Logs:A Good Thing
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| RL Date: 5 October, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh wants an apology from H'vier for his bad manners. |
| Where: H'vier's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 13, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy, cold. |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions, Lycinea/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language, some sexual situations, a large amount of awesomeness and sexiness-- read at your own risk. |
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| Snow and wind are still battering the Weyr later in the day, well past the lowering of the sun beyond the horizon. It is during one of those dark hours that the scrape of talons on the outer ledge signals someone's arrival - and maybe the bronze himself - but the slap of angry footsteps on the stone floor entering the inner weyr is a herald of another kind. Farideh makes her grand entrance like one would expect: with a glare already in place, and her fists, lost in the too-long sleeves of her overcoat, swinging at her sides. There's already an insult ready on her lips, a quick "hey, asshole" as she just lets herself into H'vier's sanctum. Sure, just come on it. That's apparently what everyone does; intrude on the bronzerider's personal space like it's their own. He really needs to walk around naked more. But he's dressed right now, if somewhat more casually than he was earlier. H'vier is just sitting on his couch, feet propped up on his own squat table between where he's sitting and the blazing hearth. He has a glass in hand and takes a sip instead of acknowledging his new guest. Lack of acknowledgement does nothing for Farideh's temper. She could rage at him, stomp her feet like a child, or pull one of her faces, but she'll just dig in her pockets until she finds something appropriate - in this case, a spool of thread that she hurls at his head. It glances off the wall behind him, earning an angry growl from the laundress. This isn't going as planned, obviously. He glances in the direction of the spool that hits the wall, then over at Farideh herself with an incredulously arched brow. Did she really just do that? "What do you want, woman?" asks H'vier, sounding weary. "An apology!" Fists, still shrouded by the arms of her coat, fall to her hips as she regards him down the length of her short nose. "Not only do you have a girlfriend, but you got someone else pregnant, and then had the nerve to have sex with me? Can't you control yourself? Some of us don't want that reputation," what's not said is the other reputation, but that's less mortifying. Farideh lifts her chin a little more, lips drawn in distaste. "You're despicable." "I don't have a girlfriend," needs to be pointed out first. "And you have no idea what you're talking about." So shut the hell up, is the silent implication. H'vier takes a longer drink from his glass. But that means it's empty, so he has to get up to refill it. "Your ex-girlfriend, girlfriend, why does it matter? She's something and she's pregnant and pissed." Farideh is here to point out the obvious. She follows him when he gets up, her cheeks flushed from the exertion it takes to not throw more things at his head. "You don't feel sorry? For any of it?" Her voice implies she's annoyed by this, and her arms settle over her chest, defensively. "No one's pregnant anymore," he adds to his streak of being literal. "Things are over with Tayte. And there was never anything with Fayla. She won't even let me visit my daughter." Perfect time to pour that drink. H'vier glances back at Farideh. "Probably not for what you want me to be sorry for, no. It's not like I was trying to get either of them pregnant." That shit just happens. Maybe they should have taken more precautions to keep themselves from being so fertile! "It didn't occur you to warn me that your life is a complete mess?" Those arms hug closer to her chest, snuggling in, as she purses her lips at him. Thinking. Hard. Thinking is hard. "You could still say you're sorry," she says, some of her earlier anger cooling, and tucks a stray curl behind her ear. And because she hasn't yet, she looks around, almost guiltily, before letting her eyes settle on H'vier. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you that my life is a complete mess." Does that work? H'vier frowns at her, looking more sad than most women would probably think he has any right to be. "Do you want a drink? Since you're already here?" And he's still standing by the booze. The apology -- Farideh wasn't expecting it. She blinks a few times before jerking her head in the positive. "Yes, that would would be nice," she says and while he's busy pouring said drink, she'll wander around, looking at everything there is to look at. "So you're a Wingleader?" It's an innocent query, as she pauses near the fire to shake some of the snow from her boots. H'vier pours the drink and makes some affirmative-sounding sound for her question. He doesn't need actual words for that. Then he's moving to hand off the drink and find his place on his couch again. There