Logs:Risky Business
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| RL Date: 4 August, 2015 |
| Who: Kh'tyr, Lilah |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Igen Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lilah makes Kh'tyr an offer he can't refuse. |
| Where: Igen Hold |
| When: Day 12, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Ka'ge/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Paislie/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Many thanks to Lilah for providing this hook in for Kh'tyr's transfer! <3 |
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| Igen Gathers are always colorful. Between the heat, the fabrics, the people and the dance floor, it's a spectacle that few fond of gathers would willingly miss. Mograith's pale form sprawls comfortably in one of the sunny spots, the sleek sharp angles of his frame a stark contrast with the natural rounded swell of the sand dunes in the distance. Given the heat, there are tents aplenty that are meant to give gather-goers a moment of repose before continuing their merrymaking. This particular tent has many hanging drapes to offer private alcoves for the floor pillows there for comfort. The drapes function as sun block, too, for the light filters through the colorful hangings from open spaces in the ceiling that lets the breeze through. It's easy enough with the one sometimes must duck to navigate the hangings or push one aside to find oneself face to face with a stranger in worn out riding leathers. (Surprise! It's Kh'tyr.) Eliyaveith is certainly not the only gold here enjoying the warmth of the sun that has soaked into the sands, but she is one of the largest, darkest, and she holds herself apart from the other, foreign dragons today. Those who recognize her also likely have no trouble recognizing her similarly distinct rider, even with the lack of any knot on Lilah's shoulder. She is clad in the same dress as she was for Fort's last hatching, a white, light dress undercut with grey in the Igen styles suited to this heat, with red-gold curls allowed to spill down over one shoulder. The Igen styles haven't saved her from the heat, a soft sheen of sweat already building by the time she gives in to duck into that tent, only the warning of a slim hand pushing aside bright fabric before the goldrider steps too quickly forward without thought for the fact that someone might be on the other side. Perspective is a funny thing. Snatches of a face is all it's easy to take in at this close perspective as bodies briefly collide, Kh'tyr taking only the smallest step back to allow the breath of space between them without really giving ground. "Red," sounds more assessment than observation on his limited view, tilting his head very slightly to seek to take in the eyes under the brows. "Did you just call me Red?" is questioned in turn as observation, dark eyes lifting to meet his for all that Lilah gives up none of her own ground. There is also no apology forthcoming as she attempts to take in more of the dragonrider with the space put back between them, though her fingers continue to hold open the drapery, as if it could fall at any moment and this single second would be the whole of their meeting. "Did you want me to call you something else?" Kh'tyr answers question with question, brows rising just slightly and head turning enough to give the redhead an inquisitive look. Where his brows lift, so do hers in that challenging curve that marks one higher than the other. Lilah's lips might hold the hint of amusement, but it is the weight of her gaze that is levelled on Kh'tyr. She will answer with a statement, simple, "Red is fine. I've been called plenty of things, but never Red." "I've never been called Red either," Kh'tyr's lips curl just slightly into a smile. The 'plenty of other things' is left firmly implied. "Looking for a respite, Red?" The asking is made invitation as Kh'tyr steps back to gesture to the empty pillowed alcove behind him - well, empty except him, but nothing's perfect in this world. "Is that what I will find here?" questions Lilah with a softer challenge, interest, as her fingers finally fall from the hanging fabric. But she steps forward and it falls behind her, enclosing them into the alcove alone. She moves to take a seat on one of those pillows, folding herself down with not quite the grace of those that are used to using them. "I was looking for a drink--." "Depends on how much trouble you naturally attract," Kh'tyr's quick to answer and quicker to produce a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket. "Or were you looking for something with a tiny umbrella?" He makes a show of patting his jacket down with his other hand as if he might have such a thing upon his person. Lilah's lips curve into a subtle smile at that answer, and she is quick to counter, "Are you already telling me that you are trouble and I do not even know your name?" She