[Log] Even If We Don't Fight
Who: Brijana, R'dur
When: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 7, 11th
Where: The Sandbar, Ista Weyr
What: R'dur finally takes Brijana to Ista.
Ista Weyr -- The Sandbar
This dockside tavern stretches over the water, accessible from beach, docks or harbour itself. The light sound of slapping waves can be heard beneath the floorboards, and there are no walls, allowing tropical breezes to waft through and indulging patrons in panoramic ocean views. The carved wooden bar takes up the north end of the room, covered with a wood and reed roof that protects it from impromptu showers. The rest of the booths rest along the outside of the floor, all situated to be oceanside and set with brightly coloured cushions. The thatched wood roof continues along those booths leaving the center of the area open-air, though a metal canopy rests along the outside of one wall, ready to be drawn atop for rain or Threadfall. Further to the north and south the beach continues on for kilometers, black sand tinged a ruddy red with the blazing light of a fading sunset. Waves wash upon the beach with a steady roar, sending spray flying into the air at the furthest end of the beach to the south where a collection of rocks litter the shoreline.
The wet season oppresses the island with high humidity and sweltering temperatures.
Obvious exits:
Beach Docks
Brijana
Striking and tall, with the added boost of a regal carriage, Brijana reeks confidence in everything from the rich smoothness of flawless cream skin, to the large, expressive brown eyes, and the back set of her shoulders. Leaves of loose-curls frame her face, the auburn highlighted sheen of which betrays careful grooming that must take hours, and thick bangs sweep across her forehead to provide tantalizing snatches of one of her openly friendly eyes. The thick brows so heavy along her brother's forehead aren't present here, carefully managed and groomed to shapely arcs that only serve to make her eyes look larger. Thinly tapered and a bit sharp, a feature that looks rather out of place on her angular face, is her nose that hooks downward with every attempt with light powders and make up to make it more graceful.
Dressed to flatter both five foot seven frame and her coloring, a V-necked tunic, an inch wide decorative collar sewn in a shade darker than the uniform spring green that clings to her curves, than flares loosely from beneath the empire waistline to past her hips. There, more practical, but no less flattering in accentuating her better features, are a pair of earthen pants that loosen near the sturdy boots on her feet. In the hollow created by her tunic, a lavaliere of Mastersmith quality rests, hung from the thinnest strand of silver-like material.
R'dur
Now 25 turns old, R'dur has matured into a tall, slender young man standing just below six feet tall. His wavy ash blonde hair is of medium length, shaggy and not quite short enough to keep it out of his grey-blue eyes; a few strands curl stubbornly around his ears. His pale skin doesn't tan. R'dur's features are strong and sharp; he has high, pronounced cheekbones dusted with faint, sparse freckles as well as a hawkish nose and thin lips.
Contrary to his usual lackluster, over-large attire, R'dur is now dressed rather stylishly. He wears a well-fitted pair of khaki pants, long over his polished brown boots. His neat button-down shirt is light blue in color, carefully buttoned all the way up and tucked in to reveal a matching brown belt. Either he suddenly developed some fashion sense, or (far more likely) a woman's finally taken him in hand and dressed him. In any case, it's an improvement. He wears the knot of a Telgar Weyr wingsecond, his patch that of Thunderbolt wing.
Alidaeth's landing and the pair's arrival on Ista's beach is met with a squeal by Brijana, delight prevalent in her wordless exclamation. "The sun's set so much more romantically here than at Telgar." Clinging to R'dur's arm, her slender form fits nicely into the brownrider's, and as they walk into the Sandbar, the full wattage of her considerable charms is turned onto the young man in twinkling eyes and a cajoling smile, "We'll come here more often, yes?"
R'dur has no defense against those charms, practically melting under her gaze. "I think it's the water and the beach," he tries to explain, though he's not taken a look at the sun yet. He's wrapped up in the woman on his arm. "But, um. Yes, yes, if you want to. I've... never been to this particular part of Ista before, myself, but..." Somewhat dubiously, he glances sideways at the bar, then steels himself as they enter.
Dressed the occasion in a fluttery, sleeveless outfit in a pale cream shade, Bri shakes her sandals free of sand as they enter the Sandbar and tapping twice along the wooden planks. R'dur's dubious glance is offset by the determination in her clear eyes: have fun, conquer men, and have fun, and in that desire for revelry that speaks in the excited little tremors of her body next to his, Brijana can overlook the less than desirable conditions of the tavern. "Let's go sit there," the girl guides, pointing out a location that's closer the dock and thus the water, "And maybe they'll come take our order." There's a slight pause as a face at the far end catches her attention and she wiggles her fingers in recognition before asiding softly into her weyrmate's ear, "F'reb, a bluerider in Icewind."
