Watch your tongue.
Who: Miniyal and H'kon
Where: Upper caverns
When: 19:40 on day 28, month 10, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: H'kon happens upon Miniyal and engages her in conversation. Condolences are offered. He asks for her assitance in information gathering. She is, well, an utter bitch. Poor H'kon. :(
5/23/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is 19:40 on day 28, month 10, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
Post dinner time and weyr residents go about their business. The tunnels leading off around the main nexus of the upper caverns are always busy and now is no different. In this hubbub is Miniyal, currently speaking in low tones to a man about a decade her senior. The two stand close, but when he lifts his hand to rest it on her shoulder she shakes her head and steps back. He sighs and gives her a look of concern before just nodding and turning to walk off. Left alone, she studies the traffic, trying her best to not be noticed as she stands against the wall, hands in her pockets, short hair covering most of her face.
H'kon adds himself to the general chaos of the caverns on his way back from the stores, a few tough squares of leather carried in one hand. True to form for anyone not at all comfortable in crowds, as soon as he notes the business of the place, his back is plastered to the nearest wall (or door frame, or what-have-you), and the bustle is scanned, both for people, and for a path. And then, as his eyes alight on that weyrling goldrider, it's for a path to a people. Person. The man is broad and strong, and when he wants to shoulder his way through a crowd, he can, so there's very little time required for him to come up alongside the woman, reaching a hand for her upper arm and, just to be sure he has her attention, giving a firm, "Miniyal."
"I know who I am." The words are given without any emphasis. Miniyal blinks twice and one hand removes itself from a pocket so she can swipe at hair covering her eyes. "Sir." It's a listless sort of sir. It does not come with a salute. It is just a word, cast out into the noise of the weyr to be taken up or not. Once her hair has been tucked back, for as short a time as it will remain there, her hand returns to the pocket where it came from.
That response makes even one as one-track-minded as H'kon pause for a moment, squinting at the woman. And then looking generally distant, as various tidbits of information are brought to mind. "I understand you are in mourning... still, a salute would be proper..." In this time, of course, he's released her arm, to allow his own arm to hang at his side.
Another blink and she fixes her gaze firmly upon the brownrider. "I'm a rebel, sir." Ahh, in the old days she might have sounded sarcastic. Now, Miniyal just speaks, like words must be said, but she doesn't much care for them. "I forgive you for touching me. You may forgive me for not saluting. There. We are even." Even with traffic still coming and going around them she remains focused on H'kon, waiting as she leans against the wall. He must want something.
Indecision, for a moment, and then the matter is let slide. "Well my condolences for your loss. G'thon was..." Pause. "A bronzerider. Once." There's a grimace following this attempt at a proper memorial. A fidget, as H'kon's hands go to loop thumbs around his belt. "I have need of your skills. I would not normally request it, especially not at such a time, but it is of some importance..."
"A great man." She supplies it with ease at least. Likely she has had all sorts of people describing him in all sorts of ways. As the grieving lover she simply must be allowed these little corrections. Because she will make them anyway. Miniyal blinks again and there is a faint spark of something in her eyes. It fades away swiftly. Swiftly before it can settle into anything that might be an emotion. "What skills, sir?"
H'kon presses his lips together in a grim line, head bobbing faintly, and finally nodding as he comes out with, "You know what people talk." Thumbs leave his belt, so that he can cross his arms defensively over his chest. "Tavaly took a healer on circuit. They have been gone nearly a month now, I have been unable to contact her. Have you heard of some event that may have drawn them away, any murmurs of their whereabouts... Anything of the sort?"
Head tilting to one side, Miniyal looks away from the brownrider to watch people walk by. Back and forth her eyes go as she tracks the movements of the weyr. "Bed cold, is it, sir?" Miniyal doesn't even look back at him as she asks the question. She certainly doesn't sound as if she cares. "I could hazard a guess, sir. But as it would be unsubstantiated with any facts of proof I will not do so. I believe it would be best to speak to the one of the Weyr's leaders. Roa or R'vain would be of more assistance than a lowly weyrling." Now she looks back, even giving him a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm sure if they were dead we would know." Comforting.