shifts to take the flask, only after she has it does she examine it with a hint of consideration. "An umbrella would be nice, but ice would be better." Yet, she still lifts the mouth of his flask to her lips. "Oh posh," Kh'tyr tuts, effecting a lofty tone and expression to say, "Trouble rarely announces itself." Perhaps it then says something that the man extends a hand politely, "Kh'tyr," but just that. Still, there's the assistant weyrlingmaster's knot with the thread of brown and the badge of Igen and his wing to say the rest. "I suspect some ice could be arranged, for a price." He considers the redhead a moment as if calculating if she gets a discount. "Kh'tyr," Lilah repeats as if considering the syllables, shifting forward to shake that hand before she offers him his flask in return. She does continue, adding the identification on his shoulder, "Of Igen. It is nice to meet you." Not that this prompts her to give her own name in turn, only meeting the man's study with a tilt of her chin upwards. "What would be the price for that, then?" "A proper introduction," Kh'tyr answers, hardly the type who seems to go for proper, but perhaps that's what makes the price not uninteresting. He watches her face, expression impassive as he awaits an answer. A brow curves upwards at the answer, and for all that it isn't such a steep price, Lilah seems to be considering it. "Does Red not work?" she questions, though it seems to only be words to bide her time as she still considers his bargain. "Of course it works, but imagine how awkward it will be if I have to write to your father informing him I've snapped you up and am holding you captive in my weyr until the next clutch has hardened on the sands, like the old days," the words are said with enough cavalier disregard that he cannot possibly be serious, and yet Kh'tyr goes on, "'Dear sir, I have taken Red.' Imagine his confusion if there's more than one redheaded child in your family," he points out, clearly only thinking of her father's well-being in all this. There is still that buried surprise as Kh'tyr continues, though Lilah's lips are caught into a light smile by amusement before she answers him with: "I think my dragon would be more confused than my father, if you tried to hold me captive to stand for another clutch." A pause, as she studies Kh'tyr and continues to as she adds, "Lilah of Fort." "Dr--" starts some quip or another, only he's dumbstruck when she adds her name. "Well, that's an unexpected turn," Kh'tyr tells her as he recovers, hands coming up to clap thrice, "Brava, Lady." He must be at least slightly abashed (or maybe looking to run?) for he offers immediately, "I'll get your ice," before turning to disappear through one of the other curtains. It must not be running, or at least not running without settling the debt for he returns in short order with a pitcher of ice and two cups in his opposite hand. Lilah doesn't stop him, even if his intention is to run. She watches, that dark gaze following him as he leaves and there watching the hanging drapery when he returns. She will reach for her glass, first, and allow him to settle, before she'll offer as a re-introduction, "You can still call me Red, for the evening." "May I?" has a slight emphasis to it that might just be a challenge. Whatever composure Kh'tyr might've lost is regained now. "Do you suppose it's something that golds look for in a rider, that uncanny ability to convince people to bend to their whim and curl about their littlest finger? I've always thought it must get crowded." Once he's settled, the ice gets portioned into each glass, only there's naught to go with it, unless he produces that flask again. It's just ice. "I've never had anyone curled around any of my fingers, so I suppose it must not be," counters Lilah in turn, her brows curving upwards in a challenge of her own as she watches the brownrider. Perhaps she is expecting the flask, because she's not making a move to enjoy the just ice, yet. But, she finally answers the first question with an easy, "If you'd like, Kh'tyr." The way Kh'tyr scoffs his disbelief so quickly, it can't be a ploy to pretend to be a compliment. "I can't imagine a world in which that's true," he says succinctly, tilting his glass back to pop a chunk of ice into his mouth and chew it, loudly. "I might like it too much, then what'll I do when you decide upon our next meeting it's Lilah or nothing. I'll be devastated." He doesn't sound particularly emotionally attached to -- well, anything, but it could be true, couldn't it? (Probably not.) "I think that is a chance that you will have to be willing to take," is Lilah's challenge in turn, the soft hint of interest marking a curve to her lips though it is the curve of her brow upwards that is the more exaggerated gesture. A pause, and then she adds easily, a sharp edge of humor to the words as she points out, "Especially since you don't seem to trust what I