Brijana's eagerness is infectious enough to seep into even the naturally jittery R'dur. "All right," he agrees quickly with Brijana, eyes widening as he takes in the extent of the bar and the ocean as they take their seats. "This is... this is very different from the one at Boll," he decides after a moment. "The view is--" He shakes his head as he eyes the water, not finishing. Instead, he glances toward the bluerider pointed out, offering a vague sort of smile to the man. "I don't--I don't think I know him," admits the wingsecond. "A... friend, of yours?" Pause. Not dwelling on that, he hastily asks, "What would you like? To drink, I mean. What would you like to drink?"
"Boll?" Bri's brows lift quizzically as she drops into a chair. She props her chin on her hands and looks expectantly to the brownrider. "Have we been to Boll together? I can't remember." There's a dangerous sweetness laid into her voice, and for now, she can ignore F'reb's existence and R'dur's hasty brush off question to study her 'mate.
R'dur blinks, then blushes. "Um, well. You were--I mean, we--we ran into each other there. Once," he admits haltingly, ducking his head as she presses him. "Don't you remember? You, um. You kissed me, I believe. And I took you home." More blushing. You'd think he would have got over that stage by now.
The quizzical draw of her two brows together lingers as it's clear Brijana is frantically paging through the various vast sheets of memory women sometimes keep, and when they finally clear it bodes well for R'dur as she nods slowly, thoughtful, "I- of course I remember. I was just making sure you did, and," showing that even poised, pretty girls have moments of self-esteem problems, she hesitates, "Just wasn't sure if you'd been there with Yselle lately." But that remark ends up in a half-mumble that turns relieved with the arrival of a scantily clad bar wench. "Ah-, ah, fruit juices for both of us and those little wherry skewers? I've heard that you have tasty food here."
R'dur, relieved, brightens, offering a smile. "Oh, right. Of course," he agrees, nodding. Then, a flicker of unease again, and: "Yselle. No, no. Not in, well, turns, honestly. We're... well, you know us. Not on very good terms again. If it wasn't for Ysalia..." He shakes his head, glances away.
Unfortunately, his eyes fall right on the half-dressed waitress and widen, flush creeping up his neck before he tears his eyes away. Clearing his throat, he stares firmly at the table. "Um, yes. Just--just juice," he squeaks out somehow.
Clearly, this hasn't been a subject brought up in a while, and Breide's pretty eyes narrow faintly to mask the surprise that rises. "Oh." Sounding small for her unsubtle accusation at first, her voice gains strength and question as she repeats with that inquisitive lilt, "Oh?" Beneath the table, her toes kick R'dur lightly, and her head tilts to indicate the waiting barwench who has her hand held out expectantly.
"Oh!" R'dur jerks at the kick, hurt look directed at Brijana until he realizes what the other woman is waiting on. Without looking at her, he wordlessly pulls out the marks to pay, the long-suffering and soon to be penniless weyrmate. Then, hesitating, he nods once to Brijana. "Um. Yes," he fumbles, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "We just... we're too different," he decides, "and the only thing we have in common is Ysalia. And for her sake, we should /try/ to get along, but..." A shrug. "It just doesn't work. So I've been, well, avoiding her, really, lately, whenever I go to see Ysalia. She's two and a quarter now!" He brightens at that, a less than subtle attempt to slide the conversation away from Yselle.
Apology rises quickly in Bri's expressive eyes, and her toes go from kicking to rubbing lightly up and down. "So," she begins carefully, lashes lowering briefly and then lifting before her guilt seems too obvious, "You're not speaking to her right now?" When Brijana's fixated, it's difficult to swerve her attention unless something shiny is involved. The woman, now paid, goes off merrily to place the order loudly at the bar, muttering something afterwards about non-drinkers in a bar.
The leg-rubbing does little to settle R'dur, but he does nod, frowning. "Not--not exactly," he admits. "No more than I have to, anyway." He shrugs, turns toward the bar briefly. "But, um. We don't--we don't have to talk about this. I mean, it's not... happy. We're happy tonight. You always wanted me to take you to Ista, so let's enjoy it?" Half-pleading.
"I offered to take Ysalia in for a few nights," Brijana finally confesses. Not that it takes much from R'dur to get her to confess -anything-, and the auburn haired girl looks vaguely unsettled. "So you -really- aren't talking to Yselle anymore?" And more importantly, "Why not? What happened?" The continuation of her foot rubbing against R'dur's leg seems less for his benefit as a rote action.
