[Kh'vrim] The bald guy has the best hair.
RL Date: 8/19/10
IC Date: 7/22/23 --Just to be predictable... ganked this log from Nenny.
Garden Pavilion, Ista Weyr(#1904RJ)
The sweep of lush green grass brings the eye to the pavilion, built square in the middle of the lawn. Tall, heavy wooden columns ensnared by the steady growth of Istan white flower-vines, leads to the slate grey roofing. Colorful vegetation grows all along the perimeter, kept healthy and orderly by frequent gardening.
The pavilion itself provides an open, covered space for dining tables or dancing and the flagstones continuing outward form patio for overflow, allowing varied configurations to suit any gathering. To one side is the cooking station with a few simple counters for prep and serving, several small grills and one large one and a bar that that stands unstocked when there's no party in progress. All around the structure and the surrounding area, stretching overhead, are strings of glass globes for glowlight and other festive decorations.
It's lunch at Ista! The weather is the the typical humid with lack of wind sort of thing, sun is shining. Nenita is down at the pavilion, sitting at one of the tables by the railing. Her plate has a half eaten sandwich still on it, while her cup of juice is completely empty. It's really too hot to eat a whole lot right now. Her short hair is swept up in clips, messy as usual and at the moment she's working her way through a slim book of sorts. Her finger hanging somewhere around the middle of one of the pages.
A'nas has been hanging round the edges, loitering in the shade where there's a good view of the stairs and those who might be coming up or down. His expression starts to slide towards annoyance with passing time, and another minute of leaning against one of the supporting columns, the weyrling figures that there's little point in waiting and slouches away to a nearby table where there's someone (Nenita) to observe his little melodrama. He's got a glass with some sort of no longer cold berry parfait in hand and two spoons and finds himself offering it with a not-so-appetizing, "Want some? Probably hasn't curdled yet."
Nenita wasn't aware that there was any teenage melodrama going on at that particular moment. But she does, once she looks up and sees A'nas. With a mohawk. With a glass of not-curdling-but-not-cold&delicious parfait. With that expression. Her finger reminds poised over that spot on the page and she blinks a couple of times at him. Her eys flicker to his knot and then back to his face. "No, thank you." Her eyes go back to that unusual hair cut and she blinks a couple of times like maybe she wants to ask a question: Is that regulation? Can that fit under your helmet? Where is your weyrlingmaster? Instead what comes out is, "You look like you're having a bad day."
While these short-little-freaks may be up and at 'em as early as noon, some people take a little longer to really get themselves moving. Kh'vrim is one such person. Yawning, rubbing the top of his head in a bleary way, he seems to have taken a queue and brought his breakfast (such as it is) out here for eating, carrying a couple slices of toast, a big ol' mug of wake-up klah, and a surprised, "Damn, I thought I'd've escaped the crowds coming out here," for coming across a whopping two people sharing a table. Uninvited, he aims to slide on in next to the Weyrwoman, nice of him.
It's cool, that's what it is. And he hasn't had to shave it off yet, so presumably still passes muster. A'nas shrugs and digs in to his dessert, leaving the unclaimed spoon on the table in case Kh'vrim feels like picking it up. "I think I got stood up." From the way he says it, A'nas is utterly confused as to why anyone would do that to him. He's got a (short, but still very much present) mohawk. He's cool.
Moping teenager with a mohawk, strange balding middle aged bronzerider. Nenita's relaxing morning is clearly complete now with such stunning examples of uninvited table guests. Reading is probably not going to happen, she realizes this. With a suffocated sigh she slips a ribbon in between the pages and closes the her book. "Did you tell your date the right place to meet you? Does she know you look like this?" This. The hair. Then to Kh'vrim who is now next to her. "Do you live here now? Or are you just unable to stay away?"
Not that he's got room to talk about people's hair, but-- "Who'd you piss off?" is Kh'vrim's less decorous way of echoing Nenita's question, his eyes squinting thoughtfully where they rest on the young man's 'do. Huh; shaking his head to clear that thought, he's got a bite of toast tucked into his cheek when he smiles so benignly at the woman next to him, offering as an answer, "Which one would you rather was true?"
