Logs:Out and Away
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| RL Date: 23 September, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aishani (Brieli) and N'rov go south, partially due to Iesaryth's need to get away. |
| Where: Southern Continent |
| When: Day 6, Month 11, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Lia/Mentions, Nahia/Mentions |
| The sound of the waves and the salty breezes of the ocean are never that far off, but they become more immediate and sharpen, the tide sliding in and across to touch Vhaeryth. Iesaryth is not quite /dimmed/ but there's not as much sparkle as usual; something at home is keeping her busy, draining attention and energy both again. Perhaps that's why she's so eager to /go/, to find someplace /new/, as she's been asked to pass a message along: « She says they should find a place where he can plant his trees. » Or something else, even. The gold isn't so interested in that as going, finding, flying. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It's as though those waves rush up to a thin sheet of metal in a hushed slap of sound, one that echoes as the metal shifts tinnily beneath it, and runnel back into wordless whispers that leave beads of water where they had passed. But he does have words, too: « Somewhere that is clear, » he agrees, not the dim, leaden skies. Somewhere to see forever. « Now, no, but shortly. » They have a package to deliver, a blond man with a toothbrush mustache, who smells vaguely of corrals. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) She's uncertain as the sound of waves echo off metal, the drops of water slide back to join the ocean again, but words are enough to have her agreement - clear and bright enough to see, warm enough for the air to be gentle and close. It's dim enough where she is, no rain /today/, but everything's gone grey and muddy nonetheless. « We are in no rush. » Not usually. Though there is that thread of /out/ and /away/ that remains, water seeking the path to freedom. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) « Soon, » he agrees. Soon. Dimness isn't... /necessarily/ so bad, but clearness would be better, clear skies and smooth winds and yes, out and away. Perhaps, in the meantime, she might consider a place to start. (And a quick rubbing will get the grime off him.) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Mildly curious about what tasks have him so dirty, Iesaryth can consider, can show a view of Southern Weyr from high above - it's as good a place as any, and for some reason, hers would not have them return to where she'd hatched. In the meantime, « She'll bring food. » Maybe they can find their own! (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) He doesn't break their link in the meantime, letting her perceive (if she chooses) glimpses here and there of the offloading, man and parcels. She might even pay more attention to the man's complicated herder-knot than he does. There are a few more errands to run, and he does get his promised rubdown of the places the man's touched at least. Then the towel's stowed, and a blanket, and shortly thereafter he's bringing the vision to himself and then himself to the vision so he's /there/, past /between/. And look, there's a river to trace, upstream. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) She's always /interested/, curious enough about the little details that she'll examine the man, the knot, the parcels - and sometime around the time the errands are nearing their end, they're leaving the winds of the high mountains, wet and chilly, tasting of snow, to warmer air, for all it might still be a bit damp. The lack of cold and the bright sunlight make all the difference. And when he's /there/, she picks out that river as well, swooping lower to watch the water, the riverbanks for animals drinking or otherwise. « Better. » (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It's a master's knot, and the parcels are multiple, stowed neatly enough except for the one that had poked him until he had told his rider and had it fixed. If only they did not smell, beneath the launderers' sweetsand, of prey tamer than those below. Vhaeryth would linger moodily on that thought for even longer, but it /is/ better now, as though their very travel were wiping away that scent better than any towel ever could. And better company. Though, he supposes with increasing humor that anticipates her reaction, that Iesaryth would not look so ill if she had a mustache, too. Iesaryth is sympathetic; she sometimes has to fetch and carry and deliver /still/, and smells and poking are unpleasant at best. But if he's not going to linger on that thought, why bother beyond that momentary commiseration? She enjoys his company, the shadows they make that fall on river and jungle below - and though there's a sparkle at the supposition, she does her best to be disapproving. « You always want to make me look silly. » It's not too petulant, warm enough that she doesn't seem to mind /that/ much. What can he say? It's that sparkle of hers, seeming at least a little surprised for all of that /always/, no placid status quo. /And/ focused on