R'dur's brows knit as he studies Brijana. "You... did?" he wonders, surprise evident in voice and expression. "I didn't think you..." But he doesn't dare finish that statement, as he shuts his mouth abruptly. "Ah. We--that is to say, I--don't exactly... approve of some of the things she does, and I, well. I made the mistake of saying as much." He grimaces.
Service at the Sandbar is quick, the barwench reeling back this-a-way with a plate of cubed wherry bites on toothpick-like sticks, and two fruit juices with a dollop of fresh cream atop. "Thank you," polite, the Telgari girl dismisses the serving woman with a bright smile before turning to R'dur, effectively ignoring her. "You actually spoke your mind?" One cheek finds her hand, resting it there as she considers her weyrmate as if seeing him for the first time - again. "And why would that be a bad thing?"
"Thank you," echoes R'dur, offering a small smile to the server before turning back to Brijana. "Well, yes," he admits, with a wry grin. "I know, it sounds so... absurd," concedes the man. "I can't do it with anyone else."
Pause. "Well, to you, but you're different. It's bad because... well, it's really none of my business what she does, is it? And it upsets her, so I should know better."
"You don't really speak your mind to me," Bri muses, self-absorbed in the differences between herself and Yselle it seems for a moment. "I mean," her lashes flutter, clearing the glaze of her eyes as she reaches for a little bite of food. "You know. You don't really speak much to me much at all except all the boring stuff. You don't yell at me, or get upset at me, or anything. Not like with Yselle. Maybe," and while it's clear she's teasing in both intonation and the sudden mischievous cant of her head, there's a solid thread of uncertainty there, "You're in love with her really and that's why you two always fight."
R'dur hesitates, ducking his head with a soft smile. "No, I don't," he admits. "I don't /want/ to fight with you. I don't want to fight with Yselle, either, but in the end she's only a friend--not my weyrmate. I do love you, Bri. Really." Earnest, a little hurt by her accusation, he glances up. "Nothing you do is worth fighting over and making you unhappy."
Brijana coughs around her morsel of chicken and eyes R'dur flatly, "I'd believe it more if you kissed me or something. But-," she relents in the next moment and leans forward with her lips puckered, a splash of the oil used to cook the wherry dotting her lip corner.
"Oh!" Quickly, though blushing and not daring to glance at who may be watching, R'dur leans forward to kiss Brijana, expression growing sheepish afterward. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. Pause. He hesitates now, waffling over the drink and the food before finally asking, eyes downcast as he selects a piece of the wherry, "Can I ask you something? ... Why do--why do you worry so much about Yselle and me?"
The kiss draws a smile to her lips that might be felt if he doesn't move away too quickly. "I-...," Brijana falters, finding quick solace in her drink to swallow down both whatever words would be imminent and the food. "You have a baby together. In crafts and holds it... you don't have kids together unless... unless... I mean, you know. You don't have kids together unless you love each other." For a girl of her age, experience, and Weyr-savvy, there's incredible naivety infused in that statement.
R'dur's frown is sad as he watches Brijana fumble as much as he usually does. "I know," he answers quietly. "I'm holdbred, too, and it is hard, and different. I can't change what happened in the past, Bri, but I don't want you to think that... that what happened between myself and Yselle means, or ever meant, more than we were friends who made mistakes and got in over our heads. I've never felt about her the way I feel about you," the brownrider continues, his smile gentle.
"Even if you don't fight with me?" Bri asks, only half-way mollified. Perhaps in her twisted mind fighting equates to some sort of adoration.
R'dur furrows his brows. "Even if I don't fight with you," he repeats after a moment, a little confused. "Do you... /want/ me to fight with you?"
Brijana pokes at a wherry and instead eats, becoming more placid in physical features - wouldn't do to wrinkle her face too much - though her intonation sounds miserable. "I don't know. Does it matter? I mean, you're not talking to her now and if we take Ysalia in, you might have to see her more often a bit. I mean, for a few weeks, a few days, I can handle a baby."
"It matters," R'dur affirms, with a hint of that rarely-displayed backbone. "We don't /have/ to take Ysalia, you know, if you don't want to. I don't want to burden you, what with your duties and mine and all the work a toddler takes, and knowing you're... you don't care that much for children, anyway," he offers. "I don't want you stuck in the middle of our disagreements."
Quickly, almost volatile, Brijana turns on R'dur and turns wide-set eyes of hurt onto the brownrider, "You don't think I can take care of a baby, do you?"
