Logs:Brief Interlude
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| RL Date: 24 April, 2015 |
| Who: R'hin, Lilah |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A brief run-in at High Reaches leads to an ending. |
| Where: Hallway, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| It is very late in the evening, past when sensible residents have gone to bed, that sees Lilah striding through the Weyr's tunnels, attempting to navigate her way back to the tunnel leading out of the Weyr. She isn't a stranger to Weyrs, but this isn't her Weyr, and there is always a certain hesitation in trying to learn your way around the unfamiliar. So perhaps she is on the right track, but perhaps she is not. It is clear that she hasn't just arrived, but there hasn't been a Fortian dragon above High Reaches' skies nearly most the day, and certainly not Eliyaveith's distinct presence. She isn't dressed as a rider, quite, either, in the way the soft blue sweater and cream pants are set against riding boots that could easily be just as much for a runner as a dragon, her shoulder knotless though her red hair is left unbound. So perhaps she isn't trying to hide herself, at least, for anyone who would recognize Fort's junior. Of course, there are always plenty of unsensible residents, nightowls, and of course, Savannah riders, who have never kept normal hours at the best of times. R'hin's striding along with his normal energy, well-recovered from how he looked at the hatching, moving with a purpose. His stride slows -- falters, even -- as he spots a familiar red head coming the other direction. For just a moment, there's a hesitation, but then he pushes on, an easy, plastered smile coming to his expression, even if pale eyes don't quite match the smile: "Are you, perhaps, lost? In the wrong weyr?" is his low-voiced query when he nears her, slowing. Lilah's smile is a genuine thing, summoned at the question and warming dark eyes that draw over R'hin, even as she answers with a teasing, "Are you telling me this isn't Fort?" She doesn't manage any look of feigned surprise, though, only that smile and her own coming steps coming to a halt. "I promised someone that I would come see them, here," she adds, in explanation, though she is more interested in studying the bronzerider for the moment. "Are you that addled in the head? Too much spiced wine? Or mulled wine, perhaps -- that stuff is notorious," R'hin says, with an understanding twitch of lips. His skin is darkened from months under the hot Igen sun, and there's probably a few more age lines than before, but otherwise it's largely his air of stiff distance that marks him, in the way he regards her in turn, though without his usual, amused air. "Well then, I shan't keep you from your promise," with a half-bow, makes to strike past her. It is a light touch, the brush of fingers that Lilah reaches out to R'hin to stop him with as he moves past her, even as she offers her own dismissive, "I've already kept my promise. Aren't you going to--." She stops herself, but not without a look sliding over the bronzerider in a question, clearly not immune to that stiffness that she senses there that is met with an expectant, silent question. He does stop, but his brows go up, as if to ask, what?, with silent, steady gaze. "Are we done, then?" is the question that does come, willpower keeping the question a simple, neutral thing as Lilah meets that gaze. "That's it?" There's a steady silence, for one, two, three heartbeats, by no coincidence. "We're done," R'hin replies, expression neutral, gaze even and guarded. It is perhaps the answer that Lilah has expected, if not the one she hoped for. Those fingers fall from his arm where she lifted them, burying reflexively for a moment in her sweater before she catches herself and drops them neutrally to her side instead. "You did warn me that it was nothing serious, I suppose," she manages to agree, a subtle tension to her words despite the attempt at lightness. "But you weren't even going to tell me? Or at least offer something about remaining friends?" There's a twitch in the Savannah Wingleader's expression, before his jaw tightens. "I did," R'hin agrees evenly, and after a beat, adds: "I think it's best we don't. Don't you?" "Fine," agrees Lilah, tight-lipped. It is obviously not fine, but the goldrider won't deign to admit that. "Whatever you want, R'hin. As always, isn't it?" R'hin's lips twist, and the first hint of amusement creeps into the bronzerider's expression. "The irony is that I very rarely do." He stretches out a hand with the intention of brushing a thumb against her cheek, as if discerning some smudge there or something. "Don't," is what Lilah says to that brush, her lips pressing into a flatter line for it as she holds herself stiff. "It is certainly never what I want." His hand stops, but after a moment completes the gesture despite her protest, even if it's only briefly. "You're a weyrwoman," R'hin says, after his hand drops away. "You will probably never get what you want." There's sympathy in his voice, for her, for her situation, and understanding, too. "No, I suppose I won't," agrees Lilah, that slight bit of softening that is likely more in sympathy for herself as well. She even relents to add, as a goodbye of her own, "Take care of yourself, at least, R'hin." With a sharp nod, R'hin's expression hardening into something more neutral, he turns and strides off wordlessly to whatever was his intended destination in the first place. |
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