H'kon's lip twitches, as if to snarl, but that is fought back. "You do not understand," is quipped quickly enough. No information brings a heavy sigh, a heavily creased frown. "I would assume Immath at least is not dead. There has been no keening." The arms over his chest are flexed. "You are certain, then, that there is nothing you know as fact?" Somehow, there's concern that's worked its way into his voice for this last question.
"You'll have to forgive me, sir. I'm afraid I have been busy. I do not have time to keep track of the whereabouts of every woman that a man desires simply because she has loose skirts." She would smile, smirk, add something to the insult or whatever she means it to be, but there doesn't seem to be the energy needed for that in Miniyal. "Maybe she ran back to E'sere, sir. He is pretty close. And, well, why else would she need a rider to take her on circuit? Unless she wanted to go crawling back to the bastard now that he's close. If that's true and Tavaly is there as well I suppose we'll just have to hope E'sere didn't learn from his cousin how to treat a greenrider in his home." Another shrug and she looks away, watching the thinning traffic with the same disinterest as she's watched everything else. "I'm sure they are fine. I do tend to hear bad news sooner than good."
H'kon takes a half-step forward at that, face going quite dark and ominous at that first slight. A shoulder points more toward Miniyal, and that's where he stops his general movement. Alas, Miniyal keeps going, and a full-out snarl, this time, manages to push right on through to the man's face. A comeback is slow in coming. "You may have suffered much these past few days, but you had best watch your tongue, weyrling." And then he's half-stepped back, facing her straight on. A sharp snort finishes that, and without any formal farewells, the brownrider is turned on his heel, and stomping off toward the living cavern. Arekoth will just have to relay any greetings or well-wishes to Peloth on his own, as H'kon clearly is in no mood for such parting pleasantries.
Miniyal stays where she is at, but he doesn't get away that easy. She does wave to his back. "Always a pleasure, sir. Do take care." Still no sarcasm. It does lose a lot when there's no sarcasm. Once he's gone she turns and stalks off to whatever dark place suits her mood.
Where: Upper caverns
When: 19:40 on day 28, month 10, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: H'kon happens upon Miniyal and engages her in conversation. Condolences are offered. He asks for her assitance in information gathering. She is, well, an utter bitch. Poor H'kon. :(
5/23/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is 19:40 on day 28, month 10, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
Post dinner time and weyr residents go about their business. The tunnels leading off around the main nexus of the upper caverns are always busy and now is no different. In this hubbub is Miniyal, currently speaking in low tones to a man about a decade her senior. The two stand close, but when he lifts his hand to rest it on her shoulder she shakes her head and steps back. He sighs and gives her a look of concern before just nodding and turning to walk off. Left alone, she studies the traffic, trying her best to not be noticed as she stands against the wall, hands in her pockets, short hair covering most of her face.
H'kon adds himself to the general chaos of the caverns on his way back from the stores, a few tough squares of leather carried in one hand. True to form for anyone not at all comfortable in crowds, as soon as he notes the business of the place, his back is plastered to the nearest wall (or door frame, or what-have-you), and the bustle is scanned, both for people, and for a path. And then, as his eyes alight on that weyrling goldrider, it's for a path to a people. Person. The man is broad and strong, and when he wants to shoulder his way through a crowd, he can, so there's very little time required for him to come up alongside the woman, reaching a hand for her upper arm and, just to be sure he has her attention, giving a firm, "Miniyal."
"I know who I am." The words are given without any emphasis. Miniyal blinks twice and one hand removes itself from a pocket so she can swipe at hair covering her eyes. "Sir." It's a listless sort of sir. It does not come with a salute. It is just a word, cast out into the noise of the weyr to be taken up or not. Once her hair has been tucked back, for as short a time as it will remain there, her hand returns to the pocket where it came from.
That response makes even one as one-track-minded as H'kon pause for a moment, squinting at the woman. And then looking generally distant, as various tidbits of information are brought to mind. "I understand you are in mourning... still, a salute would be proper..." In this time, of course, he's released her arm, to allow his own arm to hang at his side.