him: bonus. But Vhaeryth doesn't bother with words for all that, it's just a moment's intimation that she may analyze to her heart's content if she chooses, as he goes on his increasingly merry way. There are shadows to dance back and forth, after all, theirs meeting and veering away only to seemingly crash into each other, those shadows' sources saved by differences in altitude. Astride his neck, his rider glances at the angle of the shadows, up again at the sky. She's pleased for that - the invitation to analyze, and maybe a bit for that surprise still. Iesaryth's mind can work away busily beneath the waters, fish darting her and there like they might be in the river below, if shadows don't scare them into the depths. Her own shadow growing smaller as she flies a touch higher still, she can see a break in the trees and a widening of the river, a lake with grassy shores. It seems that her rider must have caught that look up skyward, for she's headed there, only mildly disappointed with having to land at all, even if there might be time to continue on after. His teasing, her surprise; his appreciation, her pleasure; his pleasure too, even as Vhaeryth keeps an offhand eye on her explorations, his metal mirroring so those fish may have a never-never land to swim through. He's indulgent enough to follow less Iesaryth herself than her shadow, staying at much the same height himself even when it gets smaller and smaller like the dragon she used to be. Even when it takes him towards the lake, even when it takes him towards a landing. Always fascinated with a reflection of her own thoughts, Iesaryth is distracted enough to make her descent a wide, shallow, lazy arc rather than anything more direct to the ground. She doesn't mind taking her time, though there is an impatience that's not entirely hers creeping around the edges. Her shadow grows again as she nears the treetops and the ground, merging with his for one last time before she'll finally set down. And Shani is most certainly the one with less patience, given how quick the weyrling is about getting down from her neck. Vhaeryth /could/ duck as she descends all but on top of him, but instead he just has a seaweed mirror of himself do it, quailing: when did /he/ become a landing pad, oh no, oh no! Such a contrast between the dragon who lounges there rather more sedately, at least until his rider gets his straps off and he can roll in the high grass like a hatchling. "Ho, the 'Reaches!" N'rov calls out, shaking out the blanket. "Do you have the dismals too?" It wasn't /that/ close, but Iesaryth still brightens for the seaweed image, then imagining a version of herself landing just /there/, though it's certainly less satisfying than a thump on the ground, even if water might go splashing all over. Aishani's looking at the blanket approvingly, something she forgets too often - or forgets that she's even brought until too late. Carrying a bulky sack in one hand, she lifts the other in greeting, and wrinkles her nose. "Yes. It's not raining. Yet. But it looks like it might. More rain there?" But it's more entertaining if it's that close: see how the water splashes, the seaweed squishes? At least, in mirror-world. Vhaeryth rolls, rolls, rolls back and forth, pausing only to arch his back so he can scoot hiself along by his neckridges, as though they were a row of curving and now somewhat grimy claws. Iesaryth could do that too, if she's not too proud. Or too clean, and never mind that under normal circumstances Vhaeryth is both. His rider finishes shaking out the blanket, but rather than laying it out on the could-be-dangerous grass, wraps the cloth over his shoulders like an oversized hood so he can head for Aishani and let the hood become a cave over them both. "Yet," he agrees. "It's all gray. I hate it. Are you warm yet?" Maybe a little bemused by the rolling in the grass, Iesaryth just watches Vhaeryth for a long moment. Before she considers it, despite it just not being her thing, despite the fact that she is, in fact clean. Her tail winds around sneakily to poke at his belly. And Shani will drop the bag to the grass in favor of sliding arms around N'rov's waist, looking up at him in the odd light of sun-through-blanket with a slow grin. "Getting there," she murmurs before going up on her toes to give him a kiss. After, "I hate when it doesn't change at all. What do you like best? Just clear skies and sun?" There's a jerky four-pawed motion, as though Vhaeryth were surprised, only then he's not /so/ surprised anymore: now he's stopped scooting and can bat at Iesaryth's tail as long as it's still in reach, his claws retracted, more of a succession of pats than anything. N'rov, now, after he's gotten his kiss, tucks the blanket down even further: as far as it can go without endangering Aishani's hair. Too much. "I like it cold and wet and rainy," he decides, "When we've gotten in just ahead of the rain, and you've beat me to bed. A nice warm bed. Of course, ask me again when it's summer." Poke poke poke. If he's going to bat at her tail like a kitten with a string, Iesaryth will keep trying to get at him, despite the fact that she's settled so comfortably