Logs:No Neat Bow
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| RL Date: 15 May, 2015 |
| Who: Lilah, R'hin |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lilah has hopes of answers, R'hin doesn't give any. |
| Where: Telgar Hold, Telgar Area |
| When: Day 20, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions |
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| The Telgar gather isn't overly tempered by the rain -- the locals, at least, are used to it this time of Turn, and the snows haven't yet started, a fact that seems to have brought out many a visitor. Foreigners, too, have shown up, with a variety of dragons from different Weyrs perched on the heights of the Hold. The bulk of them are Telgarians, Leiventh holding himself somewhat aloof from them, statuesque. Only a few are game to tempt the dance floor, despite the enthusiastic playing of the harpers; under the big canopy there are tables and chairs where many gather to sit and talk; R'hin is amongst them, seated with what looks like a handful of Telgarian riders, a bottle of something dark on the table and a smattering of glasses. Whatever the conversation is is kept in low voices, punctuated by one of them gesturing to the bottle and all drinking together in turn. Eliyaveith is displeased to be dragged away from her Weyr, to leave it even for an evening at her rider's insistence, and that much is obvious from the moment she lands far enough away to let Lilah dismount. When her rider has stepped away, she launches herself into the air to find the highest point for herself as she can, though most of the good spots must already be taken, only settling in with one directed look that may be a challenge or a glare (or both) towards where Leiventh holds himself apart. Below, there is a purpose that keeps the goldrider slipping through the crowds to that gather tent, her riding jacket drawn tightly around herself with fists bunched in dark leathers, the flowy, sage green skirt that is so familiar below. She stops at the edges nearby, watching R'hin and his table in unconscious mimic of her dragon. If Leiventh is aware of the gold's arrival, or the attention given him, it doesn't stir him physically; he is mentally absent from the exchanges of the Telgarian contingent, still enough that one might mistake his posture for sleeping, if it weren't for the barest gleam of eyes visible. At the table, there's more exchanges, and another round of drinks -- and one of the Telgarians notices Lilah staring in their direction. Laughingly, the man nudges the Reachian, who glances over his shoulder. There's something there, all right -- a twitch, a narrowing of gaze -- before R'hin turns back to the group. Dropping a mark piece down, he claps the shoulder of the rider nearest him as he rises, before striding directly for Lilah, expression fixed, hard. In the time it takes for R'hin to turn back to the group, Lilah draws in a slow, bracing breath, drawing straighter in the face of that narrowed gaze. Her fingers fall from where she clutches her riding jacket, letting them fall to her sides as she prepares herself. Whether she rehearsed or not, the first greeting that comes is a seeking, "Wingleader." And in answer, there's a snort, and a familiar hand tucking into the curve of her elbow to pull her along with his step. "What are you doing here?" is all R'hin asks, as he seeks to direct them away from the more populated tables. Here, as in the gather, or here, as in staring at him, isn't made clear. "I decided that I do not agree with the way we ended things," Lilah replies carefully, this answer surely rehearsed even as she allows him to direct her away from the crowd. "If you want to get rid of me, I at least deserve answers and a reason." The noise R'hin makes in response is wordless. Not quite a growl, but certainly not happy with her answer, either. He keeps them moving, out into the rain that others hurry through. With his hand on her elbow, there, there is no way for Lilah to huddle away from the rain, but the rain doesn't seem to bother her at the moment. Instead, she watches him, glancing only briefly to where they are going and paying attention as needed to her steps, though mostly seeming to wait on R'hin to be ready to talk. In silence, then, they pass stall after stall; children's toys, steaming bubbly pies, pretty metalwork, before R'hin finally takes them into the shelter of a tent, flagged on the outside with Weavercraft's thimble and thread. He releases her elbow almost immediately, and when the weaver Journeywoman pokes her head through the door, the bronzerider murmurs, "Something dark, for the lady," before pacing over to the other side of the space. "R'hin," is a firm thing, only after the bronzerider starts pacing. It's apparent that Lilah's patience is frayed by the relocation, by their destination, by even just that vague sentence to the weaver. "I didn't come here for this. I want you to talk to