Logs:Red-Blooded Bronzeriders
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| RL Date: 21 September, 2014 |
| Who: Ashe, H'vier, K'zin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ashe meets some bronzeriders. |
| Where: Living Caverns, HRW |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Elise/Mentions |
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| It's only a little bit cold today, the warm sunshine balancing out the approaching winter chill. "And then I spent the next two hours looking for his spectacles for him and...," Ashe halts her rather animated explanation with a shrug and lame laugh, "I guess... it was one of those you have to be there moments." The two apprentices she sits with give each other looks and make some excuses to leave; they //are// done with their food. Alone now, at a table in one of those nooks, Ashe plays hockey with the hamburger patty half eaten on her plate and her fork and knife. It's not that often that H'vier haunts the living caverns. But there's food, and there are fewer spies to make his ex's life more miserable by telling her every time he looks at or speaks to another woman. With a plate of food, the bronzerider helps himself to the seat across from the lone woman. "You look like you need company." And he obviously assumes that he's the person that ought to be giving it to her. The burger hockey pauses, Ashe looking up slowly, climbing up, up, and more up until H'vier's face is spied out. A warm smile lights up her face. "If you're offering to provide company and not mind some of my prattle, you're more than welcome to." In conjunction, the knife and fork make an arrow to point out the seat he's already taking. "I'm Ashe and, if you can't tell by the way I'm being ostracized, I was just posted here." Her intonation is lightly jocular, filled with a breezy confidence that belies the content of her words. Acceptance is always preferable to getting all uppity and bent out of shape when he pulls this sort of thing with other woman. So H'vier settles in with a grin pulling at his lips, putting his plate down and glancing at hers. "I do not, indeed, mind some prattling." Which might be a lie, but he's a very good liar. "H'vier. And I'm sure I'm not the first to welcome you to the Reaches, but I'll be the next. Welcome. Where are you here from?" Ashe considers, her head starting to shake, "No. No. I think you might actually be the first. I mean, other than the assistant Headwoman who showed me the dorms and wouldn't really hear of why I should merit my own room." Clearly, oh so clearly, Ashe does not consider //that// a proper welcome. "Starsmiths at Telgar by way of Lewis Hold somewhere here. North I think? Geography was never my strong suit. And H'vier?" She repeats his name, tripping over the double consonantish sound. "Dragonrider? Or someone whose parents just liked the unusual?" For his part, H'vier seems to know exactly where she's talking about, vaguely, and probably unconsciously, gesturing in a particular direction before his focus comes back fully on her. "Starsmith. Interesting." That's even genuine and not just polite. And then, sounding more amused, "What's unusual about my name? But, yes, dragonrider. Bronze Reisoth's." "The way you say it, it almost sounds like there's no vowel in between. Can you imagine someone named Hvier?" No? Neither can Ashe; or that's how she assumes at any rate with an indulgent half-smile of knowing for the bronzerider. "Reisoth. That's a lovely name. Please let him know I think so." The young woman leans forward in her seat to observe H'vier more closely, not bothering to hide her study or her subsequent open admiration. "Tell me about yourself." "I was originally Havier. Is that better? And I can assure you that he's very fond of his name. He'd like me to point out that he chose it, after all, so there's no reason he shouldn't know that it's nice." Where some riders tend to look fond about their lifemates, H'vier rolls his eyes. The pair are sitting at a table in one of the cavern's various nooks, the bronzerider working on starting his plate of food. "That's kind of... broad. I'm the acting Wingleader of Iceberg. I transferred here from Ista Weyr about five turns ago. Reisoth sired a clutch recently. And I intend on being Weyrleader the next time our lovely senior rises." He watches her while he lists off these various things, clearly not a man that doesn't enjoy talking about himself. Ashe looks appropriately impressed. She might even be sincere about it. "Really? Do you think he has a shot? It fascinates me how the Weyrs decide leadership. And from Ista?" The mention of the tropical Weyr makes the crafter draw her shawl over her shoulders a little more cozily. "Why would you transfer? Unless," she smiles that half-smile again, that expression that's sort of knowing and teasing all at once, "It's a secret not meant for pretty girls to overhear." There's a second layer over that 'Really', the same word repeated in nearly the same timing, just before K'zin's plate filled to the toppling point