now that she looks as if she's doing no such thing, or her tail is acting completely on its own. Aishani ducks in closer as N'rov pulls the blanket down further, not all that concerned about her hair at the moment. Tone amused, she has to ask, "Why did we come all this way, then? We could have been waiting for you. /Maybe/ another time." After a tragic sigh for that, "I will. How are you?" She'll check to make sure he's in one piece by running hands up and over his back. "Because... Vhaeryth doesn't get to tuck under the covers, too?" Vhaeryth, who seems to be enjoying such play as though he'd never had a care in the world, bat-bat-bat, as though he hadn't needed a good long flight and then this good not-so-long flight to clear his head. "At least, I think he doesn't," and Vhaeryth's rider's brows are wickedly arched, his eyes bright before he closes them against her back-exploration. "Ow," he interjects a couple of time, separated by, "No, there. Yes. Remind me to never sleep on Y'ral's couch again, although at least I didn't wake up with a couple brats having stolen my stuff." Or painted his face. Or put his hand in a dish of warm water. Certain, "No, he doesn't." Shani is definite on that, but her voice seems to indicate she's at least a little amused by the idea. "Unless you get a much bigger bed. And you want me to work?" Tragic again, more in expression and tone than anything else, she forebears to be a little more strategic in where her hands are, pressing on knots she finds. Iesaryth is less strategic in her poking, but she'd have to look over at Vhaeryth for that - which she eventually does. Arching her own brows, but more curiously than wickedly, she asks, "Why were you sleeping on his couch? Do I want to know?" "Fine, fine, all right. I don't think you need to know the weyrling stories, then. But I don't know about this /work/ business." Surely this isn't work? N'rov wriggles far less than his dragon does, anyway, though the muttered noises he makes are also more appreciative than playful. Not that he doesn't grimace, and not just from a particularly sore spot. "Probably not." But he'll give her some of it anyway. "My dragon wasn't disposed to move, the more so after I finished my consultation with my wingleader," the Weyrleader, "having gotten our Searching privileges revoked." "No - please do tell me stories. Especially if you want me to keep this up - I should be entertained at least." But Aishani isn't going anywhere, pressing closer to reach his shoulders. It would be easier if they were sitting, but that would mean moving out of the blanket-cave and into the sunlight. As N'rov's last begins to sink in, Iesaryth leaves off her poking for a moment, if only to move close enough to bump noses with Vhaeryth sympathetically. Then her tail is snaking through the grass again, since he's enjoying it so. Beginning to look a bit contrite, "It wasn't us being around, was it? And I'm sorry." Her arms tighten around him for a beat, and she brushes another kiss to his cheek. "When you stop being entertained by the rest, you can let me know," N'rov says somewhat wryly, and if ducking his head so she can reach his back better also means he can nibble on her collarbone, so be it. "No, no, not you." His kiss is the seal to /that/. "No, it was one of the girls who'd Stood before, the one who they thought was behind all the problems and locked up. She's been seeing a mindhealer, even... though I didn't know that then. N'muir wasn't happy. I messed up." He's, N'rov's, not happy. Vhaeryth's got different reasons not to be, but he hadn't fended off Iesaryth's nose any, and for the moment he seems content to bat at her obliging tail a couple more times before giving into a big wide yawn. Aishani can only sigh for a moment, a long slow breath at lips at her collarbone, at the kiss. When she opens dark eyes again, they're at least less guilty, but concerned. "How were you supposed to know that? Read her mind?" She's gentle with that, though - and maybe she's biased, but she has a point. Fingers now trying to relax those shoulders he's put in reach, she murmurs, "You didn't mess up. Perhaps he ought to be paying more attention to who's gotten searched, if he's going to be like that." Once Vhaeryth's done with the game and yawning, Iesaryth will shift to lean against him, content to do nothing, as usual. "I don't know. Paid more attention to what people were talking about, maybe, or asked more questions. I," and he says it carefully, but says it anyway, "can't blame him. How about you, what did you get up to? Are you just happy they /say/ queens can't, or won't?" Though he's got to glance at Iesaryth, just a dim outline through the blanket, who could be different. He sighs and kisses her rider again. "Tell me about /your/ day. We can even sit down." Though it might be a wiggly sort of descent, not letting the warm air out, unless they just rip it down like a bandage. She might be surprised at that careful admission, and it's obvious she immediately wants to argue - but something about his questions have Shani stalling her responses, pursing her lips. Her dark gaze is briefly sharper, but it mellows after the