Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.
There's one table, set with two chairs currently around it, that is nicely separate from those two other occupied tables at the nighthearth. But even with the sparser population of the nighthearth, what with warming weather and the like, it's still that most separate table H'kon seeks out, a tumbler held safely in a steady hand, green eyes focused on the prize as he moves, feet gentle against the stone floor.
Just to contribute to the cute-meet, Vienne is more consumed with her book than her path, half-reading as she goes with only a flick of her glance toward the nighthearth -- just enough to notice that the other tables are occupied and this one over here, the most separate one, is not. Summer though it might be, she still wears a cardigan over her blouse and though there's a bit of leg showing beneath the hem of her skirt, tall, heeled boots keep most of her pale skin covered. Plus, she can use the spare inches. And anyway, she ends up arriving at the table just as H'kon does, a blind hand on the back of a chair, oblivious that he's standing across from her.
Bluerider can be oblivious; brownrider is not. Because he's set his drink down on the table about a millisecond before Vienne's hand meets the chair, and so he's had a moment to look up. So it's hunched, fingers poised to retake the glass, that he peers at the bluerider. And clears his throat, just slightly, as politely and distantly as he can.
Blue eyes lift from her book, and widen upon seeing H'kon in front of her. "Oh," Vienne breathes quietly before her glance takes another look around for alternative spots to sit. There are some seats at claimed tables, but maybe that's rude. So she just looks back at him, uncertain what to do next.
"Hm," is more or less agreement to Vienne's... is that even an assessment? H'kon straightens slightly, hand still in the form required to fit to the glass, though now it hovers higher. "Do you mean to be here long," isn't quite said as a question. It's more exploration of a problem. And it comes with a flat line of pressed lips at the end.
"I don't..." Vienne frowns at the question, mouth small and eyes round. "I don't know. I was just..." Reading? She lets the book fold close with her thumb stuck in to mark her place as she lets the edge of it rest on the table. At the same time she looks at his own hand, hovering over his glass. Without realizing it, her mouth mimics his, pressing firm. "Should we..." Both sit? Both go? Duke it out? She's full of unfinished thoughts tonight.
H'kon straightens a little more, and the fingers of that hand lose their solidity, clasping instead in a slow, rhythmic motion, until it's a fist. They unclasp in similar fashion, but don't resume the glass-taking look. He casts a look about the nighthearth, a sigh making its unconscious way out through his nose.
There's another sigh, this one a bit more resigned. "There are other quiet places. Along the hall through the caverns. If you would not sit here." He looks to that glass on the table, but does not pick it up, nor even make a move to lower himself to it again.
Her mouth opens at his comment, and then closes as she blink. "I... would sit here," Vienne says, sounding hesitant, sounding like she'd rather like to tack a 'but' on the end and keep on explaining. She doesn't though. At least she's turned back toward him and their potentially shared table.
"And you've as much claim to it as I have," H'kon tells her with a quick nod upon looking up again. He does stoop for his drink, this time, fingers grasping it, lifting it lightly as he stands to his (unimpressive) height. And looks, face hard and untelling, at the woman.
The deep breath Vienne draws is loud through her nose, and though her intent is less to draw herself up to full, negligible height, it does at least give the illusion of lifting her chest before she moves to take a seat. "I would have you sit, too," she says simply, clipped, perhaps, even if the words are quiet. Her glance skips aside again, as if anyone would bother looking at the two of them have so much trouble sharing a table.
"Hm," is less response to her words than some bit of self-expression from the guarded brownrider. But after a moment of hesitation, he sits. That glass doesn't touch the table again, though he shifts it between his hands until such time as he's got it cradled so the heat of his palm can transfer to the amber liquid inside. His shoulders are formally square.
Okay, so they're sitting. Vienne lets out a sigh of relief, the book held primly before her, resting on the table's edge. They're so perfectly lined up, such neat posture, that a quirk pulls at the corner of her mouth. "I feel like I should pass the salt," she remarks with a half-hearted breath of a laugh. It's probably too much to ask that he appreciate the joke, but her eyes are hopeful anyway.
H'kon's Face remains intact, blank. He manages to hold it a bit too long after that joke, and it's with a careful lift of his glass, just before it's touched his lips, that he gives, "Small table," out of the corner of his mouth. And he drinks.
Vienne's quirk deepens a little as she watch him drink. But it's a weak thing and it fades again. She doesn't open her book, but she does lay a hand on its cover, fingers curling to feel the rough edges of paper between the binding's harder lines. Her eyes drop down.
He doesn't chug or shoot the whole thing back. It's a light sip, and green eyes focus on the caverns beyond the little alcove which they occupy. After he's given Vienne some time - the same time he'd taken with her joke - there's a sidelong glance. This time, it's more, 'hmm' of exhalation than a 'Hm' involving vocal cords.
It's not until Vienne peeks up again to catch that glance that she realizes he might be waiting for more, for further appreciation than that hitch of her smile or for some kind of continuation of the awkward inerchange. She ums softly, glance scanning the table as if the next step will present itself. "Mind your elbows?" she tries, brows high with unlikely optimism. The short laugh that follows rather self-consciously wishes she'd come up with something better.
"Small table, for a supper," H'kon specifies. What follows is another distant look out toward nothing particular in the caverns beyond. He even takes another sip from his tumbler before stating, eyes still locked not at all on Vienne, "I will not be sought separately from my dragon. That has been problem enough. Do with it as you will." All at once, all firm and mostly monotone.
"It is," Vienne agrees aloud this time, before her lips disappear into her mouth, held between a pinch of teeth. The primness of her posture has ebbed, sinking a little, back rounding and chin tucking down. But his firm comment has her eyes growing wide again as they snap back up to his face. She hestitates a beat then, "Sought separately," is repeated, like she has to weigh its meaning. "Has it?" Been a problem.
H'kon does manage to look at Vienne, but that Face of his is set, still, as impassable as he can make it. There's a moment to at least consider the question she's offered back to him, but his is less an answer to it than a continuation of his original thought. Fingers flex about that glass. "As any pair, we come together. And it is better that way."
Vienne's lashes drop again, the momentary dumb stillness of her mouth shifting as she catches her lip between her teeth. There's a hint of disbelief on her exhale. "You speak like I've done him a disservice."
"No," H'kon corrects promptly, "not you. But now I am seeing things set aright. And he cannot be shunted off, and me, kept. It will only worsen affairs." And if this time, that raised glass stays raised long enough to drain the rest... well, maybe it was just a three-sip amount?
His 'no' surprises her and then confuses her. A faint furrow develops between Vienne's brows as she looks across the small table at him. "What affairs?" she asks, looking for a clue. The hand over her book curls a little more firmly. And then she gives up on keeping her place, letting the book slide down into her lap.
And in turn, her questions bring (another) furrow to his own brow. "We are each better closer," has something of impatience behind it. H'kon, at least, seems to hear it in his own voice, and makes an attempt at easing himself back in his chair. It's more adjustment of position than posture, in the end. "And there are too many as is would have one or the other." All at once, that new position has become uncomfortable, and H'kon pushes to his feet.
The impatience is hardly an encouraging thing, even if Vienne does seem to understand the content of his words. But her own frustration is slowly building, etching the line of her brow more deeply. And when the brownrider stands she just sinks, slumped, back in her chair. "Okay," she tells him, keeping her eyes low.
It could be the energy spent in standing that gives H'kon lull enough to turn back to the bluerider. "He is not easy," is admitted, voice gruff. "And in the end, if we must both stand by our dragons, then so it is." There's a downturning pull at the corner of his mouth, and he gives a sharp nod to her in farewell.
|
Leave A Comment