[Maitrey] Not quite quid pro quo.
RL Date: 9/18/09
IC Date: 10/15/20
Galleries, Fort Weyr(#745RIJMas$)
The entrance to the sands and galleries alike is little more than an archway and a section of flat stone before it dissolves into the sands proper. Although it's warm here, it's not nearly as hot as the sands themselves are. To the right is a broad pathway leading to the stands, with a set of stairs leading up one side all the way to the upper tiers. Also visible from here is an odd engraving on the wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red Star.
Lined along the right-hand side of the hatching cavern are the galleries, the seats carved from the stone wall and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated spectator's box at the topmost row. There are three separate flights of stairs leading into the galleries, with one near the entrance, another set in the middle, and a flight at the northernmost end.
It's been largely deserted in here since Peirith's eggs hatched, though cleaned up and already prepared for Elaruth's eggs. Which makes it a fairly good place to hole up when the weather's as bad as it is today, away from all the other people who are trying to stay in out of the storm. Maitrey's sitting just one row down from the 'privileged' box seats near the top, his feet up on the bench in front of him, his sketchbook propped up on one knee, his chin on his palm, his pencil spinning in his fingers while glazed eyes rest unfocused on the Sands.
Xhonya was caught outside when the lightning started coming down, and nobody with half a brain stays out in that. Drenched but thankfully not electricuted, she ducks into the Hatching Cavern as the first safe haven she came to. A few seconds are spent wiping water from her face and make sure that the oilcloth thrown over the bundle in her arms has done its job. Then its off to settle in for a wait until the lightning stops.
The sound of footsteps after the long relative silence-- thunder and rain outside are one thing, but the sound of someone else in the same cavern has a different quality-- has Maitrey blinking rapidly to clear the cobwebs and focus his attention on the source. Even recognizing Xhonya, even knowing there's nobody else in here and it's a little weird, he says nothing to alert his presence, watching her pick out a seat with his customary, half-voyeuristic tendency. Maybe she'll see him; maybe she won't; he's got a good view either way.
Xhonya probably wasn't counting on finding anyone in here, despite the warmth and dryness that is definitely in absense outside. The package in her arms clinks gently as she sets it down. That's when her eyes lift to scan the cavern, like she half-expects to see Elaruth already down on the sands. It's more time still before she checks the stands above her, visibly startled to notice Maitrey sitting there silently, watching.
In his (amused) defense, Maitrey calls down the rows, "It's only creepy the first few times. Eventually, you get used to it, I'm told." One can assume he means the mute staring, her startled reaction to it. No effort is made to descend the tiers toward Xhonya, but he does tilt his head a little to one side to indicate the expanse of bench available next to him, filled by no more than the sketchbook, then a half-glance to the special seats reserved behind him, if she's more inclined to feel VIP this afternoon?
Xhonya rolls her eyes at him, exaggerating the motion as much as she can manage for his benefit way up there. "I ought to just ignore you, my creepily lurking friend. Especially for not saying hello." Take that! She even turns her back on him, plainly bent on making him suffer, just a little, while she busies herself with considering the task of carrying the bundle all the way up there, or just leaving it be, with or without her. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"
"You ought to, yes," Maitrey agrees without shame or argument, though a look around those very empty galleries does speak for itself: it might be awkward? A real gentleman would come down and help her with her luggage-- but that would probably be a real gentleman that was a little less lanky and inclined to make sure everyone knows just how not-beefcakey he is. "I am sitting here, Xhonya," comes the amused response, his pencil-hand gesturing to indicate his person, perhaps it should have been obvious. "You?"
Xhonya hardly has a heavy burden, just a clanky one. So she curls up next to it, turning to the side to keep him included while she rummages around. Might as well work while she's stuck here. "Would you rather I ignored you? I could, you know, if our friendship has become cumbersome." Grinning, though, because she's only teasing, while she pulls out the frst of those clanky things: a tiny glass vial. "I realize you're sitting there. I want to know /why/ you're in here. I was simply avoiding surely painful death."
