Logs:Even Trade
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| RL Date: 28 February, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Z'ian |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Azaylia breaks into Z'ian's weyr and in return Z'ian pokes and needles until she talks. |
| Where: Brickwork and Boulders Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Brickwork and Boulders Weyr, High Reaches Weyr A narrow passage leads past the dragon couch, curving around into an interior that uses walls made from bricks to delineate between different spaces. Two stone steps lead down into the main area, which has been made almost perfectly square by the reddish-hued bricks: the steps at one end, a hearth at the other, and passages off in either direction on the other two sides. This main area is big enough for a couch and a table, but probably not much more. To the left, the passage weaves around towards the outside, culminating in a small bedchamber - big enough for a full-sized bed and nothing more. Rather more impressive is the tiny shuttered window that lets in natural light, the rough shape - and the bricks correcting that - indicating that it, too, is here thanks to that long-ago disaster. The room off to the right of the living area is barely large enough to be called a room, but could easily be used as a tiny office, or perhaps a storage compartment. Word may travel fast in a Weyr, but Azaylia has always been a little slow when it comes to gossip. It's probably why now, sevens after it's happened, she's asking Szadath for a lift up to Z'ian's once-smoked weyr. When it's obvious that no one is home the goldrider leaves. The twist is is that she's quick to return, having changed into grimy work clothes with the brown loaded with buckets, baskets, and bags. There are several more trips while the brown is at her disposal, the weyrwoman's efforts visible in the scarce furniture which crowds the weyr's entrance with baskets of fresh linens atop them. Szadath is not required to stay, leaving tracks atop the snowy ledge and an intruder happily humming within the depths of Z'ian's home. Tsanth is probably the one who notices the tracks on the ledge first. And Z'ian has been living in his weyr long enough to notice that there's something different. He pushes the heavy curtain to the inner weyr aside and stares somewhat dumbfounded at the furniture crowded around the entrance. The bronzerider slowly lifts his gaze to find Azaylia wherever she may be, dressed in her grimy work clothes. He doesn't actually have any words for what's happening right now, none at all. Instead he steps the rest of the way into his home and heads immediately to set of shelves that house all of his booze. A bottle is pulled down seemingly at random and he pushes around the other ones to find a pair of glasses. While doing this, he manages to strip his jacket, hat and gloves off at the same time. They're tossed down onto his table and once the glasses are filled he pushes one towards the goldrider. Finally, "What are you doing?" The bottle Z'ian grabs may not have been dusty before, but it's freshly wiped now. Along with those glasses. Azaylia has a squeak-and-leap for when the bronzerider returns to a weyr that's no longer smelling like an ashtray. It's a miracle she doesn't fall off of the chair she's standing on. His home might seem overwhelmingly fresh since the 'prank' involving his flue, thanks to the weyrwoman's efforts and the old sudsy broom she's using to scrub his ceiling. "Scrubbing your ceiling." She answers, plainly. "Smoke rises, you know." The fact is offered almost tentatively now that he's here, though she keeps her eyes aimed up rather than at him. After an awkward moment of working bristles against stone, "I came to see how you were. I-- uhm. It smelled terrible." Especially to one coming in from the fresh snow who hasn't had to get used to it. Z'ian tips his chin up and lends a skeptical eye to the stone ceiling. He takes the one glass and brings it to his mouth, then picks the other up and crosses the room to her. He wrinkles his nose and glances around, taking in the dirt free environment that's now his weyr. "Get down off of the chair, Azaylia. Here, have this drink." An arm swings up and he holds it out to her. Not unkindly, but still somewhat cautious of the entire situation. "I'm alright. It didn't smell that bad, I thought. And you know, I've been developing some of the grime in here for almost a decade. It's going to take awhile to get that get back." There's the hint of a teasing smile for her and one uplifted eyebrow. It's a chore to rinse without getting soaked, broom plunging in a bucket of water that has been tainted by dark soot. Azaylia is caught off guard, looking up from the swirling water up to the rider that wasn't there a few seconds ago. "But I'm not done yet..?" She takes the drink, using the broom's long handle to steady herself as she gets down from the chair. "It..." She doesn't want to argue, though the wrinkle in her nose might be enough. Yes it did smell that bad, or at