[Log] One of Those Days
Who: Aivey, E'sere
When: Day 16, Month 13, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: E'sere and Aivey's Weyr, Western Islands
What: E'sere is an ass, and then he's supportive.
A low-banked fire lights the weyr and warms it from the dampness of the day's downpour. Drying close by are Aivey's clothes and a few other odds and ends. Missing from the fires side is Aivey, who can instead be found seated on the edge of the bed with the blankets drawn over her lap and her hand pillowed atop them. At the current moment she looks rather displeased; the cause for such can truly be any number of things, none of which are immediately visible.
Morelenth lands heavily, head tucking against the rain while E'sere slides down and hurries inside. Almost at once, he's stripping his shirt over his head and laying it out by the fire as he passes, along with an "Evening" to Aivey, her mood hardly noticed in his haste to dry off and get clean clothes.
Thanks to the heavy landing, Aivey has time to prepare for E'sere's arrival. Such is not to say she attempts to greet him with anything more then what seems to have become an ever present frown. "E'sere," A crisp greeting, not quite as amiable as the one she's recieved, and though Aivey watches him shed his shirt she doesn't try and offer him a clean and dry one or pretty much anything other then that crisp greeting.
E'sere digs up a towel and dries off quickly, running it through his hair before he finds a fresh shirt and pair of pants, and dons them both before turning back. The rest of his wet clothes are laid out to dry; then, he settles down by the fire himself and asks, "One of those days?"
"One of those days," is Aivey's sullen greeting as she continues watching the bronzerider right up to when he settles down by the fire. Her hand is lifted out of her lap and the cut there is rubbed idly at - not quite the most uncommon occurrence, given Aivey's tendacy to show up with numerous scrapes and cuts throughout the day - "You seem chipper. Did something good happen or are you just always in a good mood lately?"
"Unlike some people," E'sere drawls, "I can act nice even if I don't really feel it at present. My day was fine, the same as ever. What happened?" This, apparently, in regard to her day, though he watches the fire rather than her.
"Aren't you just the smartest little thing?" Aivey counters rhetorically as she regards him with that ever present frown, "And I am acting nicely. I could've called you an asshole but I haven't. Yet." A quick pause brings a hand scratching against the side of her head, then a shifting of her hair off her back and over one shoulder, "I don't know. It was just one of those days. I hate the rain and I hate that it's always raining and I hate that I can't sit still for even a few seconds."
"You don't have to," E'sere notes, waving off Aivey's words. "I know you're still thinking it. You could take a lesson from that, being content knowing what people /aren't/ saying." He smirks once, holds his hands out over the fire, and casts a look over at Aivey. "Well, endure. Nothing we can do about it, so don't let it bother you so much. It's just water, and trust me, if /I/ can say that?" He grins.
"Don't lecture me." Aivey snaps, mildly affronted at being recipient of said lecture from E'sere of all people, "I hate the rain. It just..." A potent shudder and toss of her shoulders elaborates in words what she won't, "-Anyways, you probably like it because it keeps you clean. Like a constant bath, right?" It's meant to be rhetorical, or E'sere is expected to answer in the space of the second-long pause separating it and her addition of, "Did you even get dirty today?"
"I rinsed off a little," E'sere says, shrugging. "It's... not clean like a bath. And stuff sticks to you, which is really rather disgusting. But as I don't look any worse than anyone else, I can bear it. Now, if I were the only one filthy and wet, it'd be different." A shrug.
"Priss." The insults continue! At least now it sounds a little more endeared and not wholly malicious. Aivey's frown is another matter entirely, because it's /still/ in place. "How did you even manage, I mean, seriously. I've seen the weyrlings after they're done training and most days they're covered head to toe. Did you hire someone to do your work for you or is that dragon of yours just that well trained?"
"I did it, and then went and cleaned up really fast, before anyone could see me," E'sere says, entirely serious. "It wasn't easy, and I think I changed clothes three times a day for the whole time, but. I managed." His smirk is nothing short of proud.
Whereas Aivey is stupified. "You're so-" Already shaking her head, Aivey doesn't finish what was sure to be an insult, or at least more of one then what she says next: "You're as anal as a Healer, I swear." She brushes her hand against the cut one last time, before uncrossing her legs and standing, though she waits for the pins and needles sensation to dissipate before heading toward the back of the weyr.