Maitrey ahhhs, a slow and lengthy sound that leaves him gradually and gets swallowed up by the vastness of the room so it's only a trickle of noise by the time it gets to Xhonya. "You realize, of course, that you wanted to know /why/ and all you asked was /what/?" Leave it to a harper... Curious about the clanky bag, yes, but he seems content to let the answer either come to light naturally or not, no questions asked though his eyes settle on it with interest. "Would I rather? No, not particularly, but we were talking about what you ought to do."
A grease pencil is the next thing she finds, assumably so she can write on the vial she's taken out. "Why do you think I ought to? I can figure out why I think I ought to, but it's more fascinating to know your thoughts as well." Her eyes lift to find him way up there. "And don't twist it all up, either, you know you can't get me that way."
"Are you offering to tell me if I tell you first?" Maitrey asks, apparently serious, but it's hard to be sure without being right up there close; with his chin on his hand like that, his fingers draped up across his cheek, any twitching smile would be impossible to discern.
"No. I'll tell you /after/ you tell me." Xhonya cuts the hard bargain, setting the vial back into the case and taking out the next one to label. "It seems only fair, being as I asked."
Maitrey turns his eyes upward, briefly, takes them off the vials and all the stuff she's doing with them, a weighing quality to the weigh he tips his head back and forth. Finally, whatever that was about, he says nothing to it. "Maybe it's just better left a mystery, Xhonya," he decides ultimately, both for why she thinks it and why she thinks it. "Speaking more of the here-and-now, how did you manage to get caught out in that downpour?"
Xhonya pushes her wet bangs away from her forehead with the back of her hand. There's silence to follow his thought that it should be a mystery, a lot of it, in fact. "You make it hard to fish for tasty tidbits when you won't be honest with me," finally concludes the petite young woman, a tiny hint of exhasperation hiding beneath folds of good natured acceptance. Maybe not hidden too well, actually, because she turns his answer back on him: "Perhaps we'll let that remain a mystery."
"...she says as if he's not doing it on purpose," Maitrey tacks on to the end of her first, small-exasperated comment. "If you think it's something worth remaining mysterious, then, by all means, let's let it stay that way. I'm guessing you were simply on your way from point A to point B and weren't prepared for point C-- that being the point at which the rain came down with soaking determination yet again. It's been going like that on and off all afternoon," with a glance toward the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel that leads to the bowl where gray autumn rain still splash-shines just outside.
Xhonya can pout, she's allowed to do that, right, when nobody's around but him? So she does, stubbornly jutting out her lower lip. "Why ought I to avoid you, Maitrey?" So says she who won't let it go. "The rain wasn't the problem, I was ready for rain, it was the lightning that hit the ground on the other side of the Bowl that made me think here was a good place to be than /there/."
Aw, she certainly can. Just don't expect it to do more than plump the cheek underneath his fingers with a grin that's hard to detect other than that, again referencing the 'not sitting right up here next to him issue.' Timely, there's a flash of lightning from without while Maitrey's looking that way, while Xhonya's talking about it, and he commits, "I can see how that might be a little daunting. Probably better to run and hide." HAH! Someone else is a coward! To her initial question: "You said it first. Why ought you avoid me, Xhonya?"
"Oh, no. I know this game, I'll tell you my reason and you change the subject, thus refusing to tell me yours." Her grease pencil wags at him like she's scolding a naughty child. Then Xhonya lowers her head to her task. "Are you afraid I'm going to get you in trouble?" Not wanting to get fried is not cowardly.
Maitrey, amusedly, "If it's a game, you must not be doing very well at it by that account. Have you been keeping score?" Having a pencil already handy, for all it's been busy twirling uselessly, he can make a prop-employed pantomime of hash-marks swiping through the air; keeping score. "Not especially. But that would be more about me ignoring you than the other way around."
Pencil wars are going to happen here if the two of them keep making such daring slashes through the air. "I don't think you're the type to ignore, honestly." The pencil gets used to scratch at the side of her nose, rather than making tallies of who's winning right now. He is, but she's not going to admit it out loud when they both know it. "And I don't think you're worried I'll make an honest man out of you, or the other way around. Let's see. Because you're irritating? Is that why I ought to avoid you?"
