An interesting dynamic
Who: R'vain, Essdara
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, HRW
When: Just after dinner
Comment: This scene blew me away, in so many ways. Dara and R'vain have always had an interesting relationship, with a foundation in teasing and flirting, and it all comes to a head here. Awesome RP by R'vain, and I cannot wait to see where things go from here. I do hate posting logs out of order, but this one needed posting. :)
WARNING: Adult themes and language!
A knock on R'vain's office's door heralds the arrival of dinner. It is less a knock than a rather well-placed kick with her good foot, though, as the tray she carries is carefully balanced with her hands. At R'vain's invitation to enter, she manages to nudge the door open and slip inside with a bright smile. "Your dinner has arrived, my darling Weyrlingmaster!"
"Darling what?" Preceded by such adjective, R'vain does not, apparently, recognize his own title. The tone in which the question's posed is a little more alarmed than the grunt of 'Come in' that started all of this in the first place, and alarm is confirmed in the fact that the man bolts up from his chair, plants palms on his desk and bends a bit over it-- looming, as if within those ancient and scratched-up drawers reside precious jewels he must protect-- to stare at the tray. And then, the woman who bears it. His mouth can't decide whether to go slack or to crook up in a wild, wicked grin, so the expression with which he greets Essdara at last is a mess of mixed message. "Aren't you a sight f'sore eyes! And empty stomachs. What brought this on?"
Essdara grins brightly, "Well, I am obliged to prepare dinners for various people of noet, and tonight I misjudged how much to make. And I thought, 'who do I know that could use a good meal?'. The answer was immidiately obvious, and so here I am!" She moevs over to the desk, and lowers the tray onto it. "Besides, I'm hungry too, and if I try to eat in the caverns I get too much hassle. How're you and Ruvoth tonight?"
There is nothing even remotely resembling belief in the man's crooked, wolfish grin; nothing believing in the glint of his emerald gaze or in the overturning of one enormous paw to welcome her to the desk and then the chair across from himself. It is a plain chair, suitable for a weyrling to sit in while being remanded, but cleaner than the ancient eyesore of stains and torn fabric that serves as the Weyrlingmaster's degenerate throne. "Siddown," he adds, with another wave of that hand. "No better company and no better food could I ask for. We're good. S'been a long day." Straightening, he lifts his other hand from the wood so the tray has room, and whatever the woman who brought it might want to remove from the tray onto the desk might also have room.
Essdara grins to him with a little shrug. On the tray is a variety of foods, all fresh and all tasty, and a pair of plates for the diners. She helps herself to one of them, and piles on roast tubers, citrus-glazed wherry, and greens drizzled with a decidedly tart oil-based sauce. She moves to sit in the offered chair. "I imagine with your job, every day is a long day. Especially with the weyrlings getting so far along, I imagine a few of them will get decidedly restless being in the weyrling wings?"
R'vain watches /her/ hands move, her selections and serving, then pretty much imitates what she's done with his own plate. "Restless is a word for it. You know who I mean." He takes the loaded plate from the tray, finds silver and so forth, then starts to sink into his seat-- only to pause and straighten again. "Wine? I have some," even in his office, "in the cabinet." He tilts his ruddy head toward the closet built into the wall, wooden doors affixed by metal hinges to the stone that cutters shaped whole eras ago. "They'll be ready, most of 'em. Maybe not V'to. Worried a bit about Lim. Can't help it." He's soft; but he won't say that. He'll just frown a moment and glance away. "But I'll do th'best I can. And they can hold off a month if they 'ave to. We're ahead of schedule."
Essdara nods, "Just a little bit, though." She smiles a bit, "Not seen her since I was in the infirmary. It makes me a bit sad, I really got to like her while I was there. But weyrlings are, alas, very busy creatures, so finding time with them is always a challenge." A mock-glare at R'vain, "You should give her more time off so I can see her!" A soft laugh, and a bite of the tubers. "Dunno V'to, though. Dunno most of them, really. Tava, Ana, 'Ri. T'vas, I think I met him once upon a time. But I can't imagine Tava, at least, being content as a weyrling. And she'll never admit she might still have things to learn, either."
R'vain heads for the cabinet so indicated, tossing a jest back as he goes. "Should I be givin' her more time off so you can see 'er dressed or otherwise?" He hauls open a cabinet door. The question was apparently not just teasing but also rhetorical; he goes on without waiting for response. "No. No, Tavaly's not th'kind to know if she's bitten off more'n she can chew until what she's chewing gets hold of her tongue and rips it out." Lovely dinner conversation. The Weyrlingmaster comes out from behind the cabinet door, after some rummaging around behind it, with a skin and-- marvel-- glasses. Clean ones. He comes back and upends them onto the desk, then unstoppers the skin. "Say when."
After about a half glass Dara stops him; enough to sip, not enough to do damage. "Yeah, that sums her up pretty well. Love her dearly, sister I never had... But I worry a lot about her. I dunno what I'll do when she really starts flying Thread, T'zen is bad enough there and I think she's even more reckless than him." A sigh, and a stab of a slice of meat. "And dressed. I think she'd die of shock if I tried to get her undressed!"
R'vain has grace enough, thus far, not to push more wine than that on his guest, though he fills his own glass well and without much attention to what he's doing. Automatically. "I meant Lim," he chastises with a gentle tone but cheshire grin. "Dressed or undressed. She's a good girl-- your type, maybe?" His broad shoulders shift in a simple shrug and he at last stoppers and sets aside the skin, then drops into his decrepit throne with the wineglass swirling in his paw. "As f'Tavaly-- she's got into her head she knows more about it all than I do. And she's half right, but th'half she's wrong on-- well, I ain't in a position now I can show her that. So it'll have t'be someone else. I hope her wingleader's a patient sort." But the Weyrlingmaster's nose wrinkles, as if he has a hunch who that might be, and thinks otherwise.
Essdara nods softly. "I meant Limerri, too. She's sweet." A slight grin. "I could make worse choices, and have lately." She reaches for the wineglass to take a sip from it, smiling. "And yeah, I hope he's patient, too, though I'm not sure anyone will be patient enough for her. She's likely to be a handful the rest of her life." A soft sigh. "And yet, in some ways, she's probably a good choice for a greenrider. At least she won't be afraid, won't balk at flying Fall."