"Well, yeah," is all the answer A'nas gives for Nenita's two questions, delivered in such a way as to impart his opinion on the Weyrwoman's intelligence. That and a rather disdainful look for both riders, determined not to rise to the bait. "No one today," he says around a big mouthful, digging his spoon into the glass and then lifting it out to watch the parfait, quickly losing consistency, dribble down. Fascinating.
"I guess it must be your charming personality that scared her off." Nenita frames that in a way that in a way that almost makes it sound like a compliment. Almost! She does much the same thing as he bronzerider next to her, shakes her head and stops looking at A'nas' hair style. "The second one. Because if/when I get tired of you it'll be just that much easier to get rid of you. I won't have to bother with getting anyone to file any sort of paperwork or try and foist you off on some other weyr."
Kh'vrim, chewing, staring thoughtfully at the boy's head, takes a few extra seconds before offering, "So, did you ask someone to do that to you? I mean, you wanted that haircut?" Grinning briefly at the notion, he clears his throat and affects a more sober demeanor in time to turn back to Nenita, shrugging his shoulders as if helplessly. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, in that case, but I'm here to stay, and you'll have to file the paperwork if it comes to that. On the upside-- I'm here to stay?" Bonus!
"What does personality have to do with it?" A'nas manages to tear his eyes off the dribbly cream and briefly sizes Nenita up for her ability to deliver life lessons about relationships. "Yeah, one of the other guys did it with me. Except we messed up a bit so he went for a full shave instead." And then him and the brownrider, to fully bond in their manliness, went and dumped a more unfortunate weyrling in a mudpit, but A'nas leaves that part out. "Kinda like you."
"Excellent. They at least put you on the far side of the bowl, right?" Like, away from Nenita. "I hear there's an excellent view of the ocean over there." Then she's slanting dark eyes towards A'nas, like she's sizing his schmuck talent up and seeing if there's something worth saving under it. "If you talk to your girlfriend like you're talking to me, as if I'm a complete idiot that has no power to ruin your life and poof! Turn you into a junior weyrling forever and ever? If you're talking to her like that? She's probably going to stand you up and hang out with a guy that's a little nicer. Food for thought." Real casual like, she takes a bite out of her sandwich. Just saying.
There's no telling whether or not it's /true/, but Kh'vrim answers Nenita with mock-gravity; "Of course they did. I assumed that was your doing anyway." He might have had more to say, but then she has that particular commentary for A'nas, and he finds a sudden and abiding interest in getting to the bottom of his klah mug. My my, he could sure use the pick-me-up.
Digging for the last berry in the cup, A'nas reminds himself why he avoids people in positions of power whenever possible; the sentiment is expressed as a sigh. He steals a look at Kh'vrim in the hopes that the dragonrider, who also doesn't seem to be in Nenita's good books today, might offer a clue as to how to get himself out of trouble. "Sorry, bad day." He mumbles the excuse because no, he does not want his life ruined forever and ever.
"Maybe it was Ch'son's doing or Loe's, the headwoman. I didn't even know that you were living at the weyr yet. All just a pleasent coincidence that you've got a nice weyr with a nice view." It's unfortunate, there probably are a lot of other women at the weyr nicer than Nenita. But they both chose to sit here! And so they're both blessed with her always delightful company. End of mild sarcasm. "Don't worry about it. Also, if she stands you up rather than just telling you no in the first place? Probably not worthwhile in the long run."
Sounds like 'doubt it'-- "Maybe." Kh'vrim lets his brows rise and fall like he's giving this a new rethinking, but ultimately winds up with a little shake of his head; not buying it. "See," he chimes after Nenita's advice is given. "I'd argue that you oughta go find out why she stood you up. Maybe she's got a good reason, and you oughta give her a chance to explain herself before you write her off completely." Pause. "Provided she's good-looking enough for the effort, mind."
More careful now, A'nas bites back a response about how it wasn't the long run that he was interested in. "Yeah, maybe." He gives up on the half-eaten parfait and collects the second spoon so he can fiddle with it, slapping the back of the spoon against the palm of his hand. "Maybe I said the wrong place." Or told the wrong girl. And then the first one found out and there was a catfight. A'nas looks a little vacant as he considers the possibility.
