Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Game of Cards"

Knowing is a mantle on Lia's shoulders, a confidence which belies that much of her knowing is actually assuming. It speaks in the way Daehyeth's prim form lands in an ask forgiveness later fashion, keeping her distance from Leiventh, though not a mental spark of curiosity that extends. It rustles in the way Lia nods with respect to the bronze dragon and strides up the passageway to the two doors. And it manifests further when she decides to open a door and walk in, though the first flickers of doubt shadow her dark brown eyes as she turns the knob and walks in.

It's rare, normally, for Leiventh to be perching on his own ledge -- normally he prefers the heights of the rim, but tonight the late spring flurry has driven him to seek shelter on his ledge. Daehyeth's arrival is met with a glimmering line of whirling eyes, a faint deep rumble of acknowledgement more felt than heard, before lids close again, without any other movement. He doesn't seem that bothered at the green's presence, nor her rider's apparent boldness. The door she picks is unlocked, and warmth immediately spills out. The hearth burns low, but it's the only light in the otherwise dark weyr, though once eyes adjust a figure can probably be seen sprawled on top of the bed.

Assuming, again, that the figure sprawled atop the bed is asleep and not, in fact, dead, Lia shuts the door behind her and starts towards the hearth. Rider's strength makes it easy for her to grab a log and toss it onto the hearth and then another to coax more brightness and warmth from the fire. Without, Daehyeth favors Leiventh with one long considering look before pushing off and coasting along the curves of the bowl wall, in between the late flurries that decorate the Weyr.

There's movement from the bed, the figure stirring and rolling over. "You bring wine?" comes R'hin's voice. Either he thinks Lia's someone else, or he knows is her and isn't surprised by visit. Judging by the unfocused gaze as he swings his legs to the ground and runs a hand through his hair, it's probably the former. Leiventh is still as the green takes off, and yet -- between one wing beat and the next -- he's no longer visible on the ledge. Neither does he appear to be behind her, although there's the slight chill of his mental touch in the air.

"Better," says Lia, unfazed by his waking. "A nice aged rum from those islands near Ista." From her belt, she dislodges a flask and tosses it towards the somnolent man. "Think fast. Catch." For a brief moment, there's a toothy smile, backlit by the fires suddenly awakening, then her head is turned and she's back to crouching near the hearth, a poker now in the hand where the flask was, pushing a log backwards.

Reflexively, R'hin snatches out a hand to catch the flask, fumbling and barely saving it from dropping. He blinks at it for a moment, then at the greenrider in momentary surprise. The unvoiced 'what are you doing here' clearly crosses his mind, and yet, after a moment, he unscrews the flask and takes a generous gulp instead. "Ista does know how to make a good rum," he allows, as he pushes to his feet, making his way over. There's the sense that he's lingering behind her for a moment, before he takes a seat on the couch, from where he can watch her work.

The sensation of someone right behind her causes the greenrider to stretch her torso fractionally, the awareness depressing the small of her back and squaring her shoulders. But Lia doesn't turn, taking the opportunity to make one last motion to stoke the fire, then stretching to the side to place the poker against the wall, giving him time to sit on the couch. She turns then, and speaks with agreement rich in her velvet voice, "Aye. Good rum." Fire glints briefly in her dark eyes as she turns her head to ascertain the hearth one final time before rising and sinking into the couch next to the bronzerider. "Nice work with Igen. Intentional?"

Pale eyes are on her as she turns, making it clear where the bronzerider's attention is. R'hin chuckles darkly, taking his time in answering, taking another sip from the flask, visibly savoring the liquid. It gives his voice a slightly rough quality as he responds, "Intentional? Putting a babe in the hands of a seasoned Weyrwoman? No," but it's accompanied by a lift-and-drop of shoulder, carelessly. "I'm sure Nimae is loving the righteousness wave, while simultaneously cursing that her chosen preference didn't win. But such is the nature of a flight." He leans a little closer, offering her the flask.

Was there a chill? Daehyeth hovers in the air space furthest from Leiventh's ledge, her tail flicking against the stone wall behind her. Streamlined pale green streaks across the length, a sing-song dancing in the mental space between them. "Something," the greenrider says, reaching to her other hip and getting a second flask, "You would know about all too well." Lia eases into R'hin's side with the comfort of turns of history, as if they do this every night for years rather than this night, this one time. "He's not even twenty and already a Weyrleader. Such is the nature of Impression. Tell me," at the last, her already low voice pitches lower and a crooked smile favors the rider sidelong. "What was your plan, if that wasn't your intention?"