least she thinks so. "Oh." Broom in one hand, drink in the other, there's no longer a clear goal set in front of the goldrider, which has her looking a little lost. And then, "O-oh. Are you angry?" Even though his lips hint at amusement, she's not terribly sure. "I should have asked, or at least have Hraedhyth mention it to Tsanth but I just... I thought I'd be done before you got back. I wanted to do something." Beat. "Uhm, something nice." "You're definitely done. I think the weyr is more than clean enough." Z'ian is glancing up at his ceiling again, not seeming overly concerned with the soot that remains up there. He glances around the room again, not looking as if he really believes the place is as spotless as it is, even if it's not completely done. "No, I'm not angry. Just confused as to why one of our goldriders is doing drudgework in my weyr. I can't get women that enjoy my company voluntarily to clean, so..." He's rolling his shoulders, but still humored. He tips the glass back to his mouth and takes a quick swallow before moving away from her and dragging his couch back where it belongs. There's linens on it and so he has to move them out of the way before he sits down, but that's what he eventually does. "I have this terrible habit of coming home during the day occasionally. So, is this nice thing you're doing in opposition to all the not nice things you do?" "Oh, but there's still some nooks up there that aren't done, and I think some of your things are still in the wash." Azaylia begins, and looks as though she means to go on. It's true, there are a few chores left and while she has been thorough, it would be hyperbolic to claim that the weyr is actually spotless... though it might look it to a bachelor bronzerider! "Drudgework." She says, pout audible though her lower lip remains still. "I wouldn't call it that..." Not that she's offering up any suggestions, following him with both hands used to hold the glass in front of her. Once he's sitting, the goldrider thinks to take a sip. "I'm... I'm not doing a lot of nice things for the Weyr, lately." The admittance is a careful one. "I heard about what had happened after your promotion, and... well, the wings are Weyrleader business. I guess I wanted to help, somehow." She edges towards the couch, hesitant to sit in her less-than-fresh state. "My things are in the wash?" Z'ian echoes back, eyebrows popping up again. He glances past the goldrider towards the narrow passageway to his bedroom where washable things live. "Leave the soot on my ceiling. It's really alright. It gives the place character." He knocks back some more of his drink before leaning over and undoing the laces on his boots. "You're not doing a lot of nice things for the weyr lately. Like what?" The bronzerider asks speculatively as he frees his feet from his footwear and pulls them up onto the couch, digging his heels into the cushion. "Boreal's a challenge. But I think I was on the way to being demoted almost instantly. Somehow I managed to avoid that, so really. It's not so bad." Vandalism, almost getting fired. Women cleaning your weyr sevens after the fact. It's all fine. And so maybe his smile doesn't totally reach his eyes, but he's not looking awful either. "You can sit down, I'm not going to bite you." Azaylia gives a nod for his question, her own eyes peeking back towards his bed. At least that's still where it belongs, stripped as it is. "O-oh. Alright. If you're sure?" At least she doesn't look so ready to hop back onto the chair to resume her cleaning. His question has her taking more than just a sip from her glass which results in a visible shudder. "Demoted? Why? You seem like a good rider." She's much more interested in what he's been up to, perhaps obviously so. Her gaze drops to stare at the tips of her boots, the laugh that leaves her at his tease lacking strength so that it comes out as a breath. "Thank you. I just... you seem tired?" So does she, but she's been cleaning for a while now. "Or... I really should have asked you first, huh?" For one who is usually so concerned with manners, her eager nature may have blinded her to such a faux pas. "Absolutely certain." Z'ian reassures her on the topic of sitting on the couch. His glass remains firmly held in the one hand while he leans back into the cushions. It's lucky that he can't see down that passage to the fact that his bed doesn't have any linens on it, that might push him just a little. "I fall on the wrong side of the fence for Taikrin. And she didn't give me the job initially, so." The bronzerider lifts one shoulder and lets it fall before he tips his drink back to his mouth. "I didn't get the impression she was so crazy to keep me around, but I'm not exactly threatening her either." He shakes his head for her question. His smile returns wryly, amused. "No, it's alright. I'm getting used to people dropping in. I just wasn't expecting all my things moved around, it's fine. It's all just an adjustment." Cleanliness and promotions combined, likely. It may take a minute, but Azaylia will finally sit down and