Logs:Politics Are Not Romantic
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| RL Date: 30 September, 2013 |
| Who: Hraedhyth, Azaylia, K'zin, Rasavyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin and Azaylia try for a date, only K'zin's playing political messenger boy. It doesn't go well. |
| Where: Appleseed Inn, High Reaches area |
| When: Day 11, Month 12, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Euan/Mentions, Eustan/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Ustelan/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated, played mostly live and wrapped via gdocs while players had Very Busy RLs. XD |
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| Apple Seed Inn, High Reaches area On the road between High Reaches Hold proper and the Weyr, a cothold has been overhauled with a sign on its front labeling it the Apple Seed Inn. In Interval, the increase of foot travel invites more places for these people to stay, or get a refreshing drink along their way. The main room isn't huge, but it's large enough to fit a handful of tables and a bar made of apple-wood lines one wall while curtained doorways lead to rooms that can be rented. Outside, there's a healthy fenced in area with some ovine and even a pair of bovine that are clearly for the needs of this establishment and to supplement the business. On a clear day, the orchards behind the cothold and the surrounding few buildings that make up the smaller holding area leave no doubt where the cothold gets its name.
The Weyrwoman, though there's little hint of her rank on winter-warm dress, is eager to sample the cider and she pulls it closer. "I am too." Her warm smile has yet to dim in K'zin's company, and other than the occasional message delivered by Hraedhyth, the bronzerider has her full attention. The queen herself has taken to tucking up against Rasavyth, intent on keeping him company while they're banished from the human place. After a sip, Azaylia reaches up to brush any excess cider from her lips with only slight embarrassment, "It's good. A little tart, but I think it's also sweeter because of it?" After a moment she gives a breathy laugh, "I have no idea what I'm talking about." But she tried to sound convincing! What is a little tart to Azaylia is evidently moreso to K'zin's palate, for the first taste of the cider has his lips puckering, followed by a small series of nose wiggles and little tongue flicks over his lips. "Augh, it makes my nose itch." The bronzerider manages to get out as his hand rises to rub across said body part. But apparently this isn't a bad thing, because he takes a longer draw from the mug, with less outward reaction now that it's an expected flavor. "We probably should've come sooner, spent more time together, you know, all that. But we can act like we know what we're doing. Isn't that how it usually works? You fake it until you know? Pretty sure that's all I've been doing in Taiga since I graduated." His baritone holds humor and expression continued warmth with his smile, mirroring the goldrider's own look. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth's oozy touch that reflects a soft current of drums and flickering of flames carries his pleasure to be tucked so with the senior queen on the alpine meadow far, but not too far from where their riders are enjoying themselves. His weight leans lithely against the gold, knowing she's plenty sturdy enough for his aristocratic frame not to bother her, his chin against one of her paws. He, like his rider, extends his mind for small talk, if she's of a mind for it. « Have you chanced to see the clutch yet? They're not as lovely as yours were. » He opines in a purring tenor. Another laugh, "Well yes, if you swallow as much as your mouth can hold." Not that she means to say K'zin has a big one. It's been ages since he's had to fit his feet in there, after all. When he speaks of his wing, Azaylia's fingers lace into a bridge she can rest her chin on, looking over with obvious interest. "Sounds like being a weyrwoman." Especially without proper training, though she's long since found the solution for that. "Still, I bet you're doing just fine. Do you enjoy it?" That's the important part, see. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth is no less sturdy than the last time they snuggled, however long ago that was. She's in her usually high, if intense, spirits, wallowing in both Rasavyth's pleasure and that felt through the bond with Hers. « I have. » Though they are not hers, Iesaryth's clutch still has the queen's flames swelling with pride. As for the comparison, Hraedhyth considers it as she noses along the bronze's 'knobs and neck. Thankfully, her tongue stays put, drums rolling in contemplation, « It could be their Sire. He is not one of ours. » Spoken as fact, and surprisingly free of distaste. K'zin has an answering grin for her comments. It's a big one, as though he were simply providing the visual aid for the comment she doesn't mean to say. It's true that his words seem to carry no footy aftertaste, for now. But never count a bronzerider out on that score, especially when he's just begun. "Then that makes two of us. Here-" He raises the mug, "-is to faking it." He winks brazenly to give his words a suggestive overtone, but when he speaks again it isn't to suggest more in that direction. "It's alright. K'del's constantly trying to mold me to be a better man or something like that. For now, it's from a distance. We had some 'words' at Aishani's flight. I'm a bit of a cad at flights, but we managed not to come to blows." Only because other things happened to prevent it. "I might be getting in to more trouble than K'del would like though. Perhaps more than you would like..." He lets that trail as he sets down his mug, his expression turning a touch serious. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth might be privately grateful Hraedhyth's 'affectionate' tongue has stayed out of things so far, but he doesn't seem to mind the nosing and even shifts so as to rub back a bit, nothing rough but not a delicate return either. Delicacy is reserved for dragons who like that sort of thing, and if Hrae does, he hasn't had reason to find that out yet. « I have no doubt that's the trouble. But Iesaryth did choose him. » And that troubles him. Clearly it's a shortcoming on the part of the other queen. « There were many better options. » He sniffs a little, and then huffs a sigh out that has him leaning against her more. After the toast, which she has little shame in laughing at, her expression shifts into a faint pinch. "Things... happen. At Flights." Azaylia doesn't try to dismiss the behavior, or perhaps it's more heinous actions she's trying to hold accountable. Still, she's not without her own guilt, "I tried to punch R'hin, Leiventh's rider? During Hraedhyth's first. I... hit Taikrin instead." No doubt the brownrider figured it was worth it at the time, considering she won. Halfway to her lips, the mug freezes in midair, placed back down and forgotten as she pins K'zin with concerned curiosity, "...trouble?" « She has always chosen him. » Hraedhyth states simply, a truth that goes even farther than she can properly remember. « I do not understand why. He is Fortian. And he is strange. » There is none of the heated bias of her youth, but that doesn't mean the gold likes Vhaeryth. There's a bit more pressure from her muzzle, meaning to sooth the younger bronze after his huff, « You wished to catch her. » There there. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) "Yeah? That's Suireh's dad, right?" K'zin lifts his glass again. His smile's back, though perhaps not quite as easy as it was moments ago. "I've only met Taikrin a couple times, but seems like she'd be able to eat a knuckle sandwich, especially when it's a beautiful woman serving it up." There's traces of the younger Waki in those words, the ones that tried to make the Weyrwoman laugh once upon a time and long ago with his bad jokes. "It's not necessarily trouble, exactly. I'm hoping it's the opposite, but I definitely wasn't under any orders to be doing these sort of things." He reaches to push a stray lock away from his forehead. "I'm sure you're more aware than most about everything happening at Nabol and with Lady Ienavi turning up at Healer?" His words are quieter now, less likely for those nearby to be able to eavesdrop were they of a mind to, but certainly loud enough that at their intimate two-person table, Azaylia should have no trouble with hearing it. That doesn't make Rasavyth feel any better. Vhaeryth certainly isn't worth repeated choosing in his book. Not that he's ever bespoken the dragon directly. « I wished to catch her. » He confirms simply. « Frankly, I wish to catch anyone at this point. I'm almost two, » Almost one and three-quarters. « And I've yet to catch anyone. I know I'm smaller than most bronzes, and I couldn't blood, and I fixed that, but-- » Rasavyth's oozy drums wham-wham-whine. « Is something wrong with me? » Perhaps it's whatever sentiment that lingers knowing that Hraedhyth is the one who shelled his egg that lets him be vulnerable enough to ask her this. (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) Azaylia nods, confirming who R'hin is while looking into her mug with an odd little quirk to her lips. It fades at mention of Taikrin, her own smile lacking ease, "I... yes, that sounds like her. Doesn't it?" Her lingering discomfort makes it easy for the Weyrwoman's face to finish its descent into displeasure. Her arms drop to the table, folding some as she drawls, "Uh huuuuuh." She has yet to shake off the casual tone of their earlier conversations, although she's certainly bracing herself. 'Trouble', 'Nabol', and 'Lady Ienavi' are not words she's expecting to hear K'zin associate himself with. Not once has Hraedhyth's confidence wavered, and it certainly doesn't now. « No. » Her contralto is punctuated by a firm drum beat. « Your blood is our blood. » That of High Reaches. Though, there is a hint of something maternal, defensive, when she speaks of Rasavyth. « There are many males who have not flown a female and are much older than you. I do not think lesser of them for it. » Never mind how she boasts Tsanth's conquests, but then the gold always speaks highly of her mates' prowess. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) "For the record," K'zin's hand sets down his mug and seeks to gently claim one of Azaylia's hands, loose arm folding not minded in the least as he leans forward a little, "You can punch me any time you want, if it ends with me in your bed. Or a bed. Could be my bed. Any bed really." He's trying to make her laugh, or at least smile, or at least erase some of the discomfort he perceives. If his hand has found hers, there's a gentle squeeze to her fingers before his thumb is gently rubbing the back of her knuckles. Even if it hasn't, his next words are not forestalled. "I was at Healer at the beginning of the month and spoke with Lady Ienavi. And she asked me if I could get a message to you. I told her I'd try." His brow furrows, "I told her I'd try because Rone's armies are burning food that should be tithing to the Weyr and coming in for our stores. Zay," K'zin looks very serious suddenly, and if that hand has its hold, now it's gripped tightly. "I cannot live through another turn of stew all the time." He's surely exaggerating, even if he does look very convincing. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth isn't exactly soothed by the gold's words, even if he should be, but at least his mopey drum grows quieter and he keeps whatever other whining he might have to do to himself, simply seeking to burrow his nose into the crook between her forepaw and chest. « I'm supposed to be better than this. » He confides after a moment. « And nothing is working out as I'd like. » There's more here. Something more than flights. It comes with the scents of leather and orange-zest that he's used before to describe K'zin's mind. « I keep trying to fix things and they only break more. I'm supposed to make him better. And I made him worse. » Rasavyth isn't disappointed in K'zin for this, just in himself. « Maybe your Azaylia can help fix him. He needs to fight less. Drink less. Have fun more. » Though his jokes are funny, or at the very least cute, Azaylia is in no mood to relax at the mention of Ienavi's name. As the Weyrwoman has yet to even meet the once-missing Lady, it's not difficult to figure out who she's associated with in the goldrider's mind. K'zin is welcome to take her hand, however tense it may be, until his grip tightens. That's when she pulls it back, not with a snap but with a firm, "The refugees bring what they can. And Devaki has agreed to help take them in." The goldrider's complexion has yellowed some, "What does she want." An echo of Hraedhyth's usual not-a-question. To Rasavyth, Hraedhyth continues to soothe Rasavyth as best she can, although she does so only with what she believes is the truth. Blunt honesty doesn't make for the best ego stroking, but she's trying. « You are His and He is Yours. It will all be well. If you wish him to be better, he will be. » Her encouragement is followed by a startled stutter in her steady beat, flames growing in size and heat. The faint scent of smoldering flowers preludes the queen's simple, « I do not think she will be much help. » Not right now. K'zin doesn't try to retain the hand when the woman moves it away from his, but his expression does briefly turn wounded, before turning serious. "See? This is why I didn't want to be put in this position. Because we were having a really nice time until-- ugh. Politics." The young bronzerider glowers a moment at his mug as if it were all the cider's fault. "She'd like a meeting with you. Or with your proxy, if it would be best for the Weyr not to have you seen meeting with her." His brows knit, and then his eyes find hers. "Zay, I'm not trying to say the refugees don't do what they can. I'm saying it's wrong to have people scared enough to become refugees to begin with. Rone is bullying his family, bullying his people, and this-" K'zin's baritone is disgusted, "-is the man who would lead Nabol? One who burns his own holders' crops when they won't cooperate? Is this the kind of villain you want to have to work with when there are other options?" There is appreciation for her attempts, and they even seem to work, somewhat. « I hope you are right. » That all will be well. That he will be better because Rasavyth wishes it. Rasavyth fans his flame to smoke and the smoke curls apologetically. « He is regretful to have to bring this to her. He wishes he had not been put in this position. » (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) "Ienavi," Not Lady, "Didn't ask for the Weyr's help when she was in trouble. I have no reason to trust her anymore than I do Rone." Azaylia's words are steady and quiet, "I didn't put you in this position." There's some apology, though her words trail off in silent implication. Someone did. "I would never wish harm on her or her baby, but I'm not going to put my Weyr at risk for either of them." The Weyrwoman has yet to lose her composure despite what she says, gentle voice leaving little room for doubt. With heavy lids and polite contemplation, she takes a long drink from her mug. There'll be silence if he allows it, dragging on for a good while before, "I'll think about it and speak with the Weyrleader." It doesn't sound terribly generous. Though Hraedhyth inspects the boundaries of her bond, patrols the heated emotions which surround her, the sources are well guarded. « Mmmm. » Is her guttural answer to K'zin's apparent regret, pensive. With some disgust, if only for how it upsets Hers so, « Human business. » (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) Azaylia's words have