might be the sense that he spends a lot of time there these days. Once he's there, though, she won't mind him looking at her like he's hoping she'll start removing layers, right? Farideh accepts the drink and takes a tentative sip, after which she'll wrinkle her nose. Whatever he poured is not her usual type of beverage, but she'll keep it nevertheless, plopping down right next to the bronzerider. Then, she offers him a brilliant smile. There's still plenty of layers. And less anger. Or, is there? It is quite unlike the laundress to be so.. accomodating. "You didn't know that guy from earlier?" she queries just before taking another small sip from her glass. He watches the whole process of her sitting down but, eventually, his eyes actually shift up toward her face. It's mostly to furrow his brows at her question, though. "The cripple? No. Never met him before. Think I'll be good if I never meet him again. You?" H'vier is probably asking if she knows him, not if she wants to meet him again. "No. I've never seen him before." Off comes one boot, then the other, a duty which she applies herself to with concentration, falling silent for the whole duration; even if he didn't invite her, apparently, she's staying for now. Drawing her legs up on the couch, folding into a loose cross-legged style, Farideh takes a long drink from the glass, sighs, and slants H'vier a sideways glance. "What did you mean earlier, my girlfriend?" Well, H'vier certainly isn't going to tell Farideh to keep her clothes on. No way, no how. He's looking at her nearest leg when she asks that question, though, and it takes him a second to remember what she's even talking about. "Lya," is his very simple response. But he'll elaborate, after a moment, "She doesn't want me to fuck her friends." Their proximity being so close, it doesn't take much for Farideh to turn and stare H'vier in the eye. "How do you know Lya?" After a pause, a better question: "You aren't having sex with her too, are you?" she asks scathingly. "I took her to a gather. And she keeps showing up." That's more or less the extent of his relationship with Lycinea, truthfully. But H'vier frowns at Farideh before he answers, "No. She's not interested in that." Which is definitely not 'no, she's too damned young'. But at least he's taking her interest into account. "Good. Keep it that way." It's Farideh turn to do the forbidding now, or something like that. She even sticks a finger in his face to make sure he's paying attention. "Don't. Ever. Touch her. Like that. She's too good for you." And with that, she goes back to drinking her drink. Calmly. Never mind the glare she's still giving him over over the rim of her glass. H'vier accepts the finger in his face without complaint, but he arches a brow at Farideh like, really, she's got to be kidding. "You going to keep me busy instead?" It's a totally fair question. "Anyway, what if she asks me to touch her?" It could happen. He's probably thought about it more than once. "From what I understand," she supplies rationally, "you have plenty of women to keep you busy, so it shouldn't be a problem." But Farideh is back to frowning and glowering at his last words. "I don't care. Have some restraint. She's only sixteen--" who's counting "and doesn't need to ruin her life by getting knocked up by you." There's an eye roll in there somewhere, and her words are laced with a fair amount of venom. "Understand?" she asks in her fake-nice tone. "Probably not as many as you think," H'vier points out. "But I don't plan on knocking anyone up, so relax, woman." He's clearly feeling super threatened by Farideh's venom and fake-niceness. "She's a good kid," he allows after another moment, even if that's probably not how a lot of people would describe Lycinea. Uncertainty lingers, but Farideh can at least relax back and quit giving the bronzerider the death glare. "She is. I like her, anyway, and she could use friends. Real friends, not give you a hug and grab your ass friends." Yeah, she's talking about you H'vier. She keeps side eyeing him even ands she takes dainty sips, swirling around the dregs of her glass. "I've never grabbed her ass." Not successfully, anyway. "I buy her nice things. For almost nothing in return." Which, admittedly, he doesn't sound insanely thrilled about. Then, he notes, "I could buy you nice things, too. But you don't wear the rags she does, do you." And there goes H'vier's attention again, down to Farideh's legs. Except this time he moves a hand toward her closest thigh. Lycinea is treacherous ground, whereas talk of buying clothes is nice and safe. There she defers. "What would you buy me? A nice warm jacket I can wear on the trips from the bowl to the caverns?" Farideh sounds amused, her brows lifted as she regards him across scant few inches that separates their faces. "I have infinitely better tastes than Lya, but it is nice of you to buy her things to wear." His hand, well, she's not removing it, so that must be be a good sign "I was thinking about things with less to them than warm jackets," H'vier admits. He sets aside his glass so he has both hands free, twisting to try drawing Farideh right up