"Rather'd been a boy," grumbles R'vain, but then he knocks back a swallow of wine and keeps his head tilted back, glaring up at the ceiling. "Not that V'to's any better. Rather any number of Tavaly-girls than more th'like of him." Still, the gruff words are traced with grudging affection and when the Weyrlingmaster straightens out his gaze and puts his glass out onto the table so he can attend to the food, there's little in his face to be interpreted as really angry one way or the other. "So," he begins, lifting fork and knife to begin inroads on his share of the wherry, a sharp eye half on Essdara as he speaks. "Y'goin' t'tell me about th'worse choices or was that just teasing?"
Essdara shrugs, as she finishes off the last of what's on her plate - she's rarely a slow eater. "You met her, when you were there in the infirmary. Asynnida." She's quiet a moment as she formulates her words, "I think she was quite a bit unready to be with anyone, let alone another girl. She's very timid, very afraid of most everything, very quiet. I liked her rather more than I should have let myself, and it hurt when she turned away." A shrug. "But I got over it, and we are friends. I've never had much luck with girls, alas. Always fall for the straight ones, or the ones who don't know what they want. Not that there is much of a choice in such things, I guess."
"Well y'can't have made too big a muss of it, then," replies R'vain, a few bites of wherry and most of Essdara's conversation later, with a tip of his head to 'friends' as the woman's current status with the girl he saw in the infirmary. "As f'choice I guess I can't speak to 'straight'-- " He fits a carnivorous grin around that word, then fits a bit of his dinner into the grin before going on. "But I never seen it matters so much if /they/ know what they want 'long as /you/ got an idea what they want. And there's plenty of choice. Most of it's just denial." He shrugs again, lopsidedly, and lets out a coarse little chortle before taking up his wine again. "So just th'one bad choice then? Hardly seems like that's enough t'make it sound like a habit."
Essdara shrugs slightly. "Well, there was Anaddui, who I didn't see enough to see if it would work, and broke her heart for Syn. Before that, I had a pretty strong crush on my best friend." A pause. "Always will, I suspect. And then, of course, a goldrider. I think that was the worst, she was the first person I actualy fell in love with, but there was never any real hope with Roa. Again, though, were really good friendss now, though it was awkward a while. That enough for a habit?" She grins wryly.
"Ah, Anaddui. I'd say she's all right, y'don't need t'blame y'-- " But Essdara will have to do without the rest of the Weyrlingmaster's friendly, grinning efforts to ease her of any guilt she may yet feel for how things with that other weyrling worked out, because R'vain stops short as the goldrider's name registers between his ears. "Roa," he says, and draws the name out long and lascivious. He leans forward, showing teeth, setting down his wine untasted. "Roa, eh? Now there's a shame. And how'd that come 'round?"
"You know her?" Dara sounds surprised. "Dunno, really, just kinda did. Met her not long after she got here and we got to be friends. Took a good few months before I realised I liked her rather more than as a friend. Thankfully, she can be, ah, rather inattentive to such things." She has the grace to blush here, then shrugs. "But when she realised I liked girls, she couldn't not see it. 'Course she wasn't interested, but she tried to be nice about it." A soft laugh and a shake of her head. "I can't imagine my love life is that interesting to you, sir. Not that it even really qualifies for the name!"
"Aye, aye," R'vain replies, and lifts a great paw to dash off all of the details of how and why he knows Roa with a callous wave of fingers. "I suppose that's us, too, t'some degree. But I don't think she'd call me friend." Whatever she /would/ call him amuses him enough that his ruddy, miskempt brows shudder a salacious series of twitches, but not quite enough for him to suggest aloud to his dinner company. Instead he takes up silver and makes a show of attending to more eating while rerouting conversation toward Essdara. "As f'your love life-- remember that I came down t'visit you on th'mission of whispering filth in your ear. But you were otherwise committed then, and th'last time I had some of your time you brought a chaperone, so clearly I need t'gather a little information before I try again." The popping of a little chunk of roast tuber into his mouth is more punctuation than sup. He swallows quickly and looks up, eyes keen. "Make sense t'you?"
Essdara gives a soft laugh. "The last time I visited you, I was rather infirm. Were I to spend a night with you, R'vain, I would want to be in the peak of physical condition, to properly. enjoy it." A teasing wink. "But yeah, Roa... She's one of my best friends. Her and Aida, I dunno what I would do without either of them." A wrinkled nose, "Not that I have seen Roa lately, since I got out of the infirmary. I need to remedy that, I think. She's always very busy."
"She's made-up busy. Trying t'run from-- " A pause, like he was about to say something he oughtn't. "Well. She'd be less busy if she weren't being followed around nonstop. That much I know. You ought to be able t'run into her. I can't seem t'stop running into her myself." He shakes his head, letting out a light chortle with the words. "And just so you know, I'd be willing t'make sure you're /in/ top condition ahead of time," leers the Weyrlingmaster, though he abandons his fork again to slump back into the arch of his throne after so doing, rather than remain leaning forward in that lascivious loom.
Essdara blinks a bit, "Running from who?" She asks. "And I don't envy her her entourage, I know she hates it herself. You've seen her, though, how's that head of hers doing?" Roa-commentary aside, she grins. "And how, pray tell, would you ensure what I am in such condition, Weyrlingmaster?" She wiggles her foot, "It's still got a bit of healing to do, you know.":
"From, uh, places she don't want to be." R'vain lifts a paw to the back of his head and runs it, against the pattern of growth, up over his hair. The abbreviated spikes are ruffled but briefly; they're too short to bear much sign of such mussing. "She's better every time I see her. Quicker witted. Or else th'bangup did her such bad news she's spending her time flicking shit at th'likes of me." The Weyrlingmaster allows himself a wink, then bends forward just enough to take up his wine, lean back, and swirl it so he can pretend thoughtfulness while grinning that toothy grin over the rim and across the table at the dish Essdara presents. "I could baby your foot for you," he says, nodding the wine to her as if this is some great compensation. "But y'know, I train weyrlings t'be fitter than they ever thought they could be. If it's conditioning you're after I could provide /some/ sort of program tailored t'your-- wants."
