Logs:Interesting Habits
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| RL Date: 9 January, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: R'hin accepts Azaylia's invitation to chat many (many) hours after it's given. His interruption should be awkward. It isn't. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions |
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| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.
It will take more than a cool gust to pull Hraedhyth from the pleasant fog she's submerged herself in. It's several moments before those red hot flames acknowledge Leiventh, and they do so with a leisurely drape of her mental presence across his. Those steady drums sputter to a surprised stop at the sight of R'hin, « Mine is not... » There's an attempt to shake off the heady, floral perfume that mingles all too well with her thick black smoke, « Mine is-- » With a low growl of frustration, Hraedhyth's contralto husks, « Mine is on her way. Yours will wait. » It doesn't sound as though she's asking, either. In R'hin's defense: "I was expected." Even if it was some time ago. Still, it seems that either he interprets Hraedhyth's message to Leiventh as wait around and make yourself at home, or that part of the message didn't get passed on: he strides into the weyr proper. The bronzerider displays a distinct familiarity with the weyr, his free hand reaching out to brush the walls as if welcoming an old friend, though his expression is less reminiscent and more tense, a sense that his pacing agitation doesn't diminish. Eventually, though, he sets the basket on the table -- it's the one she gave him as welcome -- though the contents that he pulls out aren't quite what it was sent with. There's a bottle of wine (a trained eye will note it to be older and from a well-known vintner), and some fresh pastries that he no doubt charmed one of the kitchen maids for. That done, he crouches to stoke the hearth, poker wielded with expert efficiency, and if he's doing it to kill time, well -- there are far worse things he could be doing while waiting. Now? Now, Hraedhyth is agitated. Yellow flecks come and go in her gaze as she makes it a point to follow R'hin with her eyes. The tawny queen will even turn in her couch to do so, oversized jaws parted in order to let out an occassional growl. R'hin won't have to wait terribly long, which may be one explanation as to why the Weyrwoman is out of breath upon arrival. Her voice struggles to convey her pleasure, "R'hin!" Azaylia brushes the loose curls from her face, long locks having mostly escaped the deflated bun atop her head. She's decent, if disheveled, hands roaming to untuck her dress here and return a strap to the arc of her shoulder. "I thought you didn't-- ah, can you stoke it enough for some tea? Would you like tea?" Though she babbles, it's due to genuine excitement rather than nerves or embarrassment. If R'hin is unsettled by Hraedhyth's growl, perhaps he's too distracted to notice; or more than likely pretending not to. A change of winds from the wintry bronze is perhaps meant as a distraction for her; Leiventh sharing his view of her Weyr from his perch high on the rim. There's plenty of space here. While R'hin doesn't immediately stand, Azaylia's arrival does make him stare intently at her -- taking in her breathlessness, and her dishevelled state with a dark sort of chuckle. Perhaps he's making assumptions about what she was doing? Either way, he doesn't draw attention to it, instead dutifully stoking the fire up as ordered. "We could have tea," he says, attention on the hearth, "Or, I brought a nice bottle. A return welcome gift, you might say. I suppose I should call it a sorry you have to deal with me bribe, if we're being honest." A beat, "You'll let Hraedhyth know I have no designs on her weyr, would you?" Apparently he did notice. Hraedhyth's frustration finally begins to wane, and it's only now that Leiventh's distraction reaches her. The gold gives one last snort in R'hin's direction before lumbering outside where she takes to the skies long enough to join the bronze on high. Azaylia realizes the futility that is her hair, removing the final pins and letting it fall the rest of the way down her back. "Whichever you'd like. You're my guest, after all." There's obvious delight in her being able to say so, head cocked as fingers comb out loose tangles. Surprise prompts a breathless laugh, "It's not that. Though, I'll let her know." The goldrider drifts toward her table in order to inspect the basket's contents, fingers already inching towards a pastry. Cheerfully offered, "Hraedhyth just hates it when we're-- I'm interrupted." Whether that grin from R'hin is a small sign of victory at Hraedhyth's retreat, or Leiventh's response to some request isn't clear: the bronzerider continues with his attention to the hearth until he's satisfied, before standing and moving to return the poker to its original location. "Wine then," he says, with a forcefulness that mutates into motion, hunting for glasses in the cupboards adjoining the hearth. Well, since she offered: "What were you in the middle of?" there's a glitter to pale eyes to suggest he might well be tucking that tidbit about Hraedhyth away for later. A heavy rumble from Leiventh is the bronze's greeting towards the larger queen, barely moving otherwise, blue-green eyes spinning as he takes in the Weyr's mood. In the cupboard is a lovely tea set and several massive mugs-- practically steins. But there are wine glasses, if only the two. Azaylia watches R'hin, mouth too full of pastry to be of much help in his search. Fingers are brushed clean as she smiles at his question, "A wall and a very nice brownrider." Who was likely less upset than Hraedhyth, if only just. She pulls out the wine, looking over it with an untrained eye as she adds, "You would decide to visit while everyone else is supposed to be asleep." Hraedhyth offers Leiventh her usual snarl and doesn't waist time in forcefully tucking in against his side. The Weyr is quiet, and what little tension there is in the gold's mind will eventually fade. While R'hin's hand might hover over the mugs as if tempted, he apparently opts for at least the appearance of genteel practice by selecting the wine glasses. "Really." The bronzerider doesn't believe her for a second, and makes that fairly obvious with the intent look he gives her. Or maybe it's just his way of eliciting more details -- it really could go either way with this particular Monacoan. Setting the glasses on the table, he watches her inspect the bottle, not reaching for it yet, though he's standing close as if ready to pounce the second she releases it from her possession. There's