Logs:Audience
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| RL Date: 1 February, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ordinarily, Leova and R'hin don't talk after Suireh's performances. This time's different. |
| Where: Harper/Healer Halls |
| When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions, Via/Mentions |
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| Late afternoon, and a greenrider slips down the corridor from Harper towards Healer, the same greenrider who'd sidled discreetly towards the front for a certain would-be journeyman's performance. Who'd less-discreetly made boot-to-ankle contact with the older man who'd started talking to his wife a measure into the dark-haired girl's song. Who bears no familial resemblance to the girl in question, but who'd less watched and more listened with those amber eyes half-shut, intent. The same greenrider who'd so-casually slipped towards the back as the next hopeful lined up, the better to beat the mad crush out. She's clad for movement, all in brown. The only thing that slows her is a sideways glance to one of the portraits, along the way. The only thing? Or does that familiar voice that murmurs in her ear a second before a hand takes her arm make her slow, as well? "Had enough of the caterwauling, too? I'll tell her you made it through the whole performance, if you do the same for me." R'hin's obviously amused; his back-of-the-hall position might've even let him spot that familiar Reachian rider and tailed her out. Pure reflex, that elbow jolting back towards his ribs, deflected only at the last moment by realization and that partially at best. In the next breath comes not apology as such, but a hint of ruefulness that's perhaps owing more to Suireh. "Do you think she cares if we watch anyone else at all?" The reaction is... rather more than the impact would imply. R'hin staggers back, clutching at his middle, groaning. It is, of course, an overexaggerated act, but he sticks with it -- maybe playing on the sympathy factor? There's even a breathless answer to accompany it: "I think she'd rather we didn't. Her audience should be larger than everyone else's. I didn't think you felt that strongly about it, though." Leova, not buying it, but yes, she's entertained. "About enabling her? Or escaping." She gives him another look, that corner of her mouth finally tipping up. "Careful, or you'll be dragged off. By the healers," and there's that or that wants to come out, something about the lean of her low voice, but she's been reticent around R'hin all these Turns. Except for that orchard, which they're no longer in. "About injuring her poor father," R'hin clarifies. It's only when she mentions the mere threat of healers that he straightens, something unrepentent and patently amused in his pale eyes, as he closes the distance between them again, leaning against the wall next to the portrait that got her attention in the first place. There's a brief flicker of brow that suggests maybe he sensed that unfinished comment, yet he doesn't linger on it, instead: "You should get out more often without that stone around your neck. You're much less boorish." He probably means Anvori. "Mm." It's noncommittal, though the greenrider will commit to a still-amused, "No resemblance." She'll even tack on a nod the portrait's way, just in case: it is a man, but flamboyantly dressed, a sunset's worth of colors. Also, a craftmaster's knot. At the living, breathing man's latest sally, though, those amber eyes don't so much flicker as focus: a heightened sort of intentness before a mild, "Reckon I don't know what you could mean." "I had a great, great grandfather who was a harper," R'hin says, while he adjusts his posture to match exactly that of the portrait: arms crossed, complete with sidelong, stern expression. "I reckon," a flicker of a smile as he echoes her intonation precisely, "-you do, Leova. Only I've made it awkward now by calling your bluff. Drinks'd probably ease that, but there's none to be found. How do we get past it, now?" His gaze goes ceiling-wards, as if the answer might be somewhere in the rafters. Then he won't see her slow step past, though there's a certain deliberation to how that step's heavy enough to be audible. "Would you have cared to be a harper? R'hin." Another step, two, with a glance back over that brown-clad, green-knotted shoulder. "A harper? No," it's not dismissiveness, just matter-of-factness on R'hin's part. "We wouldn't have suited each other. I dislike the rigors of rank; I'm really not sure how Suireh puts up with it. But then, she probably gets that from her mother." A beat or two, and long legs stride to catch her, as he undertones nearer to her: "So, going for pretend-he-didn't-say-it? Or just pretend-he-doesn't-exist? I'm all for the latter; he makes family gatherings so awkward. Speaking of, how is your... daughter?" "It's not as though she has so very much rank, just yet," the greenrider says rather drily. Perhaps it's the mother-mention, the memory, that lures her in: "Only stories for that repertoire, and the odd song." That repertoire: not the one from which the girl had sung. As the taller rider matches her pace, there's not even the feint of an elbow this time, though she does slow slightly as though to accommodate his legs rather than her own. No elbow, even when he speaks. No change in tempo, for all that something of her footsteps has become... clipped. Not for her man, not even for her daughter. Instead, words: "R'hin. All these Turns, you left me be. Why poke now?" "Yet," R'hin agrees. "She'll need, what, another twelve Turns before she's eyeing off a portrait on that wall. Maybe less." There's no doubt there's both pride and amusement mixed into the Monacoan's voice, expression full of good humor. A sidelong look, speculative, and then a shrug of shoulders. "Coincidence, merely. I'll pretend to not know your acquaintance, at High Reaches, if it suits you?" he doesn't seem that bothered, either way. Is it an intentional match, her shrug? "Reckon," and the greenrider gives the word no emphasis beyond that steady repetition, "it'd cause more comment if you made it into a habit. If anyone noticed: possibly a syllable, or two... Azaylia had more important things to think about, hm?" The portraits have changed to Healers, now, two painted and positioned to seem as though they're staring at each other, though the styles of each