Logs:The Cruelest
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| RL Date: 24 February, 2016 |
| Who: Kh'tyr, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Olivya interrupts Kh'tyr's winey reclining to give him a cruel, cruel task. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Pasna/Mentions |
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| Kh'tyr would be exactly the sort of Igenite to be lounging on the stone steps of the galleries as if it were a beach. There's a skin of something that isn't water above his head, and he's knotted up his outer layers to make himself a pillow for sprawling along the bench, eyes closed. Clearly, this is an assistant weyrlingmaster hard at work. Mograith, however, is always helpful in finding Kh'tyr particularly when Kh'tyr would rather not be found (though he always lets that part be a delightful surprise for the seeker). It's difficult to tell those moments from the 'simply being a good teacher' moments of which Mograith has surprisingly many. It is Kh'tyr, specifically, that Olivya is seeking out with the helpful assistance of his dragon. At least the man is not without warning, giving the strike of heeled boots against stone as the Weyrlingmaster climbs the stairs into the galleries, clad in the usual jacket that'd give her away if the brownrider bothered to glance over. Regardless, she calls out a drawled, "Kh'tyr, I need you, darling," as she joins him in the row he's claimed, careless about anyone who may be close enough to hear her words. "We've been over this, Olivya," Kh'tyr replies without even opening his eyes (by now, he surely has the sound of her heeled boots memorized as a matter of self-preservation). "And I don't think there's a dam, no matter how apparently unconcerned about her eggs, that would approve of that sort of thing in the galleries." Now he opens his eyes to cock his head a little in her direction. "What do you want?" is, of course, the more serious response to her searching. "And yet, you know how much of an exhibitionist I am," answers Olivya dryly, though there is the hint of a smile there as she drags her gaze over the man only once he's opened his eyes. Her brow quirks up, and she withholds her information from him despite the question for a minute, two. Eventually, though, she adds, "I just came from a meeting with Mirinda and Blume; we have a list of empty weyrs approved for the weyrlings. "And yet, you know how much of an exhibitionist I am," answers Olivya dryly, though there is the hint of a smile there as she drags her gaze over the man only once he's opened his eyes. Her brow quirks up, and she withholds her information from him despite the question for a minute, two. Eventually, though, she adds, "I just came from a meeting with Mirinda and Blume; we have a list of empty weyrs approved for the weyrlings." "I do," makes it sound as though Kh'tyr does and not only that, but that he's gravely concerned by her behavior. But that's more of the first attitude which wanders alongside his more reliable persona of 'good-but-quirky assistant.' "So you want to make sure you have first crack at breaking each of them in and you've decided I'm the man for at least one of the jobs?" The brownrider inquires, sitting up and swinging his feet to the ground before reaching for that skin of not-water and opening it to drink and consider the proposition he's obviously taking very seriously (not at all). That brow only curves more sharply at Kh'tyr for his suggestion, though Olivya lifts a hand to hold out for the flask, a soft gesture that seems to expect to be followed despite the lack of force. "No, I have a nice enough weyr already without feeling the need to make my mark around," though, really, she's already seen a number of weyrs that way, too. But she continues, with an actual edge of command to her words, "No, I want you to ferry the weyrlings around and get them to choose their weyrs, so we can get them moved out before these eggs hatch." Kh'tyr's eyes narrow and hold a moment before he's passing over the skin of what proves to be red wine, practically at mulled temperature from resting on the stone of these benches but without the benefits of the spicing. "You just don't want to hear them whine and bitch and complain when the offerings don't have private baths and waterfalls and a stairway to Timor." His voice is darkly accusing. Olivya is not complaining about free drinks; she takes a slow, long sip of the wine before she re-corks the flask and tosses it back towards her assistant. "I will take a few myself," she says, though by now, he may know that means she will take her favorites, those that show the most promise of conforming to her way of thinking. "And Pasna will be splitting the duty with you. And she won't complain." "No, Pasna never complains. But she also doesn't have my fine physique." What would Olivya do without him, Kh'tyr's drawl implies with lifted brows. "Besides, you know I only complain because I don't have any choice but to do it. Your a tyrant. We both know it." It's so casually dismissive it can't possibly be true. The brownrider is just (surprise) an asshole. One that gets mouthy and likes to complain to his boss. "When do you