The chill intensifies, both mentally and physically; there's a down draft of cold air from above, before the bronze continues upward as if chasing the source of those white flecks. If R'hin's surprised at her having a second flask, it's an approving surprise, given the faint noise of amusement; that she makes herself comfortable too, earns a twitch of brows, and yet the bronzerider naturally doesn't object, casually stretching out an arm on the couch behind her neck. "You assume I had one. Perhaps my plan was merely to create chaos. Chaos induces change. Change is healthy for a stagnant Weyr." Which implies he thinks Igen is such.

"What change," continues that low voice, as if expecting that kind of answer from R'hin, "Are you planning here then?" Her own flask is untwisted open and sipped from faux daintily.

"Here?" R'hin echoes, in apparent surprise, humor lacing his low-voiced response, "Why greenrider, I am a tamed man, and High Reaches is my mistress."

"Create chaos with me." There's the slightest lilt upward: a question, an invitation, a something. Or maybe a statement. Lia doesn't wait long after that to flick a deck of cards out from her jacket sleeve. "We'll play a game. A simple one. I pick a card. You pick a card. If you pick a card higher than mine, I discard something. If yours is lower than mine. You discard something. Then I pick a card, and so on so forth. Whoever is naked at the end wins and the one with more clothing owes the naked one a favor."

A low throated chuckle is R'hin's initial response. "You make a tantalizing proposition." He's studying her, sidelong, pale eyes intent, like she's done something interesting and worthy of the scrutiny. As she pulls out the cards, he glances down at himself for a moment; he's wearing pants and a shirt, but no socks. "I think you have me at a disadvantage." But that's not to say he's not obliging, given he gestures for her to go first with a crooked grin.

Lia smiles knowingly. She leans to put the deck on the ground by their feet and picks the top card and balances it on his knee. "Four."

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by R'hin >--------------------------< 5 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

R'hin's head tips; he sets his flask on the arm of the couch, extracts his hand from behind Lia, and bends forward to select his card. "Five. Do I get to pick what gets discarded?" he asks, with an unrepentant grin as he straightens up to regard her.

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by Lia >----------------------------< 7 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

The greenrider shifts away enough to have room to shed her jacket: unbuttoning it slowly and shrugging out of it, wearing nothing beneath with a trim figure that speaks of the daily exercise of a rider's life. "No. You take what you're given and like it." A less dainty swig of rum, and then she's reaching down to select a card. "Seven."

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by R'hin >--------------------------< 4 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

"Tease." And yet R'hin watches avidly, surprise -- and perhaps a hint of caution -- creeping into his gaze as he sees what she does, or rather doesn't wear underneath the jacket. "Well, well," he murmurs, half under his breath, admiringly, before he selects his card, turning it over. It's a four, and he discards it on the floor, reaching up to unbutton his shirt, not nearly as slowly, throwing it carelessly over the back of the couch.

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by Lia >----------------------------< 9 >-------------------------------------------------< Exceptional success! >---<

A man's chest is a man's chest; his garners a brief glance before she's down again to select her card. There's the faintest frown that pulls her mouth until it's set neutral once more and she puts the card on the couch space between them. "Nine."

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by R'hin >--------------------------< 2 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

Sharp, pale eyes don't fail to miss that brief frown, though there's no hint on the older bronzerider's face as he reaches for his card, taking his time, nudging the cards briefly and selecting one. It's a two, and R'hin's straightening, glancing at her before he stands. Casually, smoothly, he unbuttons pants and pushes them down. There are scars here and there on his body, one unmistakably a threadscore across his thighs.

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 13-sided die x 1 by Lia >----------------------------< 4 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

Another casual glance, cause to not look would be a crime, turns into a double take where brown eyes linger on the threadscore and then take in the full length of R'hin's body again, with more lingering curiosity. The card she's picked up in the mean time falls to the floor: a four. "Did it hurt?" she asks.

