Logs:Paranoia
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2015 |
| Who: Azaylia, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia is paranoid, and Hraedhyth isn't helping. R'hin does. |
| Where: Weyrwoman's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 1, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Kyouri/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Hraedhyth's heat isn't urgent, even if there is subtle aggitation in the quickness of her drums, « Mine wants Yours. » A request that the warrior queen passes along with ease. « When he is free. » She expects acknowledgement, but even the golden pair know better than to expect instant results to a summons. (To Leiventh from Hraedhyth) There is, as always, a sense of cold, a sense of distance, neither of which are unusual. The bronze does not, however, occupy his usual spot on the rim, a good sign the pair are further afield tonight. Guarded, thoughtful shades color the cold winds that tease the heat of the queen's thoughts. « We will come. » He doesn't say when, but that's hardly unusual, either. (To Hraedhyth from Leiventh) Hraedhyth is satisfied with Leiventh's reply, though her flames linger long enough to dance against cold winds. It's a curious flicker that eventually retreats fully, leaving Leiventh and his to their busieness. Though the when is unknown, Azaylia still has a roaring fire going by the time the bronze pair do arrive. She might be dozing, curled up in a corner of the couch that's angled at the hearth. The visible wallow is empty save for the bones and skulls that litter its edges-- Hraedhyth drawn to Cadejoth's side the more Niahvth glows. The platter of sandwiches has already been nibbled at, and standing next to her cup of long cooled tea is a half drunk bottle of rich, smokey whiskey. As is their way, it's darker, and later before Leiventh appears in the skies above the Weyr. The bronze wings directly towards the Weyrleader's ledge, landing near the base of the ramp, before lifting off to resume his usual position on the rim. R'hin's familiar enough with this weyr -- and the fact that Azaylia's finally made it her own -- that he strides in confidently. Perhaps unsurprisingly, after a jaunty grin in the dozing goldrider's direction, he starts moving around, examining what she's put in that cupboard, or on that shelf, or on that wall. He even disappears, off into the bedroom for a time, before he paces back out. The inspection concludes as he leans over the back of the couch, while he down at her amusedly, "You seem to have settled in well." For the most part, there seems to be too much space for all of what made her previous weyr cozy. R'hin is certainly expected, given that she has banished Bones (and by extension, Warg) from the couch and to her bedroom. Luckily for the snooping bronzerider, they're heavy sleepers. And snore-ers. Azaylia gives a start at R'hin's voice, brown eyes squinting up at the man with echoes of that old annoyance. It eases into something warm, palm rubbing at her eye, "Mmhm. I love the bath, even if it is small." She blinks at the fire, then at the weyr at large, until looking back at R'hin. "I swear you come back this late just to see me in my robe." Even if the warm, fluffy housecoat is far from risque. Not during winter. "Help yourself to a drink, if you haven't already." There might be a curious sniff as she unravels from her drowsy ball. "Yes, life is so tough for you goldriders, with your own private bath, being so small," he's clearly mocking her, but R'hin gives a wry laugh afterwards. "You could bathe in the big, ample bathing pools with the rest of us?" There's, likely, something suggestive in that, judging by the way his eyebrows go up and his mouth quirks. Or maybe that's just his reaction to her suggestion he comes back just to see her in a robe. He straightens as she starts to stretch out, circling around the couch and stooping to stoke the hearth. If he's curious about why he's been asked here, he doesn't prompt as such, content to make himself at home instead. Azaylia's smile doesn't stay innocent, "I almost did, back when I got my first weyr." Turns and turns ago. "But then I worried that people would consider me ungrateful, letting my private bath go to waste." She reaches for her cup, testing the heat and finding it completely gone. The whisky is far more appealing, then. Popping it open, she pours it into the splash of tea left before knocking it back. There's a low sigh, husky from the liquor and echoing those draconic drums, "I wish she would just go up already." Though she certainly has something on her mind, it's interrupted as she glances at R'hin's back. As if the thought just occurred to her, "Are you going to chase?" Simply curious. "You worry far to much about what people think about you. They're probably always thinking the worst, anyway, so you might as well enjoy yourself while you're at it." Done with the hearth, R'hin straightens after setting the poker back onto its stand. He moves towards her, studying the Weyrwoman -- or maybe just watching her take a splash of that whiskey with a low-throated chuckle, waiting for her to set the bottle down before he reaches for it himself, taking a brief inhale, and after an approving noise, a sip. He moves towards the couch, and the touch of his fingers towards her feet are a bid for space, settling at the other end, though angled a little