[Log] 'Nother Woman's Puppet
Who: Breide, I'neph
When: Day 8, Month 6, Turn 448
Where: I'neph and Dioscuth's Weyr, Benden Weyr
What: Breide is a manipulative ho.
I'neph's Weyr Early Summer. Cloudy. 66F / 19C.
The ledge to this weyr is unremarkable, as it is the general size and shape of the weyr inside. It's the decorating scheme that deserves all the attention. Whoever decorated I'neph's weyr apparently thought it needed to be some kind of den of iniquity, for that person has left touches here and there in reds and ambers and purples that really just scream Love Shack.
All of it is salvaged, but arranged artfully so that frayed corners and occasional stains aren't immediately visible: little kerchiefs of sheer cloth to drape over glowbaskets paint the whole room in a reddish haze; upholstered throw pillows here and there in patterns of red, gold, and deep purple; a hearthrug woven in geometric pattern of the same predominant colors.
A few other little touches here and there--sheer red curtains to drape the bed, a chipped glass candy bowl with colorful candy beans, a bottle of brandy and two glasses to go with it. Of course, the piece de resistance is that crushed velvet crimson coverlet she procured for the bed, exactly the kind of furnishing that any decent young woman would recognize as a 'bad sign.'
-- Players --
I'neph.........6', athletic; olive skin, dark brown eyes & hair; mid/late 20s. Cute but worthless.
-- Dragons --
Dioscuth.......Bronze dragon.
-- Exits --
Sky......................[O]
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Rielth extends s swath of vivid colors, all coached in the shades of warm autumn, << We hover at your ledge. Will you let us visit? >>
[DTU] To Rielth, Dioscuth, reluctant, as sulky as his rider, is silent several seconds before he finally offers up an image of Rielth landing, permission granted.
Rielth wings to a landing on Dioscuth's ledge
Rielth has arrived.
[DTU] To Dioscuth, Rielth ignores the sulky, only allowing the constants swirls of colors to melt over the reluctance like a drape to warm his thoughts.
Rielth lands quickly, the management of her awkward limbs by now easier. Her boxy shoulders draw back, allowing the curve of her well-oiled neck to rise proudly, even in light of ongoing sulking. Breide, however, is slow to dismount, taking in the lay of the ledge and maneuvering a small package about her hands as she lands to the ground. "'Neph?" she calls out.
Breide hops down from Rielth's neckridges.
Breide has arrived.
The healers have kicked I'neph out. After several days of him sulking around and looking pitiful in one of their beds, even after he's healed up, someone has laid a foot down and sent him home. Of course, he's still been conveniently 'recuperating' instead of attending his own wing's drills; his bruised ego isn't healing up so well, and it's kept him laid up at home for almost the entirety of the time he's been free of the healers. At present, he's curled up in bed again, not asleep, but with a distant expression that he's not quite all there. Dioscuth is sulking out front, and he doesn't move to make any more room for Rielth on his ledge.
Without an invitation, taking Dioscuth's one to Rielth as a blanket permission, Breide saunters into the weyr. Knowing the man like she does, the brown eyes don't veer off towards any of the other distractions of this love shack, and hone in on the curled up man and the crushed velvet covers that surround him. "A sight for sore eyes," drawls the goldrider, hovering by the bed, "Look, I brought you somethin'." The package, so obviously a bottle despite it's festooned wrapping, is held up into the air.
It takes I'neph a moment to bring himself out of his self-induced stupor, blinking and glancing up at Breide with furrowed brow. "Good of you to show up," he sniffs finally, pushing himself up to look at her. "What's that, a bribe?" Despite suspicions, though, he reaches to take it, and even scoots over a little to make room for Breide on the bed beside him.
Teasingly, with a warm smile to her lips, Breide pretends to snatch the bottle back before he claims it, but only pretends, allowing, once his fingers make contact, for I'neph to whisk the gift away. "No, a present from my da. Why would I need to bribe you anyway, when we can share this together?" She sinks to the bed's side, reaching over to brush gently, affectionately at the bronzerider's hair. Her hand falls to tremble fingers against his chin. "Oh, I can't wait to see what you did to the other guy."