Essdara laughs at that, "Flicking dung at you, R'vain? I have trouble seeing that, as immaculate and clean as you keep yourself." An amused, interested grin settles on her face as the laughter fades, "That could be very interesting, R'vain. Do go on, and elaborate as to what you have in mind. I imagine you /would/ have some skill there, since I'd bet few enough weyrlings come to you as fit as a rider shoudl be."
"Oh, go on." R'vain mocks a Lady's gesture of abashedness at a compliment, overturned hand and flicked wrist, but does not trouble to alter his facial expression. "Well-- " And here he hesitates. He leans forward again, pushes the plate a little deeper onto the table so he has a place to lean an elbow with hand hanging over the edge of the desk, and focus thoughtfully-- his brows even furrow-- upon the woman on the other side. "Essdara. I can call y'that? I could come up with a 'program.'" The emphasis is vocal but clear; his voice rolls a little extra richly upon it. This next is more wry than deep, though. "And assign V'to t'be your lift t'my ledge t'do it. Save your chaperone some trouble." A token brow-waggle, but after that his emerald gaze narrows, closing out all opportunity of leering, leaving just keen curiousity. "Or should I have somethin' else in mind?"
Essdara returns her grin easily, with a wave of her hand. "Don't need Da to take me up anymore, now my foot's better. That was a one-off thing, and not to be repeatd, if only because I spent the next hour being grilled about you." She rolls her eyes, "Never let your father take you to a handsome rider's weyr, there needs to be a warning to that effect somewhere I think." An incline of her head. "I admit, R'vain, it is a very tempting offer. There are things I do miss..." A glance down at her wine, and back, "Though perhaps you could fetch me yourself, and leave the weyrling out entirely. Unless he is to your taste as well?"
The Weyrlingmaster's brows twitch up-- it could be considered a bit surprised, that twitch-- at 'handsome,' but he manages to keep quiet from questioning her on the call. His eyes do telegraph curiousity clean enough, though, sparkling and unspoken questions about her father's interrogation left silent in his gaze. "I would fetch you," he replies, at length, and very little more. "I would only have to know when." And his lip curls in a sneering smile which may often be interpreted as unpleasantly pleased, but in this context is at best merely-- hungry.
"I would think." The cook says, slowly, "That your schedule is more full than mine. Anything from about dinnertime on, and I am available." A soft laugh, "Though I imagine you will have even less time soon enough, once those eggs harden and hatch. So we'll have to not wait very long?" A shift on the uncomfortable chair, still not meeting his gaze. "I'm not usually hard to find, just check the kitchens, or the caverns."
"Yes, weyrlings. They're a day-and-night job for a couple of sevens." Then R'vain is quiet long enough that-- well, she should know better. Or he apparently thinks so, anyway. Softly: "Essdara." Her name, now, is a command. Should she obey it and look up, she will find him with his hand lifted and curled into a loose fist, the backs of his knuckles a prop for his chin. The posture is casual but his expression intense.
Look up she does, with a slight smile. "Only a few weeks? I'd think they'd keep you awake at night far longer than that." A pause. "R'vain?" A name for a name, though she looks both curious and uncertain at the sudden intensity in the man.
"Good," replies the Weyrlingmaster, one-note approval. He lifts his chin from his hand so he can reach out across the table, around the tray. His thick fingers drum once on the wood and lie still, within her reach but not quite an offer. "Y'said there were things you miss. Tell me. And tell me what you expect."
Essdara slowly turns beet red. "I don't only like girls, you know. I'm just... I've become very wary of men. K'sar was the last I'd've trusted, and he's been gone a while now. What do I expect?" She almost looks away at that. "A memorable night, shared with a friend, someone I trust. Does it really need more detail than that? It's not something I like to /talk/ about."
"I got that th'first time I got you t'look at me sideways," says he in a rumbling murmur, sly. Later: "A'right then. Y'don't like t'talk about it." He straightens just enough to draw back his hand. It remains on the table, but the distance is altered: now just /out/ of her reach rather than within it. "Then that makes th'question doubly important. D'you trust me?"
Essdara nods firmly. "R'vain." She starts, then pauses. After a moment, she pushes on. "I won't lie to you. I have earned the reputation I have. But that is my past, and I will never be that person again. If I didn't trust you, R'vain, I would never make the offer in the first place, I can assure you of that. So, yes, I trust you."
R'vain looks at her for a moment with an expression that might approach shell-shock-- then he casts back from the table and lets out a laugh. "Reputation! I'm afraid I've missed it, my dear, maybe couldn't see it past my own." He laughs still after that, but more lightly, recovering soon enough to bring that paw up off the table and swab it across his eyes, although they do not tear so the gesture is probably only dramatic. "A'right. One last thing. Y'say my schedule's tighter'n yours, so I should just come by and get you. But here's th'thing." He manages to get his face under control enough to look serious again, even a little intense. "I don't expect I won't find you with th'next nice girl. So if you're busy you say so-- because I'm not fit companionship for th'kind it seems you fall for." Someone should warn Roa.
Essdara grins slightly. "What? Shy, quiet, and innocent? No, I doubt /I/ am, either, but I do my best. But I promise... If I'm with someone too delicate for your company, I will shoo you away. Ok?" A teasing smile. "Reputations are meant to be ignored, so far as I am conceerned. You've never done wrong by me, R'vain."
"Good." Again, one-word approval. It has more weight to it than the language itself merits, more meaning. /Pleased/ approval. And R'vain starts to stand, but something must niggle-- for he halts the motion halfway and one eye wants to squint while the other twitches at the corner, and in a moment he finds himself sinking back into his chair. Only to push it, scraping wood on stone, back from the desk and their supper. "C'mere," he says, and there is little-- not none, but little-- lasciviousness in the syllables. The Weyrlingmaster, in a gesture his weyrlings well know, points at the stone before his feet.
Essdara stands; authority works for her, when it is authority she likes. She moves as he requested and smiles up at him. There's naught but warmth in her own expression; perhaps a touch of eager excitement as she stands in front of the man. "As you command, Weyrlingmaster." She teases.
