Difference between revisions of "Logs:Favors Paid and Sought"

It's been a cold, raining day all day -- about normal for this time of Turn at High Reaches. It's late afternoon, though the dark skies overhead cast a gloom on the day, though thankfully the snow has eased off in the last hour or so. There's not a great deal of traffic between the tunnel entrance to the Weyr and the stables, but there is some -- beastcrafters tending to the animals, owners, one or incoming travellers intent on being at the Weyr for Turn's End. Dressed for warmth, R'hin's wearing a thick jacket, his clothes casual enough to mark him as anyone from one of the beastcrafters to a visiting holder. Standing in the lee of the stable's overhead shelter, he's squinting down the road.

Rainy weather is just perfect - what else could go wrong, eh? Valenros moves purposefully through the incoming set, wending his way out. He has a cloak thrown over his wool overcoat, the hood drawn up to protect his face from the icy wetness falling from the sky. His movements slow as he nears the stable, stepping just within the frame of the building, which puts him close to R'hin. Frosty puffs of breath escape his mouth as he rubs his hands together, trying to bring some warmth into them. Curiosity draws his eyes to the other man, a short assessment, and then a disconnected, "Waiting for someone?" It would seem he's doing the same thing.

A grunt is the only response from the distracted man, but after a moment, R'hin actually turns his head to take in his new companion. "Something like that," he says, with a brief twist of lips. His gaze starts to flicker away, then stops -- as if a sudden thought occurs to him -- and returns to Valenros with a sudden surge of interest. "Maybe you can do a man a favor? There's a..." an evaluating pause, "...pitcher of beer in it for you."

The proposition is received with a certain amount of calm, as if, maybe, this sort of thing is an everyday normal occurrence. It isn't the most tempting of offers he's ever been treated to, but Valenros is listening at least. "What can someone like me do for you?" he asks plainly and without humor, giving the other man a quick appraisal. Nothing about his expression suggestion that he thinks anything is amiss.

"You seem eloquent enough," R'hin replies, as if that's the only thing required on his resume. "All you have to do is talk to a pretty girl for a few minutes." He glances back down the path: there's a pair of runners coming up the trail, one figure bigger than the other. The shift of the older man's posture suggests this is who he was waiting for, and he turns his attention expectantly back towards Valenros.

"All I have to do is talk to a pretty girl." Valenros repeats back the same words R'hin has just spoken, but his are a little monotone like someone who doesn't understand inflect and nuance. "I can do that for you." He looks out expectantly down the road, eyeing the runners that are coming their way. "Am I allowed to ask why /you/ don't want to talk to a pretty girl?" His hands disappear into the oversized pockets in his coat, his posture straightening with alertness.

For a moment, it seems like the answer will be an obvious no, but after a beat, R'hin says, "It depends how well you do," with a knowing sort of grin, as if he enjoys setting out a challenge. "She's the one on the left," he nods. The pair of runners approach; the girl's a brunette, fairly plain, perhaps a Turn or two younger than Valenros. The older man at her side could be her father -- they have a similar hair color -- but otherwise don't share a similarity. They pull up just in front of the stables, moving to dismount. R'hin, meanwhile, takes a few steps back, into the stables themselves.

This is all rather odd, but Valenros said he would do the man a favor. He looks backwards once, taking in the other man's steps within, before he ventures out. "Excuse me," he starts off politely, taking his hands out of his pockets and gesturing to the runner, "I wanted to see if you needed any help." His grin encompasses both the man and his, presumed, daughter. "I hope your way was easy and without trouble, but you must be tired." Sweeping off his hood and his cloak, he offers it out to the girl. "Come, you'll catch a cold in all this weather. I wasn't making proper use of it anyway." Gallant, really, or so he's trying to be, putting good manners to good use.