kiss. Reluctantly, "I suppose it's something to have one less thing to be blamed for." Unjustly. It's difficult to find her way to the ground still wrapped around him, but she'll manage without unwinding too much. "And she hasn't been all that interested but for abstractly. And... well." There's a little laugh before, "There was a protest. If you can believe it. She and the others had to break it up, send people back to work. She's trying to keep things... calm, but it's not easy. Not /pleasant/." He seeks to soothe her through settling, through getting solid ground under more than just their feet. "It's one thing I know I don't know enough about, Shani. That's all." Those gray eyes are warm on her, but suddenly a touch worried for her, too: had she been identifying with him, or with the girl? That's even before the... "/Protest/? Of what? Like a fight? Nobody got into it with her, did they?" N'rov even seems to have forgotten that big bag that might be food. She looses a hand to brush fingers through his hair, stroke his face lightly in her own attempt at reassurance, gaze soft. What's the girl to her in comparison, for all she might have opinions. "All right," Aishani agrees, not as reluctantly as before, but still /protective/, concerned. That fades in the wake of his questions, quickly; "No. No, of course not. They just - weren't moving from their ledges, the dragons or the riders. They... don't like Iolene." The bag isn't far off, at least, with several bulges that look like maybe-food. N'rov's expression softens, whether due to Aishani's gestures in touch and gaze in and of themselves, or that she chooses to make them (and to try to protect him, of all people!) at all. Not to mention the different sort of reassurance that's her description of the protest, during which he even eases enough to reach down and pry out an obtrusive pebble before, still looking at her rather than at it, giving it an over-the-shoulder toss before resettling. /Not/ tossed in the direction of their slothful dragons, nor the bag with its maybe-food, maybe-severed heads (or maybe those are for the next protest). "Was it raining?" he asks. Half-seriously, "If so, that's real commitment. Unless they sat under overhangs, I suppose." There's a moment where Aishani just looks back at N'rov, the way his expression shifts, with such warmth - and she seems about to speak, but something uncertain flickers in brown eyes before she looks away, catches his hand to lift it for a kiss - once that pebble is taken care of. There's a laugh for the question against his skin; with a shake of her head, "Not that day. But I would have liked to see how long it lasted if it did. If they do it again in the snow, I'll be really impressed." It's a good thing nothing is headed the dragons' way, because Iesaryth is surely dozing or thinking - same difference. And any heads the bag might hold would be small. "It depended on the ledge? I'm not really sure of the thought behind it, but I have suspicions." His fingers curl about hers. He may see, but about this he doesn't ask. At least, not yet. "As would I. I'm interested in what you..." N'rov pauses, though not for long. "Make of it. And what's the point, anyhow? I've never heard of something like that before. Anyone can sit on their duff and pretend it means something." He side-eyes Iesaryth. "Is she still working?" There's a squeeze of those fingers, perhaps grateful, not too brief before she's running that hand up his arm, her arm about his neck. Sliding into his lap if she can manage it, Shani rests her head on his shoulder rather than look up at him just yet. "I'd considered that. That most of the ones who bothered might have been just going along with it for something - or nothing - to do. And I hadn't heard of it either, but..." She shrugs. "Would it wind up in the records? I wonder." Lifting her chin enough to glance the gold's way, "Not really, not now. I think she's glad to be out of it." She's welcome to do that, and they've been together long enough that N'rov doesn't count it a risk of interruption to first pluck out another too-sharp rock and toss it out from under the blanket towards its predecessor, nor does he hesitate in splaying out his legs to make sitting easier. He opens up the blanket while he's at it, for a little more oxygen but to see her better too, all these preparations easy and simple so she can make herself at home. "The Records if anywhere, I'd think," N'rov supposes. "Even if they're just the harpers'. But I'm glad she's not, glad she's getting a break." Glad she's not working on Vhaeryth too, or at least not overtly, for his pride's sake: she shouldn't have to visit and work some more. Surely play is only play... "Do you have an idea as to what they wanted, the ones that weren't just going along?" Of course she's first concerned about her hair when it's time to come out from under the blanket a little; Shani's already combing long fingers through her curls. Content despite potentially having something out of place, she tilts a look up at him, wondering, "Do you think, even there? I don't imagine anyone would want to spread that idea around. And I am too, honestly. I think too