Logs:Question & Answer
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| RL Date: 28 August, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Days after Elaruth's flight, Brieli/Aishani has questions. N'rov has answers, some of which are unexpected. |
| Where: Brieli and Iesaryth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 8, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
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| Even now, Vhaeryth's sending has thinned: a fine, almost flimsy sheet of metal without the resonance it normally affords. Still, he's pleased to reach out towards Iesaryth, at least, with greetings: he'll come now, if it suits her. Her, and hers. Iesaryth is not distant but dark; there's dull cloudy skies and heavy surf pounding the beach, the water deep and grey. Despite that and an odd unsettled sense, she can reach out, but won't send such cold tide his way. Now is... fine. For them both. He's weary, but he sends warmth back even so, what he should safely muster and a touch more. And a sense of his equally tired disconcertedness: he hasn't seen her this way, not before. But Vhaeryth also doesn't wait before arriving, now that he's begun: up there's the silhouette of his emergence out of nothingness, out there's his reporting in, thinly echoed to Iesaryth, and down here he's flying, finally, with so much less than usual of his usual vim and vigor. At least he lands neatly enough: that much hasn't changed, when he wills it, and he must do so now. She might warm her waters a touch at that; there's appreciation and her own warmth, if borrowed, reflected from her sister-gold's fires on their shared beach - close enough tonight to catch the scent of smoke on sea air, see the flicker of flame in the swells. And there's sympathy for that exhaustion - as for her, there's little she can say. And when he arrives in the skies, Iesaryth will still offer that customary rush of welcome, even if her waters aren't as calm or as warm. She won't leave Vhaeryth to be ignored or whatever else it is that High Reaches' dragons do on his arrival. She's not visible on her ledge this time, now curled up far to the back, so there's lots of room to land. There's a quiet rumble of greeting; the lights are on inside, but no one's yet come out. Vhaeryth crouches to permit N'rov to slide down, but then he precedes him, walking towards Iesaryth with a swish-/flick/ of his tail that leaves the man alone: better than it had been, the day before yesterday or even yesterday itself, but still not healed. Vhaeryth will aim to bump noses with the young queen and then settle with her, but his gaze doesn't track N'rov as the man slings the canteen back around his neck so he can take off his flight jacket and sling it over his arm. As for N'rov's part, when he walks past the dragons, it's Iesaryth to whom he looks longest. Even in her mood - if it is her mood - Iesaryth lifts her head to touch noses with Vhaeryth, rub her head against his, if briefly, before he settles with her. There's never anything that can upset her so much that she won't be affectionate, and though it seems like she's been spending her day alone (unlike Hraedhyth, say, curled up with a brown on her ledge), the bronze's presence seems to be appreciated. She leans into him - and won't look at his rider, no matter how long N'rov regards her. Inside, the glows are all unshielded well into the bedroom, and Aishani isn't in her usual armchair - she's at the table, head bent over papers with the air of someone trying to work but not managing much more than killing time, dark curls covering her expression. Somehow, /Iesaryth's/ not looking at his rider troubles Vhaeryth more, for all that /he/ isn't much looking at the man. He whuffs a warm, quiet breath against her shoulder but then, yes, he quiets too. The sound of her waves, it's reflected in a way that amplifies the way the waves curl and then whoosh and swoosh down, less loud than rhythmic. His rider's left to walk inward, unhooking the canteen along the way. "'Shani. Hello." Even his voice is low and tired, even now. Iesaryth's waves likely need that gentling - though they're not stormy, they're rough and high, and the crash and roar is not as soothing as it might normally be. There's something of apology in her thoughts, to Vhaeryth, some little touches of guilt and responsibility. Some little disappointment. Very different waters, more like her usual, and the black sands at Ista. Her rider glances up, expressionless - though she does give up on the papers, shuffling them together. "N'rov. Hello," she