And R'vain takes a moment to admire that eagerness, to be true. His eyes glitter; his lip bends; he shows a little tooth and after a second even lets his tongue slip over it. One hand twitches, but he forces it still to the arm of his chair, then, by unbending his knees a bit with boots planted, pushes the chair a few inches back. As if this changes his vantage considerably he tips his head back and makes great show of looking her over; as his countenance grows more serious this seems increasingly less like show and more like something real. "Seems like a lot of effort t'prepare you for one night," he rumbles after a moment, voice of a thunderstorm. "Not that I object, mind you. Still. You'd be halfway t'strong enough-- " One eye narrows again. He flicks up his tongue over his upper teeth and sucks it down off of them, thoughtful: Tschk.
Essdara is blushing hotly under the examination, but she doesn't give in to looking away from R'vain as he appraises her. "Doesn't have to just be a night." She comments. Her gaze briefly wanders over him, as if she is trying - ineffectually - to return his appriasal, "And strong enough for what, R'vain? I'm plenty strong enough for anything you have to offer, that I promise you."
"No?" R'vain glances up, seeking her eyes with his, and offers a little warm pleasure there, proof that he might hope for more than that one night promised. But not press for it, not with her undressed-with-all-her-clothes-on before him. He looks her over once more, slowly, while hearing her out and then, while chewing a bit on his lip. Finally he seeks her gaze another time. "Strong enough for a dragon. A fighting one. Show 'em what I want a girl on green t'be." A pause, no more than a heartbeat. "Stand for this clutch."
Panic. Whatever Dara was expecting, hoping for, desiring, it wasn't that. Her expression, so open and warm a moment ago, freezes and her smile fades. Her voice is quiet and strained as she speaks. "R'vain..." She looks down, and a sad note enters her voice. "I wish I could, R'vain. But... No, I lied to you. I'm not strong enough for everything you can ask of me. That... No. I am the last thing you want on a green dragon, R'vain. I would make Tavaly and V'to look like the shining pillars of what riders should be. I'm a cook. It's who I am, and where I belong. I'm sorry, I can't do that." She looks up, expression soft again. "I wish I could, for you."
R'vain shakes his head, but puts up a smile for her-- and then bends his knees, drawing the chair (scraaape) up closer so he can put out those immense paws. He aims to put them on either side of her hips, clearly enough; whether to hold her steady or to soothe her for this failure is uncertain. "Then be glad I didn't ask you in public. You steer clear of blues and greens for a while, and their riders too if you can." His voice is serious, if warm. "When Thread comes y'don't say no. But we'll say I didn't ask you-- and I won't ask you again."
Essdara gives a relieved smile. "I know to avoid them." She says quietly. "Every clutch since I was old enough to be asked." She reaches out and softly touches his cheek. "A rider shouldn't say no, not with Thread. And I don't think I could do it, R'vain. There's few things that scare me in the world, but Thread..." A shudder through her body. "It's bad enough so many people I love are up there."
"It's scary stuff," affirms R'vain, and slides a hand up from hip to tuck of waist, then just enough higher to form his touch to the shape of her ribcage. Then, a little abruptly, he takes his paws off of her and hangs his elbows over the arms of the chair, chin lifted, rough cheek turned to the grace of her fingers. "Y'don't have t'do it. I wouldn't make that my first command, not like this." He lets his mouth curl a little sly on one side, eyes glint a little wicked. "Now then. How's your stamina?"
Essdara laughs softly at the touches, and the way he flops back. "My stamina, I would like to think, is impeccable. Fourteen hours or more a day I spend on my feet in the kitchens, chopping and mixing and cooking." A gentle smile, "But, if you would like to work on it more, that would be your choice, no? You're the one in charge, after all."
"Fourteen hours or more and I am meant to have some of your time left for whatever I might have you do?" R'vain's grin turns crooked and again, for emphasis, he spends a moment wandering her form with his gaze. "Fourteen hours or more and you have /energy/ t'spend chasing good girls? Hmf." The little huff at the end is broad-chested; this assumption, that her work and her skirt-chasing co-exist so well, impresses him more than any amount of time on her feet. "Good." More sparing, the approval. "I had thought of having you walk the bowl or hike one of the trails, but I said I would baby your foot." For now he just glances down at it, then back up at her, emerald with significance. "The dragonpool in the baths is wide enough to swim. Do you swim? If so, we will meet there tomorrow when you're done in the kitchens and I will see what I think of your staying power."
Essdara grins slightly. "I don't sleep much, or well, and so I have a reasonable amount of free time. I am up before dawn to have breakfast ready for teh early risers, then a small mid-morning break for an hour or so before lunch starts. Many days, I am done after lunch, but since coming back from this injury I've been staying longer, but I usually am free just before dinner." An incline of her head, "Not the lake? OK, then, I can meet you there then, then, R'vain." A quiet smile. "I promise, I will do my best to live up to your expectations... Or else enjoy you bringing me up to them."
"The lake is cold. I want to test your stamina now; I will test your /will/ later." His eyes glint, keen and sharp, and the smile departs. It is all the warning he will give, and for the matter of the lake it's already too late. That expression is held a moment, then discarded to allow a smile. "I will enjoy it also. Now go and try to get some sleep. We're going to have to work on that also, eventually. Weyrlings and women need their rest."
Essdara gives a soft laugh, and smiles to him with a careful step backwards. Her eyes have an intensity about them, an approval of the game they play. "As you wish, my mentor. I will endevor to sleep my best, and be well-rested and strong when next we meet. My will... Well, it will be an interesting test, that." A grin. "Would you say hello to Limerri and Roa for me, since you seem to see them both more than I do?"
"Of course." R'vain stands up from his chair, then pushes the chair up to the desk. A glance at the tray and then he does not trouble himself, just now, to do anything useful like move his plate and silver back onto it. Instead he steps around the desk, pausing at the 'weyrling' side of it to look back upon the woman standing now in 'his' territory. A grin, as starved and slathering as it is pleased and-- yes, affectionate-- bends his mouth and shows his teeth. "I like that: 'mentor.' Thank you for visiting, Essdara." And then he starts for the door. Apparently she will have the run of his office alone.