R'dur recoils, his own eyes widening in surprise at Brijana's sudden change in mood. "I--I--I'm sorry," he stumbles quickly. "I didn't--that wasn't what I--I didn't mean to imply. I just thought--I thought you didn't /enjoy/ doing it very much, is all." He sinks down in his chair guiltily.
Bri leans forward, her chest pressed against the table, and peers upward into R'dur's face. Looking woebegone, with her lower lip pushed forward, she seeks reassurance in a smaller voice, "For real?"
"Really," reassures R'dur, nodding hastily as his eyes slide over to Brijana. "I--really. Really. I mean, you've done it before, after all, and, I mean, you're... /I/ don't even really know how myself, so..." Helplessly, he bites his lip. "I'm sorry?"
Master of charms, both the cheerful and the more wobbly-eyed kind, Bri's lips quiver just enough to be believable, but she manages a tiny smile. "Well," she sounds mollified at least, and leans back before scooching her chair over to R'dur's side to cling all cutely along his arm, "I did help raise Aldria and Cashie. And they were both handfuls. You should eat some more rather than chew on your lip." It's amazing how quickly she can go from snappish to doting, pushing the plate closer to R'dur's hand.
If R'dur wasn't so used to Brijana, he'd probably be surprised by the next mood swing. As it is, he takes it remarkably in stride, relaxing and offering his own somewhat wobbly smile. "I know," he repeats, as he takes a piece of the meat and nibbles at it slowly. "I never watched my younger siblings," he admits. "They walked all over me." Pause. "Come to think of it, so did my older siblings. And most other people." He offers another smile, stronger at the half-joke.
"Do I walk all over you?" Despite the glaring fact that many of the people that surround the couple's table would probably say yes, Brijana's hopeful eyes that lift up demand another answer. "I still would like to take Ysalia in. I don't want Yselle to teach her to dislike me, or dislike you, because a daughter should never hate their daddy. And who knows," she curls up against R'dur's arm, "Maybe she won't be as unfortunate looking as her mommy."
R'dur hesitates. "I don't mind it," he finally hedges, a faint flush creeping out from under his collar. But he smiles still, relieved by her latter words. "Yselle wouldn't do that," he tells her, though not particularly confidently. "But I am glad you'd like to. I mean, she's, well, your stepdaughter, I suppose." Though, her final comment leaves him near-horrified. "Brijana! That's--that's--!" Hopefully true.
"And-," Because Bri is so self-involved sometimes, she might not have really heard R'dur's answer much; especially if she expected one answer. "-If she's not completely unfortunate looking, she'll need someone to show her how to dress and do her hair. Because, honestly, Yselle would look so much nicer if she tried, and if that's trying-," the Weyrsecond's lack of interest in her looks is a point of fleeting despair for the young woman. "Anyway, when the sun sets here, it makes the water turn all pretty."
R'dur's lips purse slightly. "Brijana," he tries again, gently, "Yselle is... it doesn't matter what she looks like. She's a good person, even if we don't see eye to eye often. Not everyone can be as beautiful as you, you know." Pause. "But I think Ysalia might like that, though she's probably still a little young."
Brijana's eyebrows speak of her disbelief: mmmhmm. "You need to eat more. I'm sure that wingleader of yours eats all the food off your plate when you eat at the wing table together. And then let's go for a walk on the beach." Yselle, finally, is cast aside as the subject of discussion by Bri as she focuses on something else. "And maybe we can collect some shells to give Ysalia and decorate the weyr."
R'dur just shakes his head at that. "If it's not Yselle, it's Wingleader T'bay," he notes, mock-mournfully. He continues nibbling at the wherry, finishing a couple of pieces and his drink before he nods. "All right, a walk," he agrees. "The weyr... does need a little something, I think."
"You'll have to tell me about what you disapprove of sometime," Bri pipes up suddenly, before downing the last bit of her juice. "But I think if I asked you now, you'd just pat me on the head, and I'll just figure out a way to get you to tell me later." Dangerous. "I'm thinking thick tapestries for the walls and candles everywhere. You can afford candles, right?" But whether he can or not, the slender girl rises and hops up and down while tugging R'dur's sleeve.
R'dur winces. "I'm not sure Yselle would approve of me telling you that," he admits, "but... you're probably right." He sighs, though not particularly upset, and lets Brijana tug him up, observing her excitement with bemusement. "I hope so. You really are a drain on the marks I've spent my life saving up, you know," he remarks lightly, as he offers her an arm before starting toward the beach.
"But you love every minute of it." Brijana declares, and leans up to plant a kiss onto R'dur's cheek that she then lovingly pets down with a brush of her fingers. Her prattle veers towards lighter subjects once they've cleared the tavern, her free hand gesturing to the various sights along the way.