Logs:Stinging Words
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| RL Date: 16 October, 2015 |
| Who: H'vier, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In a happenstance run-in, H'vier has advice for candidate Lycinea and Lya has annoyance for the rest. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Wind and snow make for very bad weather today. The visibility is low, making travel dangerous. |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions |
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>---< Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs) >-----------------------<
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of
carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground
-- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers,
and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from
falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into
the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off
some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even
feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.
The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire
cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the
expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is
easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a
broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels
that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks,
however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. Very bad though the weather is today, it makes the galleries an appealing destination for those few willing to make the walk. Just after dinner, Lycinea is among those watching the eggs. She has a small sewing project in her lap and she sits high on the benches. She looks up every handful of stitches, her eyes scanning the eggs, the benches and then it's back to the work at hand. H'vier is still eating when he makes his way into the galleries and up the stairs, away from the front. He has one meatroll in one hand and two more wrapped in a napkin in his other. He's wearing his leathers, goggles strapped to his belt rather than still on his head. Bad weather doesn't mean no work, evidently, but it's warm here. He doesn't seem to be looking for her, and he's not really looking at her if she happens to notice him, either, but the bronzerider's path leads him in her general direction until he settles onto a seat a row down from her and a bit off to one side. It doesn't take long once the bronzerider has settled for the blonde to gather her project and move herself down a row and off to one side, alongside H'vier. "Hey," is a fairly casual greeting. Lycinea's eyes go to him, then his food, then one hand is reaching to try to claim one of the meatrolls for herself, project set to her far side out of harms way should things go poorly. "Hey," he returns, presumably unsurprised by her movement or greeting. He is slightly surprised by her taking one of his meatrolls, but there's no true complaint for it. H'vier goes back to finishing the one he was working on, gaze shifting from a brief study of the girl to the eggs down below. Chewing, Lya looks to the eggs and asks evenly, "So what do you reckon, duds or five golds? I've heard it both ways. Neither one holds much appeal to me." "Five golds would be impossible," H'vier says just as evenly. "Hoping for one to be for you? I don't think you'd like being a weyrwoman very much. Not sure you'd like being a rider at all." He's just a ray of sunshine. But at least he doesn't sound mean about it. "No, I wouldn't," Lycinea says that with conviction. "Seems to me that we have enough goldriders for an Interval. Just a matter of seeing if they know that," the eggs. She chews another moment or two in silence before admitting, "I'm not sure I'd like being a rider either. Dragons seem like a lot of work. Sometimes, they make people miserable. On the other hand, I can't say as I have much in my life I'd regret giving up right now." "More than enough. Two too many." There's something agitated about the way H'vier says it, but he doesn't continue into a rant, just pushes the rest of the meatroll into his mouth. The rest of what she says earns a shrug. Once he's chewed enough to speak again, he says, "People make people miserable." "A Weyr with no golds," makes Lycinea grim. "We were one once." Briefly. "Things went sour between you and Irianke?" She asks it at the same time as she rocks toward him, briefly touching arm to arm as she tucks one leg up underneath her and then straightens again. "And Farideh?" H'vier rumbles a meaningful sound, but he adds voice to them a few moments later. "They've been sour since she made K'del her acting Weyrleader, more or less. "Things have never been good between Farideh and I. And now that her judgment is completely fucked up, I doubt that they ever will be. I'd have expected Reisoth's daughter to choose more wisely, truth be told." There's a pause while Lycinea considers, then she does lean enough to bump his arm again gently, looking up at him as she does, "Sorry," not for the bump but for the goldriders. "Maybe you just need a change of pace to be happy." Quickly then, "But don't you dare think of leaving here and going somewhere else, forever," she eyes him suspiciously as if he might try to disappear on the spot. He frowns, looking down at Lycinea as though she's denied him thoughts taken right out of his head. "Not entirely my decision. But I've considered it. Anyway, who says I'm not happy?" H'vier takes a bite out of his other meatroll, gaze turning toward a pair of apprentices filtering in from the bowl. "You don't seem happy," comes Lycinea's dubious response. "And if you leave, and I have a lifemate down there, who will help me figure out how to handle it?" She purses her lips a little then says, "It's funny, I sort of always thought that if there was going to be any dragon to tell me I should Stand that it would be Reisoth. I'm still not sure Rosvelth didn't do it just to make Rhey do something he didn't want to." "The weyrlingmasters. It's their job, after all." H'vier won't comment on his own happiness. That can't be too surprising. "If it makes you feel any better, Reisoth isn't much of a search dragon. Not sure I'd have told you even if he thought it was a good idea." "You really think I shouldn't Stand?" is Lycinea's question, blue-green eyes squinting slightly as she looks up at the man. "Why?" "It doesn't matter what I think you should or shouldn't do, Lya. A dragon could make your life easier, more... worthwhile, I suppose. But they also make you do things you don't want to do. They give you a reason to keep existing when you don't always want a reason." H'vier finishes off his meatroll, only to search a pocket or two for his flask. "Havi," is quiet. Lya's hand reaches for the searching hand, seeking to entwine her fingers with his. She doesn't say more, just looks at him with unveiled concern. "Don't," he says, pulling his hand away from hers so he can uncap his flask and take a drink. Whether he actually means don't touch him or don't talk like that is less obvious. "Just don't." "Why?" is demand. In other women, it might be plaintive. In Lycinea, it's warning that she's not prepared to do as he asks unless he has a damn good reason. "Because I don't want to talk to you about it. There's nothing to talk about." H'vier looks at her firmly, like that might keep her from continuing. "I'm fine." "Fine," Lya jerks upright, her turn to gather her things more of a whirl. "When you're not fine and want to talk about something, you let me know," has a full dose of Lyatude for him. At least she's not baiting him, so perhaps one can still call this moody shift a win. "Lya," says the bronzerider, sounding tired and, perhaps, slightly defeated. But then H'vier seems to realize that this is really for the best. "Fine. Don't fall down the stairs. Can't Stand if you're broken." "What?" is the demand the bronzerider will get with a dour look from the blonde as Lya pauses in the process of making her grand exit. "If I weren't a candidate, I would hit you," so at least the white knot is good for something. "No, you wouldn't," H'vier says dismissively. It's more baiting than anything she's said to him, the implication being that he doesn't believe her. "Yes, I would. And you'd let me because you're dying to feel something just as much as I'm dying to make you." Lya's angry answer is delivered like a slap to the face as she turns and stalks (in so much as she ever does) down the row, down the stairs and out of the cavern. |
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