place her half-empty glass in her lap. Z'ian has her attention, and when he mentions Taikrin she gives a quiet "Oh." The attempt to say something passes over her twitching lips, the goldrider losing her nerve after a moment or two. "That... seems fair." The murmur might hold a hint of surprise, not that she thinks Taikrin is completely unreasonable. She sits up a bit straighter, pinning him with a wide, guilty gaze, "I was-- I am going to move it all back!" Does he think she'd leave it all like this? Though the outburst isn't loud, she's still embarrassed by it and eases back into the couch. "There's a lot to adjust to." The goldrider sinks, posture atrocious so that the glass might be balanced on her stomach if she continues to droop. "Sorry." "Fair enough." Z'ian agrees moderately, watching her posture change over the rim of his glass. "Oh no. You don't have to. I rather like the table where it is by the uh..." He twists around on the couch to try and find where that went. "You know, over there. And my press? It's alright there too. Eventually I'll figure out how to find things in the dark again. They say you can't teach old dogs new tricks, pfft." It's all very teasing and he underlines that with the way he smiles at her. "Stop apologizing. What's really going on, what is this?" He asks, lifting his chin in her direction. "We're here alone, nothing you say is going to go beyond us. But you don't seem like yourself. Something doesn't feel right here." There's a pause for her to answer and he tips his drink back again. Azaylia manages to avoid sliding too low, though her long legs are stuck out in a way that would be obnoxious for anyone trying to pass by. Luckily, Z'ian's right in that they're the only ones in the weyr. She's wearing a small smile by the time he's finished, "I will." Not as playful, it's a promise that she'll set his weyr right before leaving. "Sorry." For apologizing so much. The goldrider becomes greatly interested in the remains of her drink, swirling it in the glass that's almost eye level. "I'm just... trying to help." It's not a lie. The rest doesn't come out as easily, "I don't have a lot to, uhm, do lately. So, I'm trying to be useful. At least in a small way." She doesn't look at him all during her quiet, perhaps embarrassed answer. Another apology. "Cut it out." Z'ian informs her, lifting one finger in a bit of warning. There's still a playful smile there, attempting to entice one out of her as well. "Yeah, I got that you were trying to help." Maybe he's more of a professional drinker than she is, because he knocks the rest of his glass back without blinking. He leans forward and places it down on the floor, keeping an eye on her meanwhile. That answer is taken in a kind of measured silence. Without sounding unkind or as if he's talking down on her, "What were you doing before... you stopped having things to do?" He asks before raking his fingers through his hair, hair that's probably getting a touch too long these days. The weyrwoman loses another inch to gravity, shrinking away from that finger with a smile that's trying to stay this time. His next question has her brow pinching ever so slightly, and Azaylia gives a soft shake of her head, "I'm not... I don't want to complain. I'm okay." That determined smile holds up to some strain as she aims it Z'ian's way. She answers his question, voice quiet and even, "Worked on hides. Paperwork. I still get some, sometimes." That shouldn't sound so optimistic. "Helped planned the meals, uhm. That sort of stuff." Weyrwomen stuff. One of his eyebrows draws up and he throws his arm over the back of the couch. "Just complain. You cleaned my entire weyr up, which you didn't need to do. So you earn the liberty to come in here and complain about shit. How about that, even trade?" Z'ian offers, flashing her a quick, supportive smile. "What's getting in the way of doing more paperwork? Has there suddenly been a drop off in the amount of things that needed tending to? And I know that I've been eating less lately... but it seems the meal planning would still go on. Yes?" From someone else it could come across as needling, but his intention is clearly to present it more benignly to her than that. Azaylia pushes herself back up, boots stepping backwards as she gradually straightens in order to swallow what's left in her glass. Rather than set it on the floor, she holds onto it. "I'd rather not. I feel like all I ever do is complain. I want to be help- ah, productive." She catches herself and gives the bronzerider a look that could be called sheepish. The path this conversation is taking is far too familiar for that smile to remain, the woman looking far too concerned at the glass her hands are toying with. "The, uhm. The lower caverns. Crafters. Ah, uhm. A lot of people have decided to just go to..." A swallow. "Weyrwoman Brieli. Even before her announcement. It's uhm, okay. You can't force people to change their minds." It may not be okay, but it's something she has come to accept. "Are you sure?" Z'ian shoots back, watching her questioningly. He