Logs:Life's A Stage
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| RL Date: 13 September, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: A innocent farmer is bewitched into keeping High Reaches Weyrwoman company as she shops for ingredients. Then, there's pie. |
| Where: Keroon Hold |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| It's autumn harvest time at Keroon, or more specifically, the end of, and thus a cause for celebration. The markets are full to the brim with fresh foods, and air is one of conviviality. Along the path that leads from Azaylia's family home into the hold proper, a familiar figure lounges on a rock, a mark piece dancing between his hands. R'hin at least looks like he's bathed in the last day, although his facial hair is markedly unkempt. In his plain, rough-hewn clothes, though, he could well look as if he's just come off a day of farming. The Interval awards such luxuries as Hraedhyth being able to lounge without a speck of concern in the autumn sun, a tawny mark of prosperity for Azaylia's family home. That is, to those who think favorably of dragonriders and their Weyrs. With the festivities so near, Hraedhyth is left to her relaxation, although Azaylia's crimson-clad form does pause to visit and bestow that never-ending affection. On her way to the celebration, the Weyrwoman is armed only with a woven basket, the same decorative flowers circling her head in a crown with most of her locks left to fall to her waist. She nears the rugged farmer, curiosity and interest sparked by his figure until she recognizes that unshaven face. Her impish expression dims to something more appropriate for R'hin, although still good humored as she takes a few steps past him. R'hin's contrast of casual, farm-boy clothes to her elegant gown is notable, especially as he drops down off his rock and falls into step at her side, his hand falling familarly into the middle of her back. "I saw that look," he murmurs, darkly amused, bending close to her ear, "You like the rugged, random farmer look. Perhaps you'll even be so kind as to give this poor farm boy a dance?" Azaylia has never been a talented liar, unable to stop the soft laugh that leaves her at being caught red-handed. "I like a lot of things." Family and home cooked meals have done wonders for the Weyrwoman's mood, and if she's at all uncomfortable with his sudden appearance it's not readily apparent. "You wear it well. Much better than your usual... pomp." She switches the empty basket to the crook of her other arm, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. "Maybe." A contrast to more than just his casual clothing, the red fabric and gold trim of her elegant dress is new-- showing off for the locals? Possibly. "Oh!" comes the surprised exclamation from R'hin, complete with hand pressed to his chest. "Was that... a compliment? You must be in a good mood -- remind me to stalk you at home more often." His low throated chuckle soon follows, pale eyes amused as he glances at her sidelong, before noting the basket. "Did you have fruit pie? Save enough for me?" The souring of her expression is playful indeed, "It wasn't supposed to..." She lets the words fall and die, futile. With a patient sigh, she rolls her gaze back up to R'hin, "We may be making some, tonight. Since you're not dressed like a pompous rider," As he usually is, "I might invite you to join us." It's only then that she realizes, "Stalk?" There's a stutter in her step, but with the pressure of his hand at her back she continues, "What are you doing here? And dressed like that?" Compliments aside. "No?" R'hin plays wounded, lower lip protruding briefly until she sighs, and his expression turns back to familiar, light amusement. "Yes, well," a sidelong look at her, "I'd hate to be the pompous rider, showing off in my finery. But--" just as quickly, "I accept your generous invitation." As they reach the edges of the market, they're getting some glances -- or more specifically, Azaylia is. "Pure coincidence," he assures her casually enough, while Leiventh's cold wind briefly fans the Hraedhyth's flames. The bronze is settled comfortably in a clearing well outside the Hold. "We were here first, which technically means you were stalking me." Right. There's a patient stare leveled at R'hin, relaxing when his pout fades into a more familiar expression. The words are carried on an airy sigh, "You knew you'd wear me down, eventually." They both knew, from the sound of it. After so many years, Azaylia doesn't shy from what attention she garners, delicate smile offered to those eyes she happens to catch. Talk of her company is bound to swing both ways-- how gracious Weyrwoman is with her company and the Dragonrider who beguiles poor, hardworking holder men. "Coincidence." She doesn't' sound convinced, although her expression doesn't stray toward anything negative. "Well, if I had known you were here, I would have brought it." Hraedhyth will perk at Leiventh's familiar touch, sent on a hunt where she can insist on aggressively snuggling the older bronze. Should've kept quiet. Azaylia's comment only earns a knowing, chuckled laugh from the bronzerider. At her side, R'hin places the part of awed farmer, his gait altering subtly, something a little less confident, something a little more awed in his expression, as if he might well be under the Weyrwoman's spell. Only the close inspection of pale eyes betrays his amusement. Even his voice takes on a Keroonian lilt, "Dessert, with your family? Why, ma'am, that'd be a right honor, that would. What sort of fruit are you thinking?" Leiventh bears the attention well enough -- she is his senior queen, after all. Azaylia seems startled by the subtle transformation, although her growing amusement could be mistaken for haughty superiority. Hopefully, she's made a good enough impression in past visits to negate some of the gossip. "Well," Slow, almost cautious, "Since you're our guest, why don't you decide? Mama has a recipe for anything, I imagine." Hraedhyth's content crackle is now ablaze with pleasure, the gold