Essdara beams brilliantly at his back for a moment, and then quietly turns to clean up from the shared meal. Alone, a long look around the office is taken, before she hauls up the much lighter platter and follows him out, ensuring the door closes behind her.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, HRW
When: Just after dinner
Comment: This scene blew me away, in so many ways. Dara and R'vain have always had an interesting relationship, with a foundation in teasing and flirting, and it all comes to a head here. Awesome RP by R'vain, and I cannot wait to see where things go from here. I do hate posting logs out of order, but this one needed posting. :)
WARNING: Adult themes and language!
A knock on R'vain's office's door heralds the arrival of dinner. It is less a knock than a rather well-placed kick with her good foot, though, as the tray she carries is carefully balanced with her hands. At R'vain's invitation to enter, she manages to nudge the door open and slip inside with a bright smile. "Your dinner has arrived, my darling Weyrlingmaster!"
"Darling what?" Preceded by such adjective, R'vain does not, apparently, recognize his own title. The tone in which the question's posed is a little more alarmed than the grunt of 'Come in' that started all of this in the first place, and alarm is confirmed in the fact that the man bolts up from his chair, plants palms on his desk and bends a bit over it-- looming, as if within those ancient and scratched-up drawers reside precious jewels he must protect-- to stare at the tray. And then, the woman who bears it. His mouth can't decide whether to go slack or to crook up in a wild, wicked grin, so the expression with which he greets Essdara at last is a mess of mixed message. "Aren't you a sight f'sore eyes! And empty stomachs. What brought this on?"
Essdara grins brightly, "Well, I am obliged to prepare dinners for various people of noet, and tonight I misjudged how much to make. And I thought, 'who do I know that could use a good meal?'. The answer was immidiately obvious, and so here I am!" She moevs over to the desk, and lowers the tray onto it. "Besides, I'm hungry too, and if I try to eat in the caverns I get too much hassle. How're you and Ruvoth tonight?"
There is nothing even remotely resembling belief in the man's crooked, wolfish grin; nothing believing in the glint of his emerald gaze or in the overturning of one enormous paw to welcome her to the desk and then the chair across from himself. It is a plain chair, suitable for a weyrling to sit in while being remanded, but cleaner than the ancient eyesore of stains and torn fabric that serves as the Weyrlingmaster's degenerate throne. "Siddown," he adds, with another wave of that hand. "No better company and no better food could I ask for. We're good. S'been a long day." Straightening, he lifts his other hand from the wood so the tray has room, and whatever the woman who brought it might want to remove from the tray onto the desk might also have room.
Essdara grins to him with a little shrug. On the tray is a variety of foods, all fresh and all tasty, and a pair of plates for the diners. She helps herself to one of them, and piles on roast tubers, citrus-glazed wherry, and greens drizzled with a decidedly tart oil-based sauce. She moves to sit in the offered chair. "I imagine with your job, every day is a long day. Especially with the weyrlings getting so far along, I imagine a few of them will get decidedly restless being in the weyrling wings?"
R'vain watches /her/ hands move, her selections and serving, then pretty much imitates what she's done with his own plate. "Restless is a word for it. You know who I mean." He takes the loaded plate from the tray, finds silver and so forth, then starts to sink into his seat-- only to pause and straighten again. "Wine? I have some," even in his office, "in the cabinet." He tilts his ruddy head toward the closet built into the wall, wooden doors affixed by metal hinges to the stone that cutters shaped whole eras ago. "They'll be ready, most of 'em. Maybe not V'to. Worried a bit about Lim. Can't help it." He's soft; but he won't say that. He'll just frown a moment and glance away. "But I'll do th'best I can. And they can hold off a month if they 'ave to. We're ahead of schedule."
Essdara nods, "Just a little bit, though." She smiles a bit, "Not seen her since I was in the infirmary. It makes me a bit sad, I really got to like her while I was there. But weyrlings are, alas, very busy creatures, so finding time with them is always a challenge." A mock-glare at R'vain, "You should give her more time off so I can see her!" A soft laugh, and a bite of the tubers. "Dunno V'to, though. Dunno most of them, really. Tava, Ana, 'Ri. T'vas, I think I met him once upon a time. But I can't imagine Tava, at least, being content as a weyrling. And she'll never admit she might still have things to learn, either."
R'vain heads for the cabinet so indicated, tossing a jest back as he goes. "Should I be givin' her more time off so you can see 'er dressed or otherwise?" He hauls open a cabinet door. The question was apparently not just teasing but also rhetorical; he goes on without waiting for response. "No. No, Tavaly's not th'kind to know if she's bitten off more'n she can chew until what she's chewing gets hold of her tongue and rips it out." Lovely dinner conversation. The Weyrlingmaster comes out from behind the cabinet door, after some rummaging around behind it, with a skin and-- marvel-- glasses. Clean ones. He comes back and upends them onto the desk, then unstoppers the skin. "Say when."
After about a half glass Dara stops him; enough to sip, not enough to do damage. "Yeah, that sums her up pretty well. Love her dearly, sister I never had... But I worry a lot about her. I dunno what I'll do when she really starts flying Thread, T'zen is bad enough there and I think she's even more reckless than him." A sigh, and a stab of a slice of meat. "And dressed. I think she'd die of shock if I tried to get her undressed!"
R'vain has grace enough, thus far, not to push more wine than that on his guest, though he fills his own glass well and without much attention to what he's doing. Automatically. "I meant Lim," he chastises with a gentle tone but cheshire grin. "Dressed or undressed. She's a good girl-- your type, maybe?" His broad shoulders shift in a simple shrug and he at last stoppers and sets aside the skin, then drops into his decrepit throne with the wineglass swirling in his paw. "As f'Tavaly-- she's got into her head she knows more about it all than I do. And she's half right, but th'half she's wrong on-- well, I ain't in a position now I can show her that. So it'll have t'be someone else. I hope her wingleader's a patient sort." But the Weyrlingmaster's nose wrinkles, as if he has a hunch who that might be, and thinks otherwise.
Essdara nods softly. "I meant Limerri, too. She's sweet." A slight grin. "I could make worse choices, and have lately." She reaches for the wineglass to take a sip from it, smiling. "And yeah, I hope he's patient, too, though I'm not sure anyone will be patient enough for her. She's likely to be a handful the rest of her life." A soft sigh. "And yet, in some ways, she's probably a good choice for a greenrider. At least she won't be afraid, won't balk at flying Fall."
