Logs:Friend-Zone
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| RL Date: 17 September, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, Suireh |
| Type: Log |
| What: Old chums cross paths. Turns out K'zin is still in the friend-zone. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 11, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, F'manis/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| 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.
Here, Suireh sits on a couch, her legs thrown over a side to dangle and a gitar held lazily in her hands. She's actually alone, no masses whatsoever at this time of day, and so her idle strumming can't bother any. There are sheets in front of her, staffs and scribbled notes with poetry and every so often she leans forward to scribe something else before trying again. Suireh's strumming might be siren's song enough for the likes of K'zin, but in truth, tonight it's the klah that beckons him hearthside. His riding jacket opened and helmet and other flying accoutrements held in a still-gloved hand, all bearing watery evidence of the current weather, the bronzerider makes a beeline for the pot, squeaky foot falls slowing and stopping as his eyes take in first instrument, then woman before smiling in a bright sort of way that Some People might not approve of. "Suireh, hey," he greets her. Propped up by back cushions, Suireh twists at the squeaking noise and then pauses her strumming, fingers held in the air above the strings, as she watches K'zin approach klah and then stop. A variety of emotions wars on the harper's face, until a brief smile wins. It's nowhere near as bright as the one the dragonrider offers and yet it's not entirely caustic, perhaps, even in her own way, inviting. "And I thought all of your kind would be tucked in for the night or off on sweeps. Then again," the not-quite-caustic turns warmer with a low laugh, "What would a bronzerider be if not up late wining, dining, and wooing. Yes?" The Harper's words have K'zin's smile shifting from broad to one of the close-lipped varieties born of amusement that nevertheless keeps the smile wide and his brown eyes lively. "Of course. That's how it goes the world over, right? Surprised someone clever hasn't set down a song about it yet. The Ballad of the Brazen Boozing Bronzeriders." He offers up the title now with one of his Waki Classic goofy grins before moving to retrieve his cup of klah, body still angled toward her as though the distance shouldn't hamper a continued exchange. "The dragonhealers still have us flying partial sweeps. To build up Ras' stamina again," he offers more seriously. "Did something happen?" For a harper to not hear of something going on is truly atrocious. For Suireh to miss something at High Reaches speaks only of her length of time away from the Weyr. "You must be-," she pauses, and rights herself, her legs undraped from the arm to find the ground, and thus clears some space on the couch. "I'm afraid I can't even pretend to understand how dragons and their riders are linked. It must be very difficult if, Rasavyth was injured?" Quizzically lilting in the end, the raven-haired harper looks up at the bronzerider, all traces of mocking, however mild, gone. Despite the fact that it should be obvious to K'zin that not everyone knows of their personal hardships, enough must have that her not knowing takes him by surprised and leaves him looking a little abashed. His free hand rubs the back of his neck, "Uh, yeah." before moving to put sweetner in his klah. It's easier, probably, to relate with his back to her, "Crashed, during a green flight in Telgar about a turn and a half ago, maybe closer to two now," like he doesn't remember. "Wing dislocated and spar got torn up pretty bad. We weren't supposed to have come back to 'Reaches when we did last time Hraedhyth rose, but he came anyway, and-- yeah, now we're back." He can turn around now and return with his klah to settle onto the couch. "But they're being cautious. They think the wing's healed up alright, but he got wing strain coming back, and... well, no point in taking chances when there's no Thread to have to fight, right?" The tone and the rhythm of his tale says he's trying to downplay what, for him, was almost certainly a major life event. "I'm- sorry," Suireh's fingers can't help themselves, dancing over the fingerboard and making the softest tapping musical notes against those strings. It's a mindless sort of melody, born of an immediate agitation. "I never heard. Have I really been away for so long?" The thought of not having visited her home in so many years scores lines along her brow. "He's healing though, I take it. And you've been grounded since? Is it driving you mad, sir bronzerider?" A little levity infiltrates the solemnity. K'zin's eyes are drawn to the strings, to the notes and they pull his smile back into place, though not so animate as before. "It was a mess, really. I shouldn't've expected that you would've. One moment I was on my best behavior at Fort and the next grounded in Telgar." He shrugs, moving along. "So what was so important that it kept you away from us for so long?" There's a little bit of teasing for her in return in his voice, before he's relating in an aggrieved tone that requires him to lean toward her just a touch to create the illusion of secrecy, "I've been press-ganged into service. First paperwork for F'manis," which only makes sense as his wingleader, told easily from the badge on his jacket, "Now