want it done by?" "Mm, I can appreciate Pasna's curves just as much as yours," is what Olivya tosses back even as she meets his accusation with an innocent smile of her own. She agrees, "You don't have a choice. It needs to be done, and you and I both know it. Unless you want to spend overnights with these weyrlings still and the new ones all together." But her head tips in a hint of consideration, her gaze lingering on him. Then: "Tomorrow." Kh'tyr balks, giving Olivya a wide-eyed look. "As if Pasna could ever dream of comparing to all this," he gestures to his habitually sloppy attire, his hair going all the ways at once, his shirt untucked, and his clothes never failing to look like he's rolled out of bed, except when he's making a very special effort. "Tomorrow?" Has the ring of true balking. "Do you expect me to work some sort of magic? These are teenagers," some of them, "trying to pick a home. You think I can just make them decide in what, an hour? Two? Six at the most?" Only then there's a pause when his brows dip and his look becomes both wounded and deeply accusing, "You're going to make me be the one to tell them they have to choose by tomorrow, aren't you." And deal with all the whining and complaining about that, too. It might be that Olivya expected this reaction from the assistant weyrlingmaster, since she does not even flinch as he truly balks for her answer. Nor does she show any hint of flexibility for all that his reasoning is sound. Instead, she offers to him lightly, "Don't worry, sweetie; you can always tell them that if they don't choose, the Weyrlingmaster will be deciding for them tomorrow evening. That should be enough to motivate them, teenagers or not." A pause, before she adds again, "Or you can remind them about the baby dragons that will soon be joining them in the barracks. Late night feedings, and crying, and fighting--." Kh'tyr's elbows come onto his knees and his hands ball into fists for his chin to come to rest on, his expression taking on an over-done expression of attentive awe. "Golly, Liv," he only calls her Liv when he wants something, "it sounds like you really have this all worked out. Are you sure you don't want to do it? I can watch, learn from the master." His voice matches his expression. He's utterly slappable, though that's not really far off from his usual state of being, and he'll be paying for all this smartassery tomorrow one way or another. "Well, darling, it would hardly work if I did it, would it? I can't encourage them to blame the Weyrlingmaster and then walk away, like you could," counters Olivya back easily, with only a tinge of played regret that she just simply can't do that, alas. "But I am sure that you will learn just as well by doing as by watching. I have faith in you." She will even lean forward to pat her fingers lightly against his cheek, a soft, encouraging gesture. Kh'tyr sighs, wholly ignoring the fingers on his cheek before, sitting up and releasing all the drama at once. "Once again you've bested me, Olivya. I surrender to your whims keeping only the dear knowledge that my virtue, at least, remains intact." Unless you count flights. But who does? He lets his hands slap down onto his knees and push himself up. "The list in your office?" of weyrs. Presumably, he should find them all himself before he takes any weyrlings touring. "Or will I have to endure Pasna's curves to get it?" Would she do him that cruelty too? Olivya would; she doesn't even show a hint of shame when she answers blandly, "Pasna has the list. She volunteered to make copies, so I am sure that she has one ready for you." Her smile returns, though, as she straightens away to give him room. It is still completely innocent as she adds on a soft exhale, "I don't know what I did to get so lucky with two such wonderfully helpful assistants." "Of course she did. Good old reliable Pasna," who Kh'tyr would rather fight with than partner up with and thus his tone is very tongue in cheek. "I don't know about her, but for me, it's because the Weyr doesn't pay me enough to be drunk all the time and I'm at my weakest when partially sober." He does reach down for that wineskin and pluck it up to uncork and drink from again. "Remind me to hide all of the liquor bottles next time I need you to do something big for me," Olivya answers for that, only offering a dry humor in the words as she watches Kh'tyr and his wineskin. "Now that just crosses a line, Olivya. Besides, you wouldn't want the weyrlings exposed to me fully sober. There's no saying what I'd do," Kh'tyr even wiggles his brows as if that might be some variety of maniacal threat. "I'll find Pasna," is colored as being one much put-upon, but he moves to step past her to head from the exit at any rate. Olivya murmurs an easy, "It'd be good for the weyrlings and for you to learn to deal with the unexpected," as he moves past her, purposefully remaining where his arm must brush hers as he does so. But she doesn't stop him further, and indeed, she'll turn to watch him go after without moving to follow him, yet. |
Comments
Alida (18:25, 24 February 2016 (PST)) said...
I always enjoy seeing these two interact. ^^
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