Another blink and she fixes her gaze firmly upon the brownrider. "I'm a rebel, sir." Ahh, in the old days she might have sounded sarcastic. Now, Miniyal just speaks, like words must be said, but she doesn't much care for them. "I forgive you for touching me. You may forgive me for not saluting. There. We are even." Even with traffic still coming and going around them she remains focused on H'kon, waiting as she leans against the wall. He must want something.
Indecision, for a moment, and then the matter is let slide. "Well my condolences for your loss. G'thon was..." Pause. "A bronzerider. Once." There's a grimace following this attempt at a proper memorial. A fidget, as H'kon's hands go to loop thumbs around his belt. "I have need of your skills. I would not normally request it, especially not at such a time, but it is of some importance..."
"A great man." She supplies it with ease at least. Likely she has had all sorts of people describing him in all sorts of ways. As the grieving lover she simply must be allowed these little corrections. Because she will make them anyway. Miniyal blinks again and there is a faint spark of something in her eyes. It fades away swiftly. Swiftly before it can settle into anything that might be an emotion. "What skills, sir?"
H'kon presses his lips together in a grim line, head bobbing faintly, and finally nodding as he comes out with, "You know what people talk." Thumbs leave his belt, so that he can cross his arms defensively over his chest. "Tavaly took a healer on circuit. They have been gone nearly a month now, I have been unable to contact her. Have you heard of some event that may have drawn them away, any murmurs of their whereabouts... Anything of the sort?"
Head tilting to one side, Miniyal looks away from the brownrider to watch people walk by. Back and forth her eyes go as she tracks the movements of the weyr. "Bed cold, is it, sir?" Miniyal doesn't even look back at him as she asks the question. She certainly doesn't sound as if she cares. "I could hazard a guess, sir. But as it would be unsubstantiated with any facts of proof I will not do so. I believe it would be best to speak to the one of the Weyr's leaders. Roa or R'vain would be of more assistance than a lowly weyrling." Now she looks back, even giving him a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm sure if they were dead we would know." Comforting.
H'kon's lip twitches, as if to snarl, but that is fought back. "You do not understand," is quipped quickly enough. No information brings a heavy sigh, a heavily creased frown. "I would assume Immath at least is not dead. There has been no keening." The arms over his chest are flexed. "You are certain, then, that there is nothing you know as fact?" Somehow, there's concern that's worked its way into his voice for this last question.
"You'll have to forgive me, sir. I'm afraid I have been busy. I do not have time to keep track of the whereabouts of every woman that a man desires simply because she has loose skirts." She would smile, smirk, add something to the insult or whatever she means it to be, but there doesn't seem to be the energy needed for that in Miniyal. "Maybe she ran back to E'sere, sir. He is pretty close. And, well, why else would she need a rider to take her on circuit? Unless she wanted to go crawling back to the bastard now that he's close. If that's true and Tavaly is there as well I suppose we'll just have to hope E'sere didn't learn from his cousin how to treat a greenrider in his home." Another shrug and she looks away, watching the thinning traffic with the same disinterest as she's watched everything else. "I'm sure they are fine. I do tend to hear bad news sooner than good."
H'kon takes a half-step forward at that, face going quite dark and ominous at that first slight. A shoulder points more toward Miniyal, and that's where he stops his general movement. Alas, Miniyal keeps going, and a full-out snarl, this time, manages to push right on through to the man's face. A comeback is slow in coming. "You may have suffered much these past few days, but you had best watch your tongue, weyrling." And then he's half-stepped back, facing her straight on. A sharp snort finishes that, and without any formal farewells, the brownrider is turned on his heel, and stomping off toward the living cavern. Arekoth will just have to relay any greetings or well-wishes to Peloth on his own, as H'kon clearly is in no mood for such parting pleasantries.
Miniyal stays where she is at, but he doesn't get away that easy. She does wave to his back. "Always a pleasure, sir. Do take care." Still no sarcasm. It does lose a lot when there's no sarcasm. Once he's gone she turns and stalks off to whatever dark place suits her mood.