Yeah, probably good that the two older riders sitting across from him can't hear those thoughts. Nenita would probably give him dirty looks or laugh him, it's sort of a toss up. At any rate, she pushes that sandwich away from her because it's /still/ hot out and she really made a mistake choosing that for lunch. What Kh'vrim says has her shaking her head, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Probably stuff she could say to that, but instead, "Yes, perhaps that's another viable option for you. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she doesn't know her way around the weyr."
Kh'vrim would probably clap him on the back and then offer some sage advice about keeping his women in line. Just as a contrast. But. "Maybe she turned an ankle. Maybe her mother told her she's not allowed to consort with boys who don't have decent haircuts. Maybe her girlfriends talked her out of it because people would gossip about her. Maybe maybe maybe..." He trails off, answering Nenita's glance with a smile almost as quick as her corner-of-the-eye look there; beam, what?
"I should go look for her," A'nas decides following the multitude of possibilities but still hoping that his unlikely scenario holds true; it's mostly that slim chance that has him ready to go looking for the date that bailed. He gathers up his things and takes off, issuing one final opinion in defense of his new do: "Decent haircuts are boring."
"Maybe she realized she-" But then A'nas is getting up, preparing to leave to chase his date down. Possibly she catches that corner of the eye smile from her other table companion. She smiles pleasently up at the weyling when he stands and even lifts her hand to give a little wave to him. "See you around, good luck with your girlfriend or whatever she is." Once he's gone, she resituates herself in the chair so that she's more appropriately facing Kh'vrim. Less 'next to' going on.
Trying to squeeze it in, Kh'vrim gestures to the empty cup that A'nas is toting, offering, "Do you wanna leave that here?" He even sticks his hand out to retrieve it, not yet turning toward Nenita in response to her no more next-to decision. "Weird kid," he adds out of the side of his mouth, as if she's to blame.
"I didn't get any say in who was the weyrlingmaster for this clutch. I just woke up one morning and bam! There she was. And that's what we got from this group. Crazy mouthing off, weird haircut kids." Nenita closes her eyes and shakes her head, there's a long sufferng sigh that escapes her mouth. It's really a quick moment of frustration that appears, it gets schooled away as soon as she takes a second breath in. "It could be worse."
We'll assume Kh'vrim got the empty cup, 'cause A'nas seems bright enough to leave it behind, and now he plunks it down on the table with a carefully contained grin. "Ahh. So, no say in the Weyrlingmaster, no say in the transfers of random bronzeriders. Maybe you oughta consider taking a more active interest in things before your Weyr's all full up with people you disapprove of." Leaning his elbow on the table, now turning a little more toward Nenita properly, he looks like he's all set for story time when he asks, "Could it? How's that?" Share~.
"Thank you." That's delivered coldly as she pushes her chair back and gets to her feet. There's not a single follow up to that simple statement. In fact, she's not even looking at him as she begins to collect her half eaten sandwich, empty cup and book. Crumbs are dusted off onto the floor (they waft in the bronzerider's general direction) before she turns to leave. Unless something interrupts her, she's going to be making a really quick escape. Not exit, escape.
Kh'vrim's brows climb tandem with Nenita's rise in elevation, him leaning back further to keep her in his frame of vision; she's short, sure, but he's sitting down, so it's just necessary. "I guess I touched a nerve," he just mutters, watching crumbs land on his person with bemusement. "Wow, sweetheart," he begins, starting to his feet as well; whether it's to chase her down or just 'cause now there's no one to talk to... "You could at least tell me what I said wrong so I'd know not to say it again." If she hasn't run off already, that is; the idea of jogging to catch up to her is too much.