"Soaking," the girl declares, giving Valenros a once over. Not only does she appear used to such valiant gestures, she seems to expect them, allowing him to settle the cloak around her shoulders. "Make sure to feed and water her. I expect no harm to come to her while we're here." She's, presumably, talking about the runner, given the way she pats the runner's neck fondly, before giving Valenros an expectant look. The man with her dismounts silently, glancing between the pair with a furrow of brow, then past them as if something's caught his eye. He leads his runner straight into the stables, perhaps not-so-coincidentally to where R'hin is waiting.

Late afternoon and it's raining, not snowing at High Reaches. Travellers are making a beeline for the Weyr, but a few stragglers are hanging back by the stables, most notably R'hin, Valenros, and a brunette as well as another unremarkable man leading a runner into the stables. And despite the awkward situation, Valenros seems to /warm/ up to the lady's off-putting, entitled behavior. "Of course, we wouldn't want to put your faith to misuse." He spreads the cloak about her shoulders and takes a step back, seemingly not bothered by the icy rain that is quickly soaking his clothing through. "I will have to let the stablehands know to keep her under their best watch." Just then the rain picks up a little and he has to raise a hand to shield his eyes from the downpour. "I think it might be best to head into the stables until it lets up a bit. No sense walking through the flood, is there?" And to top it off, he offers his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. "At your leisure." Whoever this girl is, she's getting some pretty good treatment, all in the name of booze.

With a haughty little sniff -- boldened perhaps by Valenros' treatment of her -- the girl pauses, then finally deigns to take the tall lad's arm. "You're not a stableboy, then?" Strangely, the girl sounds almost disappointed. Inside the stables themselves, R'hin -- dressed plainly -- is having a quiet word or two with the travelling companion of the girl, while he brushes down his own runner. It's a casual enough looking conversation, just like the two have just met and struck up an amiable conversation, R'hin leaning against the stable door.

It's with laughter that a cloaked figure and young girl run for the stables, the first slowing before they enter so as not to spook the weary beasts. "Said I'd get you here, didn't I?" Azaylia is quick to brush her hood off with her free hand, her other arm hooked around her running partner. The blonde points toward a disgruntled looking man, one the Weyrwoman approaches with a smile. Words are exchanged, fingers are wagged, and the goldrider leaves the journeyman with his tardy charge. Rather than return in the direction of the Weyr, Azaylia walks toward the traffic with easy curiosity in her eyes. R'hin earns a glance, quickly followed by another, leaving him to his conversation as she idles at the entrance-- near Valenros and the well-treated brunette.

"No, fortunately not," Valenros says pleasantly, patting her hand on his arm, "the smell of manure never did grow on me." He grins easily, eagerly accepting the role that comes naturally to him. "I'm Valenros, pleasure to make your acquaintance." As they step under the roof, his brown eyes light on Azaylia, a flicker of something - recognition? - flickers on his face before he pulls the brunette up next her companion and the runner. "Don't worry, I think the rain.. ah," his voice falters as his eyes move between the Weyrwoman and the rainfall, "..is letting up," finished lamely.

"Of course it is." A pleasure. And the girl seems to just assume Valenros will know who she is. Certainly, her clothing bespeaks some sort of rank, though fashion can be deceptive. The brunette gives the older man who arrived with her a dark look when she notices him talking to R'hin. "You should be making sure they're looking after my runner, not talking with..." she eyes R'hin for a moment, who gives her a nonchalant grin, and settles for, "...strangers." R'hin reaches out a hand for the other man's, and gives it a quick shake as he passes by. "Good to meet you. Miss," a nod of head towards the brunette, a wink towards Valenros, and he casually heads for the entrance, casually sticking hands in his pocket as he stops near Azaylia wordlessly. The brunette peers after him, then at Valenros. "You can go now. My help will find you later and return your cloak."

Even with the weather, Azaylia is in bright spirits. She greets those passing by with a smile, with mixed results-- plenty of confusion. In R'hin's company she stops, greeting him with a gentle, "You are awful strange." She's in agreement with the brunette. That wink earns Valenros her attention, curiosity carried in her dark gaze as she looks for any recognizable feature. Still, he and the girl are offered similar greetings when they're near enough, "Welcome." Though she doesn't intrude on their exchange any further.