Better not to admit it, yes, since it's likely Maitrey would betray a little gloat. He comes close to it right now, and that's without her actually saying anything. "The thought of making an honest man out of you," a little stress on the gender, "has never crossed my mind, you're right. I think, however, that I've just been insulted. Am I irritating?" Like that's another thought that's never crossed his mind (not likely).
Xhonya smiles just a little, a tiny curve she keeps tucked into one cheek and hidden behind the fall of wet, frizzing strands of hair. "You would certainly know if I could be turned into an honest man," she agrees, oh so cheerful about it. Insulted or no she looks up at him again, now so he can see that smile that's growing upon her face. "I like you, Maitrey. Would I seek out your company if I found you especially irritating?"
"Which begs the question," Maitrey begins in a voice only just loud enough to carry, a stage-whisper that would miss the ears of anyone eavesdropping-- if there was anyone around to eavesdrop. "Why bring up the subject of irritation at all?" He lets the issue of Xhonya's potential manliness fall to the wayside, where such gender-bending matters belong.
Xhonya doesn't answer, being a stubborn sort. Long fingers wrap around the last vial in this particular case. "I'm reaching for farfetched answers in the hopes you will present me with a more reasonable, or at least true, one."
"Think about it and get back to me," Maitrey suggests, finding a perch for his own pencil behind his ear. He gives the outside world, in all its rainy coldness, a speculative look before pushing to his feet, sketchbook collected, slid into the safety of his satchel, which is then fastened down safely. "I'm going to see about finding dinner before the entire damp crowd of the Weyr rushes the caverns. I'll keep an eye open for you later, as I'm sure thinking about this will keep me up tonight otherwise," he says while he starts down the tiers, ready to brave the weather.
Xhonya is not as brave as him so she simply lifts a hand to salute him off. "Don't drown," is her parting message to him, settling into a more comfortable position to finish her work in the peace and warmth of the hatching cavern. Eventually she'll have to leave, but eventually isn't now.
IC Date: 10/15/20
Galleries, Fort Weyr(#745RIJMas$)
The entrance to the sands and galleries alike is little more than an archway and a section of flat stone before it dissolves into the sands proper. Although it's warm here, it's not nearly as hot as the sands themselves are. To the right is a broad pathway leading to the stands, with a set of stairs leading up one side all the way to the upper tiers. Also visible from here is an odd engraving on the wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red Star.
Lined along the right-hand side of the hatching cavern are the galleries, the seats carved from the stone wall and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated spectator's box at the topmost row. There are three separate flights of stairs leading into the galleries, with one near the entrance, another set in the middle, and a flight at the northernmost end.
It's been largely deserted in here since Peirith's eggs hatched, though cleaned up and already prepared for Elaruth's eggs. Which makes it a fairly good place to hole up when the weather's as bad as it is today, away from all the other people who are trying to stay in out of the storm. Maitrey's sitting just one row down from the 'privileged' box seats near the top, his feet up on the bench in front of him, his sketchbook propped up on one knee, his chin on his palm, his pencil spinning in his fingers while glazed eyes rest unfocused on the Sands.
Xhonya was caught outside when the lightning started coming down, and nobody with half a brain stays out in that. Drenched but thankfully not electricuted, she ducks into the Hatching Cavern as the first safe haven she came to. A few seconds are spent wiping water from her face and make sure that the oilcloth thrown over the bundle in her arms has done its job. Then its off to settle in for a wait until the lightning stops.
The sound of footsteps after the long relative silence-- thunder and rain outside are one thing, but the sound of someone else in the same cavern has a different quality-- has Maitrey blinking rapidly to clear the cobwebs and focus his attention on the source. Even recognizing Xhonya, even knowing there's nobody else in here and it's a little weird, he says nothing to alert his presence, watching her pick out a seat with his customary, half-voyeuristic tendency. Maybe she'll see him; maybe she won't; he's got a good view either way.