"Afterward," he says, a slight acerbic tone creeping into his voice, as if to discourage too much curiosity. "At the time, all I could feel was Leiventh's pain." R'hin barely looks at her card, instead reaching for his flask and taking a gulp as he settles back into the couch.

"He was scored as well." Statement, not question. "Let's dispense the game." She might lose, after all. Lia turns, her arm reaching across the back of the seat, her hand refraining from making contact with him. Her flask is held loosely off the side of the couch. "Make me Boreal's wingleader and I will owe you one great debt."

R'hin gives her a long, steady look; undoubtedly aware why she throws the game. "And deprive me of the outcome?" Either one, which earns a sharp shake of head as he reaches forward to select his card, pushing aside a few others first. He rests it on his knee, but doesn't turn it over yet. Instead, he gives a low-throated laugh. "Boreal's wingleader," is exhaled as his eyes drift towards the ceiling. "That would be a great debt. Oisa's done well enough in Z'ian's wake."

Lia makes the most noncommittal sound, a clear judgment on Oisa having done well. "Make up your mind, Savannah," exhales the greenrider, watching the card on his knees and traveling it up the length of R'hin's bare skin, reaching across to rest fingers at the band at his waist and then traveling it up to the bronzerider's belly button. "Turn the card, or..." Or?

The or, the possibility of it, draws forth a throaty laugh from R'hin, pale eyes on her, not where her hand is going. After a steady moment, "I agree to your terms," he says, reaching down to seek her hand, with the intent of sealing the deal with a handshake.

The hand comes up quickly, slipped into his and shook once firmly. "You are the maker of leaders and the destroyer of worlds. I only hope rumors of your prowess aren't hyperbolic." Lia's flask is lifted in a toast.

Although the contact is momentary, the rough pads of R'hin's thumb brushes over the back of Lia's hand, a low-throated chuckle escaping him as he releases her hand. "Destroyer of worlds?" With a snort, "You set expectations high, greenrider. And yet--" he reaches for his flask to toast the deal, taking a long swallow. "Take me to Southern, sometime in the next few days. Introduce me to M'lach -- you must know him from your time down there. I'll make peace. He's the sort of man that wants to settle things, I rather suspect," not that he knows the man at all, except somehow he does, "And he'll undoubtedly convince his weyrmate to lift the ban on Reaches riders at Igen. That should get Oisa's attention; that and a good recommendation from Z'ian ought to get you a wingsecond spot at the very least. It will be a start."

With the deal made, her own hand lingering before withdrawing, Lia reaches down for the jacket she discarded and puts, at least, her arms through the sleeves. "I know M'lach," she says evenly. "He's a good man. Would have made a great Weyrleader. Igen is for the worse with F'rain in charge. Or, Faranth forbid, Nimae on her own."

"Yes," R'hin agrees, without hesitation. "It is." Is there a trace of regret in the timbre of his voice? If so it doesn't make it to his even expression, pale gaze on Lia, as his hand fingers the card. "Don't you want to know," he flips it over and tosses it carelessly down, "How it ends?"

"The deal is done. My curiosity is never wasted idly," says Lia, the words somewhat cryptic. Does she care or not care? "Unless you have vested interested in seeing me naked." Assuming, as she's wont this entire time, the greenrider begins to button up her riding jacket before easing back into R'hin's side companionably. "M'lach doesn't drink," she advises, "Though he pretends to, so as not to disturb the social order. Keep your wits about you. He's uncanny."

"Not exactly vested," R'hin replies, blandly, though he's not looking at the card; Lia has his complete attention, his arm slipping easily around her as she settles into his side. As for her description of M'lach, he listens avidly, lips twitching as he says, "As am I." His arm unfolds from around her, and with another sip from her flask, he screws the lid back on, before standing. "I can feel a chill in the air." And he's still only wearing his boxers. Instead of heading to stoke the hearth, though, he heads for the bed at the back of the weyr. If it's an invitation it certainly doesn't seem a compelled one.

"Keep it." Of the flask. Lia turns, watching R'hin's mostly nakedness walk away. There's a deep smile curved in appreciation for the sight she's given, but it's not followed by the patter of her steps in that silent invitation. No, her steps go the other direction, back to the door, turning the knob, and out into the chilled passageway. She'll wait on the ledge until Daehyeth is done with whatever flying she means to do.