"Never mind the cloak. You can keep.. er, he can keep it," Valenros says with a mild gesture towards her unfortunate companion. "Good day." He flourishes a hand and steps away from the brunette, and she's all but forgotten, his charming platitudes a ghost of five minutes ago. His brows knit and he frowns as he walks after R'hin, his eyes focused on the goldrider. "I do hope that was satisfactory. I am not in the mind to do it again," he says for the other man's benefit. "Ah, thank you, ma'am," now to Azaylia, nodding his head in deep reverence; it wouldn't be surprising for him to attempt a bow, but then again he looks frazzled by the Weyrwoman's presence.

The brunette gives a long look after Valenros, as if unconvinced by his words. She gives a nod for Azaylia, but is quickly distracted attempting to wheedle one of the journeyman into personally tending her runner. There's a snort from R'hin for Azaylia's accusation of him -- not that he denies it verbally, leaning against the wall nearest the Weyrwoman while pale gaze settles on Valenros. "No? You don't enjoy talking to pretty girls? You seemed a natural for it." The praise seems genuine, as does the confusion at the boy's reaction. "Don't you think there's a market for that sort of thing, kitten?" he says, casually, to the Weyrwoman. "A strong young man, a glib tongue, hm?"

The more she watches, the more Azaylia's curiosity turns to confusion. Glancing between the two of them, it's the bronzerider who earns an accusatory, "What did you do?" Valenros' greeting relaxes their arms from where they cross, or rather his uncertainty, "Please, call me Azaylia." Night and day, she rounds on R'hin with a firm look, "Azaylia." Not kitten. Soft voice answers his question, hesitant but honest, "And you know I do. But you shouldn't tease..? People." Not-stableboys.

Weyrfolk sure are strange. Valenros shakes his head, as much to dislodge the wetness there as in an attempt to clear out his confusion. "Pretty yes, unpleasant, yes. What does my willingness to talk to pretty girls have to do with anything?" Now he's a bit suspicious. "I did you a favor. You promised me a drink in return. I think that's where this stands." But his lips compress all the same, his stance becoming a little less frazzled, more defensive. "What are you getting at?" Being outright hostile in front of the Weyrwoman wouldn't be the smartest trick in his bag, but there's an sharper edge to his voice when his asks the last question.

"Me?" R'hin plays the innocent, all wide-eyed and unknowing. Except, you know, it's R'hin. "I did nothing. Just offered the boy a drink in return for talking to a pretty girl. Nothing wrong with that," he says, dismissing Azaylia's concern. "Oh, is that your name?" like he's only just realized, except for the low-throated laugh that escapes him at her reaction. After that subsides, pale eyes rest on Valenros for a moment, taking in that sharp tone with aplomb as he spreads his hands, palms facing up as if to soothe his mood. "Come on, now. We ought to get you inside, before you freeze without your cloak. And get you that pitcher of beer -- unless you want to save it for another time?"

"You are... impossible." Azaylia's stare is leveled at R'hin for several moments, taking a step to try and pat Valenros' upper arm. "That's R'hin." As if that explains it all. Since it doesn't, "He probably wanted to make you uncomfortable. Did it work?" For all her annoyance, there is a hint of amusement at her question. The bronzerider earns a side-eye, "I'm more in the mood for something warm. Cider." Since R'hin is buying.

The distrustful look doesn't leave his face. "Right." Valenros scrubs at his face with his hands and then just gives up. Getting a drink might not be a bad idea given the circumstances. "No, he didn't, I just.." He suddenly looks very tired. "Sure. After you," he says, lifting a hand lamely to indicate the direction. It may just be coincidence, it may be a direct attempt to make sure the dragonrider is in front where he can be seen at all times.

