Logs:Foxy
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| RL Date: 23 April, 2016 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla, Raija |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'kon lost a bet to his budding cardshark daughter. There is foxy fallout. |
| Where: H'kon and Madilla's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 8, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: I was supposed to post this thing days ago, and didn't. My bad. |
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| "Beautiful," she says. "Gorgeous," she says. "Foxy," she says. "Foxy?" asks H'kon. But he is, at least, two of the three, in a stunning shawl and what was once, surely, a full and flattering feather boa. However it is that Raija's slowly been adding these to her collection is uncertain. Most of it probably came through legitimate channels. The actually rather nice bit of jewellery sparkling from where it hangs around H'kon's neck, probably not through such channels. Raija, meanwhile, has one of her father's shirts on. He, however, cannot bring himself to provide her adjectives. "Foxy," she repeats. And so it is. This would be why Arekoth's wings keep twitching. And this is why H'kon should never have consented to play cards with his daughter two days before. It's probably a good thing that Dilan's not here, because at thirteen he'd probably be horrified and dismayed at seeing H'kon so poorly treated; such is the way of teenage boys. It's probably also a good thing that Lilabet's not here, either: she'd find the whole thing irresistible, of course. Madilla, however, is doing a much better job of keeping her composure, glancing up at the pair from the couch where she's once again at her sewing only on occasion-- though 'foxy' is almost certainly the prompt that draws this latest lift. "Foxy," she repeats. "Where did you hear that, Raija?" Raija looks back to Madilla, but, of course, clams up, teeth clicking as she's suddenly quite distracted by standing on tiptoe, one hand on H'kon's shoulder for balance, the other re-arranging those feathers. "Arekoth says it's an accurate description," H'kon relates in the tone of one who has given up a fight. Many fights. "Your assistance," he says to Madilla, "is appreciated." But Raija gives him a look, and he tries to smile. Madilla may not have actually expected an answer to that question; certainly, she makes no effort to chase it, now. Instead, tucking her needle securely into her sewing, she gives father and daughter a considering glance. "Not appreciated by our daughter, I think," she tells H'kon. "Besides, fair is fair. You lost, after all. It's a pity your hair isn't long enough to braid. Something's missing." Hair. Hair. Why did Raija not think of this? Two hands press firmly on H'kon's shoulders, and, still resigned and fairly malleable, he drops to a sit. And presses his lips together as she the girl starts to tug. No, not enough hair to braid, but she's seen the beginnings of curls before, and she now tries to encourage them, even if H'kon's hair is not quite long enough to go there on its own. "A finishing touch? This," his hands go from his shoulders down his torso, "is not enough? I should be hurt, by that remark." Except Raija's saying, "Mom's right." Arekoth snorts. Audibly. Good job dragons have such poor memories, or Dilan might well hear of this. Madilla's not laughing at H'kon, promise. Oh, certainly, the corners of her mouth are going up, but there's no actual laughter coming out. "Ribbons?" she suggests. "It might be better than nothing." For H'kon, her smile is warmer, perhaps intended to be encouraging. "It's all very striking on you, I promise. You'd make a very pretty girl. Even Arekoth agrees, I'm sure." Liar. Arekoth vocalises something, and H'kon reaches up - careful not to move his head overmuch - to rub at his stubble. Defensively. "Ribbons," agrees Raija, and the look she pins on Madilla is expectant. Surely she knows where they are. And Raija has her hands - fingers - full. But her delight is contagious enough that H'kon smiles, for real even, a little bit. And asks Madilla, "You find me pretty?" "How could I not?" is Madilla's answer, made as she sets aside that sewing and moves towards her feet, Raija's non-verbal request plainly received. She pauses, watching, those green eyes meeting H'kon's in turn before abruptly her smile widens and she turns away, all the better to rummage through a box to come up with a lengthy piece of amber-hued ribbon, with which she returns to the pair. "Here," she says to Raija. "Will this suit?" "Hm," is the best Raija gives in return, furrowing up her brow as she reaches with one hand, and starts trying to work the ribbon into the curls she's already started. H'kon is trying to keep smiling at his weyrmate, really he is, but the hair-pulling makes it difficult to avoid grimacing. "I should dress up for you more often," is said instead, with one hand reaching her way, as best he can without moving. Again, Madilla bites back laughter, the twitch of her mouth the only true indication-- aside from the obvious mirth in her expression. Having relinquished the ribbon, she uses that free hand to take H'kon's, though she also steps closer still, sidling in alongside him. "You should," she agrees, sparing only half a glance towards their daughter, not really apologetic as she adds, "The feathers really work for me." Sorry, Raija. Raija is focused, but not so focused that when she looks over to make sure her mother isn't ruining anything she's set up, and catches sight of fingers holding fingers, she says, "That's gross." And also, "He's not ready yet." H'kon is not yet dissuaded, though his hair is still being pulled as the ribbon is worked further and further into his non-curls. "I will keep this in mind. Maybe Arekoth needs to develop a taste for wherry?" The brown, at least, thinks it's funny. Once upon a time, Madilla would have been embarrassed at semi-public displays of affection in front of her children (or anyone); clearly, the past decade has been good for something. "I'm patient," she promises Raija. "Continue with your