easing toward homesickness, hungry for draconic company. Even the ever-quiet, composed Leiventh. Though he doesn't take the bait, 'it' is quietly revealed, "I received a fine red wine as a gift ages ago. I thought someone might appreciate sharing it, but... he's been busy." Absent, often times. "Well, ma'am," R'hin tugs a hand through his hair, sheepishly, as if the weight of the decision might be rather more than a poor country boy can bear, "We have some mighty fine redfruit, as I'm sure you well know. Down this way," he gestures, no longer daring in this particular guise to guide the goldrider with a hand at her back. Leiventh is, indeed quiet, though not asleep; as ever when far from home he is alert, aware, though his still posture might indicate otherwise. "That ought to go well with a nice red, ma'am, don't you think?" It's the Weyrwoman's turn to be perpetually amused, although she's managed to temper her smile into something sweet. "I was leaning toward redfruit, myself." And so Azaylia allows herself to be led down a particular path, pulled from her company only to greet those passing when necessary. "It would, though this particular red is still at High Reaches. I didn't think to bring it." But! She is a generous, lovely and kind Weyrwoman of the people, so she offers, "I'll buy something just as nice, if not nicer, right here. Keroon's harvest is impressive, this Turn." Why yes, even Azaylia is playing her part-- and having fun doing so. Still maintaining her composure, "What stand do you recommend?" "It was meant to be!" farmer-R'hin exclaims, in his Keroonian lilt, his enthusiasm shortly followed up by a vaguely embarrassed look that a besotted young man might give a pretty girl for overplaying it. "Oh," he genuinely sounds disappointed that said red is out of their reach. "Perhaps," he suggests daringly, "The Weyrwoman would like to extend her invitation further. I've never had the pleasure of seeing the Weyr." While he talks, his gaze flickers left and right, casting for a suitable stand. That he picks one at a moment's evaluation isn't clear from the enthusiastic endorsement, "This one just here to the right. Prices should be fair, especially for a Weyrwoman from Keroon." Azaylia closes her eyes, cupping her chin and pressing a finger against her lips to keep the smile just that-- rather than seem cruel at laughing at his overt enthusiasm. Already soft spoken, her murmur is hidden behind her digits, for his ears only, "You're cruel." He's not making it easy, with such an outlandish (for him) persona. His bold words have her eyes slide over, looking appropriately tempted before she agrees, "I would." Feeding half of those brewing rumors, "I feel as though everyone should visit the Weyr at least once. And you've been so kind, keeping me company." His choice is taken in with a nod, the Weyrwoman walking over and greeting the vendor with a beaming smile. For all of her fun with R'hin, her gentle charm is genuine as she seeks out the best redfruit, intending to purchase more than necessary. Pale eyes glitter at her accusation, although R'hin's enthusiastic expression remains unchanged. "That's very kind of you. I guess I'm too old to impress a dragon, and yet it's still hard not to be awed by the harper's tales of them." He might be laying it on a little thick, and even he knows it, judging by the momentary dimming of expression. Of course, he's spared further conversation for the moment as the Weyrwoman barters for redfruit, waiting for her to complete the transaction before he thanks the stallholder with a big, grateful smile while expounding the virtues of High Reaches' Weyrwoman. It'd be enough to make anyone blush -- especially when they're standing right there listening to it. His step is light, obviously pleased with himself as they begin the walk back. "You're in for a treat, then. High Reaches Weyr will give you plenty of stories to tell when you return." Even Azaylia knows to seize such an opportunity, with casual ears all about. The singing of her praises has those brown eyes widening slightly, and should her dusky complexion allow it, she would've blushed. Instead there's breathless, bashful laughter as she tries for modesty, doing her best to pull Farmer R'hin away. With compliments and marks tossed the vendor's way, an easy circulation has her picking up a few luxuries and gifts for Home. It isn't until they've cleared the celebration that she allows herself to really laugh, wiping tears of amusement. "That was... you are terrible." She'll keep her voice low, flushed beneath that dark skin, "I can't take you anywhere." And yet, she's leading him back to her family. "I'll be sure to spread them far and wide," farmer-R'hin assures the Weyrwoman with an enthusiastic grin. He keeps up the easy chatter while they do the rounds, taking hold of the basket like any good strapping farmer might do. When she falls into laughter once they reach the privacy of the road, the bronzerider joins in, though his laugh in low, softer. "Says the corrupter of innocent farmers," he clucks his tongue, amusement glittering in pale eyes. The Savannah Wingleader's is nothing if not committed to the role, picking up the enthusiastic farmer bit all throughout dessert with her parents, effusively thanking them at the end of the night and promising to come and visit again. Playing her part, Azaylia finds enough calm to innocently ask, "So there's no interest in finding a dark loft after dessert?" There's always a sliver of truth to be found in idle gossip. Not that there's much time 'after', given her mother's excessive hospitality well into the evening, when a proper young lady shouldn't be wandering out and about. Yes, even if she is Weyrwoman. Scold scold. As far as her family is concerned, R'hin is a simple farmer that has befriended someone of rank-- for all that Azaylia keeps dissolving into laughter during the visit. It goes well, and R'hin's promise is challenged only by Lilhee's saccharine demands for him to stop by anytime, y'hear? |
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