Logs:Nabol By Night
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| RL Date: 27 September, 2014 |
| Who: R'hin, Rh'mis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two riders, at Nabol, in the rain. |
| Where: Orchard Gazebo, Nabol Hold |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions, Ustelan/Mentions |
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| Orchard Gazebo, Nabol Hold Built of sturdy wood on a brick foundation and painted white, this idyllic location is centered in the middle of Nabol's expansive orchards. Ivy climbs from the ground across the trellised sides to wind about the eight columns that support the circular roof. In the spring and summer, white and pink flowers drape off the eaves and match the spring green and yellow cushions that line the benches along the outer half-wall of the gazebo. Occasionally threatening to turn to snow, a bitterly cold rain falls almost without a break from sunrise to sunset. It's not a super pleasant night to be out and about, and while it isn't snowing, it is raining and cold, and generally the sort of weather one might be more inclined to be indoors for. And yet... « Rosvelth. » The icy touches of Leiventh's winter winds are familiar, in asmuch as the reminiscence of Reaches' winds are familiar. « There is a good place for yours to weather the rain. » A fleeting image of the orchard's gazebo, and an occupant inside. The bronze is unbothered by the weather, since the rain slides off hide, only the glimmering of his eyes showing his position near the orchard. « He knows it, » answers Rosvelth, surprised by Leiventh's touch, but not disinterested. He cares not about the rain or the cold; this is the kind of night one should be embracing, wholeheartedly, with likeminded peers. For stories! (Pity the watchdragon.) Rhey is, perhaps unsurprisingly, less prompt with his reply. It's a good ten - probably more like fifteen - minutes before the young man is abruptly, and silently, hovering at the edge of the gazebo. There's something easier about the line of his shoulders, here; here, far more than at the Weyr. R'hin doesn't seem to mind the wait. In fact, he has a bottle of Nabolese apple brandy to keep him company. Two, in fact -- the second untouched, seated on the bench not far from him. "You seem more comfortable here. Like this is more... home." It's an observation, but one with an air of expectation, if the curious rest of pale eyes on the brownrider is any indication. "Always has been," answers the brownrider with a diffident shrug, though he manages not to gain the defensiveness that so often characterises his answers. Drenched, his hair pulled low over his eyes, his jacket hugged about his thin body, Rhey leans up against the rail, watching R'hin in a speculative manner. "Even when that bastard took hold." "Even with Rosvelth?" There's no judgement, merely curiosity in the Savannah rider's question. "Holders come and go. Clearly," R'hin gestures towards Rh'mis, taking in his drenched nature, "Hold politics still interests you. Drink?" he invites, with a nod towards the other bottle. His, he takes a deep drought of. Rh'mis' shrug is the only answer he offers to that question, though perhaps Leiventh will hear - or rather: feel - Rosvelth's sigh. There's a pause before he steps forward to take the bottle, though it gets held between his hands rather than opened, or drunk from. Those blue eyes consider R'hin warily. "Used to be, I could do things for Nabol. Can't hurt to keep an eye on it. It's interesting." "It is," R'hin agrees. Interesting, presumably. "But I doubt Tevrane would be interested. Not after--" he stops, tilts his head, considering. He doesn't name Rone, but then -- does he need to? "Maybe there's still things you could do. I've heard good things about you." "Ustelan wasn't either. Never stopped--" Rh'mis stops short of actually outlining his former operations, and goes, instead, to shrug. This time, he opens the bottle and takes a sip. Much more cautious, though, is his: "Like what?" When Rh'mis finally takes a sip of his bottle, R'hin echoes the gestures, by no coincidence. "That you can be surly," which isn't exactly a good thing, but is followed soon after with, "But that you're quick witted, and you made yourself useful with your... connections. There are ways to make yourself useful in the Weyr, too." There's barely a beat before he asks, "How do you like working under Fayla? H'vier?" Rhey doesn't react to the 'surly' definition, though it's not exactly something he can easily argue. For the rest, he simply shrugs again; it doesn't look as though he's thrilled by H'vier's tactics, or anything else, but he neither confirms nor denies it, not properly. "It's fine." Sure it is. "I'm sure it is. I'm also sure that's why you happen to be hanging out here at Nabol." R'hin turns his thoughtful gaze on the rain; it doesn't seem to be letting up overly much, and yet he pushes to his feet, draining his bottle. "You should come play cards with us." Us, presumably, being Savannah. "Next games in a few days." "Cards?" Rhey repeats that word, chewing over it. He's not bewildered; he's too quick for that. And yet... and yet. "Fine," he says, after a moment. "Fine. I'll play cards." Perhaps that's a glimmer of something in his eye; perhaps it's just rain, still dripping down his face. "Good," R'hin sounds pleased with that, and he gives the brownrider a nod as he zips up his jacket. "Enjoy the rest of your night." And he's off, out into the rain. It wouldn't be too much longer before Rosvelth sees Leiventh lift off at a low angle, disappearing between almost immediately. It leaves Rhey to pace the gazebo, alone. It'll be hours, yet, before he and Rosvelth return to the weyr: there's thinking to be done. |
Comments
Edyis (01:02, 28 September 2014 (EDT)) said...
Come to the dark side...
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