Xhonya probably wasn't counting on finding anyone in here, despite the warmth and dryness that is definitely in absense outside. The package in her arms clinks gently as she sets it down. That's when her eyes lift to scan the cavern, like she half-expects to see Elaruth already down on the sands. It's more time still before she checks the stands above her, visibly startled to notice Maitrey sitting there silently, watching.
In his (amused) defense, Maitrey calls down the rows, "It's only creepy the first few times. Eventually, you get used to it, I'm told." One can assume he means the mute staring, her startled reaction to it. No effort is made to descend the tiers toward Xhonya, but he does tilt his head a little to one side to indicate the expanse of bench available next to him, filled by no more than the sketchbook, then a half-glance to the special seats reserved behind him, if she's more inclined to feel VIP this afternoon?
Xhonya rolls her eyes at him, exaggerating the motion as much as she can manage for his benefit way up there. "I ought to just ignore you, my creepily lurking friend. Especially for not saying hello." Take that! She even turns her back on him, plainly bent on making him suffer, just a little, while she busies herself with considering the task of carrying the bundle all the way up there, or just leaving it be, with or without her. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"
"You ought to, yes," Maitrey agrees without shame or argument, though a look around those very empty galleries does speak for itself: it might be awkward? A real gentleman would come down and help her with her luggage-- but that would probably be a real gentleman that was a little less lanky and inclined to make sure everyone knows just how not-beefcakey he is. "I am sitting here, Xhonya," comes the amused response, his pencil-hand gesturing to indicate his person, perhaps it should have been obvious. "You?"
Xhonya hardly has a heavy burden, just a clanky one. So she curls up next to it, turning to the side to keep him included while she rummages around. Might as well work while she's stuck here. "Would you rather I ignored you? I could, you know, if our friendship has become cumbersome." Grinning, though, because she's only teasing, while she pulls out the frst of those clanky things: a tiny glass vial. "I realize you're sitting there. I want to know /why/ you're in here. I was simply avoiding surely painful death."
Maitrey ahhhs, a slow and lengthy sound that leaves him gradually and gets swallowed up by the vastness of the room so it's only a trickle of noise by the time it gets to Xhonya. "You realize, of course, that you wanted to know /why/ and all you asked was /what/?" Leave it to a harper... Curious about the clanky bag, yes, but he seems content to let the answer either come to light naturally or not, no questions asked though his eyes settle on it with interest. "Would I rather? No, not particularly, but we were talking about what you ought to do."
A grease pencil is the next thing she finds, assumably so she can write on the vial she's taken out. "Why do you think I ought to? I can figure out why I think I ought to, but it's more fascinating to know your thoughts as well." Her eyes lift to find him way up there. "And don't twist it all up, either, you know you can't get me that way."
"Are you offering to tell me if I tell you first?" Maitrey asks, apparently serious, but it's hard to be sure without being right up there close; with his chin on his hand like that, his fingers draped up across his cheek, any twitching smile would be impossible to discern.
"No. I'll tell you /after/ you tell me." Xhonya cuts the hard bargain, setting the vial back into the case and taking out the next one to label. "It seems only fair, being as I asked."
Maitrey turns his eyes upward, briefly, takes them off the vials and all the stuff she's doing with them, a weighing quality to the weigh he tips his head back and forth. Finally, whatever that was about, he says nothing to it. "Maybe it's just better left a mystery, Xhonya," he decides ultimately, both for why she thinks it and why she thinks it. "Speaking more of the here-and-now, how did you manage to get caught out in that downpour?"
Xhonya pushes her wet bangs away from her forehead with the back of her hand. There's silence to follow his thought that it should be a mystery, a lot of it, in fact. "You make it hard to fish for tasty tidbits when you won't be honest with me," finally concludes the petite young woman, a tiny hint of exhasperation hiding beneath folds of good natured acceptance. Maybe not hidden too well, actually, because she turns his answer back on him: "Perhaps we'll let that remain a mystery."