It's more like quick walking, Nenita doesn't do jogging. The one time she tried to run anywhere recently she twisted her ankle, not that he knows that, but. Fun fact. She gets as far as the steps leading down to the grass, she turns part way back to regard him. Her look isn't really for him now though, instead her gaze goes up to the ceiling of the pavilion. "This place is just about the only thing in my life that gets any sort of active interest from me. I expend a great deal of energy trying to make sure things stay intact. The rest of my existance is actually kind of hollow and lacking in comparison. It's probably my fault and I don't pretend that you'd understand, but I still take some offense when it's inferred that I do a shitty job. Plus, this just hasn't been my turn so far."
The face that Kh'vrim makes isn't particularly appealing, one eye squinted, the side of his lip curled up a touch, though he manages to mostly smooth it back into one of just chagrin by the time he strolls near enough to Nenita for it to matter. "None of that's really a surprise. Just-- I promised not to treat you like a goldrider, remember?" Where what she's just described sounds really goldrider-y to him, so says the shrug that follows. "I'm sorry if I pissed you off," he adds, seemingly authentic in his penitence. "Just. Seems like you can't have it both ways, trust your Weyrleader to do his job, but then you wind up with a Weyrlingmaster you seem to question." The look down at her, now, invites her to correct his misunderstanding.
"I think maybe I'd rather you treat me like one, if this is how you treat the ones who aren't." Nenita is pretty short so going down another step or two to the grass doesn't make much of a difference to her. Kh'vrim is tall, he simply gets taller. "The weyrlingmaster was an actual surprise. I'd been under the impression we'd be making a decision like that together but instead..." She holds her hands out. "I go from one part of the weyr to another and discover that one has been hired. From Igen. Maybe you're friends. Maybe this is just a great big Igen invasion. Hell, maybe you're weyrmates. You're about the same age." The paranoia is put on and eventually she shrugs her shoulders. "I was trying to trust him. I've discovered that sort of trying generally fucks your shit up."
Trying to keep to things at least somewhat light, Kh'vrim answers, "Do you think that I seem like someone who'd be part of a conspiracy? It's enough for me to remember to tie my shoes sometimes, sweetheart." He gives Nenita a good three or four steps ahead of him, a wide berth, if you will, though he also looks at her outstretched hands for a moment with twitching fingers; is she expecting a comforting squeeze or something? "You won't hear an argument from me," about her last. "If you want something done right, seems you really do have to do it yourself. I'm sorry to hear you got fucked, though. Having met your Weyrleader..." He trails off, lets that speak for itself: not surprised.
"Isn't that sort of the point? If you're part of conspiracy you normally try to not look as if you /could/ be part of a conspiracy." And no, not really. She probably wouldn't appreciate it if he tried to give her a comforting squeeze, she's not exactly warm and squishy these days. As for Ch'son, she purses her lips together and has the good grace to look guilty. If that's what you want to call it. Her eyes drop away from Kh'vrim and she shakes her head. "He's a good man. He just doesn't think a great many things through. I wish that we could work together better. But I'm not sure that relationship is going to get change very much." Another shrug and when she looks back she does try to smile. "Sorry, these things don't have anything to do with you."
Kh'vrim's /expression/ argues with that-- he's a good man-- though he refrains from saying a word to it. More to the point, "Don't they? I ride for Ista now, after all. It'd be nice to be able to trust the Weyrleader can make a good decision and not just one from the hip." Then, frankly, nodding toward the steps as if to remind her to keep on walking; "I'd be pissed, too. It's not like he was appointing a laundry girl or a stablehand. You ought to have some say when it comes to the fucking /Weyrlingmaster/, if you don't mind my pointing it out."
There's not exactly much that she can say to that. "We'll try to do better next flight." In a twisted way the whole thing kind of ends up being their fault or at the very least, Safriath's fault. But the gold's definitely not going to admit to any wrong doing or mistake making. "No, I don't mind you pointing that out. I'm pretty aware of all of it, don't worry. Try and have a nice day, Kh'vrim." She does know what his name is. Ah ha! "I have to get back to whatever it is I do all day." One hand gives him a wave and she turns the rest of the way, leaving.
Grinning but briefly, Kh'vrim answers to her first, "At least your prospects've improved since the last Flight?" Meaning himself, yes. He hangs back to give her a good lead on the way down the steps, ensuring there's no chance to mistake that he means to follow Nenita, letting her go on to do whatever it is she does all day without his particular 'help.'