pushes off and takes that empty glass from the floor, standing again. It's not the end of the conversation, he's just moving around. Back to the table where the bottle from earlier rested. "Sorry, I probably should have brought it with me. I've gotten used to just drinking out of the bott-" It probably occurs to him that she might not want to drink out of an already contaminated container. He turns it around in his hand to peer at the label. "I didn't do that with this one. Yet. Do you want another drink?" The bronzerider refills his and gives the moments pause needed for her response. "Well, I don't either. Like to complain. But sometimes it helps to bitch. Either way, Weyrwoman Brieli or not. You're still goldrider Azaylia, yeah? And you're not on your way to retiring? Go down there and tell them you're helping with menu planning. You don't need to change their minds. The caverns workers don't get to decide your work for you, that's on you." With brown eyes blinking, it takes Azaylia a moment to realize what the issue might be with his drinking from the bottle. "Oh. I wouldn't mind even if you had." Not that she takes his consideration for granted, momentarily amused. "No thank you. I don't want to mess up your weyr," Or clean it, rather, "and then drink all of your, uhm..." A curious peer into her empty glass reveals that she can't even tell what it was. "I am." It's at least one thing she can be sure about, big broody dragon and all. Though he isn't putting any heat behind those words, the young woman is flinching all the same. "It..." The rest of what she might say dies on her lips, perhaps not knowing what to say. Has she run out of excuses? "Gut rot whiskey? Oh no, please don't drink all of my really cheap overly boozy alcohol. Where will I ever get more of it?" Z'ian teases with a laugh, returning to the couch with the bottle and his glass. He pushes it towards her with one foot. It's there if she wants it, but he won't force it on her obviously. "No? So are you secretly a from the bottle drinker? And you just use the glasses in polite company or?" For the rest of what she says, the bronzerider watches her for an answer but observes quietly as whatever response she has dies on her lips. "Okay, so you know what you need to do then. And isn't cleaning the weyrs of very handsome bronzeriders who let themselves get vandalized." There's a wry grin for 'very handsome', it's not entirely serious, really. Again, maybe from someone else. Even in the mood she's in, which might be puzzling in its muted nature, doesn't have her completely unaffected by his teases. "Well if you're going keep making fun of me..." A hint of something playful, at least. Azaylia glances at the bottle that's nudged her way, "I have before. I just don't mind sharing." Germs and spit are included. "You seem clean." If she can say that after scrubbing his weyr, the goldrider must still have a sense of humor. Her lower lip disappears, pulled back by teeth that need to gnaw on it thoughtfully until, "I know what I think I need to do. But how do I know it's the right thing? Or do I want to do it for me?" While he toots his own handsome horn, her eyes shift to his face, silently judging for herself. The results aren't made public. "Ah, it's not making fun of you. Not exactly. Sometimes I just like to poke and needle for a mutual laugh. See, you can do it back to me." One hand lifts and gestures back towards himself. "I'm game." Z'ian takes a sip from the admittedly awful drink that he's poured for them. Maybe he'll drink from the bottle later, but this stuff is already in the glass. So. "I really am mostly clean. It's the weyr that's sort of dusty." He admits, maybe a touch sheepishly. "I wash my clothes regularly too. I'm sure you noticed. Since you've been through all of my stuff." He's struggling to maintain a straight face on that one, the humor of the situation getting him again. He manages it only with a lengthy exhale. "Maybe you don't know, maybe you can't. You're just going to have to do it and try your best. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. And there's no shame in that." All too quickly, Azaylia takes him up on his offer. "Your nose is really pointy." Though the way she says it, it sounds endearing rather than an actual insult. A soft whimper, "I didn't. Honest. I cleaned around a lot of things because, I didn't want to invade your privacy." Anymore than she has by breaking in and stripping his bed. His humor isn't completely lost on her, and yet she still feels the need to reassure the bronzerider that her intentions are pure. A hand abandons the glass, still fondling it with the fingers that remain, so she can give her thumbnail a pensive bite. Not chewing, just... holding it. "I'm not afraid of it not working. I'm afraid that if it works, it would make things worse for people living in the Weyr." How it could possibly isn't clear, but who says all fears have to be rational? Pulling her thumb away, she brushes the hand against her pants before reaching for the bottle. Maybe she will have that drink. "You