R'hin takes this next accusation in stride, too, with another of those low-throated chuckles at Azaylia's speculation. "Naw, kid did me a favor," he demurs, easily, "And it's his choice. Beer was negotiated, but I'm feeling generous enough to be flexible... if he wants to indulge you." The bronzerider glances quizzically at Valenros. Does he? At the gesture, R'hin doesn't immediately move; instead he offers an elbow to Azaylia.

Azaylia is hesitant to take that elbow, only just remembering her manners. She gives a soft laugh, "I'm sorry. I sort of invited myself, didn't I?" For Valenros, and unintentionally paired with R'hin's glance, "Do you mind?"

"It.. doesn't.. matter. If the Weyrwoman wants cider, then we should get her cider," Valenros says, his answer a watery version of his earlier, more confident words. But his manners prevail, the lady asks, the lady gets. "Please, lead the way." He hunkers down into his jacket, preparing for the inevitable shower, as he looks at the two dragonriders expectantly. Well, do something won't you?

There's a knowing sort of look from R'hin for Valenros. With a twitch of shoulder, he leads the way back up the path, into the tunnel entrance of the Weyr. From there, it's a relatively short climb up a flight of stairs into the Snowasis, where the warmth of the various hearths will hopefully work quickly against wet clothing. "Why don't you two find a seat, while I get us drinks?" The Wingleader suggests, striding off towards the bar before they can protest.

There's a look of obvious concern for Valenros' response, but it's enough to have her finally accepting R'hin's arm. On their way over that look is turned into quick glances over her shoulder, though she'll stop checking up on the lad once they reach the Snowasis. There's no protest as the bronzerider leaves, just a quietly insistant, "Cider!" For Valenros, "I'll follow your lead." She'll be comfortable anywhere.

Somehow the weight of the whole Weyr has come down on his shoulders - or so it looks, from the stricken expression on Valenros's face as he casts about for a suitable seat. "Here, is fine?" It's part statement, part question as he pulls out a seat at a vacant table, holding it out so Azaylia may sit in it. "It is quite warm in here compared to.." He falls short as he pulls out a second chair and sits down, all awkward legs and elbows all of a sudden. Being seated at the table with such an important person is giving him a bit of a complex. "How are.. how are you today?" Right, simple conversation is a good start. His mouth tugs into a semblance of a smile, though it's half grimace.

It's hard to tell whether R'hin hears Azaylia's adamant call. Certainly he doesn't turn back to look: too busy flirting with the girl behind the bar, after all.

Azaylia attempts to be the sunny day to Valenros' stormcloud, smiling as she accepts the seat with a murmur of thanks. For all that she's trying a little too hard to be personable, the Weyrwoman doesn't press for more as his words die away. "I'm doing alright." With gentle amusement, though she isn't laughing at him, "And you? You... seem like you're having a hard time." With her cloak hung up near the entrance her knot is in full view, which reminds her to unfasten it and slip it into her pocket.

"It is perhaps difficult to assimilate, m'lady," Valenros admits with a touch of chagrin. "I am visiting the Weyr with our healer, from Winter Ridge Hold, and I find myself at odds." He rubs his hands together, his eyes dropping away from the goldrider. Where was R'hin with those drinks? Awkward silence stretches on the holder's part before his looks at Azaylia again. "It's nothing. We'll be away in a few days, but in the meantime, the snow does chafe."

What an awkward moment to return -- just when the new arrival talks about chafing. It certainly earns a bemused look from R'hin as he joins the spot the two have settled on, carrying a tray of items: a mug of hot cider, for Azaylia, and a pitcher of beer, presumably for him and Valenros, along with a pair of glasses. Oh, and a towel he has slung over his shoulder, which he holds out for Valenros. "Beer, as promised," he says, with a definitely not apologetic look at Azaylia, "The Weyrwoman shouldn't always get what she wants. Otherwise she might get used to it."