"I like looking good," E'sere notes, shrugging. "Would you really look up to a leader who was ugly, and dirty, and smells bad? Of course not."
"You're a priss," Aivey repeats as she re-emerges, cradling Asshole against her side, "There's no getting around that. Call it whatever you want, but it is what it is." The fire is approached and she settles down next to it - on the side opposite E'sere. Asshole is in her lap, and the stuffing pouring out of his head is roughly poked back in.
E'sere shrugs again. "You might think so, but it worked," he tells her. "People looked up to me. Because I was impressive yet approachable. The perfect political combination," he adds wistfully.
"You forget to add vain and pompous. And just so you know, I never thought you were impressive or approachable." Aivey looks toward him before poking more of Asshole's insides back inside where they belong, "If I'd have picked /anyone/ at the weyr as that... it probably would've been - well, not you, that's for sure."
"People liked me!" E'sere says, sounding taken aback. "I looked good--I had everything, the clothes, the knot, the family, the training and connections. But I was still friendly, and grounded, and took the time to talk to the common people. Who did that better than me?"
"Common people." Aivey repeats, looking hard at him, "That's it. Right there. You seperate us all, E'sere. Did you tell your 'common' people that's what you thought of them or did you let them think they were something more?" Asshole is still stabbed at, never mind all his stuffing is repacked and on the inside.
"I let them think they were something more," E'sere says at once, as though Aivey were stupid for even considering something else.
"The perfect leader." Aivey mocks before chucking Asshole at E'sere's head. "You're right. You are a great politician and that's why most everyone with a brain wants to knock them off."
E'sere eyes Aivey. "They do not. Anywhere you have leaders, you have politicians. The best you can hope for is good ones, well-meaning ones--and I am."
"You lie. You tell people things that aren't true so they'll see something that isn't true. You don't have their respect... you're not even the you that you make them think you are. You're-" A twist of her lips isn't forthcoming with an immediate verb and so Aivey railroads, "At least /I/ never lied to anyone."
"Yes, you did," E'sere answers at once. "People thought you were a cute but slow-in-the-head laundry girl, not the cute but psychotic murdering daughter of a violent exile."
"I never told them anything. They assumed. That's the difference," Aivey replies defensively, "No one ever stopped to ask me anything. That was their mistake." Dropping her head but lifting her eyes to keep the bronzerider in full view, Aivey adds a crisp, "When I was confronted, I admitted to what I was."
"Acting is lying, too, Aivey dear," E'sere chides her mildly. "And you should have kept lying. Maybe we could have gotten out of this somehow otherwise."
"I don't lie." Aivey counters with a grimmace at the 'dear', "I never have and I never will... I don't even know how - that's not even the point, anyways." Sitting up straighter, Aivey says, "If /you/ would have helped me when I had Sinopa or at the very least could've taken a hint *you* wouldn't be here."
"You're lying now," E'sere says, shaking his head. "Lying's the most natural thing in the world; everyone knows how to do it." He smirks slightly, scooting back until he can lean against a wall. "I still had hopes of escaping some other way then. Sinopa--well. Perhaps we would have been better off then, instead of having everything out at the trial, but you know what they say about hindsight." He grimaces, then shrugs.
"I am not. It's only natural to the people who need to lie and I'm not one of them. Telling the truth doesn't frighten me. Unlike some people." Aivey snorts at the rest of what he says, even manages to turn it into a condescending chuckle as she draws her knees up and rests her chin atop them, "That's the difference, I suppose. When I make a deal I intend to keep it. All a deal is to you is another lie."
"It doesn't frighten me, either," protests E'sere. "If a truth works better than a lie in the situation, I tell the truth. I'm an opportunistic liar, not a compulsive one. Deals... are the same." A shrug. "Anyway, you don't intend to keep /our/ deal, so."
"Liar." Aivey scarcely hesitates to call him such, or to back it up with a light scowl. "I've kept every deal I've ever made - to the best of my ability. If you're going to keep saying I should've taken /your/ secrets with me when they staked me out, well... sorry but I don't regret it. It needed to be done. You don't seem terribly worse for the wear from it."