are quite different. "Speaking of rigors. How is Leiventh?" Yes, inquires the electricity in the air, abruptly perceptible for all that she must have been there all along. Do tell. "She'd have been more... on edge... had she thought we had prior connections," is all R'hin says, blandly. "Given the situation it seemed more prudent all around." There's a smile, however, for the 'if', though the cause of it isn't explained in his gaze, though it flickers over to watch Leova as they pace along the hall together. Does he seems surprised, for her concern? Not her concern for Leiventh, anyway, though it takes him a moment to respond. A moment for the lie, or the moment for a suitable sympathetic-seeming answer? "The wound's mostly healed. Still a little tight though -- he can feel it pull whenever he's taking off or landing. Or tight turns -- but we can avoid those for the time being." "Mm." It's mild, too, with a slight curl to her voice, her mouth, to finish it off with. She waits out the smile, waits out the moment, seems to have all the time in the world. Not that the tunnel's that long. "You have salve for him?" As though the dragonhealer would expect that, but even so... has to ask. "Heard it didn't go down to the muscle, or at least he wasn't acting like it." Then, "Was he ever 'scored, in Fall?" "They gave me some, though it's near run out." It comes out smoothly enough that it's probably the truth, or close enough. R'hin seems tolerant enough of her concern for his dragon, though it's the latter that makes his expression close up even more than normal. "He doesn't remember it," is all the bronzerider says, gruffly, in a tone intended to dissuade further discussion. There's a low sound of acknowledgment: she must trust that he'd find more for his beast if needed, or else not see fit to intercede. And while one convenient thing about Leova must be that, so often, she doesn't press, there's the amber weight of her gaze for two paces, three. "Fortunate," she says, simply, in the end. By way of possible trade: "Would you tell me of Riahla, please. She's seemed happy enough when we do see her... but it's not as though there's a regular schedule of festivities to attend and applaud." A few more steps -- ones that, unconsciously or no, R'hin crosses quicker with a lengthening of stride -- carry them nearer the end of the corridor and the exit to the courtyard. The gruffness lingers in his voice, moderating what would normally likely be a pleasant note of pride for his other daughter: "She does well. Learns well. That blue of hers matches her for activity." A pause, and he stops, turns his body towards her, expression shadowed momentarily, before he offers in an easier tone, "I'll tell her you asked after her. Perhaps she'll come visit." "Appreciate that," though if Leova's holding her breath for it, it surely doesn't show when she, too, pauses. Nor had it quickened with those lengthened strides, whether practiced or simply practiced at not letting effort show. Now, plainly, her own expression's concern made clear by the deliberate lift of her head, "You asked about my daughter. She's staying with her father's family, just now. Are you in any sort of position to influence Suireh's posting?" Because it won't take twelve Turns for that. The talk of her daughter makes R'hin, unaccountably, smile, though there's something sad in it, too. "It's hard, when they're not with you." It's statement, not question. Her question surprises him, momentarily, head tipped to one side. "Why. Do you want me to? Or do you want me not to?" "Yes," but Leova's is not unalloyed, and there's that lean, yet again, that goes unspoken. For his daughter, that daughter, she shifts a step to the side to place the courtyard better in her periphery. It's not furtive. It's a small thing. Her stance is calm, for all that what her eyes hold is deeper: they could be speaking simply of songs. But it's there. "That would depend on her destination," she says. "And aught else you might know that I might not. You'll recollect that I've sent one, already, to what I hope is safety." "Safety." He echoes that with a long, level look, leaning against the archway opposite her. "And who, in High Reaches," since R'hin assumes that's what she's referring to, "Would harm a daughter of a former Weyrwoman and Weyrleader, and a harper?" There's no mistaking the order he puts those in. "If I knew," Leova says a touch acerbically, "it would be easier." "But you stay." Statement, and yet it's laced with a question. Why? "It's our home." A brief curl of her lip, this time, for what could seem triteness. "We can do nothing if we go." "It's their home too." Their daughters, presumably. With a smile, R'hin says, "It's long past the time in which I'd have attempted to control Suireh's path in life. If she determines it is High Reaches that is to be her posting, I wouldn't seek to dissuade her otherwise." He's already brushing past, out into the courtyard, though he pauses to glance over his shoulder, at her, "And I'd feel comfortable with that. Knowing you'd be there to watch out for her. Leova." He says her name with a smile, but it's something else too. A farewell mixed in with her name, maybe. "'Control.' Such a strong word, as though the only alternative would be to instead post her at Crom, in chains," Leova replies with a dryness that has but the barest gloss of humor. She has hardly relaxed, there in the courtyard's confines. Vrianth moves upon the fireheights, yet has not moved from them. Though there's an inclination of the greenrider's head for his statement of comfort, and she does have a tilted smile, "I suppose we'll see if they post her where she wills, wherever that may be. Good day, R'hin." He can see himself out. There's a brief, almost wry smile for her mention of Crom, though how well practiced that is could be debated. See himself out, R'hin does, without another word, his striding path across the courtyard to meet Leiventh undoubtedly marked by Vrianth. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 03 Feb 2013 07:35:39 GMT.
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Leova is like a living time capsule. She knows all the oldies, and a scene with her and R'hin is kind of fascinating. I know I'm missing all this subtle stuff, both are good at referencing without spelling it out. ;) They read each other well. Great scene!
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