"Please," Azaylia stresses, although playfully, "Call me Azaylia. I'm no Ladyholder." Not that her tone places the rank higher, simply stating a fact. "Well, I hope the company makes up for the snow." Ever hopeful. The awkward silence persists until R'hin appears, although the goldrider doesn't seem bothered by the tension. As for getting what she wants, "You have a mug." Looks like she's getting what she wants today.

Oh, beer. Valenros has never been happier to see a drink before. He accepts both towel and mug, next grabbing the pitcher and pouring each mug full. His lips have just touched the rim of the glass when a breathless young man hurries up to their table. "Valenros," at the affirming nod, he continues, "Omrit wants you. Says it's urgent. I think Effrel.." He starts ringing his hands, looking concerned. "I see," Valenros says quietly. "I will have to make my apologies.. thanks for the, ah, company.. and the beer." The holder lifts his glass in silent salute to R'hin before drinking down the whole thing. It meets the table top with a soft thud as he stands up. "Good day.. Azaylia, and, R'hin." And with that, the two young men leave the bar, onto less exciting things.

"It's for me," R'hin lies rather blithely, "Though I suppose you can steal it. She's a stealer," he reports to Valenros, as he's pouring the beer, though the rider doesn't look honestly that put out. When that young man runs up, he gets a particularly interested once over from the bronzerider, as he shrugs out of his cloak. "Huh," is his almost disappointed grunt as the pair hurry off. "Interesting young man. Bit quick to anger," he grins just a little here, as he slides into Valenros' discarded seat, reaching for the other glass of beer.

A hand reaches out to swat at R'hin's arm, "Stop it." Not that Azaylia sounds terribly angry, even as he spreads his lies. The arrival of another unfamiliar face gives the Weyrwoman pause, sending Valenros off with a nod and farewell. Softly, "It doesn't seem like he's having a very good day." She does end up stealing that mug, pulling it closer with a glance across the table. "I doubt you made it better. Until the beer." Because R'hin's company is always so bittersweet. Her head ducks for a quick inhale of the spiced heat, exhale carrying a question, "How's your leg?"

"He got his beer, though," R'hin says, as if he expects that should be some comfort. It certainly seems to be to him -- he gulps down several mouthfuls of the liquid before he sets his glass down. "What?" Innocent probably doesn't really work on someone who knows him well enough to know better, and so he follows up with a, "It was a fair deal. It's hardly a burden for a boy to talk to a pretty girl." Even if she's a little haughty. "My leg?" he echoes, with surprise, now.

A pretty burden, maybe?" Azaylia seems to have heard enough to realize that beauty may have been only skin deep. R'hin's surprise brings lifts her gaze, squinting with uncertainty as she studies the bronzerider. "Your... arm?" Now she's fishing, "Was it even you?" Chilled hands wrap around her mug, a solid claim as much as it is to warm her palms. "I remember bits and pieces. I thought something had happened, during the flight?"

"We all make sacrifices," R'hin answers, with a twitch of lips. His expression remains even enough as she starts naming body parts, taking another gulp of the beer. "I'm fine," he says, which isn't confirmation, so much as closing the subject. "I'm surprised you remember anything," with a brief grin. "Still, it turned out well in the end... but for Cadejoth."

Azaylia purses her lips, "You didn't have to be there, you know." No ones fault but his own, says her pointed stare. "It's not like Hraedhyth is subtle." With a gradually gravid lifemate it's all old news, words lacking any bite they may have once had. "Like I said. Bits and pieces." As for how it turned out, "Cadejoth is the worst of it." Lips purse to blow across the surface of her drink, cooling it enough for a slow sip. "At least it's settled." The unspoken 'for now' isn't terribly ominous-- it's the nature of Weyrleaders.

"Of course I did," R'hin contradicts. "Besides, I wasn't going to let H'vier paw at you." It's all said with remarkable evenness, kind of like he's waving it off dismissively. "Besides, she didn't give him much choice." A hint of something, but it passes by swiftly as he gulps down the rest of the beer. "A fact of which I, for one, am glad. You'll learn to rely on him. I know you -- don't trust. But he's a good man, and he wants to do right by the Weyr. Trust in that, kitten."