"Well, that's one deal broken," E'sere agrees, nodding once, frowning himself too now. "Would have been nice if you didn't become one of the star witnesses against me, but then, you're always going to choose your father, aren't you?"
"I never broke any deals." Aivey repeats, aggrivated, "And screw you! You weren't exactly sticking around to make sure J'lor got me out safe and sound. You were too worried about your own damn hide. Why don't you just go to Telgar if you're so pissed about the decision I made. I'm sure S'lien is keeping a place for you."
E'sere straightens, brows drawing together at her words. "I had to get out myself before one of the queens ordered Morelenth back down. And I had people watching you, anyway, telling me you were fine, so it wasn't like I ran and never even thought about you," he retorts.
"Right. Because being tied to a stake and all that means I'm perfectly fine. Especially when there's Thread falling over head and, you know, those friends of yours would've helped me out in a heartbeat." Droll, Aivey snorts and rolls her eyes, "You were thinking about you and that's it."
"I tried to get you out before it ever came to that," says E'sere, getting up and going over to check the dryness of his earlier clothes, back to Aivey. "They wouldn't take my deal. I did the only thing I could do, and you would have done the same thing, positions reversed."
"When you were already screwed," Aivey replies evenly, not sounding the least bit consoled by his defense, "If it wasn't for the staking and knowing it was coming, I never would've said anything about you." Aivey watches his back until she grows bored and then turns her attention to picking at the cut on her forearm, "When he came for me... the first thing I thought about was how I was going to get back to the mainland and get you out of Telgar. And that's probably why I'm the biggest fool out of the two of us."
E'sere's clothes are still damp, and after turning them to position the wettest spots to the fire again, he straightens back up to look at Aivey. "Yeah," he tells her, "I suppose it is."
Still picking at the cut, Aivey avoids looking directly at him. After a too-long pause, she says somewhat softer, "You're not suppose to agree with me." Cradling her arm against her lap, Aivey finally looks at him, "At least not on that."
"What do you expect me to say?" E'sere asks, standing still and looking down at her from across the fire. "I did what I did for the reasons I did it. I am self-centered; I saw a lost cause and I took care of myself. It wasn't how I /wanted/ things to go, but I did what I felt I had to once it happened."
"You wanted your knot and me out of your hair." Aivey assumes, looking away once more, "I understand. I'm not... I'm not mad. There's no point in even arguing." Saying so now. After the fact. A last pick at the cut on her arm gives way to restless fidgetting, "This is why /other/ things should happen during the day."
"No--well, yes. But I didn't want you dead," E'sere protests, shaking his head. "Exile, I could have lived with. And I tried to get that for you the only way I knew how: dealing. They didn't want to do that, though, so I gave up." Pause. "I felt bad about it," he adds, as though that makes it better. Questioning her latter words: "What do you mean?"
The wry look she provides the bronzerider is as far as Aivey is willing to broach another one of his failed attempts at consolation. "Because. I'd rather tear apart someone else then you. And if I'm thinking about something else, I'm not thinking about how much you're pissing me off so I'm not thinking about /other/ things that are pissing me off and I can't... do anything about it here anyways, so-" She splays her hands, vaguely indicating helplessness all around.
E'sere heads over again, toward Aivey, and he settles down alongside her. "I understand," he tells her. "Though I don't think I can help, either."
"You can't. Unless you like it when I attack you." Aivey fidgets again, this time as he settles down beside her. The cut is picked at yet again, drawing a small amount of blood that she absently wipes against the side of her arm before saying, "I can't keep messing up. He's not going to be patient with me forever. I need to figure something out."
"Stop that," E'sere finally notes her picking the cut, and reaches over to halt her. "You'll make it worse. You don't like my politicking, but that's exactly what you need to learn for yourself, so you can get along with people and stop making everything worse for you. And barring that, I need to just imprison you up here and save us all the trouble," he notes, with a wry half-smile.
"Don't-" A nudge of her hand against his has her clasping a hand over the top of her cut, "I don't want to get along with them. I want the ones I don't like to leave me alone. Considering that's not ever going to happen... you might just be safer that way. But then you'll have to deal with the fall out." Ill humored, Aivey ducks her chin against her knees, then rests her forehead there. "You ever get so restless you just want to do something so completely crazy just so that twitch will stop?"