K'zin's brows drawing even further down. "She asked for Aishani's help. Last time I checked, Weyrwoman, Aishani is still a goldrider of High Reaches even if she has divested herself of responsibility to us otherwise; a condition that could be corrected by our Senior. It's your right, Weyrwoman, to require her service and to bring her in hand if her actions displease you." Tasty feet are tasty, and he doesn't stop there either. He has intensity but keeps his voice low, "Lady Ienavi spared you from having to choose to put the Weyr at risk by supporting her and hiding her initially, or having to choose to hand over a pregnant woman to a man whose love-scorned, power-hungry, and looking to torture her or worse. She was protecting herself and her child. Wouldn't you do whatever you needed to do to protect your Weyr? Your people?" His expression has elements that suggest a youthful optimism. To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth doesn't attempt to invade those parts of Hraedhyth's mind and bond that are not shared willingly with him, but he does ask, and softly, « What is it that upsets your Azaylia so? » It's now that there's a hitch in that practiced calm, however subtle, "She's a rider who refuses to do work, but still uses food and resources." Iesaryth is perhaps blameless, as the Weyrwoman doesn't mention how much a gold needs to eat. Brown eyes flick up to K'zin, carrying in their gaze a hint of fire, "If only you knew." She doesn't explain, too set in her own thoughts to grant him that much. With a long, breathless sigh, some of those hackles lower at K'zin's intensity. "I want to believe that." There are traces of that youthful optimism, as she isn't so much older than him, and yet, "I've learned not to trust." She doesn't expand on that, or perhaps there is no need. Softer, "I'll think about it." But now, it's time to stare awkwardly into her mug of cider and look... uncomfortable. It's Hraedhyth's turn to let out a long huff, hot breath steaming the air in front of her muzzle and against Rasavyth's 'knobs. The blazing inferno may be guarded, but as it's vicious gatekeeper the queen is able to offer some idea. It's a savage growl rather than actual words, « Betrayal. » (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth) K'zin sighs softly. He doesn't pursue the matter of Aishani. Why? It's really not his business, and perhaps he guesses (probably well enough) that talking more of it would only get him further from his goal. "I'll make you a deal." He proposes. "The only thing I told Lady Ienavi I would do is to bring what she had to say to you. I'm not stupid. I asked for some details to be able to give you. So, if you'll help me keep my word by just letting me tell you what she asked me to, once I have, I won't say another word about Nabol or goldriders or anything socially repugnant. We can talk about apples and how your family is in Keroon, and what I should get you for your next turnday and what dances we'll do at the hatching feast and-- shells, anything else that's fun and nice and not sharding stressful. I wanted this to be a fun date. I've not gotten to take you on one in far too long, Zay." By the end the bronzerider sounds truly vexed, but not with her, just with the pickle of a situation he finds himself smack in the middle of. Rasavyth, in turn, offers gentle understanding and comfort. True, he can't understand what they haven't shared, but he can be receptive and appreciative of the situation the queen's bond feels and the queen through her. He shifts so that he can rub his muzzle against her neck for a moment before moving to find her knobs with his angular nose. « We know about betrayal, » He offers gently. « Does she know he does not betray her? » (To Hraedhyth from Rasavyth) Azaylia's expression shifts from uncomfortable back to that firm stare, though this time it's aimed at the contents of her mug. Slowly, the lines in her face will begin to soften, and although it may be wearing thin-- she aims a patient glance up at the bronzerider. She hesitates, but eventually her desire to try and make things easier on K'zin wins out. Reluctantly, "Tell me what she told you, then." Hraedhyth lowers her pale head so that Rasavyth can reach it, welcoming comfort as easily as she gives it. Through her bond, the queen is restless, though she is not so close to unleashing that fiery temper. Beyond crackling heat, her drums give a steady, ominous roll as stormy emotions churn beyond the horizon. « Mine does not know who would not betray her. » Her low growl is not aimed at K'zin, or even Rasavyth, but spans over countless individuals-- hypothetical or otherwise. "I'll be as succinct as possible." K'zin offers first, then his eyes lift to the air and he scans it as though reading from an unseen page. He keeps his tone matter of fact as he gives her the rundown, but he starts at the beginning: "Lady Ienavi is asking for the Weyr's support as she works to secure Nabol for her son. She promises in exchange Nabol's allegiance with a strong relationship that will further prosperity for all. She knows lending our support would not be without risks for us. She's also noted that if the Weyr isn't giving it's support publicly, it would be best, from her perspective, for all parties if she were not seen