echoes, even down to the tone. "Are you all right?" She does sound concerned, if she doesn't look it. "Not so great," N'rov admits without buffing it up. "He's... It's not as bad as it was." But that echo, its own silent echoes slow his footsteps over to her, towards that table and those papers. And though he tries to read her, he's handicapped. "What's wrong?" he asks, and sets the canteen down by the papers before reaching to brush an errant curl out of her face. But slowly, in case she's inclined to duck. Or snap. "That's good. Not that it wasn't great... but that it's not as bad as it was." Once the papers are dealt with, there's not much else to do but look over at that canteen for a moment, close her eyes as he brushes that curl from her face. It's not till he's done that Shani can look up at him, dark eyes hard, and ask, "Are you seeing someone else?" N'rov nods, a ducked sort of thanks, and as for the canteen, it's a slim column that might perhaps hold three cups. He's looking at her, though, not it. Wiith her eyes closed, his hand lingers in her hair and down her cheek... and after it falls, after she says that, his hand closes sharply as though it hadn't realized until just now that it was singed. He's startled, staring back at her. "What? No." And then, "Not like that." Shani probably enjoyed that caress, his fingers lingering in her hair and on her skin; it might be why it took her so long to start this line of questioning - it might part of the reason why she's determined to continue now, despite his surprise. She's paranoid enough not to entirely believe it, especially followed up the way it is. Narrowing her eyes, flatly - though devoid of anger, "What about Ali, then? And not like /what/?" Her gaze is sharp, fixed on his expression. Surprise, confusion, worry and guilt and regret: N'rov faces Shani head-on, letting her see, and then turns abruptly to the canteen. He screws off its cup of a lid, pours, drinks, then splashes his forehead with more of it before he turns back. "I'm not /seeing/ her," he says finally. "Yes. I fucked a girl after the flight. I'm not seeing /her/ either. Next question?" And Vhaeryth shifts, his distance not distant enough not to be disturbed. She sits there, takes that in for a moment. It's not in Aishani's way to be embarrassed about her accusations, nor is it in her way to necessarily condemn him for something that people /say/ can't be helped. Though the first shift in her expression is all displeasure. "Am I supposed to congratulate you?" she asks, taking her own time with that. Looking down at the papers again, rougher, in contrast to her words, "It doesn't matter." Nothing ever does. And Iesaryth isn't entirely relaxed for all that, but she'll start to fill in some blanks. Ista's black sand and skies, and a now-familiar gold flying above with a tiny green - Isyath and Ivwynoth, as Iesaryth sits on the beach. "No." It's bleak. N'rov drinks again from the snow-water and sets down the cup, answering her voice before her words by moving closer, to slip his arm around Shani's shoulders if she'll stay. He holds her, hugs her. His head is bowed. "You're the woman I want to see," he says, low. As for Vhaeryth, there's immediate warmth in recognition of the pair, but then he's that much more disconcerted: how could that be troubling? A star's reflection shines within the metal, towards the waters. Still uncertain, « They would have flown with you, if you would have liked? » Was it hard for her to sit, then, and only watch? That tone has her glancing up, if only through her lashes and briefly - there's something about the way her hands move, the way she sits that's off, betraying her anxiety where she normally wouldn't. Shani freezes when he comes towards her, stiffens when he slides arms around her, but she stays. Her body /wants/ to melt into his, wrap around his, but she can't stop herself: "Are you sure? I can't..." She swallows, whispers, "I'm scared." Iesaryth isn't so much troubled by the pair or the flying - she liked to watch, liked to see how close they could come to touching without colliding, splashing into the sea. But inside... « When they had to leave your home, she spoke with their riders. She... did not like all of what was said. » That's about it from her, but Vhaeryth may do with it as he pleases. Even if she's sold Shan out a little. "I'm sure." He holds her anyway, stiffness or no, though it's just a little gingerly before resting his head against hers and exhaling a deep breath into her hair. With that, he relaxes, a little. "Tell me what you're scared of," N'rov requests. His