think so?" The hand that was gesturing back at himself now comes up to touch the tip of his nose. "I've considered cutting like an inch off of it in the past, but some part of me would usually start screaming, 'No Z'ian! That's a terrible idea! You need your nostrils intact.' Or some other nonsense." He waves that hand now and smiles broadly at her before drinking deeply again. "I'm teasing you, sorry. I'm not really worried that you went through all of my clothes. Not like there's anything exciting in there anyway." The bronzerider glances down to her hand as she reaches for the bottle before commenting, "If it makes things worse for people living at the Weyr, you cut it the fuck out. I think that you're an intelligent enough of a woman to recognize when something like that is happening and to take steps to correct it. Have some faith in yourself too." Azaylia giggles, a soft sound that might be easy to miss if not for that crooked little smile. "I just said it was pointy." She makes an attempt to play along, "Not that it looked bad because of it. But it's yours to do whatever you want with." As Z'ian swears, her hand stops its gradual reach, word harsh in only its sound though it's enough to halt her. Looking over with startled eyes, she grabs the bottle and eases back into the couch, "I don't trust myself. For a little while, I thought I was doing something right. And then... well, someone said I wasn't. And it sounded like the truth." No matter that the glass is still in her lap, she takes a mouthful straight from the bottle. A full body shudder follows, complete with a shake of her head. "I... could try, though." "So you're saying that it looks good? Or just that it's a neutral and unimportant feature?" Z'ian questions, that same teasing quality running as an undercurrent in his tone. If there's something in his cursing that pauses her, he's just unaware enough to not quite notice that. "I don't know if the person you talked to was right or not, because I wasn't there. But that's not really the point, right? Even if it was the truth... It doesn't get to hold you prisoner forever. It's either bullshit and you recognize it and move forward or it's the truth and you pick out the mistakes, correct them and move forward. But the direction should always be the same." There's something approving and just a little amused in his expression when she takes that straight swallow from the bottle. He reaches forward and clinks his half finished glass against it. Encouragingly, "You can try." After a pause for consideration Azaylia admits, "I like it." Which may not be a direct answer, but it's a safe bet that the weyrwoman thinks it looks good. The empty glass is set aside, resting against her thigh as the heavier bottle takes its place in her lap. "I... never thought of it like that." It's not a full on epiphany that has brown eyes bright, but it's something. Inspiration, perhaps. "To keep moving forward, good or bad." The clink of glass draws her gaze down, the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly. Peeking up at the bronzerider, "Before I try anything, I want to put your weyr back together. And I'm sure the last batch of laundry is done by now..." There's only so much a man can say on his own nose, so for her answer direct or not, he grins. There's something else to it, maybe it's sly or just indulgent for her liking it but there it is. Z'ian cants his head to the side a touch and then nods. "Keeps me going." Bringing the glass back towards him, he knocks the rest of his drink back in a quick go of it. At mention of putting his weyr back together, he glances around the living area. "We can do that. I'll help you, it's my old furniture after all. And I can probably pick up that batch of laundry. My ma did teach me how to make my own bed when I was growing up." Oh, thank Faranth for small miracles. His finished drink finds its way onto the floor, abandoned for now. It's that drive to be productive and perhaps fear of having to drink more of Z'ian's gut rot in a bottle that has Azaylia hopping to her feet. She's not rushing off, after, giving the bronzerider a glance that is both shy and grateful. "Maybe it'll help keep me going too." Not that she sounds all too sure. And yet, "Thank you, Z'ian. For listening. Even though I didn't mean to go on about my troubles." She really didn't. But what's done is done, so the goldrider places the bottle where it belongs before pushing up dark sleeves. All too soon, she and the bronzer get to moving furniature-- and not even the fun way! Only when everything is in its proper place will Szadath come for her, once again returning Z'ian's weyr to it's girl-free glory.
CommentsComments on "Logs:Even Trade"K'del (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 01 Mar 2013 09:54:23 GMT.
Poor bewildered Z'ian. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Even Trade"K'del (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 01 Mar 2013 09:54:23 GMT.
Azaylia is adorable.
Poor bewildered Z'ian.
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