meeting with you. She is also open to unofficial support. She's looking for transportation and protection as she feels it is time for her to be seen, but with Rone wanting her dead, she fears for her safety." The matter-of-fact tone goes out the window when K'zin leans forward and asks in an almost scandalized way, "Did you know she used to be engaged to Rone? Before she married his grandfather instead?" Probably not helping his case, but it's a good break from the monotony of repetition from memory. Rasavyth continues his comforts as his flame is a calmer, warmer reflection. It's accepting of what the queen feels, of course, but offering serenity to help quell the inner discomforts, just by being there. « Trust is, of course, something to be earned and not without cause. » The bronze ruminates softly, « But we all need those we can trust. » "I didn't, no." Polite, but lacking interest in the more scandalized tidbit that's shared. Azaylia has never been one for gossip in the best of moods, which is not now. "Is there even any proof that the baby is Blood?" Beyond Ienavi's claim, that is. Before she can hear his answer, another thought strikes with a sharp little inhale, "How did you even get a chance to speak with her? If she wanted Z'ian or I..." And though friendly, it isn't as if K'zin is Azaylia's official messenger. Fighting a light frown, she crosses her arms atop the table and looks out to the rest of the bar. Likely, her answer hasn't changed with this new information-- the Weyrleaders will think about it. « Mine has one. » One. « Mine has me. » Other that lone soul, the one Hraedhyth is unlikely to reveal out of draconic disinterest. She's the important part, after all. Stormy thoughts calm into something smokey, pensive, and ever so slowly the flames begin to calm their excited flicker. The natural flow of his oozing words draws her along, prompting the queen to ask, « Who do you trust? » Idle curiosity, she isn't hunting for the truth this time. "There's a lack of proof that the baby isn't Blood. No one's claimed an affair with the Lady, despite Rone's claims. The Harper posted to Nabol had papers verifying Lady Ienavi's claims, but he's gone suspiciously missing." If there's been rumors of the body turning up, K'zin's not been privy to them, although Azaylia might be. "I'm not sure what kind of proof you'd want her to offer besides the facts. She was married to the Lord, and ruled as Lady with him," Hence K'zin's continued use of the title; she is Lady Nabol until a successor is named. "Old though he was, a man can, I've read," Probably in The Helpful Healer's How-To Guide to Mating, "Father a child at any age." As to the how K'zin got to be speaking with Ienavi, he shifts in his seat, "I'd been ferrying her brother from Greenfields every now and again. Guess he mentioned me to her. She asked me if I could get word to you and the Weyrleader. As with not wanting to meet in public, it's probably wisest, politically, if she sends her messages through nobodys. Like me." « That is good. She should have at least one. Try as we might, we cannot always be everything that ours need. » The undercurrent of human sexuality is shown as just one example of the ways in which humans need other humans. « Oh, I have several I count among my confidants. Olveraeth taught us much and more in weyrlinghood. Cadejoth has been mentoring me as I adjust to serving in my wing. » Rasavyth's tenor purrs pleasantly. Thinking of whom he likes, of course, makes him think of whom he dislikes. « Ilicaeth, on the other hand, is a hard-head. » Which he doesn't actually bother to let irritate him, just something he finds boring. And smart bronzes don't like boring even if boring is his brother in this case. "I just don't trust her." Azaylia decides with a soft nodnod, "There's no reason the Weyr wouldn't have-- I couldn't have helped her from the start. She's made herself look even more suspicious." There's a quick glance for K'zin, an unvoiced accusation that's quickly aimed off to the side. She doesn't voice it in so many words, "I didn't know you knew her brother." A great coincidence, one that the Weyrwoman has little energy in chasing after. She eases back in her seat with a long sigh, draining her mug soon after and sitting in that displeased, pensive silence. Gently, "Have you kept your word yet? Or is there more?" Not that she sounds exceptionally eager, but when has that ever stopped her from doing her duty? « I can. » Hraedhyth replies with unwavering confidence. « I am. » The flames crackle and dance with amusement at his perceived challenge. Rolling heat is an echo of not memory but feeling-- of heat and need in a world tinted amethyst. It burns up in an instant, fleeting, and the queen has little interest in holding on to the sensations. As for Illicaeth, « It is his way. » Which may be as much of an agreement as it is defending the blue. Her drums steady as draconic link is weighed down by brooding, rather than threat of unleashing an inferno. K'zin pauses a moment before making any kind of reply. Then, slowly, and with deliberation he says, "No one is saying you have to trust her. She was married to Lord Nabol before his passing, and the Weyr received tithes dutifully during their tenure together. And until the Conclave confirms an