into his lap. "Things I couldn't buy her." Because buying Lya anything like that would be wrong, clearly. "Things that would look fucking amazing on you." Drink occupying her one hand, resistance to the man handling would be hard - if Farideh even had any such motivations, which given her thrilled laugh as she places her arms around his neck is slim. "Like?" she asks with barely concealed playfulness, half-heartedly shielded by an expectant look. It's definitely a good start to what would later become a great night. Laughing is nice, playfulness is nice. A lot nicer than outright rejection, in particular. H'vier wraps one arm around Fari's torso and the other has his hand sliding up her leg toward her hip. "Like a little nightgown that only covers just enough to make me really want to see what's under it." Even if he has, you know, seen what would be under it. "Or something lacy I can think about you wearing under your clothes." Totally innocent things like that, obviously! "Mm, really? You would like something like that?" If H'vier is going to play the smitten suitor, then Farideh will happily play the willing damsel. Dark lashes lower over her eyes, hiding any emotion, but the flirtatious tug of her mouth is enough to give her away. "I didn't think," as she settles more comfortably against his chest, her lips a mere breath away from his, "you were the type of man who liked a lot of frilly things in the way." On the tail end, she glances up into his eyes, grinning a cat-with-the-cream type of grin. "I'm a man," says H'vier in a low voice, not closing the distance between their lips on his own, "who likes to draw out a good thing." In other words, he kind of likes the teasing. So long as it leads somewhere that gets him what he wants. Bit by little bit, the feline-esque grin fades beneath H'vier's words, and Farideh can't help the sigh that stirs against his mouth. Only then does she press her lips against, subtle in their insistence, but lingering and sweet all the same. It may be surprising - to him - when she stops and sits up with another quiet sigh. She unwraps her arms from around his neck, to set her glass aside, and then even has the nerve to try and disentangle herself from his arms. Is it surprising that H'vier can be a gentle, considerate kisser? The quiet sound that rumbles in his throat probably isn't surprising, anyway. Or the way he resists her trying to disentagle herself from him. He's somewhat less gentle and considerate about the way he makes that difficult for her. "Where are you going, sweetheart?" They are totally not done yet. H'vier's disenchantment with her leaving isn't going to stop her from struggling against his much stronger hands. Farideh gives it a solid try, and then tries changing tactics. Her hands come lay on his shoulders, a warm and persistent touch - the same sentiment as her smile. "I only came here for you to apologize," she murmurs, but the way her skim down his arms tells a different story. Mixed signals? Farideh? Never! "Don't leave yet, gorgeous," H'vier says in a way that would make one think he's not trying to forcibly make her stay. Which he is. "We're just getting started." And he did apologize, which clearly deserves some sort of special reward from her. "I thought," Farideh says with a flick of hazel eyes up to his, "you were a man who likes to draw out a good thing." Throwing his own words back at him, she does, with a smug little smile. "But you want to rush into something right now?" She lets her hands slide down his arms until they get to his wrists, where she squeezes, if not to have him release - because she holds no candle when it comes to strength against strength - then as emphasis. "You leaving is not a good thing," H'vier points out like this is a point that really needs to be made. "Unless you're just getting up to take some things off," he begins, leaving the rest for her to figure out for herself. She's a smart girl, obviously. He doesn't pay much attention to her hands on his wrists because his mind is already somewhere else. He starts to shift up to his feet, intending to carry her along with him. Farideh is poised with another answer on the tip of her tongue, but it's one that doesn't come as the dragonrider starts to get to his feet. She makes a tiny little sound of fear and flings her arms back around his neck - if his intent was to get her chest pressed against his chest again, it works, because that's exactly what she does in lieu of being dropped. "H'vier," she growls in warning near his ear, not in the sexual-good kind of way, just the plain old, annoyed style. "Farideh," H'vier growls back. Except his is all sorts of sexual and maybe he just hasn't noticed that hers wasn't so much. That could also be why he takes her to his bed instead of setting her down and letting her on her merry way. But he'd probably take her to his bed anyway. The bronzerider doesn't quite throw her, instead sort of dropping her and falling over her, catching himself with one hand against her wrist while his other starts looking for the path of least resistance to what he wants; access. |
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