"...she says as if he's not doing it on purpose," Maitrey tacks on to the end of her first, small-exasperated comment. "If you think it's something worth remaining mysterious, then, by all means, let's let it stay that way. I'm guessing you were simply on your way from point A to point B and weren't prepared for point C-- that being the point at which the rain came down with soaking determination yet again. It's been going like that on and off all afternoon," with a glance toward the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel that leads to the bowl where gray autumn rain still splash-shines just outside.
Xhonya can pout, she's allowed to do that, right, when nobody's around but him? So she does, stubbornly jutting out her lower lip. "Why ought I to avoid you, Maitrey?" So says she who won't let it go. "The rain wasn't the problem, I was ready for rain, it was the lightning that hit the ground on the other side of the Bowl that made me think here was a good place to be than /there/."
Aw, she certainly can. Just don't expect it to do more than plump the cheek underneath his fingers with a grin that's hard to detect other than that, again referencing the 'not sitting right up here next to him issue.' Timely, there's a flash of lightning from without while Maitrey's looking that way, while Xhonya's talking about it, and he commits, "I can see how that might be a little daunting. Probably better to run and hide." HAH! Someone else is a coward! To her initial question: "You said it first. Why ought you avoid me, Xhonya?"
"Oh, no. I know this game, I'll tell you my reason and you change the subject, thus refusing to tell me yours." Her grease pencil wags at him like she's scolding a naughty child. Then Xhonya lowers her head to her task. "Are you afraid I'm going to get you in trouble?" Not wanting to get fried is not cowardly.
Maitrey, amusedly, "If it's a game, you must not be doing very well at it by that account. Have you been keeping score?" Having a pencil already handy, for all it's been busy twirling uselessly, he can make a prop-employed pantomime of hash-marks swiping through the air; keeping score. "Not especially. But that would be more about me ignoring you than the other way around."
Pencil wars are going to happen here if the two of them keep making such daring slashes through the air. "I don't think you're the type to ignore, honestly." The pencil gets used to scratch at the side of her nose, rather than making tallies of who's winning right now. He is, but she's not going to admit it out loud when they both know it. "And I don't think you're worried I'll make an honest man out of you, or the other way around. Let's see. Because you're irritating? Is that why I ought to avoid you?"
Better not to admit it, yes, since it's likely Maitrey would betray a little gloat. He comes close to it right now, and that's without her actually saying anything. "The thought of making an honest man out of you," a little stress on the gender, "has never crossed my mind, you're right. I think, however, that I've just been insulted. Am I irritating?" Like that's another thought that's never crossed his mind (not likely).
Xhonya smiles just a little, a tiny curve she keeps tucked into one cheek and hidden behind the fall of wet, frizzing strands of hair. "You would certainly know if I could be turned into an honest man," she agrees, oh so cheerful about it. Insulted or no she looks up at him again, now so he can see that smile that's growing upon her face. "I like you, Maitrey. Would I seek out your company if I found you especially irritating?"
"Which begs the question," Maitrey begins in a voice only just loud enough to carry, a stage-whisper that would miss the ears of anyone eavesdropping-- if there was anyone around to eavesdrop. "Why bring up the subject of irritation at all?" He lets the issue of Xhonya's potential manliness fall to the wayside, where such gender-bending matters belong.
Xhonya doesn't answer, being a stubborn sort. Long fingers wrap around the last vial in this particular case. "I'm reaching for farfetched answers in the hopes you will present me with a more reasonable, or at least true, one."
"Think about it and get back to me," Maitrey suggests, finding a perch for his own pencil behind his ear. He gives the outside world, in all its rainy coldness, a speculative look before pushing to his feet, sketchbook collected, slid into the safety of his satchel, which is then fastened down safely. "I'm going to see about finding dinner before the entire damp crowd of the Weyr rushes the caverns. I'll keep an eye open for you later, as I'm sure thinking about this will keep me up tonight otherwise," he says while he starts down the tiers, ready to brave the weather.
Xhonya is not as brave as him so she simply lifts a hand to salute him off. "Don't drown," is her parting message to him, settling into a more comfortable position to finish her work in the peace and warmth of the hatching cavern. Eventually she'll have to leave, but eventually isn't now.