confusion to be found in the quirk of her lips and the faint pinch to her brow, "Why... is that so hard to believe?" Azaylia's eyes drop to her dress, concerned for a moment as she distractedly hands the bottle to R'hin. Upon recovery there's a stiffness to her shoulders that echoes of meetings past, though she manages to keep that earlier cheer, "How has it been so far? Being back at the Weyr?" "You have a perfectly comfortable bed," R'hin points out, logically, tipping his head thoughtfully. "Or is it that you don't want them feeling comfortable, or like they might get close to you? Or," his grin deepens, "Is it easier than finding an excuse to kick them out of bed, kitten? Hraedhyth could help with that, you know. Especially if it's a rider." Hard to tell whether that thought just occurred to him, or whether it's past experience: either way, he takes the bottle from her smoothly, splashing a generous amount into both glasses, before handing her the first. "...interesting," is his initial conclusion, non-committal. "I do," Azaylia agrees with a touch of relief. Her easy tone returns, matter of fact as she points out, "But beds are boring." She accepts the glass, letting it hover beneath her nose in a curious imitation of someone far more experienced with wine. After taking a taste, "Good interesting or bad?" Another sip, "Not that you have to answer." Or that she'll believe him if he does. R'hin lets out a pleased, dark sort of chuckle at her answer. "The kitten has some interesting habits, I see," he murmurs, amused, as he reaches for his own glass. He watches her keenly, and waits until she's taken a sip before he takes a more generous gulp. Reaching for the chair, nearest Azaylia, he draws it out, one hand resting along the back in a casual display of expectation. "There are many faces, both old and new, that I'm pleased to be able to converse with on a regular basis," he finally says, slowly. "Savannah's settling in well -- we've started up a weekly game at the Rider's Lounge. As for the rest--" he doesn't say what the rest is, since he's pushing on, "--I imagine that adjustment will come in time." There is nothing to distract her now, "Kitten makes me sound so-- Stop it." Azaylia playfully scolds, tolerant of the fact that he likely won't. His gulp encourages her to drink deeply from her glass, pausing so she won't spill as she accepts the offered chair. "That's good." Where R'hin is slow, her bright words are rushed and willing for his experiences to have been pleasant. Offhandedly, "I still haven't visited that Lounge. I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable." Because: goldrider and everyone's superior. From behind her glass, concerned eyes glance at the Monacoan, "If there's anyway I can help, you know I will?" There's certainly curiosity for what 'the rest' is. He's far too used to the scolding and it's done with such playfulness that it might as well have not been done at all. Pushing in her chair as she seats herself, R'hin continues to stand with a hand against the chair's back. "Uncomfortable?" he echoes. "Well, if it helps, if you leave the knot off I'll encourage my wing to treat you like any other." The thought of it makes him smirk, just a little. Or maybe it's the latter words. "I interrupted you, but you want to help me. I think you need more of this," he leans past her to secure the bottle with the aim to refill her glass, even if she hasn't yet consumed a considerable amount. "You would?" Azaylia sounds far too pleased at R'hin's suggestion, "I miss being in a fighting wing... Even if I didn't really belong." As for her generosity, "You're only here for a little while." She doesn't object to a refill, her earlier plans so obviously abandoned. "The nice brownriders will still be here after you go back to Monaco." Priorities- she has them. "As long as you're willing to lose a few marks here and there," R'hin adds, apparently as the price for such niceties. "It's good for morale. A round or two of drinks wouldn't go astray, either; help me defray the costs." There's an amusement in his voice as he says all this, yet it seems honest for all that. There's a dark chuckle from the Savannah rider as she places her time limit: "A little while is so nebulous. And this bottle is not one to be drunk alone." He sets it down reverently and lifts his own glass, taking another generous gulp. "Ahh. So the poor soul languishes where you've left them, unfulfilled, on my account? I don't know whether to be proud or... apologetic for your companion." "Like Glacier." Azaylia sounds far too fond as she makes the comparison, smile resting against the edge of her glass. "I think I can manage a round or three. I don't want Oriane to think I mistreated her riders." Even the troublemakers. There's only a hint of guilt in the look she shoots R'hin, "I shouldn't have said anything. You sound so... smug about it." As if his ego needs any encouragement. "I'm sure he'll find someone else to keep him company." Once she finishes off her first refill, "Now stop being a nosy old Auntie." Not that she sounds at all bothered by his questions. A smile at the mention of Glacier, his old wing. There's a noise that might well be a snort from R'hin at the notion of being mistreated, or maybe at the notion of Oriane being upset by such a thing. "Smug. Me? I wouldn't dare." Except for the fact that he does look very much like he is. "You wouldn't have brought it up if you minded me asking," he says with easy lightness. "Now, are you going to catch me up on all the latest, juicy gossip while I keep your glass topped up?" He'll do that now, in fact. Azaylia can make her own noises, giving a hum of disbelief as far as his smugness is concerned. It's only after he's poured that she reveals, "I don't really follow any gossip... You probably know more than I do." With an expectant tilt of her head, "Although, Hraedhyth has heard some interesting stories from the dragons..." Of course those are the rumors the Weyrwoman pays any mind, for they are probably harmless and silly. Still, she'll enjoy playing hostess for as long as R'hin visits. She'll probably only be slightly sleep deprived the next day. R'hin visits as long as the bottle still has liquid, or close enough to the bottom. And while he strives to keep Azaylia's glass topped, truth is he probably drinks the most of it, growing gradually more taciturn and content merely to listen. When he finally stumbles out, Leiventh is there to meet him on Hraedhyth's ledge, and no matter how much he's drunk, the former Reachian can always mount his dragon and drag his body home... even if that home is now only a minute's short flight away.
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