Now there's an impish curl to her lips, Azaylia's whispery soprano all too innocent, "Why not? I bet he's good at it." Thankfully she doesn't linger on the possibility, leaning on the table with gently crossed arms. "Hraedhyth likes him." Now it's her turn to be dismissive. Rather than argue, she lobs an airy, "I don't see why it matters what I feel. You sound like his perfect Weyrwoman already." Get a room.

"Ugh. Please." R'hin makes a face at her insinuations, though he, too, doesn't linger on that thought. Pouring another glass of beer and downing half of it probably helps wash away the thought, too. "Why would it not matter what you feel?" he asks, surprised. The latter earns a grin, "I would, kitten, but he's taken, and even I have lines I don't cross."

"It doesn't." She insists, practiced. "Hraedhyth is happy." Which is good enough for Azaylia, or so it seems as she takes another easy pull of cider. R'hin's last does earn a soft huff of amusement and a smile from behind the rim of her mug. It's short lived as she murmurs, "Me too." At least not on purpose.

"But you aren't," R'hin concludes, pale gaze on hers. "Why?"

For a moment, Azaylia's expression softens toward confession as dark eyes find his. With a sigh, the tension returns, "Nothing." She remedies the lie, "It's stupid. Selfish." Lips don't quite manage a smile, though the sentiment is there, "Can't always have what I want." Resigned, but no worse for it. Her cider has lasted this long, warming her belly and acting as a small shield between her and R'hin.

R'hin's gaze remains fixed on hers, attentive to her expression. "Nothing is ever impossible, take it from me." A beat, then, "What do you want, Azaylia?" He's not calling her 'kitten', so he's probably trying his best to be kind, for once.

And the cider is gone. Not chugged, for fear of that heat, but Azaylia is as quick as she can be to finish her mug. It helps heat her tongue to numbness so she can admit under her breath, "Never had a Weyrleader that belonged to someone else, before." It's for R'hin's ears only. Possibly eyes, with how quietly she admits it.

There's a long pause, and there's no doubt the answer surprises R'hin, pale eyes flickering away briefly, then back. His voice is quiet, like a louder one might scare her away light a frightened animal. "How does that change things?"

Words are hushed and rushed, getting them out as quickly as possible. "It's different. Feels different. I can't get close." It's not how Azaylia works. Slowly, her brows lower, "I'm done." She's hunched forward since, hands gripping her elbows as she aims that look at R'hin. "It doesn't matter." And, "You don't tell him." Her own regret for saying anything is obvious enough.

"Oh, kitten. You're a very strange woman," R'hin finally concludes, though it's done with a gentle, low-throated laugh. "You'll find a way to make it work. If not, you can always ask his woman, see if she's amenable. She's a goldrider, she might understand."

"I know." Azaylia is certain of it. R'hin's suggestion earns another stare, blank and perhaps a touch harsh, "They don't." Her tone regains its easy nature, "I've had enough women who weren't supposed to exist angry at me to know how strange I am." The Weyrwoman stands, slow but determined. Still tender, she echoes her demand, "Don't tell him." Stupid and selfish, it's hers to deal with.

When she stands, R'hin's pale gaze follows her, but he doesn't stand as well. "What's it worth?" wait, he's not serious, surely?

Azaylia is struck by the question, head jerking back as she blinks at the man. Anger has her eyes narrowing, but it's embarrassment that tosses out, "Shouldn't have told you anything." Ever. "So stupid." She pushes her chair in hard enough for it to knock at the table, choosing to turn and walk away rather than name a price.

The sound of R'hin's low-throated laugh can be heard as she walks away, though by the time she's reached the exit he's disappeared from the table, leaving only the half-empty pitcher of beer.