Logs:Solitaire
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 24 April, 2009 |
| Who: N'thei, Rimara |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 22, Month 7, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day. Somewhere, on some ledge up there along the bowl, there's a fantastic view to be had of the soon-setting sun. The glimmer of orangish-pink light bouncing off the waves, the gradual deepening of reds-and-purples, the slowly encroaching blue of evening... /This/ is not that particular ledge. Low lights starting to pick out against the gathering evening, it's pretty placid this time of day, a little-party gathering at the next table over from where N'thei sits, playing a rousing game of solitaire with his feet up on the other chair that belongs to his table. A string of soft curses heralds Rimara's exit from Snowasis. She moves out of the doorway, stepping closer to where that rousing game of solitaire is taking place, paying absolutely no attention to who happens to be sitting there. She positions herself under a glow, unwrapping a towel from around her right hand. It drops, landing in an unceremonious heap not far from the last card laid down. A quick grab misses it, and Rimara turns to the table---seeing N'thei for the first time. She doesn't say anything for a second, just grabs that bloody towel off the table, making certain it didn't leave anything behind. "Evening," is finally given, just a little warily, then the hand is inspected in the light. The card he was just about to play gets held back, pinched between his thumb and finger, gravity-and-release short of landing on the discard pile. Eyes on the towel, traveling up from there to the person that's daring to intrude on his hard-won solitude-- in the middle of a gathering crowd-- he says absolutely nothing about it or her. N'thei believes, expects, absolutely knows that she's going to pick up that towel... and he's not wrong. The nod at her greeting might be meant to acknowledge and return it. Or it might just meant to agree: yes, it is evening. Inspecting the cut elicits a soft hiss, and a few more epithets that might stem from her sea-faring family. At least they're muttered, not spoken loudly. Certainly they're not anything a young woman should be saying---especially the description of the dull blade that caused the cut in the first place. The towel is dabbed at the cut, which, while not serious (no arteries severed), is deep enough to be painful. Ignoring the fact she's interrupted N'thei's hard-won solitude, Rimara continues to stand there a few minutes longer. At least the nod is noticed. "Welcome back," is managed between hissed curses. Might almost seem she's cussing about his return. Because N'thei's virgin ears certainly couldn't withstand whatever curses Rimara's likely to utter, yes. Down goes the card, neither sympathy nor concern nor even recognition of her wound registering in the prompt return to his previous occupation. She could probably be gushing blood all over the place and, so long as none of it got on him or his stuff, he'd probably just keep right on playing. "Mhmn." A look up, short glance, then back down to the pictures-on-cards he's playing, Lord Nabol and his illustrious family. "Want me cut it off for you?" Ah! He did notice! A scowl cast in the bronzerider's direction, lips twisting in an unimpressed way. Humor, or, rather, what passes for it from N'thei, no doubt. "No more than you'd like me to cut off your b---" The retort is out before she can stop herself, but at least she doesn't finish it. "No," is substituted instead. A glance down at his game, unimpressed with the cards dealt so far. She sighs, then re-wraps the towel. "Not bad enough to see the shardin' healer over," she says, for her own benefit, not for his. Another glance down at the cards. "Eight can't play on a ten." She steps aside to let someone pass, then looks to be moving on after her comment. The difference is that N'thei's got a knife, one that causes him to shift, lean to one side, liberate the knife, and lay it across the table. With the point touching the eight. "Brave," is all he has to say about that, and he picks up the discard pile between both palms to give it another run-through. By the looks of things, he's lost, even without eights-on-tens to help. Rimara pauses as the knife comes out, a brow lifted. Smirk. "Big knife," she remarks kind of dryly. "Some might say over-kill." Another pause. "Try the use the four, then the five, and you can play the nine there," she adds, nodding toward the opposite end of the game. Then she's definitely moving away. "Or, cut the deck." A play on words? Possibly. She's moved on, but her way is blocked by a group of workmen; it's back-track by N'thei's table again, or simply wait. Not known for her patience, Rimara turns, heading back toward Snowasis, obviously meaning to take a different way off the ledge. No lie about it; "Compensating." Big knife, small...? She gives another round of advice, and N'thei tosses the discards flush onto the array of played cards, the whole game shot into disarray. He doesn't. Want. Help. Fingers laced across his belly, he'll just wait and play again later. "So I've heard." The retort is said to the sound of footsteps moving around his table. Unless N'thei says anything else Rimara feels deserves comment, she'll be on her way. Probably best, that, since her history with the bronzerider isn't all that good. If it wasn't for her finger annoying her, she would never dare talk back to him like that. Let's hear it for pain over-riding good sense. No. Nothing. N'thei's had enough of being social, as the kids call it these days, and is now waiting for her to go so he can get back to being left alone. Or at least only bothered by people he can be assed to talk to-- of whom there are precious few, don't take it too personally. With very little effort expended at concern for N'thei's sociability, Rimara moves on. She finds a clear path, and heads down the steps leading to the bowl. In no particular hurry to go to the Infirmary, she heads off towards her dorm. She's seen enough of knives today to last her a lifetime. Muttering to herself, she's gone in sixty seconds. Zoom. |
Leave A Comment