Withdrawing his hand, E'sere rakes it through his hair and releases a breath. "It's not really so hard as you make it seem. You need to suck it up and deal, because that's what your father wants. And while I certainly admire your no-nonsense approach, I don't appreciate having you come home bruised up, or worse." Pause. "And probably not the same kind of crazy you're thinking of," he answers warily.
"I can't help it. I can't just sit here and hear about what happened to them, and think about what'll happen if we don't do anything now. I don't - I'm sick of waiting." Aivey pushes out a frustrated sigh and absently repicks at that scar - no wonder it hasn't yet healed - "I saw someone today. While I was working. They didn't even look at me, they just did something that irritated me. I wanted to hurt them... I wanted to do more then just hurt them."
"Please, stop," E'sere repeats, reaching for her hand again. "I've spent my whole life being patient, waiting for my birthright. And when I finally gave up being patient and took matters into my own hands--well, here I am. You can't /do/ that, Aivey. You're going to make him kill you one of these days. You have to be patient, just a little while, just once."
Aivey pulls her hand free of his, fists it then drops it to her side. The cut is left alone for the time being as she shakes her head, "I can't just sit still either. I can't handle it.. not being able to do anything. And I know. I know that but I can't help it."
"Yes, you can," E'sere says patiently, half-smiling, and looking pleased when she leaves her arm alone, at least for the moment.. "And you will. We'll--what do you want to do to take your mind off it? Anything but attack someone, and we can."
"I get angry and that's the only thing I want to do. The only thing that solves it." Ever serious, Aivey turns to look at him, "Much as you don't like to see me bruised, I like to keep you the same way." A small, thankful smile surfaces before Aivey presses her fisted hand against the floor, popping several knuckles in the process before saying, "I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it."
"I rather like being that way myself," points out E'sere, "but if you make me have to deal with your father again, that's unlikely to happen." As though she had forced him to confront Derek. "Go beat up trees or something. Or someone who won't go tattling to him. You make it my problem, and I feel compelled to try to figure out a viable solution."
"I didn't make you do anything. You were dumb enough to pick a fight with him." Aivey instantly calls him on his folly, feeling relatively assured to also point out, "If you go after him again you'll probably get more then a couple of bruises. But like I said. Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out. Or I'll just - don't worry about it." Breaking off a less then promising statement, Aivey tags on a smile.
"Well, you keep his hands off you, and he won't have to put them on me, either," says E'sere in a very reasonable tone of voice. "And so far, I haven't been terribly fond of what follows you saying you'll figure something out, you'll forgive me if I keep worrying."
"I'm hardly in a position to make my father do anything," Aivey replies dryly. "Worry all you want, though. I'll be alright. I've gotten this far, haven't I?" It's truly meant to be encouraging.
"Yes, and how many scars and bruises do you have to show for it?" E'sere replies, shaking his head. "Most people buy trinkets to remember things; you go for lasting bodily injury."
"I can't count. Remember?" Aivey is almost... almost content to leave it there. But then there's a malicious smile and a taunting lift of her voice, "Unless you want to offer to count... in which case I'll be more then glad to show you every last one."
"Thought I wasn't allowed to do any of that?" replies E'sere, arching a brow as he smirks right back.
"Well if you do, you know what it'll take." Nonchallant, Aivey shrugs, leaving the decision in his hands. Again.
"And I told you," E'sere replies just as nonchalant, "I'm not letting you back me into a corner to say something you think you already know. I should think you'd want me to take the initiative and say it myself, rather than be forced into it just so I can have sex again."
"If I let you take your time in anything...nothing would get done." Aivey returns evenly, "At this rate though, I don't think we'll have to worry about taking any trips between." She's silent for a moment, "It's a shame though. I have one scar with one damn interesting story behind it."
"I think I can remember the scar," E'sere notes after a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "If you'll tell me which it is, and tell me the story now. Maybe I'll be so intrigued I'll go ahead and say it, just to look again." Snort.
"Right. You might have the whole politicking thing down, but you suck at convincing me." Aivey rests the side of her head against her knees, making it easier and more comfortable to study the bronzerider, "I think I'll have more fun letting you wonder."