"Rather'd been a boy," grumbles R'vain, but then he knocks back a swallow of wine and keeps his head tilted back, glaring up at the ceiling. "Not that V'to's any better. Rather any number of Tavaly-girls than more th'like of him." Still, the gruff words are traced with grudging affection and when the Weyrlingmaster straightens out his gaze and puts his glass out onto the table so he can attend to the food, there's little in his face to be interpreted as really angry one way or the other. "So," he begins, lifting fork and knife to begin inroads on his share of the wherry, a sharp eye half on Essdara as he speaks. "Y'goin' t'tell me about th'worse choices or was that just teasing?"
Essdara shrugs, as she finishes off the last of what's on her plate - she's rarely a slow eater. "You met her, when you were there in the infirmary. Asynnida." She's quiet a moment as she formulates her words, "I think she was quite a bit unready to be with anyone, let alone another girl. She's very timid, very afraid of most everything, very quiet. I liked her rather more than I should have let myself, and it hurt when she turned away." A shrug. "But I got over it, and we are friends. I've never had much luck with girls, alas. Always fall for the straight ones, or the ones who don't know what they want. Not that there is much of a choice in such things, I guess."
"Well y'can't have made too big a muss of it, then," replies R'vain, a few bites of wherry and most of Essdara's conversation later, with a tip of his head to 'friends' as the woman's current status with the girl he saw in the infirmary. "As f'choice I guess I can't speak to 'straight'-- " He fits a carnivorous grin around that word, then fits a bit of his dinner into the grin before going on. "But I never seen it matters so much if /they/ know what they want 'long as /you/ got an idea what they want. And there's plenty of choice. Most of it's just denial." He shrugs again, lopsidedly, and lets out a coarse little chortle before taking up his wine again. "So just th'one bad choice then? Hardly seems like that's enough t'make it sound like a habit."
Essdara shrugs slightly. "Well, there was Anaddui, who I didn't see enough to see if it would work, and broke her heart for Syn. Before that, I had a pretty strong crush on my best friend." A pause. "Always will, I suspect. And then, of course, a goldrider. I think that was the worst, she was the first person I actualy fell in love with, but there was never any real hope with Roa. Again, though, were really good friendss now, though it was awkward a while. That enough for a habit?" She grins wryly.
"Ah, Anaddui. I'd say she's all right, y'don't need t'blame y'-- " But Essdara will have to do without the rest of the Weyrlingmaster's friendly, grinning efforts to ease her of any guilt she may yet feel for how things with that other weyrling worked out, because R'vain stops short as the goldrider's name registers between his ears. "Roa," he says, and draws the name out long and lascivious. He leans forward, showing teeth, setting down his wine untasted. "Roa, eh? Now there's a shame. And how'd that come 'round?"
"You know her?" Dara sounds surprised. "Dunno, really, just kinda did. Met her not long after she got here and we got to be friends. Took a good few months before I realised I liked her rather more than as a friend. Thankfully, she can be, ah, rather inattentive to such things." She has the grace to blush here, then shrugs. "But when she realised I liked girls, she couldn't not see it. 'Course she wasn't interested, but she tried to be nice about it." A soft laugh and a shake of her head. "I can't imagine my love life is that interesting to you, sir. Not that it even really qualifies for the name!"
"Aye, aye," R'vain replies, and lifts a great paw to dash off all of the details of how and why he knows Roa with a callous wave of fingers. "I suppose that's us, too, t'some degree. But I don't think she'd call me friend." Whatever she /would/ call him amuses him enough that his ruddy, miskempt brows shudder a salacious series of twitches, but not quite enough for him to suggest aloud to his dinner company. Instead he takes up silver and makes a show of attending to more eating while rerouting conversation toward Essdara. "As f'your love life-- remember that I came down t'visit you on th'mission of whispering filth in your ear. But you were otherwise committed then, and th'last time I had some of your time you brought a chaperone, so clearly I need t'gather a little information before I try again." The popping of a little chunk of roast tuber into his mouth is more punctuation than sup. He swallows quickly and looks up, eyes keen. "Make sense t'you?"
Essdara gives a soft laugh. "The last time I visited you, I was rather infirm. Were I to spend a night with you, R'vain, I would want to be in the peak of physical condition, to properly. enjoy it." A teasing wink. "But yeah, Roa... She's one of my best friends. Her and Aida, I dunno what I would do without either of them." A wrinkled nose, "Not that I have seen Roa lately, since I got out of the infirmary. I need to remedy that, I think. She's always very busy."
"She's made-up busy. Trying t'run from-- " A pause, like he was about to say something he oughtn't. "Well. She'd be less busy if she weren't being followed around nonstop. That much I know. You ought to be able t'run into her. I can't seem t'stop running into her myself." He shakes his head, letting out a light chortle with the words. "And just so you know, I'd be willing t'make sure you're /in/ top condition ahead of time," leers the Weyrlingmaster, though he abandons his fork again to slump back into the arch of his throne after so doing, rather than remain leaning forward in that lascivious loom.
Essdara blinks a bit, "Running from who?" She asks. "And I don't envy her her entourage, I know she hates it herself. You've seen her, though, how's that head of hers doing?" Roa-commentary aside, she grins. "And how, pray tell, would you ensure what I am in such condition, Weyrlingmaster?" She wiggles her foot, "It's still got a bit of healing to do, you know.":
"From, uh, places she don't want to be." R'vain lifts a paw to the back of his head and runs it, against the pattern of growth, up over his hair. The abbreviated spikes are ruffled but briefly; they're too short to bear much sign of such mussing. "She's better every time I see her. Quicker witted. Or else th'bangup did her such bad news she's spending her time flicking shit at th'likes of me." The Weyrlingmaster allows himself a wink, then bends forward just enough to take up his wine, lean back, and swirl it so he can pretend thoughtfulness while grinning that toothy grin over the rim and across the table at the dish Essdara presents. "I could baby your foot for you," he says, nodding the wine to her as if this is some great compensation. "But y'know, I train weyrlings t'be fitter than they ever thought they could be. If it's conditioning you're after I could provide /some/ sort of program tailored t'your-- wants."