so that he can still see her face. "You goldriders do make life difficult. Why do you think I've been spending so much time out of the Weyr? I think Leiventh finds Niahvth too... happy." He's chuckling and shaking his head at the same time, as if to say, dragons. He glances towards the ledge, then back to Azaylia, "That's up to Leiventh." A beat. "I'd say it's more than likely." Pale gaze remains on her as he answers, as if taking in her reaction. "Actually, a laundress told me that I'm not talked about. ...much." Azaylia argues with some pride, as if all her fretting isn't just goldrider paranoia. "Imagine what they would say if I did start," Completely proving his point as she wonders, "Not even the baths are safe from the prowling Weyrwoman." She's very menacing, with her wiggling fingers. Making room for him without a fuss, Leiventh's opinion has her giving a fond smile for the chilly bronze, "He would." R'hin's answer doesn't seem to surprise her, brows lifting as she gives a faint, "Hm." There's little more to it than that, and while she considers the possibility she's hardly displeased. It's only after she's looking back at him that there's a hint of tension, "What do you think about Irianke?" Her face falls into something far more stern. Suspicious. "What do you know?" "Mm. Then she's either lying to you to curry favor, or she's not listening." R'hin's chuckling, resting the bottle on the arm of the couch. "Bet it'd get tongues wagging, certainly. You should try it out as a... social experiment. I hear," and there's just a hint of emphasis to suggest maybe it's more than hearsay, "That the healers are doing that sort of thing these days." As for Leiventh, there's an unrepentant grin. "Given he doesn't chase greens much, I'd say it's only to be expected." His gaze continues to rest on her, and her question isn't much of a surprise, though it does make him take a gulp from that bottle first. "She's... she'll be good for the Weyr. A breath of fresh air. What do I know? That she's Nimae's and also not, and while I am sure you will struggle to trust her, you should take advantage of her while she's here." He leans towards her to emphasize that -- and also uses the opportunity to refill that tea cup of hers, or top it up at least, with the bottle. "Learn from her, learn how she's been taught to do things, take what you like and discard what you don't. Nimae runs a tight ship, and she's been doing this for a while." "I might." Distracted as she sounds, there's no telling if Azaylia actually will. No doubt he'll hear about it, if she does decide to visit the public baths. As R'hin considers the real reason she's called him, her lips purse and pull downward. Her impromptu shot glass is eyed as he fills it, arms crossing over her chest in defiance of the drink-- or his advice. "Kyouri mentored me just fine." Defensive? Possessive? There's a heat behind her words and in that stare aimed at him, trying to release some of that shared agitation with a huff from her nose. "She isn't perfect, R'hin." It's then that her face softens, if only slightly. "She can't be." Can she? "And Kyouri's a wonderful and smart woman," R'hin replies with barely a pause, "But none of us should be complacent enough to stop growing and changing. Different Weyrs do different things, for different reasons. What Benden taught you will be different to what you might learn from Igen." Even under her look there's an unrepentant chuckle, and he sets that bottle down on the table, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. "Oh, come now. I never said that, and if you're thinking that, then you're already setting yourself up to fail. Talk to the girl. I don't know, do girl things. Braid each other's hair. Lend her that assistant of yours. Use her while you can." Azaylia eyes that arm as it crosses into her claimed territory. That tension persists for a moment longer before she lets out another long exhale, almost desperate in the way she reaches for that once rejected cup. She'll sip for the familiar sting to ground her before she drains the rest in a quick gulp. When she settles back down it's tucked beneath that arm, snuggling into the bronzerider whether he likes it or not. "I can't help it. She could be just another..." Exhausted by her suspicion, the goldrider leans her head back with a gentle groan. "I want to like her. I understand that the transfer is completely normal but..." Another wary thought that doesn't get finished, at least not out loud. It's a long time, with even more 'what ifs' left unsaid before she finally murmurs, "I know you're right. It doesn't make it any easier." "She could, but her reasons for being here are obvious, and you agreed to them. You can bunker down in this big, empty weyr of yours, or you can take the... whatever by the horns. The latter's bound to be a better outcome for you, and for the Weyr. And," R'hin taps his fingers against his chin, "You could throw in a pillow fight or two to help break the ice. I'd volunteer to be the umpire." Azaylia angles her head with a roll, a much less severe look being aimed up at him at that last. "I'm sure you would." Neither surprised or offended, she just gives a soft laugh. The smile lingers, if faintly as she asks, "If you do find anything..? You'll let me know?" A blink. "Unless it's the details, should Leiventh catch. That's girl talk." To be saved for Irianke to share, if she so