with food is sliding onto the table beside Ashe and he's inviting himself to a chair. It's not that he couldn't have been noticed approaching, but the living cavern is a busy place after all. His "Really?" is bemused, "I'd say Rasavyth intends to give Reisoth a run for his marks, if the other dragons don't beat them to it." He relates as he sits. "H'vier," he greets the man politely, and then flashes a charming smile to the young woman. Charming bronzeriders everywhere! "Hello." The arrival of the other bronzerider draws H'vier's attention in a way that is difficult to accurately read. His grin doesn't entirely drop into a frown, but it does fade. "K'zin," he says before assuring Ashe, "Of course he has a shot. More than Rasavyth, certainly. That one will probably cripple himself again trying to catch Hraedyth." Wait, that actually doesn't sound like a bad idea. "It wasn't a voluntary transfer," he adds in regards to Ista, some of his smile returning as if to say it doesn't bother him too much now. "I enjoy mysteries," says Ashe, her body leaning to aside that to H'vier with a lopsided grin, before slipping her gaze up to K'zin appreciatively, and then down as he takes a seat. "And here I thought I'd be all alone on my first lunch at the Reaches, but look, front row seats in seeing two bronzeriders argue over the theoretical winning of a senior queen's flight." The tease of her voice lifts into light laughter and she waves her fork, even if she hasn't eaten a bite in quite a while now, "Tell me about how that even works. It seems... like it would be complete chaos any time the queen was caught by someone else." "Does Hraedhyth affectionately lick Reisoth?" K'zin challenges the other bronzerider with a grin, as if this is something to brag about, though it would seem to indicate some sort of added advantage, perhaps, even if Rasavyth hasn't been licked in a very long time and even if other dragons most certainly have had the pleasure of her aggressive affections. "If I recall correctly, they're both even in terms of clutchsiring. And Rasavyth's had a gold." Which Reisoth's did not. But who's counting? It's clear from the delivery and the tone that K'zin is enjoying taunting the older bronzerider just a little bit. But that's not as fun as making a new acquaintance. "Welcome to 'Reaches." Maybe K'zin doesn't enjoy mysteries because he asks, "And what pretty name goes with your pretty face?" He's probably schmoozing but there's a sort of earnestness to the grin he gives her that too-well mimics the one she gave H'vier moments before. Apparently, he'll let H'vier explain the mechanics, commenting only, "It's really only chaos when a foreigner wins a senior flight. Or when there's a coup. Like with Monaco." Or so the rumors go. Then he's tucking into his plate with enthusiasm and less than perfect table manners. "Chaos is a strong word. Sometimes someone young gets the knot and there can be growing pains. Foreigners, too, can be complicated. But when an experienced, qualified bronzerider becomes Weyrleader, there's little change in the way the Weyr functions. Especially if it functions well enough to begin with." It's only once H'vier has offered his take that he glances at K'zin to point out, "It makes sense that Hraedhyth would be affectionate with her children. I wouldn't consider that an advantage for her letting him fuck her." As for Rasavyth siring a gold, H'vier only adds, "For another Weyr." Which is hardly an accomplishment, as far as he's concerned. Her name can wait both riders give their takes on the situation of chaos. "Sort of like when an betrothal falls apart. Complicated and with growing pains." Though, no, not really, and even if she might be aware that the two situations are hardly //that// similar, Ashe's coloring darkens briefly. A sharp shake of her head finds first H'vier and then K'zin. To tell her name, or not to tell her name? This is the new, very welcome, dilemma that wars on Ashe's pretty face, quirking her pursed lips from side to side and bringing a sing song lilt to the this tip, that tip tilt of her head. "If you can guess it, I'll owe you a drink later. If you can't, I get to eat your fried potato sticks. Oh, and you owe me a ride on your dragon." "Better than none at all, ever." K'zin quips back to the other bronzerider, but now, presented with this deal, he seems ready enough to stop the absurd but probably fairly routine measuring contest. He eyes the fried potato sticks like they're worth more than marks to him, but after a moment, he's agreeing. "Deal. Do I get help? What if he guesses it first?" He nods toward H'vier, assuming the bigger man hasn't already been told. And then he has another question as one of her comments penetrates his no doubt thick skull. "Do betrothals fall apart like -- I don't follow." The comparison and he lets his puzzled look fall on each in turn; someone help the dimglow out? "It's Ashe," says H'vier. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be part of that little game, or maybe she's already forgotten that she told him her name when he sat down. But he's sure as hell not going to let K'zin win anything in his presence if he can help it. Mention of betrothals don't seem to be making him any happier than the other bronzerider being here at all, so the older man falls silent to work through some of his food now that he's ruined any fun that might have been had. "Aww, spoil sport!" Ashe feigns a pout in H'vier's direction. "For that, you owe me a ride on //your// dragon! And no, no buts, ifs, whats. I insist." And when Ashe insists, apparently it is law. The young starsmith reaches across to yoink a fry or two off of H'vier's plate. "And that, as tax for spoiling my fun. The dimglow doesn't receive any clarification. He is, however, the recipient of a long suffering sigh, not that she's known either of them longer than ten minutes max. "Is he //always// like that?" K'zin affects a similar moue for H'vier and rolls his eyes. "You can have a ride on my dragon at any rate, in addition to the one you'll get from him." So generous! But he doesn't offer any fries. There are lines! "Maybe I can guess what brings you to the Weyr instead," the younger, clearly more fun bronzerider offers as an alternative. "And if I do, you'll let me take you on a tour of the Weyr." His look to H'vier is a long one. Long, and intense as his dark gaze crawls across H'vier's face and visible body. Then at last, the answer comes, "To tell you the truth, I don't know him so well as the rumors about him. But the rumors say he likes a good time as much as the next red-blooded bronzerider." That smile directed at H'vier has some unspoken amusement to it. The former Istan doesn't seem to mind food being stolen from his plate too terribly. It could be he's grown accustomed to it and barely notices. "I would love to give you a ride on my dragon." But there's a slight possibility that they're not talking about the same dragon here. Which is only coincidentally well-timed with K'zin's comment about the sort of man that he is. Which is not a comment H'vier seems to enjoy hearing coming out of the other man's mouth, judging by the only moderately murderous look he gives him. This time, anyway, he doesn't tell K'zin everything he knows about the girl. "Excellent!" If Ashe garners any hidden, or not so hidden, innuendo there, she is not fazed. "I love rumors and I love red-blooded bronzeriders, all two of you I've met and know." She filches a few more fries for the road and gets up. "Now, I've got to go see an old man about some spectacles so I'll leave you two to sit here and carry on your dick war." The pleasantly sweet voice that says such vulgar language is so contradictory, but oh so cute. "If you can find where I sleep, K'zin, I'm all yours for that tour. Ta~!" "I'll do that," The younger man answers the girl's challenge, grinning after her before looking back to the other man. K'zin gets his intelligent moment of the day when he only smiles at H'vier after the girl's 'dick war' comment. Now that there's no pretty girls to show off in front of, he's leaning back in his chair and reaching for his cup. "So. How's things?" So mundane, and yet... does it mean more than that? H'vier ignores the smiling. Mostly because he's doing his best to pay no attention to the other bronzerider at all once Ashe has left them alone. "You can leave now," he finally tells K'zin, rather than answering the simple question. He might even look less comfortable now that there's no oblivious buffer between them to hold the younger man at bay. That comment has K'zin arching a single brow in greater amusement. Then he's leaning forward and murmuring quietly, "For a guy who wants me to keep my mouth shut, you're not very smart." Then he's sitting back, smiling pleasantly. "And you wouldn't want me adding to the rumors about you, right?" The very different sort of rumors than what K'zin would offer. "So, play nice, H'vier." It's a threat and it isn't. "I was just asking how things were going. If you don't want to talk, fine. But we talked well enough," if certainly not intimately, "before, and there's no need to be an asshole about it." H'vier looks at K'zin, very much wanting to say something unpleasant, but very obviously holding his tongue. He's smart enough to know when his hand is not as good as the other around the table. "Things are fine," he finally says, not sounding happy about having to play along even that much. Or maybe it's something even more than that. Whatever the case, H'vier has apparently lost his appetite and he's gathering up his plate as he starts to stand. At least K'zin doesn't seem inclined to press for more, or to follow. Instead, he offers pleasantly, "Have a good day, H'vier," and turns his attention back to his food. Was that so painful? H'vier makes a sound as he leaves. Whether that's supposed to be his own echo of the same sentiment or blowing off K'zin's entirely is less obvious. But at least he doesn't do anything to make either of them start a scene. And that's what's really important. |
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