hand moves despite itself, stroking her hair. Slowly. Vhaeryth's that much more perplexed, enough that instinctively he reaches out... only to retreat from his rider's mind, but N'rov must feel that nudge, and the man pets Shani again, more softly now. To Iesaryth, Vhaeryth sends a wavery sense that people are... strange. She breathes out - it's a breath she doesn't seem to even be aware she'd been holding - and begins to relax as well, her own arms sliding around him in return, turning, lifting her chin to press a long kiss to his temple. Closing her eyes, Aishani sighs, clearly enjoying those fingers in her hair. At length, hesitant, "I... tend to lose people. That matter to me." Iesaryth /agrees/, only slightly more enlightened about these things. But look, the storms are passing, at least - and if they'll be there for the night, they can go to fly over the mountains when the snow is silvery with moonlight. At least that makes sense. His temple is cool with the water, but that kiss closes his eyes, too. "I don't want you to lose me," he says, and doesn't stop. "I want to keep you." He strokes her hair, keeps stroking it, follows it down to her shoulders where he can hide his fingers in its ends. After a little while, "Tell me more? I... I want to know what's going on with you." Vhaeryth assents: if they're there, they can do that. He'd /like/ that. Silvery and cool and clear. "Oh, don't say..." But she trails off, she /wants/ him to say that, for all that her instincts are to protest. Quiet, low, "I want to keep you. Sometimes, I don't want you to leave." She leans her head on his shoulder, arms tightening around him. She's still uncertain when she speaks slowly, asking, "What... why I asked you... what I did?" Iesaryth would like that too, dark sky and cool air and snow to drag a talon through on an untouched mountaintop. But for now, she'll lean into him with her ever-growing bulk, regaining contentment. It makes him smile into her hair, what she says then, and he leans in as she does. As Vhaeryth does. But also as though this, holding her, could keep away for always the tugs and demands of outside, elsewhere life. He's slow to say, "If that's what you want to talk about. If that's what's going on." Slow, and deliberate enough to try and stay steady. It's as if she can feel that smile; it coaxes a brief one out of her, into his shoulder - as does the way he holds her. She never wants him to leave /here/, these few rooms, as if they really could ward off everything else through such simple means. There's a little laugh, "I don't want to talk about any of it." But she will, for him - she brushes a kiss to the side of his neck before lowly, "When Elaruth... I went to Ista, just for Iesaryth. And..." A little shrug. "Ali didn't seem to know about me. Us. Didn't like hearing about it. Almost choked when her friend thought Vhaeryth had caught." Maybe with a touch of apology, "I thought the worst." He kisses her for it, for the laugh, for her not wanting to talk, for the talking anyway. When he reaches away, it's only to snag the cup of water and bring it back, drinking himself but also offering her sips here and there where she might want them. "Here I thought the whole Weyr, both our Weyrs, were gossiping about us. I guess not." He keeps leaning into her, eyes briefly distant when she explains how she's read Ali's reaction. He breathes in, breathes out. Eventually, "She keeps her eye on E'ten and me, I think. Our dragons, they were clutched out of her queen. There's more to it than that. She's helped me." N'rov sets down the cup, unless she intercepts it, so he can stroke her hair again. And then he admits, "We could talk more about her, or about E'ten, or about my other people there but... what I really want to do is sleep with you, Shani, if you'll have me." There's another laugh for those kisses, kisses she returns, more for the supposed gossip: "And I thought the same. But..." But. She'll take a drink or two, and might not look up in time to catch that distance, but the slow breaths and the long pause are enough to cause her to tense again - so the touch to her hair is well-timed. Shani isn't entirely certain she's done with that discussion - maybe not forever - but at N'rov's last, she can only sigh, wrap herself around him again, warm and soft. "No more tonight. And there's few things I love more than having you in my bed," she murmurs. "I wouldn't have anyone else." His, "Good," is distinctly possessive, and with that, and a kiss, they can lead each other to bed. |
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