much conflict bothers her - it's not really /her/." There might be a thread of guilt there in her tone, as if she might be responsible. As for what they want, she sighs. "Apparently, they're against Iolene. And from what I hear, her line - which would include Azaylia, I suppose." And it's possible Vhaeryth isn't /work/ for Iesaryth, as difficult as that might be to imagine at times. So difficult! Along that vein: "Harpers are nosy bastards," N'rov says with the perfect confidence of someone who's been told that from the cradle and has, moreover, personally found it to be true. Plus, "I wanted to be one, once upon a time. Of course, I wanted to be a trader, too," and something about the curve of his mouth suggests that he finds this all too funny, for all that he doesn't linger. "They just have to be the Records that only the most trusted would get to see. But, all right, against Iolene: what are they /for/? What do they want to make happen? It seems a little more than a kid sticking his tongue out." The smile hasn't lingered, not with the other notions, the conflict and the guilt and the clutchmate. There's something she can't argue, and something she can; "They might be that... And somehow, I don't doubt either..." Shani has to quirk a bit of a smile for that herself, for all the situation is entirely too serious. "But anyway, why even risk putting the idea-- never mind." Apparently realizing that's not the /point/, she gets to it; "I /heard/ something about making some sort of break, so I would guess that they'd like to depose her. I can't think of a reason..." A beat. "Of a reason that anyone would know of to think they could." There's a purse of lips before, "This is not bad for me, but it is for them." Thus the odd flat tone - who knew that would bother her? Perhaps it's idly watching the hair-combing that leads to N'rov's noticing the sack, and then reaching out one-armed to haul it in since Shani's never-minding anyway. "/Depose/ her. It took a Weyrleader and a Weyr Council to kick out the old one." He slides a careful glance her way at the mention of that reason they wouldn't know, and just as carefully doesn't ask. Rather, "What will it do to them?" It's important enough that, in watching what she makes of it, he doesn't even dig into the possible-food. Yet. The sack isn't all that heavy, thankfully for one-armed dragging. Heavy enough for food, definitely. Drawing fine brows together, expression conflicted, Aishani agrees, "It doesn't seem like it'll be-- 'that easy' is the wrong way to put it, but... I can't see it happening again. I don't think anyone expected how that would go over." She might notice that careful glance of N'rov's, and there's the briefest apologetic look before, "I don't know. Nothing good. People will say things. Come to talk to me, I imagine. Maybe Azaylia won't hear it right off." That's not very hopeful. N'rov's got to nod. Only, curiosity hooks him: "What do you think she'd do? What would... what /is/, I suppose, Iolene doing? Just waiting them out?" /Now/ he'll go rummaging in the sack if she doesn't stop him, after a tug so it can wind up on her lap where they can both dig in. His voice lowers meanwhile. "At least Hattie and N'muir seem solid enough, though... maybe that's what got said about the 'Reaches before, too." Would it be wise to try to stop him from getting at food? Likely not - there's the usual sorts of things in the bag, if one were to go to the kitchens and demand lunch on short notice. Fruit, cheese, rolls, etcetera - plus a small velvet bag. "Azaylia? She'd likely be upset. Both she and Hraedhyth. And... I actually don't know /what/ Iolene is doing." Shani is a little disturbed by that, enough to ignore the sack for the time being. "Waiting it out, maybe. I'm not even sure what their specific issue is. It could be where she's from as easily as anything else." There's a twist of her lips for his last, as quietly noting, "I can't see that. I get the impression they never got along." The velvet bag doesn't get nibbled on, or even opened, though his hand does linger on it for an extra moment. Rather, N'rov busies himself in ripping the rolls in half, touching them as little as possible for all that his hands should be pretty clean, so he can stick cheese inside and hand one to Shani, first: ignore that! He glances at Vhaeryth before commenting, "From what little I know of her, Hraedhyth doesn't seem to be inclined to just sit there, spinning her wheels. I hope that doesn't make things worse. It sounds even more annoying that those people won't explain their issue, like kids pouting to try and get you to beg what's wrong." It's about twice the size of a deck of cards, metallic, heavy. And Shani can't easily ignore a sandwich handed her way; she takes it with a slight smile that's fond and resigned all at once. /Fine/. After she's done with a bite from the roll, "No, she's not. And I... I don't know if there's any way to make things worse with Hraedhyth. I think people have more or less decided on her already." Following his gaze over to the dragons, not quite reluctantly, but close: "It could be her ideas. About giving people more say. It might be that