say, in any case. Even if I assured you I wouldn't." The sharp humor draws his lips in a twitch that isn't quite a purse or a smile and yet somehow nearly both at once. It's a look of restrained amusement that Kh'tyr gives her. "Trust and taking risks is my specialty, Red." He knocks back another chunk of ice before producing the flask and offering it to her first in gentlemanly fashion that seems somewhat at odds with his his arguably impish demeanor. "Trust is often earned. When given it tends to be abused," he observes as he eyes the remaining ice in his glass. Lilah accepts the flask easily, not even offering a thank you as if it were her right to be served. (She is, after all, a goldrider. She is probably used to people producing things for her.) A generous amount is tipped into her glass before she passes it back with efficient speed, however, as she answers, "And if someone abuses your trust? What do you do, then?" She is old enough, likely, to have her own answer to this question, but she watches Kh'tyr with lingering interest. Kh'tyr's dark eyes meet Lilah's and his lips pull into a slight smirk. "Adapt," is the one-word answer that contains it all. He leans toward her as he takes the flask back and pours into his own cup, "What do you do, Red?" "Destroy," is Lilah's one word answer, holding a sharp edge of buried frustration that likely isn't for Kh'tyr as she doesn't avert her dark eyes from his. "Any ties or relationship, anything left between us--. They become dead to me." Her fingers rub against the rim of her glass, not lifting it to her lips as she twists it thoughtfully instead. "How do you adapt?" "Sometimes that is the best answer," Kh'tyr acknowledges with a slight lift of his glass toward her as he slips the flask back into its home. "If it's not worth it, if there are better ways, if it's not the kind of thing you want to put your effort into..." He shrugs; that's the right answer, it seems. "If it's something professional, that's seldom an option," his tone is wry and carries the weight of the many headaches he must have endured under such circumstances. "Adapting can come in a lot of forms. Depends on what the circumstances are. When we feel betrayed, it's easy to lump it all into one kind of abuse of trust and to make the reasons not matter, but if you want to work past it or through it, understanding can sometimes help knowing how to address it." He pauses there and his brows furrow a moment before he squints up at her. "Did you happen to turn into a weyrling there for a moment?" It seems a serious inquiry; one never knows. Lilah doesn't answer immediately, finally lifting that drink for a long swallow of the liquid, leaving only the alcohol that settles between the ice as her glass is settled back into her lap between the curve of fingers. "I'm not skilled in adapting. Not in trusting. Especially if my hands feel tied, if there's nothing I can do and it's not my choice." She finally counters in question, "Is this a conversation that you would have with one of your weyrlings?" "It's not for everyone," Kh'tyr admits. "It takes practice and unfortunately practice isn't something most sane people would willingly seek out. Though there are those with experience willing to help teach another person how to navigate that kind of trouble." It's probably obvious that he counts among those people, but he's staring off across the top of his glass as he says it which is hardly confirmation or open offer. "Sometimes things get personal with some of the weyrlings I deal with. Particularly when it comes to matters of trust, so yes, I'd say I would have this sort of conversation with one of my weyrlings," there's a slight emphasis to the possessive, but an emphasis that separates 'his' from the greater whole of weyrlings that he might deal with in his role as an assistant. A laugh actually spills from Lilah's lips, though her words are nothing that would make any sane person amused as she tells the man, "I have plenty of practice in being betrayed. I am surrounded by people who've betrayed me. My Weyrleader, my-- boyfriend? Lover? My sister, my juniors, my weyrlings--." But her words fall away, fingers only lifted in a brief, dismissive wave as she catches herself at spilling these things to the near stranger here. Instead, her gaze finally slides away to the hanging curtains nearby as it moves. Kh'tyr's brows lift in answer and he finds himself leaning again toward her. "Then sounds like you have the practice and just need ideas besides 'destroy' to try your hand at." He's leaning back again just as the words are said and he offers, "Pick one. I'll give you my advice. Free of charge. Just-" he holds up a finger, "-for you, Red. Just this once. If you need my help again, you'll have to make an honest man of me." His lips pull into a not quite smirk that suggests that might be an impossible task if taken at anything more than the figurative value of the