desires. R'hin's brows go up, as if she's surprised him all of a sudden. A beat passes before he asks, "Anything, like...?" With a twist of lips, "Like she's secretly a daughter of a person murdered by High Reaches?" He shakes his head. "Irianke's well known. I've seen her, maybe, a half dozen times over the last ten Turns or so. Unless she's putting on a really, really long con -- she's exactly what she appears to be, at least as far as any of us are. That doesn't mean Nimae hasn't asked her to nosy about -- that's probably a given." It's the latter that makes him laugh, lips pursing briefly. "I didn't think you'd be that interested in how Irianke performed in bed, but I'm sure there's plenty of others you can ask, now." It's a joke, it must be, and yet Azaylia isn't laughing. "Yes." She means exactly like that. "We've had fake identities, a brownrider murdering a goldrider, another maybe-murdered and a gold that never came back from between." And that's only what she's experienced, first hand. "I'm not going to put it past anyone to pull a long con." Albeit much, much longer than even Aishani managed. The ferocity doesn't last long, far too self aware to stick by such neuroses. With her face in her hands, her exasperation is muffled, "Faranth, I sound like a mad woman." Thankfully there are no sigh of tears as she parts her fingers to peek over at him. "When goldriders talk about flights, it's not about how they preformed." R'hin leans forward, reaching for her hand -- the one not holding her cup. "Irianke. Isn't. Aishani." He says it slowly, deliberately. "She's trying. Let her try. The worst that can happen is you transfer her back to Igen. Trust me, Irianke isn't interested in murdering anyone." It's her latter comment that makes his lower lip stick out, as if in thought. "How many dragons their queen injured? How many riders left with bruises and split lips and broken noses?" It bears repeating, "Irianke isn't Aishani." The soft murmur is paired with a squeeze to his hand, as if determined. It will sink in. It will. With the empty little cup placed back on the coffee table, she keeps his hand captive for as long as he allows. She's a physical creature even on good days, and right now even light contact is helping. She'll reach for the bottle now, although for a modest sip as he 'wonders' out loud. "Or how disappointing the dragon's rider was." Her words are innocently lobbed at R'hin from the bottle's neck before it's offered back. There's an encouraging nod from R'hin, silent as she repeats that, and while she gets her drink. The Savannah rider snorts. "Not possible. Even someone terrible in bed will be good, during a flight. It's the only hope those Ierne born riders have for a good sex life. Honestly, I don't know how they'd procreate otherwise." He reaches for the bottle, shaking his head as if marvelling. "Well, there's the after." Azaylia argues, although she recognizes that he has a point about the actual flight. "Plenty of time to be a disappointment, then." Not that she would ever suspect it of R'hin, or so that feather soft tone implies. Innocently curious, "What do you have against riders from Ierne" Hraedhyth's drums suddenly spike in warning, audible to Leiventh and carried in the Weyrwoman's frustrated sound. Is that a growl? "Go to sleep." A command that hopefully isn't meant for R'hin. "After?" R'hin's chuckling. "Not every gold or greenrider wants a second go. Some have... weyrmates, or other commitments, or just feel weird about it, if they're a stranger, or moreso if they're not." He gives her a blandly surprised look. "You mean you hadn't heard all the males are impotent outside flights? Hm. I was sure that's common knowledge even in the north, not just in Monaco." He could be pulling her leg, but he sounds so earnest. It's not that Azaylia doesn't believe him about those hypothetical riders with scruples or weyrmates, nose wrinkling at the idea. The exaggerated expression doesn't last, unable to pretend to be so judgemental of what others choose to do. R'hin offers the perfect distraction from the restless queen, her rider easing back to eye him dubiously. "They can't all be impotent." It'd be such a waste! "Try and seduce one," R'hin challenges her, "You'll see I'm right." "Oh, now I have to." Azaylia accepts the challenge, as if she needs an excuse. "I'm sure I already have, but..." Sometimes there isn't room for chit chat. "You're going to confuse a lot of men, R'hin." Yes, because if her escapades start with 'Are you from Ierne?' after this, it'll be all his fault. "You're going to be very disappointed," R'hin warns her, with a low throated chuckle. There's a fond sort of pat to her leg, as he stands. Azaylia aims a gentle kick at him as he straightens up, "You'll never hear the end of it, if you're wrong." Yes, if. She watches him with a tired smile, making no move to stop or follow him. A soft murmur instead of a proper goodbye, "Thank you." "I'm always right, and you'll never hear the end of that," R'hin counters. He takes the kick, as gentle as it is, with an exaggerated stagger, straightening up and wincing as he rubs where her foot contacted. The act fades as he grins, "Anytime. Well, maybe not any time. I do like my sleep." With a jaunty wave, he's heading out towards the ledge, the dark shadow of Leiventh's glide zooming down from the rim to meet him. |
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