Logs:Of Frustrations
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| RL Date: 25 March, 2007 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 5, Turn 11 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 14:19 on day 28, month 5, Turn 61, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring afternoon. Weyrleader Ledges(#12138RJs) A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs. Contents: Satiet Leiventh Witless Obvious exits: Hatching Grounds Weyrwoman Weyrleader Council Chamber Bowl Despite it being a warm spring afternoon, R'hin isn't out enjoying the sunshine as he normally would. Instead, he's pacing much of the length of the ledge, that is currently plastered in maps of all sorts - fall maps, High Reaches area maps, continent maps, and even Southern maps. Little stones hold down the edges, creating a precarious path for anyone visiting the ledge. The Weyrleader, however, seems oblivious, expression distant, occasionally pacing to some particular map and staring down at it for a moment before resuming his back-and-forth. His hand occasionally lifts to rub against the stubbled regrowth on his head, an absent gesture that's replaced his former one now he no longer has the scruffy hair. With a dragon on the sands and Thread falling unexpectedly from the sky, a girl's gotta fit her daily routine wherever she can, and despite it being afternoon and the hottest part of even a Reaches' spring day, Satiet's easy jog finally brings her up the stairs to the Weyrleaders' ledge. Her easy steps aren't slowing fast enough to miss the maps, two footprints made as she skids to a displeased stop, planting two feet down. Pale eyes shoot up to find R'hin, following his occasional pace, irritated. "You have a weyr. Use it." "Not enough room," R'hin replies without looking up, oblivious to or deliberately ignoring that irritated tone. "And we need the council room free for meetings. Teonath's not using it," he adds, as if that should be argument enough. He crouches down, briefly, fingers hovering over the space where the small holding was so recently lost. Letting out an exhale, he rises, pale eyes guarded as they flicker over Satiet, taking in her form and her current post-fitness state. It's as if seeing her eases off some of the tension in him, shoulders visibly relaxing, a thin flicker of a smile appearing. "You're all sweaty," he points out, with a faint glimmer of eyes. In shorts and a sleeveless top, her hair is held in a loose ponytail, where the bottom curls cling sweatily to her back. "That's generally what happens when you exercise." Pointed that, Satiet's gaze slips deliberately to R'hin's tummy and then down to the spot he'd just so recently looked at: what once was Lotriet hold. "To get to the council room, we need to be able to walk there. With your maps in the way, it makes that task notably difficult." To further emphasize her cool rebuke, the goldrider steps further onto the map to come right up near R'hin and with her dusty bare feet, grinds her toe a little into the spot Lotriet was once. The bronzerider's lips thin notably, aware of the look, sharp tone as he responds, "Some of us haven't had the luxury of such free time," R'hin gestures without looking towards the sands, eyes narrowing at her noting of Lotriet. Striding away, he bends to pull up one of the larger maps, rolling it up with expertise. "I'll set up in one of the empty weyrs, so I don't bother you... -Weyrwoman-. Maybe Jorea's," there's recrimination in his voice, but it's self-directed. There's many things Satiet does well, but comfort isn't one of them, even when it surges indescribably to her pale eyes. Standing above the ruins of Lotriet, the goldrider's hands rise to rest at her hips, watchful of the Weyrleader's actions and the precise way in which the first map is rolled up. "Good," is what she says in lieu of comfort, a flush of color rising at the unintended slap of Jorea's name. Her lower lip disappears behind teeth, bit down on visibly, then when she speaks, the cool voice aims for careless and misses her mark: "You can set them up in my weyr. In the back. On the floor." "Good," he echoes her, without looking, tying up the first map and bending to pick up the next, scattering the stones that held them in place across the ledge. R'hin straightens slowly at the goldrider's next words, guarded pale eyes flickering over her as if judging the measure and meaning of her words. "I think not. You'll only trip over them and get all... whatever, again," a dismissive flick of her hand, cool to meet her apparent coolness, and swiftly followed up by attack: "Perhaps I'll ask the visiting goldrider to help me." Slapped again, the weyrwoman's sharp face twists petulantly, no immediate words fired back. Instead, Satiet regards R'hin, pale eyes lacking angry fire and suddenly tired. "You go do that. Perhaps you'll find a new weyrwoman more to your liking to replace me with, sir. Whatever." A slim hand lifts, 'talk to the hand', as she steps across the map her feet have claimed, Lotriet and all, to walk towards her weyr. Oblivious or uncaring of her change in mood, R'hin remains cool in turn, "An interesting proposition, Weyrwoman. I shall share it with her and let her know of your approval." No such facade of gentlemanly gestures are forthcoming; he doesn't seek to stay her retreat, occupied with the menial task of collecting the maps one by one. And retreat she does, quiet except the audibly wearied exhalation that echoes just prior to her disappearance into her massive weyr. |
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