they're getting around, and people don't like it." /Might/ be? Her tone seems fairly convinced. "That sounds almost freeing," N'rov says as he makes his own, gray eyes dropped to his task for all that they can't help but lift towards her expression now and again, glancing impressions of the tilt of her cheekbone or of one brown eye. "Not having to be obliged to be mama's good girl... I suppose that's the thing about giving people more of a say, though. They don't have to say they like what you're doing, and they don't have to be grateful." No statues to Iolene the Liberator, or at least not yet. Wrinkling her nose, "You'd think it might be. But she's always so worried about if she's done something wrong, or if Hraedhyth has. It's... not /irritating/, but..." Aishani /looks/ a bit irritated even so, but less at the person in question, and more at the concern. There's a little laugh for his last, and she nods, glancing back his way. Wryly, "That's true enough. I certainly found that." With her own blood, what's more. Picking bits off the roll, she slants another look up at him, asking, "If you were me, what would you do? Take advantage, or..." Whatever else. "It /sounds/ irritating," N'rov says, his tone edging on teasing. "But maybe you're just better than that... if I were you? I'd rub my shoulders again," claiming this after he's had time to think about it, or at least to eat half of his roll. Beyond that, his eyes narrow slightly, his meal let slip in favor of the distant hills. "This is before I talked to anyone for advice, right? I'd pick somebody I could talk to, pull them out or drop by, ask /what/ is going on." Though he's still profiled, one gray eye swivels to see what she makes of it. "That's the reasonable version." "I just wish she'd defend herself the way she does people who are less deserving, I suppose. And of course you would." Shani is skeptical of that particular answer, but does little but give N'rov a bit of the side-eye, finally eating some more of her roll rather than just poking at it. But she'll watch him with undisguised interest as his attention shifts into the distance, curious. Thoughtful, "There's a few people. Someone Azaylia impressed with. Maybe... an apprentice. A harper apprentice though, so obviously she can't be trusted." Grinning a touch for that, she has to ask, "What's the less reasonable version? Unreasonable?" Azaylia's defending herself: that got a smile that lifts to expose his canines for a moment. Agreement, then. "If she's an apprentice, she might find out something interesting. If she gets caught, well, you could say she didn't deserve to be an apprentice." Would N'rov say that? Well. "Unreasonable: anywhere from sitting on them to dawn sweeps to yanking their knots. Though it's harder, with the dragons and all," still somewhat foreign to this holder lad, and well does he know it. "And then there's throwing a party at the /other/ end of the Bowl and see who's paying attention to them then." She likes that smile - enough to return it briefly, even if his reasons for it might be a little different. And Shani might arch fine brows in brief surprise, but: "Good point. It's less the Harpers that are an issue than her family, I think. So it's not as if it would really put her career--" Such as it is. "In danger." Family might be a different matter, but it's less her concern. So much so that she'll even finish her roll, brushing hands off over the grass, not the blanket. "Some of that has gone on - the Wingleaders are handling it. Though I think the party idea is worth considering. If only to have a party. It could be at Azaylia's again." Not /her/ place, but that goes without saying. "Then if it's her family, drop her off in some other Lord's territory, some other Weyr's, even. With a reference, if she was worth it." N'rov, disposer of people, eater of rolls. Now, he's disposed to lean back against blanket and grass, conveniently the un-crumbed grass, though he doesn't go so far as to dislodge Shani from his lap. He can eye the sky, now, and perhaps an odd curl if the breeze wafts it over his field of vision. "That's one way to win friends, for her at least." Evidently they're in agreement about not using her place, but it seems that goes without saying too. It's longer before he asks, and always it's with care, "Did they treat your family as though they were Holdless?" Aishani has to laugh again, grinning as she shakes her head. "Apparently, I should ask you this sort of thing more often?" As he leans back, she shifts - not quite off him so much as against him, stretching out as well, though she'll lean on one elbow, glossy curls falling around them both, finally nearly where they were in the /first place/ before Meara and her shears. "Mm. Maybe that's enough to convince her to do it again. Friends." The question, even careful, has her sobering some, eyes darker and far off. Hesitant, wanting to get it right, "There was some sort of agreement - with my family and the Weyr - that went wrong. And there was an attempt to settle things, make them right - but I don't know much about how. Likely not completely above board. I don't think they always did. But after... it's