remark. Her gaze slides back to take him in at the offer, weighing him as she considers what answer to give. "And how would I make an honest man out of someone who threatened to whisk me away on dragonback?" she questions first, the slightest, subtle and subconscious shift of the angle of her body towards him. But it's the easy answer that she seeks when she adds, "The boyfriend, then. He slept with a weyrling. I suspect that might be something you are familiar with, if not personally." "Well, I suppose you could whisk him away on dragonback, though that hardly suggests honest intentions," Kh'tyr suggests and rejects thoughtfully. "I suppose you could offer him marks for his inestimable wisdom." The brownrider is a humble man, make no mistake. "Why did he sleep with a weyrling?" "I didn't stop to ask. Something about her coming to him, that she looked somewhat like me--. All honest intentions on his part, surely," is dry on Lilah's part, her lips catching in a soft, crooked smile as she studies Kh'tyr. "Do you want to be whisked away to Fort, Weyrlingmaster? Should I brave the wrath of Nimae for poaching from her?" "Oh, surely. I'm sure the gratification had nothing to do with it." Kh'tyr says it offhandedly but there's the lilt of humor to his voice. "Do you love him?" It's asked with raised brows. "Is your need great enough to warrant facing her?" There's a pause as he considers, "I am good at what I do. I'm not the most agreeable or traditional assistant, but I get results with the cases that give the Weyrlingmaster the most headaches and that's usually enough to earn the forgiveness of whatever headaches I give." The first question goes unanswered; it's likely that Lilah couldn't answer it even if she wanted to as she tips her empty glass towards Kh'tyr silently instead. It's the latter question that she will reply to, telling him, "Nimae does not scare me, but I do not want to continue this pattern of Weyr versus Weyr. Fighting amongst each other for scraps while the Holds grow fat and happy. But, my need? I need someone to keep my weyrlings in line. If you knew our situation--." She doesn't continue. She doesn't tell him, this foreign dragonrider. Even without the answer, Kh'tyr is inclined to offer advice. "You have choices besides destroying. Accept it and move on-- the most challenging and least personally rewarding unless you're looking at the long, long term," he commentates, "get even and move on-- much more fun, if you're not inclined toward personal guilt for any hurt it might cause him in return, or push it so far down that your objection to it will never see the light of day and let it become just one more scar." That advice dispensed, he gives thought to the other. "Igen has other assistants." Then, setting his glass aside he folds his hands and requests, "Tell me about your situation. I'm as free as any other dragonrider to make a request if the situation warrants it." There's irony in his tone when it comes to free dragonriders, but there's no bitterness, but rather simply an keen understanding of the state of things made clear in his expression. "Trust is your specialty, not mine," counters Lilah at his request, dark eyes brushing over the lines of the man's features as she considers something. But then her glass is set aside as well, joining his, before the goldrider leans forward across the space between them to replace her gaze with a brush of a kiss against the line of his jaw. It seems she has chosen at least one of his suggestions, though she murmurs as she does, "I thought taking risks was your other?" Kh'tyr's stillness when she leans forward isn't the freeze of surprise but rather the calm of one simply awaiting what will come. His eyes flutter closed at the touch of her lips and a slow smile spreads. "And you said you've never curled anyone around your finger." He reaches to slip a hand around her arm and seeks to draw her against him. "Should I trust that I'm the first?" The exhale of Lilah's breath sounds like a laugh as she does shift against him, lips trailing to press against his ear instead as she questions lowly, "I am not stupid enough to believe I could have you curled that easily around my finger. But if you were, you'd be the first." But there is a pause, a moment of hesitation on the part of the goldrider, before she suggests, "Come home with me, agree to come to Fort, and I'll tell you everything that you need to know after." A beat. "And trust you not to change your mind, once you know." "Perhaps I'm particularly susceptible to redheaded goldriders. You're my first." There's a tease to his words, but there's no hint of it in the way Kh'tyr moves to press his lips to hers. It's against those lips in the wake of the kiss, with the tickle of his well-tended mustache and goatee, that he makes his answer. "Altruism, risks, intrigue and sex, how's a man to resist? Let's go." |
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