Logs:Of Moving Forward
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| RL Date: 27 January, 2007 |
| Who: R'hin, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 16, Month 9, Turn 10 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 17:05 on day 16, month 9, Turn 60, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn afternoon. Weyrleader Ledges(#12138RJs) A flight of steps worn smooth with time lead up to a broad flat area with enough room for a gold and her consort to sprall and lounge. Openings lead to a room used for conferences, the Weyrwoman's private room, and the hatching sands themselves. A round table of well polished hardwood sits in one corner and is surrounded by chairs. Contents: Satiet Teonath(#223JOQaep) Leiventh Obvious exits: Weyrleader Weyrwoman Bowl Hatching Grounds Council Chamber R'hin's spread his hides out over the hardwood table, the sleeves of his shirt pushed back, hair haphazard as if he's run his fingers through it fairly frequently. At the moment, he's given up an semblance of work; he's staring off in the middle distance, distracted. Leiventh's settled nearby, statuesque as usual, awake but unmoving. "The turn will see you bald," a familiarly cool voice calls out, her clipped steps slowing as she rises up along the stairwell from the bowl. Satiet waits, standing at the top of the steps with a crate held fast in her arms, and while she waits a smirk threatens in the tiniest curl at her mouth. "Good afternoon." Beat. "Sir." "The Turn might see me no longer Weyrleader," R'hin's low response is colored with bland humor as the bronzerider's focus shifts towards the approaching goldrider, pale eyes flickering over from head to toe. A moment later he's on his feet, striding towards her with the clear intention of taking the crate from her unless she protests. The not-quite-smirk is responded to with the faintest of grins. "Weyrwoman," he responds, much in the same way he phrases her name so often: low, intimate. Touche, says the telling tip of Satiet's head, an unlikely smile rising in response to his fatalistic words of his fate as a leader. In that smile, there's a healthy mingle of mocking humor and pleasure that lends light to her pale eyes, for perhaps it was this gallantry she was waiting for, his steps towards her leading to a relinquishment of the crate she carries with no protest at all. Her, "Weyrleader," is uttered in much the same fashion, the alto gaining a low note and a simple shoulder coming up in a delicate shrug - the action seeming an involuntary reaction to his proximity. "Do you speak as such to the Weyrwoman you won? Or the Weyrwoman you've placed?" With the weight of the crate firmly in hand, R'hin tips his head towards her weyr, as if to indicate she should precede him. A low-throated chuckle is his initial response to her query, pale eyes glittering. "Which would you prefer it to be, Weyrwoman? It doesn't matter, regardless. I've delivered what I promised." The shift of shoulders that follows makes the crate shift briefly. The pale eyes fixate onto R'hin, thoughtful, though the pleasure of prior diminishes fractionally. Instead of satisfaction, there's silence, and with a nod of assent to his head tilt, Satiet takes the lead into her new home. "Josilina moved out fairly quickly it seems," Satiet is quick to note, changing the subject as they slip past the jade curtain into the larger quarters of the senior queenrider. Her lip twitch is almost audible, rather than seen, though a glance cast over her shoulder displays the deepened smirk. "Abrupt too. I thought you said it would take you some time." "She did," R'hin allows, the curve of his lips secretive as he trails after the goldrider into her weyr, pale eyes flickering around the room. He selects a wall to set the crate down, and straightens, "And you've started to make yourself at home already," he observes wryly, gesturing towards the room. A slight tip of head at that last, and he focuses again on Satiet, moving closer to her. "One can never tell how someone will react when the right... pressures... are applied. I wouldn't think you'd complain, lady of the spires, given where it leaves you." The room is in no disarray, austere and simply kept with the absence of Josilina's bright colors, furniture, and children's toys. The furniture is, as yet, just the staples, and a clean wash that covers the walls in a neutral beige. Crates, this not being the first, are stacked near the front entrance, and are carefully labeled with the contents of each. "There's work to be done that cannot wait for me to move in," the goldrider returns, making a few more steps into the