me," she continues, dark eyes narrowing on him now. "And what I want should matter, just this once." A long pause. "It doesn't," he says, evenly. Silence meets that even response, the flash of annoyance in the look that Lilah keeps level on the bronzerider. But when Lilah speaks again, it is with a careful explanation of, "K'del said that it wasn't likely even about me. If it's over, I will accept it," but so she said last time. "But why, R'hin?" A snort answers her. "You talked to K'del about this?" R'hin glances at her, lips thinning. "Clearly, I didn't end this soon enough." He's digging into his pocket, fishing out a handful of coins, which he drops onto the table. "You ought to accept it, Lilah. It's over. You should go home." "I talked to my friend about it," corrects Lilah with a hint of sharpness, defensive in the face of that question. "Because it does matter to me. I am not--." Her gaze slips towards the door of the tent, briefly, before returning to R'hin. "I will go home as soon as you tell me why. You can't control a relationship you ended anymore. You don't get to order me away." The weaver emerges, holding out a dark, red wine-colored dress. The material is thick, made for winter, and she holds it up for Lilah's approval. R'hin's gaze flickers towards it, but his expression lacks any approval or lack thereof, apparently leaving it to Lilah, silent while the Journeyman is present. A flicker of cold wind brushes at the edge of her thoughts, then dances away. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh) The weaver is likely subject to an awkward moment, then, as Lilah's dark eyes rake first over the dress, lingering on its loveliness, before her gaze slides unerringly back to R'hin. "I didn't come here for a dress, R'hin," she murmurs in response, a question and a challenge in the flicker of her expression. Uncomfortable heat marks Eliyaveith's thoughts, her attention focusing on the bronze as soon as he brushes those edges with an intent focus. Her focus softens into interest and then invitation. (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith.) "And yet the dress is here," the bronzerider counters. The weaver glances between the two, obviously aware of the awkward moment, and yet there's a sale on the line, and she fixes a professional smile in place: "It will complement your hair nicely, ma'am," the Journeyman says with a smile. The softness does not lure him in; if anything it makes him retreat further, to the faint sounds of pounding drums and distant, dazzling lightning. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh) It's the weaver's words that bring Lilah's attention back, for all that there is a sharp moment of frustration in the way the goldrider looks at her. But, as if to make up for it, she answers assuringly, "It is a beautiful dress. Thank you." She glances back to R'hin, an expectant look there, but she doesn't press now. Eliyaveith doesn't chase that retreating bronze, though her flames and fire sizzle in annoyance for it. She will wait a beat, then two, before some other lucky dragon will get the proddy queen's attention in the meantime. (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith.) "Have it sent to the weyrwoman at Fort Weyr," R'hin says, with a nod at the marks on the table. The Journeyman nods, looking pleased, but swiftly retreats all the same. The Savannah Wingleader is silent for a time, as if listening for the retreating, near inaudible steps of the weaver, before he steps towards Lilah, gazing down at her. Softly, "There is no neat bow. No answers. I won't order you to go away, but I believe you have too much pride to go throwing yourself after an old bronzerider. And if you don't, then you ought to," the words are spoken softly enough, despite their content. "I'm not--," starts Lilah at that, cutting herself off with a soft exhaled sigh. Where she meets his gaze, she continues carefully, simply, "I'm not here to make you reconsider or to throw myself at you, R'hin. I just wanted an answer." That annoyance returns, even as she adds, "I don't know why I thought I would get one, this time." "I don't know why, either," R'hin replies, familiar low-throated chuckle accompanying the words, pale eyes amused as he regards her. It's a look that, in the past, might've preceded some proposition or other, but instead he shifts his weight back onto his heels, intending to step past her for the exit. It is very likely, given her dragon's current state and her own, that Lilah would be receptive to that proposition, but she allows his retreat instead. She doesn't even shift to watch him go, nor does she leave the tent any time soon, long enough to make sure that R'hin is well and truly gone before she makes her own escape. And gone he is, Leiventh vanished from the fireheights of the Hold. The weaver's package will arrive the next day, delivered neatly to her weyr. |
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