weyrling-minding with Telavi and Quinlys." Poor, poor K'zin! "Ah, weyrling-minding." Suireh finds amusement in the phrase. It could be the skin of wine she's half-finished, resting on the couch leg beneath her legs, or just the lateness of the hour that loosens the tease off her tongue. "And what, Waki, would you do if I was one of your weyrlings to mind?" That she sidesteps his questions is a whole other issue. The tease is sufficiently distracting to keep K'zin from pressing the question, though certainly his interest was genuine. The fact that her words are also blush-inducing is probably just a bonus as his dusky skin gains undertones of rose from cheek on up to ear. It might be more interesting if the bronzerider said any of the number of things that might prompt such a blush. The natural inclination is to sip his klah to buy himself time to think, only as soon as his tongue touches liquid it becomes abundantly clear that it's far too hot, and he's making quite a face about it. It will take him a moment after that to answer, if she's inclined to wait, "I'd mind you all the way to a gather for a dance or two." It's innocent enough, only he's a bronzerider so... would it really stop with just dancing? Suireh's long learned patience and how the air has tangible qualities when something is just waiting to be said. It's a talent, surely. His response evokes an earthy laugh. "Oh, K'zin. Tell me about the last two turns then, beyond your dragon's injuries. What's happened here, with you, with the Weyr, with... your life?" It's not just the fingerboard her fingers play along, but also the light strokes of her other hand against the strings. A melancholy string of chords backdrops their conversation. The way she laughs and says his name has him looking quietly pleased with himself, but then, in the days long past he did like to make her laugh even if just by grace of being Wacky Waki. K'zin settles a little more easily now back into the cushions of the couch. "There's not so much to tell, really." Or not much he wants to tell, but he gives her a brief rundown. "With all the grounded time, I convinced my old Journeyman here to start teaching me again, and I'm coming along better with Rasavyth's help than I did before I Impressed, though I've not as much time as I'd like to practice anymore. We've done some travelling since being back in the air, but nothing special," then he slides in, "and I got a girlfriend," before quickly, "And K'del is weyrleader again, of course," because she did ask about the Weyr, didn't she? "And Savannah's here and all that mess with Monaco, though I expect you know probably more about that than I do." It's not fishing, though he does raise his brows a little simply to ask if she does know about the whole thing. A small shoulder shrug says all of I know nothing of Savannah and Monaco. It could be harperly tricks, or reality, but that's the beauty of her expression: it's just so damn difficult to tell in its wash of sincerity and know-nothingness. "And I got a boyfriend," says the harper in return to that 'too quick' statement. Her elbow, the one attached to the hand that creates the chords rather than strums them, jibes chummily against K'zin's side. "Tell me about her, the one that felled Wakizian." He believes her; didn't she know he would? K'zin's eyes shouldn't widen as they do, for a guy with a girlfriend. He shouldn't have to clear his throat and duck his head to take a drink from his-- oh! Still too hot, dimglow! -klah, "Faranth's fat figure," he swears when he burns his tongue this time. He twists determinedly to set the mug aside; clearly he can't be trusted. When he turns back, it's with an odd sort of hesitation that he asks, "Do you know Telavi?" The press-ganger apparent. "I can't say that I do," Suireh says. Somehow the confessions of significant others has made it easier for her to cozy up with K'zin on the couch, her feet lifting to tuck under her hips as she leans against his shoulder. The gitar doesn't lose its beat in the melody that moves from winterly morose to spring and lively; a song of flirtation. "Is she pretty? Is she-," the harper skips a beat, as does her music, before asking a little more merrily than Suireh seems capable of, "Everything you hoped for in a girlfriend?" Even if K'zin had consciously realized that they were getting cozier, he almost certainly wouldn't have stopped it. It doesn't seem conscious, though, simply an old sort of habit leftover from their shared history to simply sit a little closer. "Well," he does object, "I never really hoped for a girlfriend." At least that much he can say without blushing deeper. Rather than describe Telavi, he says, "You should meet her. I've told her about you. And she used to work for Savannah. With your dad and all." Her dad who must have some other name for all that K'zin rarely seems to remember that. "So are you going to tell me anything about your life for the past two turns?" Quite possibly he's prepared for 'no,' but does it really hurt to ask? How right he is. Suireh puts on a charming smile she must have learned in those years as a harper, and replies with a succinct, "No." There's one last cozy little lean back and then she's up, slipping the gitar over her shoulder and gathering up a mess of papers. The wine skein she leaves. "If our paths cross, I promise I won't share stories of when you were younger. Nothing too embarrassing at any rate. Good night, K'zin." |
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