Essdara laughs at that, "Flicking dung at you, R'vain? I have trouble seeing that, as immaculate and clean as you keep yourself." An amused, interested grin settles on her face as the laughter fades, "That could be very interesting, R'vain. Do go on, and elaborate as to what you have in mind. I imagine you /would/ have some skill there, since I'd bet few enough weyrlings come to you as fit as a rider shoudl be."
"Oh, go on." R'vain mocks a Lady's gesture of abashedness at a compliment, overturned hand and flicked wrist, but does not trouble to alter his facial expression. "Well-- " And here he hesitates. He leans forward again, pushes the plate a little deeper onto the table so he has a place to lean an elbow with hand hanging over the edge of the desk, and focus thoughtfully-- his brows even furrow-- upon the woman on the other side. "Essdara. I can call y'that? I could come up with a 'program.'" The emphasis is vocal but clear; his voice rolls a little extra richly upon it. This next is more wry than deep, though. "And assign V'to t'be your lift t'my ledge t'do it. Save your chaperone some trouble." A token brow-waggle, but after that his emerald gaze narrows, closing out all opportunity of leering, leaving just keen curiousity. "Or should I have somethin' else in mind?"
Essdara returns her grin easily, with a wave of her hand. "Don't need Da to take me up anymore, now my foot's better. That was a one-off thing, and not to be repeatd, if only because I spent the next hour being grilled about you." She rolls her eyes, "Never let your father take you to a handsome rider's weyr, there needs to be a warning to that effect somewhere I think." An incline of her head. "I admit, R'vain, it is a very tempting offer. There are things I do miss..." A glance down at her wine, and back, "Though perhaps you could fetch me yourself, and leave the weyrling out entirely. Unless he is to your taste as well?"
The Weyrlingmaster's brows twitch up-- it could be considered a bit surprised, that twitch-- at 'handsome,' but he manages to keep quiet from questioning her on the call. His eyes do telegraph curiousity clean enough, though, sparkling and unspoken questions about her father's interrogation left silent in his gaze. "I would fetch you," he replies, at length, and very little more. "I would only have to know when." And his lip curls in a sneering smile which may often be interpreted as unpleasantly pleased, but in this context is at best merely-- hungry.
"I would think." The cook says, slowly, "That your schedule is more full than mine. Anything from about dinnertime on, and I am available." A soft laugh, "Though I imagine you will have even less time soon enough, once those eggs harden and hatch. So we'll have to not wait very long?" A shift on the uncomfortable chair, still not meeting his gaze. "I'm not usually hard to find, just check the kitchens, or the caverns."
"Yes, weyrlings. They're a day-and-night job for a couple of sevens." Then R'vain is quiet long enough that-- well, she should know better. Or he apparently thinks so, anyway. Softly: "Essdara." Her name, now, is a command. Should she obey it and look up, she will find him with his hand lifted and curled into a loose fist, the backs of his knuckles a prop for his chin. The posture is casual but his expression intense.
Look up she does, with a slight smile. "Only a few weeks? I'd think they'd keep you awake at night far longer than that." A pause. "R'vain?" A name for a name, though she looks both curious and uncertain at the sudden intensity in the man.
"Good," replies the Weyrlingmaster, one-note approval. He lifts his chin from his hand so he can reach out across the table, around the tray. His thick fingers drum once on the wood and lie still, within her reach but not quite an offer. "Y'said there were things you miss. Tell me. And tell me what you expect."
Essdara slowly turns beet red. "I don't only like girls, you know. I'm just... I've become very wary of men. K'sar was the last I'd've trusted, and he's been gone a while now. What do I expect?" She almost looks away at that. "A memorable night, shared with a friend, someone I trust. Does it really need more detail than that? It's not something I like to /talk/ about."
"I got that th'first time I got you t'look at me sideways," says he in a rumbling murmur, sly. Later: "A'right then. Y'don't like t'talk about it." He straightens just enough to draw back his hand. It remains on the table, but the distance is altered: now just /out/ of her reach rather than within it. "Then that makes th'question doubly important. D'you trust me?"
Essdara nods firmly. "R'vain." She starts, then pauses. After a moment, she pushes on. "I won't lie to you. I have earned the reputation I have. But that is my past, and I will never be that person again. If I didn't trust you, R'vain, I would never make the offer in the first place, I can assure you of that. So, yes, I trust you."
R'vain looks at her for a moment with an expression that might approach shell-shock-- then he casts back from the table and lets out a laugh. "Reputation! I'm afraid I've missed it, my dear, maybe couldn't see it past my own." He laughs still after that, but more lightly, recovering soon enough to bring that paw up off the table and swab it across his eyes, although they do not tear so the gesture is probably only dramatic. "A'right. One last thing. Y'say my schedule's tighter'n yours, so I should just come by and get you. But here's th'thing." He manages to get his face under control enough to look serious again, even a little intense. "I don't expect I won't find you with th'next nice girl. So if you're busy you say so-- because I'm not fit companionship for th'kind it seems you fall for." Someone should warn Roa.
Essdara grins slightly. "What? Shy, quiet, and innocent? No, I doubt /I/ am, either, but I do my best. But I promise... If I'm with someone too delicate for your company, I will shoo you away. Ok?" A teasing smile. "Reputations are meant to be ignored, so far as I am conceerned. You've never done wrong by me, R'vain."
"Good." Again, one-word approval. It has more weight to it than the language itself merits, more meaning. /Pleased/ approval. And R'vain starts to stand, but something must niggle-- for he halts the motion halfway and one eye wants to squint while the other twitches at the corner, and in a moment he finds himself sinking back into his chair. Only to push it, scraping wood on stone, back from the desk and their supper. "C'mere," he says, and there is little-- not none, but little-- lasciviousness in the syllables. The Weyrlingmaster, in a gesture his weyrlings well know, points at the stone before his feet.
Essdara stands; authority works for her, when it is authority she likes. She moves as he requested and smiles up at him. There's naught but warmth in her own expression; perhaps a touch of eager excitement as she stands in front of the man. "As you command, Weyrlingmaster." She teases.