heir, she is, if by nothing else than technicality, still the closest thing Nabol has to a Lady Holder. That should be enough to warrant a few moments of your unbiased consideration, as Senior." Then he sighs, folding his arms on the table and letting his shoulders sag, "I really wanted this just to be a nice date. Faranth's fringed fangs." The swear is soft, but very genuine. Tiredly, he adds, "I met her brother in Nabol when he was leaving for Greenfields. I've been out and about in the world when duty doesn't require me elsewhere. Seemed the wise thing to do, to get to know the world I live in beyond my own Weyr." That his heart is heavier for the learning shows in his expression. "I'm done. We don't need to talk about Nabol anymore. Possibly ever, if you don't want to." « That, » Rasavyth's amusement purrs with teasing licks of reflected oozy fire, « -is something I should like to see. The physics alone... » It boggles. But he's kidding, of course. It's not that he doubts her confidence or that she is all Azaylia needs, but in light of the particular instance he brought up... well, it was too good a joke to pass up, and talk of Ilicaeth is lost in his shared examination of this, it starts with something innocent like an image of Hrae ticking Azaylia's side with her tail-tip. "It was nice." For what that's worth, Azaylia's low murmur seems to say. Her grip on neutrality is slipping, words soft yet bitter, "Until you think I've made a mistake, and we'll have another talk about Nabol." Despite her displeasure, she's not blaming K'zin, simply struggling with her lot in life. It's short lived, taking a slow inhale as she straightens up. "I think... we should head back." She doesn't specify that 'we', giving the bronzerider an easy out if he'd rather avoid anymore awkward conversation. The dark smoke curls in curiosity, akin to a raised brow at Rasavyth's unexpected amusement. « Physics. » Not quite a question, but it's obvious Hraedhyth doesn't get it. The queen inspects that offered image, lost by what the bronze implies, as it is so against instinct-- the queen's default language. "I didn't bring this to you because I thought you made a mistake. I'm out and about. I hear things. I meet people. I'm bringing it to you because I was asked to, and because it seemed like something you'd want to at least know about. I'm on your side, Zay. On the Weyr's side. Would you rather I not bring these things to you? Take them to someone else? Or keep them to myself? Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it." K'zin's brows lift in further question, his expression sincere. "I think we should go for a walk in the orchard. How many more nice brisk autumn days will we have before snow? And how many of them will be spent here?" He offers as an alternative that doesn't involve an abrupt end to the date he wanted to be nice. Nevermind. The sentiment is given, not because he's hiding the joke, but because it doesn't interest her, she doesn't find it funny, so he doesn't want to linger on it. Instead, Rasavyth shifts, nudging the larger gold playfully. This is a game he might regret, but he starts it anyway. It may not be a full force stare, but Azaylia's look towards K'zin is flat and contemplative. Eventually, "No. The Weyrleaders should hear about this sort of thing." Of which she is one half of, so he's not in the wrong. She doesn't leap at his offer to take a walk, contemplating it almost as long as his previous question. "If we can talk about other things." The Weyrwoman decides. Hraedhyth doesn't notice the nudge at first, still so tuned into her lifemates tumultuous emotions. When it finally registers, she lifts her head in surprise and aims a cocked head at Rasavyth-- almost coy. And then comes her retaliation, a light (for her) push against the smaller bronze. This game? She knows well. "Please." K'zin's answer to talking of other things is emphatic and sincere. He downs the remaining gulps of his cider, prompting another pucker face from quantity, but as soon as that's done he's rising, intent on holding her to the walk. "You can, for instance, tell me about the newest painted skulls you've added to your Weyr. Or about how your family is doing. Or if you've gotten to take any runner rides recently. Or-- well, just about anything else you'd like to tell me." And if she falls short, he'll have ideas, and even stories of his own to share from his 'getting to know the world' travels. And with two players, the game can't help but be fun, even if Rasavyth is a little delicate for a bronze. "Haven't really had any time to paint lately..." Azaylia trails off, doing her best not to be preoccupied but unable to completely block out what K'zin has told her. No doubt the Weyrwoman does struggle for what should be easy conversation, the bronzerider's stories helping more than anything as she only has to listen and react. The conversation will eventually ease into something resembling comfortable, but not what might have been if the talk of Ienavi hadn't happened. Be it out of distraction, or perhaps a rider's warning, Hraedhyth doesn't use her full strength to shove and jostle Rasavyth around. Still, at least one half of the bronze pair will be able to curry favor this evening. |
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