center of the front waiting room area. "I hope to finish unpacking and settling my belongings by tonight. If not tomorrow." There's no complaints here, a lift of one set of dark lashes focusing one brilliantly blue eye square on the Weyrleader. "And you? Do you think to inhibit Leiventh somehow from chasing my gold?" "Regardless of my feelings on the matter," and R'hin's particularly guarded on this subject, pale eyes unreadable, "I could no more inhibit Leiventh from chasing a gold, than I could stop breathing all together." There might be a slight stiffness to the Weyrleader's stance, only fuelled by the clasping of hands behind his back. "Rilsa," his subject change is abrupt, but no less interesting, "Has stepped down as Weyrsecond." Satisfied with that, Satiet gestures towards the crates. "Clothes, knicknacks, and somewhere in there if the boys haven't jostled it too much, my collection of wine. Perhaps later we can cele- brate." The hitch in the final word comes on the heels of his abrupt statement, a pivot of the slight woman bringing her to half face R'hin and half face those crates. "Has she now?" Slower in coming is the turn of her entire body, a step taken before she halts. Clear eyes trace over the stiffness of her counterpart's stance, a once over dropping her gaze to his legs and then rising back to focus their brilliance on his face. "Reactionary?" The slight curl of lip indicates a positive response to her suggestion, though R'hin doesn't voice it aloud. "She claims it isn't. That she was waiting for me to settle in. But not," a twist of lips that becomes a smirk, "For you to, apparently." "Well," Satiet sinks back into her shoulders, contemplating this new turn of events with eyes that ruminate over a mental list calculatingly. "A weyrsecond hardly works as frequently with a Weyrwoman as they do with their wingleader and Weyrleader. I confess," the goldrider's lips twist in a look that does little to soften her features, "My feelings aren't so terribly hurt if Josilina's retirement and my rise has caused such a decision on her part." The initial step forward is soon followed by a succession that bridges the gap between the two riders. Two slim hands come up to rest lightly against R'hin's chest and with a tip back of her chin, a smile fashions, intimate while reserved, for the Weyrleader. "Since you plan to not be Weyrleader by Turn's end, will you fill in your Weyrsecond position or leave it to languish until Teonath rises?" As smoothly as if they were in the midst of a dance long practiced, R'hin's hands slide around the goldrider's waist to rest in the small of her back, a gentle pressure. His head tilts downwards to study Satiet, the gesture accompanied by a low chuckle, lips curving upwards. "I shall do as whimsy takes me, Weyrwoman. It has served me well enough until now. In any case," his hands move away, freeing her just as quickly as he trapped her, "I've work, and you--" his eyes flicker to the weyr, "Have yet to settle in. I'll not trouble you further." A beat, then the sly remark: "For now." How easily her body fits between R'hin's embrace, the small of her back arching just slightly at the pressure of his touch, turns the intimate look into one strengthened by a sensual smile: the smallest curvature to her mouth setting crooked with a tilt of her head to allow a slight angled view of her profile and the way her lashes drop in overt demureness. It's almost as if, with the attention paid to how each feature of her face might be observed by the Weyrleader, Satiet might not actually be listening to what he has to say. "So soon? Your work cannot wait for a well-deserved celebration? No?" She doesn't wait for a response, pulling back lightly to test the strength of his arms about her, "Pity. Good luck, with your work." "The Weyr is as much my mistress as... you," R'hin's tones are, perhaps, a little mocking as he allows the goldrider to pull free. "But perhaps-- tonight," he allows, with a twitch of brows. "After all, I'd not want you to feel alone, in this weyr--" his hands gesture outwards, executing a half-bow before spinning on a heel, heading for the exit. As intended, Satiet in all her smug confidence watches R'hin's back as he departs, having no response for his statements. It's after he leaves, the silence of the cavernous room echoing with the wind that runs through, that the pale eyes venture to cast about possessively. Hers -- a sentiment breathed out, though given no strength of voice in one mouthed word: Mine. Satiet wanders into an archway leading into the Weyrwoman's weyr. Satiet has left. |
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