masterpiece." For H'kon, as she lets her attention be drawn back to the brownrider: "Yes. He'll need to do his part, of course." "He is nothing, if not interested in the well-being of the whole family." There may not even be an irony in this. Because just look at the last ten turns. "No kissing," says Raija, sternly, and keeps on with her work, those amber-hued eyes intensely focused. She's dextrous, this one, no doubt part of how she acquired that jewellery that makes H'kon so very pretty. "It's a good thing neither of the others has Impressed," decides Madilla, abruptly, though she doesn't draw that thought out to explain her thought process in getting there; no doubt Arekoth appears in it somewhere. With her free hand, the healer subtly adjusts the old boa, straightening the edge. "You're good at this, Raija. Are you considering a career in hairdressing? Or fashion, perhaps. A weaver." It's a process H'kon doesn't seem to follow, and he turns his head a little bit toward Madilla before catching himself. And being little-girl-grunted-at by Raija. "No," is an off-handed answer to Madilla as that girl finishes her last few knots, and withdraws her hands all at once. H'kon, crowned. "But I think he's done." That brownrider, father, weyrmate, doesn't dare move now. He's awaiting judgement. From more than just Arekoth, whose judgement has been ongoing and is now, surely, instantaneous. Madilla gives that hand one final squeeze before withdrawing her features, but only so that she can take a turn around the brownrider: a full circle. "Perfect," she decides. If she's noticed, now, for the first time, that necklace and its uncertain provenance, it gets no comment. "At least it should be well done," says H'kon, from amidst all the pretty. Freed hand, and the one that had remained his own all this time, both prepare to help stand him up. "All night, even once you're asleep," is a repeated promise to Raija, who is fluffing a feather, but looking generally satisfied. He'll save the lift of an eyebrow for Madilla till he's sure the girl's not looking. Madilla's teeth come to rest upon her lower lip in answer to that life of the eyebrow, and her shoulders shift, just minutely, but she manages, otherwise to maintain her expression. "I'll keep him honest for you," she promises their daughter. "Time to brush your teeth, mmm?" "And I'll be more careful with my gambling in future," is H'kon's final word on the topic. He pushes up to his feet, and shifts his own shoulders, though this is an attempt to settle the boa. A hand to Raija's shoulder serves as much as guide as a sort of goodnight caress. "Do you expect I'll have that shirt," the one of his, the one Raija's wearing, "back at any point?" "A good lesson to learn," agrees Madilla, more amused than serious. And of the shirt? Her answer is decisive: "No. It'll join the collection, no doubt. I doubt she'll let you keep the shawl, though." "A compromise I will be willing to make," says H'kon, all the while glancing down to examine the frilly edge of that shawl. "If only because she is my daughter, and I love her." His dragon is still present in his tone, though Arekoth has settled somewhat, since Raija's exit. How much of his display was for her, anyway? "At least you will have the memory, if not the model before you at any given point." "It's one memory I will keep always," Madilla promises, her fingers seeking H'kon's again, wrapping around them and giving them a gentle squeeze. "She's such a contrast to the others. Completely her own person." The healer, for one, approves. To this H'kon nods, his own fingers squeezing in return. "Hm," is agreement. "Though I would not think it fair to say the others are not. But influence is perhaps more easily seen in them." His free hand reaches to the bauble about his neck. "It does not... concern you, at all? That... independence?" "No, no," allows Madilla. "They are. But Raija..." she trails off, perhaps unable to put into words what she's thinking, and perhaps, too, also thinking about H'kon's question. "Of all of them, she's the one I worry about," is quieter. "Lilabet has always been driven and sensible, for the most part. Dilan's a fairly normal boy. Raija..." She turns her head, glancing at H'kon. "I admire it, but I'm also frightened by it." He may have led them down this path, but so relaxed, in the bosom of family and fun tonight, H'kon doesn't keep a flicker of protectiveness from his features. It's brief, though. And he squeezes at those fingers again, unconsciously. "We wonder sometimes," and it's the 'we' that sounds of his conversations with his dragon, "if she missed some step..." But he's listening, too, lest the girl return, and speaking lowly. "Mm," agrees Madilla, just very quietly. "I wonder if it would have been different, had she been with us from the start. But there's no point wondering, is there? She's our wonderful, independent, creative daughter." From the start. It has H'kon tightening his grip, not too hard, but closer. Madilla's next words, however, get a nod. "I hope, then," is barely more than a whisper, "that she is whole, also." Madilla sucks in a breath, plainly uncomfortable with this thought-- but also not inclined to shy away from it. "Yes," she agrees. "Yes." The look she gives H'kon this time is a little wide-eyed, a little uncertain and unhappy. But the moment passes, and she exhales lengthily, more easily. "I wish there were a way to easily save the image of you right now for posterity." H'kon is not wholly comfortable in holding on, returning Madilla's look with one of his own when such a deep worry has been shared so plainly. Even to her. Even if the subject matter is not novel. It might be gratitude that pulls a crooked smile onto his face when she eases them from that moment. More than that, too. "You'll do better at it at least than Arekoth. If only we could make me a between point." He holds out his arms a little from his sides, though not so much as to release Madilla's hand. "The work of our daughter," is a summary. And when he steps in for the kiss that follows, it's gentle as those feathers. |
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