"I could go the whole, 'I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours' route," E'sere notes with a lazy shrug, smirking, "but that's so cliche, and anyway, all I have to show you is my unblemished perfection." He smirks immodestly.
"As fun as /that/ sounds... I don't think you have the resolve for it." It could easily be considered a challenge, should rightly so, because it is. Aivey straightens, stretching her legs out before her while adding, "One of these days you'll understand there's no fun in perfection. It's boring."
"Well, you /said/ you owe me a scar, but you haven't lived up to /that/ deal, either," drawls E'sere.
"I haven't a knife to give you one," Aivey counters, "And at this rate I won't get a knife for a while. A shame." Of everything thus far, it's this that seems to bother her the most.
"Poor thing," E'sere retorts smugly. "Whatever happened to the island way of making do?"
"And that," Aivey declares with a sense of finality, "Irritates me enough that I might just /make do/ and give you that scar now. Only it's nothing you'll want to brag about. Trust me."
"Really now," says E'sere, brows sliding upward. "Why's that?"
"Do you really want to find out?" Aivey asks, easing into a stand, "We're getting along so well, it's probably best that you don't. I get sloppy when I'm forced to improvise."
"Well. I'd much rather have a nice, neat little scar to show off to all my friends," E'sere agrees after a moment of thought. "All... one of them."
"Small is not the word I had in mind. So I'm right. You really wouldn't appreciate it," Aivey responds, rather smugly, "-but you'd at least win the contest against Donavon if you two planned on comparing battle wounds."
"He has a couple of pretty impressive ones," E'sere notes. "Well, one, anyway--yours. And that nose of his--but that's just funny: beaten up by a girl while the guards held him." He even grins, amused at the thought.
Aivey allows a smile too, but she's most likely amused only because E'sere is. Moving toward him and slipping behind him, Aivey reaches out to tousel his hair, then leans forward to plant a kiss on the top of his head, "I won't remind you of the time I beat you up - without the guards holding you back."
"That was for a good cause," E'sere replies stiffly, reaching up to fix his hair again, after vainly trying to duck away from her hand. "And I wasn't trying to fight back."
"Excuses excuses." Aivey undoes his handiwork once his hair is back in place though lays in wait to catch his hand for when he tries to straighten it back up. If she's even moderately successful, the hand is given a tug as a silent prompt for him to follow her.
Quite predictably, E'sere does reach up to fix his hair again, grimacing; but finding his hand ensnared, he tilts his head back to look up, to quirk a brow, and then to obediently push himself up to follow.
"The worse thing about you? You're predictable," Aivey lectures as she turns around and moves toward the bed, "Well, mostly predictable. I'm not afraid to admit there have been a couple of times you've surprised me," An allowance from over her shoulder, complete with an amused smile, "Speaking of.. are you going to let me cut your hair again? It's getting long."
"Oh, really?" E'sere tilts his head slightly as she leads him. "Like when?" Pause. "No."
Aivey doesn't pout. She's far too mature for that. The exception to the rule is, rather naturally, name calling. "Priss." The first question is ignored, his hand tugged on again as she settles down in bed, preparing...rather obviously, to turn in for the night.
"And you like it," E'sere replies, unbothered, as he moves to prepare for bed himself.
Aivey rolls her eyes, too amused by his reaction to offer much of one herself. As he prepares, though, Aivey releases his hand and reaches over to steal his pillow and a majority of the blanket.
Until he lies down, E'sere doesn't object to the theft, but when he's situated, he reaches to give the blanket a very gentle tug. Then, he shrugs, smirks, and scoots that much closer to Aivey, to slide back a little of the pillow and blanket and take advantage of what she /does/ leave him.
Aivey allows the minor theft, but it comes with a price. She reaches for his arm and tries to tug it over her, seeking to enforce the request by latching her hand around his wrist. If she's even remotely successful, she'll attempt to find her place against his side. And if not? Well, she's not so spiteful she'll begrudge him his (semi)fare share of the blanket.
E'sere is obliging, though, as always, and he contentedly lets Aivey swipe his arm, too, and snuggle in against him without complaint.