But, "I've a collection in a trunk," is said with a nod toward one in particular. So not sharing would just be greedy. Jadzia doesn't seem to care whether he helps himself or is content with whatever remains in the flask. His intensity meets her, well, taking a drink, before giving him a more thorough assessment now that there's more light to see by. "And some get kicked in the balls for having tried. Do you take young women on tours of the world often?"

Although she shares the location of her stash, it's towards Jadzia that R'hin walks, settling down on a hale of bay nearby -- close enough to be able to reach out for her flask. Since she offered. "No," he confesses, with a sudden smile, as if the question pleases him, "But the promise of it is often enough to determine their true natures."

Jadzia offers it up willingly enough, drawing her legs up onto the couch once he's taken it, pulling her knees against her chest as she watches him. It bunches up the thick fabric of her jacket uncomfortably, so she just pulls that over her knees, too. Plenty of room in there for all of her. "What do you care about their true natures? I wouldn't think a man of your..." Age. She wants to say age. She refrains. "I wouldn't think you'd care for much but their 'virtue.'"

R'hin stretches out for the flask, an appreciative glint in his gaze before he takes a gulp. A moment later he makes a face -- it's not the quality he's used to -- but that doesn't stop him taking a second gulp before he hands her flask back. He reads the unspoken word in her pause, if that bark of laughter is anything to go by. "Interesting people interest me." Pale eyes are level on hers when he says it. "Call it a... hobby of mine."

Either she doesn't notice the face he makes or, more likely, she knows perfectly well that it's not exactly top shelf. Jadzia takes it back but doesn't take another drink right away, frowning at his laughter but meeting his gaze as he continues. "A hobby is supposed to be something you do for fun," she points out. "Anyway, the world is shit everywhere. Seems a waste of time to see it when you can't do anything about it." The look she levels back is pretty clear. What's that say about her nature?

"Who says people aren't fun?" R'hin counters, quickly. With a low-throated chuckle, he says, "You're far too young to be such a cynic. Sometimes," he pauses, "It's about recognizing an opportunity or situation when it's presented, and taking advantage of it." It's with a suddenness that he's standing, the advantage of his height letting him study her a beat, before he's striding for the door.

Jadzia peers up at the man when he rises, not entirely comfortable with him standing but not willing, or too distracted by his words, to get onto her own feet, or, at least, put herself into a position that could be more mobile should it prove necessary. When he turns for the door, she doesn't speak up to stop him, but she does watch him with a thoughtful frown.

"The rain has eased." Though how R'hin can tell that is anyone's guess -- the sound of it against the roof hasn't noticeably changed. With a sudden grin over his shoulder, he says, "I appreciate you not sticking me with that pitchfork, young farmer. I'll see you around." It's the casual sort of farewell you give someone you're likely to never see again, and with it, he disappears out the door. There's the soft creak of the barn door opening and shutting again, and then just the faint, comforting shifting of the runners in their nearby stalls.

"I'm not a farmer!" Jadzia's voices rises easily enough after him to point that out. Good riddance, evidently!