IC Date: 7/22/23 --Just to be predictable... ganked this log from Nenny.
Garden Pavilion, Ista Weyr(#1904RJ)
The sweep of lush green grass brings the eye to the pavilion, built square in the middle of the lawn. Tall, heavy wooden columns ensnared by the steady growth of Istan white flower-vines, leads to the slate grey roofing. Colorful vegetation grows all along the perimeter, kept healthy and orderly by frequent gardening.
The pavilion itself provides an open, covered space for dining tables or dancing and the flagstones continuing outward form patio for overflow, allowing varied configurations to suit any gathering. To one side is the cooking station with a few simple counters for prep and serving, several small grills and one large one and a bar that that stands unstocked when there's no party in progress. All around the structure and the surrounding area, stretching overhead, are strings of glass globes for glowlight and other festive decorations.
It's lunch at Ista! The weather is the the typical humid with lack of wind sort of thing, sun is shining. Nenita is down at the pavilion, sitting at one of the tables by the railing. Her plate has a half eaten sandwich still on it, while her cup of juice is completely empty. It's really too hot to eat a whole lot right now. Her short hair is swept up in clips, messy as usual and at the moment she's working her way through a slim book of sorts. Her finger hanging somewhere around the middle of one of the pages.
A'nas has been hanging round the edges, loitering in the shade where there's a good view of the stairs and those who might be coming up or down. His expression starts to slide towards annoyance with passing time, and another minute of leaning against one of the supporting columns, the weyrling figures that there's little point in waiting and slouches away to a nearby table where there's someone (Nenita) to observe his little melodrama. He's got a glass with some sort of no longer cold berry parfait in hand and two spoons and finds himself offering it with a not-so-appetizing, "Want some? Probably hasn't curdled yet."
Nenita wasn't aware that there was any teenage melodrama going on at that particular moment. But she does, once she looks up and sees A'nas. With a mohawk. With a glass of not-curdling-but-not-cold&delicious parfait. With that expression. Her finger reminds poised over that spot on the page and she blinks a couple of times at him. Her eys flicker to his knot and then back to his face. "No, thank you." Her eyes go back to that unusual hair cut and she blinks a couple of times like maybe she wants to ask a question: Is that regulation? Can that fit under your helmet? Where is your weyrlingmaster? Instead what comes out is, "You look like you're having a bad day."
While these short-little-freaks may be up and at 'em as early as noon, some people take a little longer to really get themselves moving. Kh'vrim is one such person. Yawning, rubbing the top of his head in a bleary way, he seems to have taken a queue and brought his breakfast (such as it is) out here for eating, carrying a couple slices of toast, a big ol' mug of wake-up klah, and a surprised, "Damn, I thought I'd've escaped the crowds coming out here," for coming across a whopping two people sharing a table. Uninvited, he aims to slide on in next to the Weyrwoman, nice of him.
It's cool, that's what it is. And he hasn't had to shave it off yet, so presumably still passes muster. A'nas shrugs and digs in to his dessert, leaving the unclaimed spoon on the table in case Kh'vrim feels like picking it up. "I think I got stood up." From the way he says it, A'nas is utterly confused as to why anyone would do that to him. He's got a (short, but still very much present) mohawk. He's cool.
Moping teenager with a mohawk, strange balding middle aged bronzerider. Nenita's relaxing morning is clearly complete now with such stunning examples of uninvited table guests. Reading is probably not going to happen, she realizes this. With a suffocated sigh she slips a ribbon in between the pages and closes the her book. "Did you tell your date the right place to meet you? Does she know you look like this?" This. The hair. Then to Kh'vrim who is now next to her. "Do you live here now? Or are you just unable to stay away?"
Not that he's got room to talk about people's hair, but-- "Who'd you piss off?" is Kh'vrim's less decorous way of echoing Nenita's question, his eyes squinting thoughtfully where they rest on the young man's 'do. Huh; shaking his head to clear that thought, he's got a bite of toast tucked into his cheek when he smiles so benignly at the woman next to him, offering as an answer, "Which one would you rather was true?"