Share? I'neph hoards the gift to himself, half-turning away from Breide as he moves to open the package and then, to inspect the bottle within. Finally, he sneaks a glance backwards at the goldrider, frowning. "You let him win," comes the inevitable accusation, while he dodges the question of the other guy.
"I didn't," Breide states simply, apologetic finally. There's no words of protest, no explanation, just the caress of her fingers to try to scrutinize what remains of I'neph's injuries. The bottle within is an older vintage of a citron-spiced brandy, heavier on the bottom and narrow as it rises up its slender neck. A ribbon of red wraps around the neck's base, sealed with the imprint of some long gone Mastervintner.
"Did, too," I'neph repeats, not looking at Breide and instead taking a great deal of interest in the bottle, turning it over in his hands. "Dioscuth still could've won if she'd just--if she'd just--" He gives up trying to toss out an idea, and just shrugs childishly.
Breide's fingers drop their questing attempt and play amongst the crushed velvet. "We both know Dioscuth would've won if it had been fair. You know," she begins, earnestly regretful, "I wouldn't want Zaorine's second hand droppings." Which is what Sh'van apparently is. "Not in my bed. Not in my heart. Right? It wasn't fair. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Neffie, her drive to have Sh'van as Weyrleader made it unfair for you. Who else knows Rielth's wings and body as well as Dioscuth does? Who else knows me?"
"Nobody," I'neph answers, still sulky but perhaps not quite so bad. He does sneak another peek at Breide, and stops playing with the bottle long enough to finally look back at her directly. "What does Zaorine have to do with anything?" he wonders dubiously, brows knitting again.
"I dunno." Her mouth is still set into that line of apology even as she disavows knowledge of what exactly Zaorine has to do with anything. Breide scoots in further on the bed, nudging at I'neph's hip and sliding herself down to lay beside him, head held in a curled arm. "You know how she is. How she's so... focused." As if that were a crime, and the sole cause of any suspicion. "Nef. Neffie," entreating with wobbly eyes, she attempts to curl even closer to the ever so strong bronzerider's side, "I dunno what to do. I never thought of... I... I wanted a partner'n not 'nother woman's puppet."
I'neph can't hold out forever, and his limit is Breide curling up at his side. He sniffs one more time, just to remind her he's still 'hurt,' then scoots over to cuddle. "Well, you should have made sure Dioscuth'd win," he says again, though not terribly feelingly now--more out of habit at this point. "You're the Weyrwoman, so just... I dunno. Don't let him do anything. You can do that, right? Then him and Zao can't screw it up for us any more."
Breide exhales, a happy little sigh at the cuddling. A mollified sigh that carries in it a note of repentance for her transgressions against I'neph. Her body bends obligingly to the cuddling and her head creeps up along to rest a fan of blonde hair on I'neph's chest. "I can try. I hope. I think so," she tacks on uncertainly. "You're so warm," another sigh, eyes closing tiredly, "I like your arms. They're nice and strong...," yawn and softer, tired words, "Protect me."
"You can, sure," agrees I'neph. "And then, next time, I'll hire /my/ wingsecond to beat him up. Bet E'drai could do it, too." That puts probably the first smile on his face in days. Then, agreeable as he moves to slide arms around her, pull her closer, "I will, don't worry. Even if you did let stupid Sh'van win."
"Mmmmmmmmm," gone far beyond talking now, or even really agreeing about E'drai's merits or stupid Sh'van other than that hum, Breide sleeps. Or seems to or something, the cadence of her breath even, and the apology of her expression fades as another yawn comes and causes her to burrow further against I'neph, especially with the help of his 'strong' arms pulling her in. Outside, Rielth reaches over to try and nose Dioscuth's muzzle lightly, a tiny croon escaping.
And though he's probably done little else /but/ sleep the last few days, I'neph settles in to do so now, again, with Breide. Even Dioscuth is moderately appeased, enough so that he can move to bump his muzzle against Rielth companionably, and finally edge back a little ways to give her more room on the ledge.
Give a girl an inch and she takes a mile. Rielth, the tiny croon exhaled again, this time pleased, takes the little ways of room granted and sprawls to overlap limbs with Dioscuth.