about the same difference, isn't it?" N'rov crooks his arms behind him for a pillow, the better to smile up into the shadow Shani casts, at least until she speaks of going wrong... of /after/. "My parents raised me to respect traders, to appreciate them, for all that they warned me to be careful in my dealings. So did my fosterers, although I suspect they might draw a different line between 'real traders' and those they felt only used that name." His voice has a musing quality when he responds to her question, less resonant if only because she's still somewhat atop his ribs. "Holdless weren't allowed to linger along their lands, I don't think, unless perhaps more strong backs were needed for harvest. Understand that much of this wasn't instructed in so many words, only... it's the way things were." With her own faint smile, "Real traders. I don't know what anyone would have taken us as, then. And no one much wanted to talk about it, not to me." It's likely not a shock, that Shani's clan might want to forget about what had happened, or cease to talk about it. Not pleasant thoughts. Free hand lifting to run fingers through his curls, she's as thoughtful, not offended. "It's not the first time I've heard any of this. The way things are - or were - and what we'd want them to be aren't exactly the same thing. I'm sure there's reasons for prejudice, but..." That's what it is. "That's part of the issue with Iolene, I think. Exiled for whatever reason is still - exiled." N'rov holds enjoyably still, as though her fingers might be pins to secure him to the earth. "Even though she's been brought back," he more supposes than asks. "Even though it wasn't she, herself, who was exiled. And yet, she could come back. It's not like how they talked about Pass, where if you didn't have a roof over your head," and here he catches himself and stops. "I shouldn't stay out so much longer, and I don't know that this is pleasant for you. Any luck on the 'timing' front?" It's rueful. "Isn't it all odd? How that sort of thing sticks. Even if it's not really you, or your fault." It's not till after Aishani says it that she realizes the irony in saying it, in who she's saying it to. Quirking a wry little smile, her fingers still stroking his hair - as if she's ever able to stop that easily - "I don't mind, really. I'd rather tell you about it than anyone else." Who else can she tell other than N'rov anyway? And regretful, "Not much yet. Well, there's discussion of it, but not much on the details. Iesaryth..." She sneaks a look the gold's way before, "She thinks it's not difficult. But I don't know if that's her or her overconfidence." "I won't ask who else you'd tell," N'rov murmurs after she realizes, after she smiles, after a fleeting smile of his own. "I'd say it's the sort of thing I'd rather have details for, but you know that, I think. She won't up and try it on her own, will she?" He shifts, slightly, as though something tickles, as though some many-legged creature might be crawling up into his ear and her fingers were his only protection. "Sometimes... sometimes I feel a little bad for not... For not being who I am with people that think they know me. And sometimes, I like that only you know." There might be times where Aishani wishes N'rov didn't know, but that's not in her eyes or expression now - particularly when she leans in for a kiss. With that shift, her fingers are still deep in his curls, palm resting over his ear, on his cheek. "I'd rather have details myself, yes. And I doubt it." There's only the faintest concern there, but it passes soon enough, in favor of; "I have something for you. It's a month late, but it's your fault." And she'll find the velvet bag - inside is a nice brushed-steel flask, filled /of course/, engraved with his initial on the top. She doesn't seem to think it's the /best/ gift in the world, but that's just anxious second-guessing. After that, she's content to turn to lighter topics or be distracted entirely from talking at all until he has to go. "I can imagine," and there's a certain empathy through N'rov's voice, that she can't just imagine and be done. Though, "I do like sharing your secret," in case she has doubts, in case she likes to hear it, and also because he likes to say it. Kisses are good, and if he's reluctant to move on to unwrapping (the flask), it meets with its own appreciation and a share of sips, and reassurance right along with them. And while they don't get their not-desert not-island for much longer, there's a point where he looks around and just /grins/ at her. "The Southern /Continent/, Shani." Who'd have imagined this? Certainly not Aishani, not in her lifetime. And though there's usually a little dark cloud that follows her around, for that moment, she can let N'rov's enthusiasm catch, and grin in return. There's that look of hers again, warm and fond - but this time, she doesn't seem to want to speak. It's likely all there in her face, in her eyes anyway. "I know," she murmurs, letting that sink in. And letting that take the front seat for the rest of their time there, rather than her plots and politics. |
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