"Well, yeah," is all the answer A'nas gives for Nenita's two questions, delivered in such a way as to impart his opinion on the Weyrwoman's intelligence. That and a rather disdainful look for both riders, determined not to rise to the bait. "No one today," he says around a big mouthful, digging his spoon into the glass and then lifting it out to watch the parfait, quickly losing consistency, dribble down. Fascinating.
"I guess it must be your charming personality that scared her off." Nenita frames that in a way that in a way that almost makes it sound like a compliment. Almost! She does much the same thing as he bronzerider next to her, shakes her head and stops looking at A'nas' hair style. "The second one. Because if/when I get tired of you it'll be just that much easier to get rid of you. I won't have to bother with getting anyone to file any sort of paperwork or try and foist you off on some other weyr."
Kh'vrim, chewing, staring thoughtfully at the boy's head, takes a few extra seconds before offering, "So, did you ask someone to do that to you? I mean, you wanted that haircut?" Grinning briefly at the notion, he clears his throat and affects a more sober demeanor in time to turn back to Nenita, shrugging his shoulders as if helplessly. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, in that case, but I'm here to stay, and you'll have to file the paperwork if it comes to that. On the upside-- I'm here to stay?" Bonus!
"What does personality have to do with it?" A'nas manages to tear his eyes off the dribbly cream and briefly sizes Nenita up for her ability to deliver life lessons about relationships. "Yeah, one of the other guys did it with me. Except we messed up a bit so he went for a full shave instead." And then him and the brownrider, to fully bond in their manliness, went and dumped a more unfortunate weyrling in a mudpit, but A'nas leaves that part out. "Kinda like you."
"Excellent. They at least put you on the far side of the bowl, right?" Like, away from Nenita. "I hear there's an excellent view of the ocean over there." Then she's slanting dark eyes towards A'nas, like she's sizing his schmuck talent up and seeing if there's something worth saving under it. "If you talk to your girlfriend like you're talking to me, as if I'm a complete idiot that has no power to ruin your life and poof! Turn you into a junior weyrling forever and ever? If you're talking to her like that? She's probably going to stand you up and hang out with a guy that's a little nicer. Food for thought." Real casual like, she takes a bite out of her sandwich. Just saying.
There's no telling whether or not it's /true/, but Kh'vrim answers Nenita with mock-gravity; "Of course they did. I assumed that was your doing anyway." He might have had more to say, but then she has that particular commentary for A'nas, and he finds a sudden and abiding interest in getting to the bottom of his klah mug. My my, he could sure use the pick-me-up.
Digging for the last berry in the cup, A'nas reminds himself why he avoids people in positions of power whenever possible; the sentiment is expressed as a sigh. He steals a look at Kh'vrim in the hopes that the dragonrider, who also doesn't seem to be in Nenita's good books today, might offer a clue as to how to get himself out of trouble. "Sorry, bad day." He mumbles the excuse because no, he does not want his life ruined forever and ever.
"Maybe it was Ch'son's doing or Loe's, the headwoman. I didn't even know that you were living at the weyr yet. All just a pleasent coincidence that you've got a nice weyr with a nice view." It's unfortunate, there probably are a lot of other women at the weyr nicer than Nenita. But they both chose to sit here! And so they're both blessed with her always delightful company. End of mild sarcasm. "Don't worry about it. Also, if she stands you up rather than just telling you no in the first place? Probably not worthwhile in the long run."
Sounds like 'doubt it'-- "Maybe." Kh'vrim lets his brows rise and fall like he's giving this a new rethinking, but ultimately winds up with a little shake of his head; not buying it. "See," he chimes after Nenita's advice is given. "I'd argue that you oughta go find out why she stood you up. Maybe she's got a good reason, and you oughta give her a chance to explain herself before you write her off completely." Pause. "Provided she's good-looking enough for the effort, mind."
More careful now, A'nas bites back a response about how it wasn't the long run that he was interested in. "Yeah, maybe." He gives up on the half-eaten parfait and collects the second spoon so he can fiddle with it, slapping the back of the spoon against the palm of his hand. "Maybe I said the wrong place." Or told the wrong girl. And then the first one found out and there was a catfight. A'nas looks a little vacant as he considers the possibility.