And R'vain takes a moment to admire that eagerness, to be true. His eyes glitter; his lip bends; he shows a little tooth and after a second even lets his tongue slip over it. One hand twitches, but he forces it still to the arm of his chair, then, by unbending his knees a bit with boots planted, pushes the chair a few inches back. As if this changes his vantage considerably he tips his head back and makes great show of looking her over; as his countenance grows more serious this seems increasingly less like show and more like something real. "Seems like a lot of effort t'prepare you for one night," he rumbles after a moment, voice of a thunderstorm. "Not that I object, mind you. Still. You'd be halfway t'strong enough-- " One eye narrows again. He flicks up his tongue over his upper teeth and sucks it down off of them, thoughtful: Tschk.
Essdara is blushing hotly under the examination, but she doesn't give in to looking away from R'vain as he appraises her. "Doesn't have to just be a night." She comments. Her gaze briefly wanders over him, as if she is trying - ineffectually - to return his appriasal, "And strong enough for what, R'vain? I'm plenty strong enough for anything you have to offer, that I promise you."
"No?" R'vain glances up, seeking her eyes with his, and offers a little warm pleasure there, proof that he might hope for more than that one night promised. But not press for it, not with her undressed-with-all-her-clothes-on before him. He looks her over once more, slowly, while hearing her out and then, while chewing a bit on his lip. Finally he seeks her gaze another time. "Strong enough for a dragon. A fighting one. Show 'em what I want a girl on green t'be." A pause, no more than a heartbeat. "Stand for this clutch."
Panic. Whatever Dara was expecting, hoping for, desiring, it wasn't that. Her expression, so open and warm a moment ago, freezes and her smile fades. Her voice is quiet and strained as she speaks. "R'vain..." She looks down, and a sad note enters her voice. "I wish I could, R'vain. But... No, I lied to you. I'm not strong enough for everything you can ask of me. That... No. I am the last thing you want on a green dragon, R'vain. I would make Tavaly and V'to look like the shining pillars of what riders should be. I'm a cook. It's who I am, and where I belong. I'm sorry, I can't do that." She looks up, expression soft again. "I wish I could, for you."
R'vain shakes his head, but puts up a smile for her-- and then bends his knees, drawing the chair (scraaape) up closer so he can put out those immense paws. He aims to put them on either side of her hips, clearly enough; whether to hold her steady or to soothe her for this failure is uncertain. "Then be glad I didn't ask you in public. You steer clear of blues and greens for a while, and their riders too if you can." His voice is serious, if warm. "When Thread comes y'don't say no. But we'll say I didn't ask you-- and I won't ask you again."
Essdara gives a relieved smile. "I know to avoid them." She says quietly. "Every clutch since I was old enough to be asked." She reaches out and softly touches his cheek. "A rider shouldn't say no, not with Thread. And I don't think I could do it, R'vain. There's few things that scare me in the world, but Thread..." A shudder through her body. "It's bad enough so many people I love are up there."
"It's scary stuff," affirms R'vain, and slides a hand up from hip to tuck of waist, then just enough higher to form his touch to the shape of her ribcage. Then, a little abruptly, he takes his paws off of her and hangs his elbows over the arms of the chair, chin lifted, rough cheek turned to the grace of her fingers. "Y'don't have t'do it. I wouldn't make that my first command, not like this." He lets his mouth curl a little sly on one side, eyes glint a little wicked. "Now then. How's your stamina?"
Essdara laughs softly at the touches, and the way he flops back. "My stamina, I would like to think, is impeccable. Fourteen hours or more a day I spend on my feet in the kitchens, chopping and mixing and cooking." A gentle smile, "But, if you would like to work on it more, that would be your choice, no? You're the one in charge, after all."
"Fourteen hours or more and I am meant to have some of your time left for whatever I might have you do?" R'vain's grin turns crooked and again, for emphasis, he spends a moment wandering her form with his gaze. "Fourteen hours or more and you have /energy/ t'spend chasing good girls? Hmf." The little huff at the end is broad-chested; this assumption, that her work and her skirt-chasing co-exist so well, impresses him more than any amount of time on her feet. "Good." More sparing, the approval. "I had thought of having you walk the bowl or hike one of the trails, but I said I would baby your foot." For now he just glances down at it, then back up at her, emerald with significance. "The dragonpool in the baths is wide enough to swim. Do you swim? If so, we will meet there tomorrow when you're done in the kitchens and I will see what I think of your staying power."
Essdara grins slightly. "I don't sleep much, or well, and so I have a reasonable amount of free time. I am up before dawn to have breakfast ready for teh early risers, then a small mid-morning break for an hour or so before lunch starts. Many days, I am done after lunch, but since coming back from this injury I've been staying longer, but I usually am free just before dinner." An incline of her head, "Not the lake? OK, then, I can meet you there then, then, R'vain." A quiet smile. "I promise, I will do my best to live up to your expectations... Or else enjoy you bringing me up to them."
"The lake is cold. I want to test your stamina now; I will test your /will/ later." His eyes glint, keen and sharp, and the smile departs. It is all the warning he will give, and for the matter of the lake it's already too late. That expression is held a moment, then discarded to allow a smile. "I will enjoy it also. Now go and try to get some sleep. We're going to have to work on that also, eventually. Weyrlings and women need their rest."
Essdara gives a soft laugh, and smiles to him with a careful step backwards. Her eyes have an intensity about them, an approval of the game they play. "As you wish, my mentor. I will endevor to sleep my best, and be well-rested and strong when next we meet. My will... Well, it will be an interesting test, that." A grin. "Would you say hello to Limerri and Roa for me, since you seem to see them both more than I do?"
"Of course." R'vain stands up from his chair, then pushes the chair up to the desk. A glance at the tray and then he does not trouble himself, just now, to do anything useful like move his plate and silver back onto it. Instead he steps around the desk, pausing at the 'weyrling' side of it to look back upon the woman standing now in 'his' territory. A grin, as starved and slathering as it is pleased and-- yes, affectionate-- bends his mouth and shows his teeth. "I like that: 'mentor.' Thank you for visiting, Essdara." And then he starts for the door. Apparently she will have the run of his office alone.
Essdara beams brilliantly at his back for a moment, and then quietly turns to clean up from the shared meal. Alone, a long look around the office is taken, before she hauls up the much lighter platter and follows him out, ensuring the door closes behind her.