Yeah, probably good that the two older riders sitting across from him can't hear those thoughts. Nenita would probably give him dirty looks or laugh him, it's sort of a toss up. At any rate, she pushes that sandwich away from her because it's /still/ hot out and she really made a mistake choosing that for lunch. What Kh'vrim says has her shaking her head, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Probably stuff she could say to that, but instead, "Yes, perhaps that's another viable option for you. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she doesn't know her way around the weyr."
Kh'vrim would probably clap him on the back and then offer some sage advice about keeping his women in line. Just as a contrast. But. "Maybe she turned an ankle. Maybe her mother told her she's not allowed to consort with boys who don't have decent haircuts. Maybe her girlfriends talked her out of it because people would gossip about her. Maybe maybe maybe..." He trails off, answering Nenita's glance with a smile almost as quick as her corner-of-the-eye look there; beam, what?
"I should go look for her," A'nas decides following the multitude of possibilities but still hoping that his unlikely scenario holds true; it's mostly that slim chance that has him ready to go looking for the date that bailed. He gathers up his things and takes off, issuing one final opinion in defense of his new do: "Decent haircuts are boring."
"Maybe she realized she-" But then A'nas is getting up, preparing to leave to chase his date down. Possibly she catches that corner of the eye smile from her other table companion. She smiles pleasently up at the weyling when he stands and even lifts her hand to give a little wave to him. "See you around, good luck with your girlfriend or whatever she is." Once he's gone, she resituates herself in the chair so that she's more appropriately facing Kh'vrim. Less 'next to' going on.
Trying to squeeze it in, Kh'vrim gestures to the empty cup that A'nas is toting, offering, "Do you wanna leave that here?" He even sticks his hand out to retrieve it, not yet turning toward Nenita in response to her no more next-to decision. "Weird kid," he adds out of the side of his mouth, as if she's to blame.
"I didn't get any say in who was the weyrlingmaster for this clutch. I just woke up one morning and bam! There she was. And that's what we got from this group. Crazy mouthing off, weird haircut kids." Nenita closes her eyes and shakes her head, there's a long sufferng sigh that escapes her mouth. It's really a quick moment of frustration that appears, it gets schooled away as soon as she takes a second breath in. "It could be worse."
We'll assume Kh'vrim got the empty cup, 'cause A'nas seems bright enough to leave it behind, and now he plunks it down on the table with a carefully contained grin. "Ahh. So, no say in the Weyrlingmaster, no say in the transfers of random bronzeriders. Maybe you oughta consider taking a more active interest in things before your Weyr's all full up with people you disapprove of." Leaning his elbow on the table, now turning a little more toward Nenita properly, he looks like he's all set for story time when he asks, "Could it? How's that?" Share~.
"Thank you." That's delivered coldly as she pushes her chair back and gets to her feet. There's not a single follow up to that simple statement. In fact, she's not even looking at him as she begins to collect her half eaten sandwich, empty cup and book. Crumbs are dusted off onto the floor (they waft in the bronzerider's general direction) before she turns to leave. Unless something interrupts her, she's going to be making a really quick escape. Not exit, escape.
Kh'vrim's brows climb tandem with Nenita's rise in elevation, him leaning back further to keep her in his frame of vision; she's short, sure, but he's sitting down, so it's just necessary. "I guess I touched a nerve," he just mutters, watching crumbs land on his person with bemusement. "Wow, sweetheart," he begins, starting to his feet as well; whether it's to chase her down or just 'cause now there's no one to talk to... "You could at least tell me what I said wrong so I'd know not to say it again." If she hasn't run off already, that is; the idea of jogging to catch up to her is too much.
It's more like quick walking, Nenita doesn't do jogging. The one time she tried to run anywhere recently she twisted her ankle, not that he knows that, but. Fun fact. She gets as far as the steps leading down to the grass, she turns part way back to regard him. Her look isn't really for him now though, instead her gaze goes up to the ceiling of the pavilion. "This place is just about the only thing in my life that gets any sort of active interest from me. I expend a great deal of energy trying to make sure things stay intact. The rest of my existance is actually kind of hollow and lacking in comparison. It's probably my fault and I don't pretend that you'd understand, but I still take some offense when it's inferred that I do a shitty job. Plus, this just hasn't been my turn so far."
The face that Kh'vrim makes isn't particularly appealing, one eye squinted, the side of his lip curled up a touch, though he manages to mostly smooth it back into one of just chagrin by the time he strolls near enough to Nenita for it to matter. "None of that's really a surprise. Just-- I promised not to treat you like a goldrider, remember?" Where what she's just described sounds really goldrider-y to him, so says the shrug that follows. "I'm sorry if I pissed you off," he adds, seemingly authentic in his penitence. "Just. Seems like you can't have it both ways, trust your Weyrleader to do his job, but then you wind up with a Weyrlingmaster you seem to question." The look down at her, now, invites her to correct his misunderstanding.
"I think maybe I'd rather you treat me like one, if this is how you treat the ones who aren't." Nenita is pretty short so going down another step or two to the grass doesn't make much of a difference to her. Kh'vrim is tall, he simply gets taller. "The weyrlingmaster was an actual surprise. I'd been under the impression we'd be making a decision like that together but instead..." She holds her hands out. "I go from one part of the weyr to another and discover that one has been hired. From Igen. Maybe you're friends. Maybe this is just a great big Igen invasion. Hell, maybe you're weyrmates. You're about the same age." The paranoia is put on and eventually she shrugs her shoulders. "I was trying to trust him. I've discovered that sort of trying generally fucks your shit up."
Trying to keep to things at least somewhat light, Kh'vrim answers, "Do you think that I seem like someone who'd be part of a conspiracy? It's enough for me to remember to tie my shoes sometimes, sweetheart." He gives Nenita a good three or four steps ahead of him, a wide berth, if you will, though he also looks at her outstretched hands for a moment with twitching fingers; is she expecting a comforting squeeze or something? "You won't hear an argument from me," about her last. "If you want something done right, seems you really do have to do it yourself. I'm sorry to hear you got fucked, though. Having met your Weyrleader..." He trails off, lets that speak for itself: not surprised.
"Isn't that sort of the point? If you're part of conspiracy you normally try to not look as if you /could/ be part of a conspiracy." And no, not really. She probably wouldn't appreciate it if he tried to give her a comforting squeeze, she's not exactly warm and squishy these days. As for Ch'son, she purses her lips together and has the good grace to look guilty. If that's what you want to call it. Her eyes drop away from Kh'vrim and she shakes her head. "He's a good man. He just doesn't think a great many things through. I wish that we could work together better. But I'm not sure that relationship is going to get change very much." Another shrug and when she looks back she does try to smile. "Sorry, these things don't have anything to do with you."
Kh'vrim's /expression/ argues with that-- he's a good man-- though he refrains from saying a word to it. More to the point, "Don't they? I ride for Ista now, after all. It'd be nice to be able to trust the Weyrleader can make a good decision and not just one from the hip." Then, frankly, nodding toward the steps as if to remind her to keep on walking; "I'd be pissed, too. It's not like he was appointing a laundry girl or a stablehand. You ought to have some say when it comes to the fucking /Weyrlingmaster/, if you don't mind my pointing it out."
There's not exactly much that she can say to that. "We'll try to do better next flight." In a twisted way the whole thing kind of ends up being their fault or at the very least, Safriath's fault. But the gold's definitely not going to admit to any wrong doing or mistake making. "No, I don't mind you pointing that out. I'm pretty aware of all of it, don't worry. Try and have a nice day, Kh'vrim." She does know what his name is. Ah ha! "I have to get back to whatever it is I do all day." One hand gives him a wave and she turns the rest of the way, leaving.
Grinning but briefly, Kh'vrim answers to her first, "At least your prospects've improved since the last Flight?" Meaning himself, yes. He hangs back to give her a good lead on the way down the steps, ensuring there's no chance to mistake that he means to follow Nenita, letting her go on to do whatever it is she does all day without his particular 'help.'