I Don't Try To Think About You. It Just Happens
IC Date: Day 19, Month 13, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: H'kon, Vanya
Location: Baths, H'kon's Weyr
Synopsis: A late night encounter in the baths leads to something unexpected. WARNING: Mild Invective & Adult/Sexual Situations.
Baths,
Around Midnight
The bathing cavern is divided into a number of large pools, each spacious enough for ten to fifteen people. There is one cold-water pool with the remainder being given over to water warm enough to fill the air with swirling clouds of steam. Each pool has been tiled in blue and white and boasts benches along the sides to allow people to sit and soak. Alcoves in the walls have been hollowed out to provide places to store clean, dry towels and various other bathing paraphernalia.
The corners of the room have been decorated with potted ferns, brought here from Ista Island. They are pampered and fussed over by the staff who keep the baths clean and stocked. The plants provide a cheerful splash of color in an otherwise pale and steamy cavern.
As is her wont, late night finds Vanya soaking in the hot water of a pool in the baths. The weather has turned positively nasty outside, and even a single trip across the bowl lowers the body temperature until noses, feet and hands tingle. Inside the baths, however, it's warm and damp, the thermal heating of natural hot springs a delight for a person whose even remotely active outside. That, and at this hour, it's usually deserted. Though much of Vanya's reticence regarding nudity has dissipated over the months, she still enjoys privacy. The quiet is nice, as well. With the cold outside, all too many people are staying inside, and that gets crowded.
H'kon may not tend to be in the baths, specifically, at this time of night. Almost without fail, however, he won't be sleeping, and this specific evening is no exception. He enters with his coat draped over one arm, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips as those facial extremities - ears and nose, both of which are bright red - regain feeling with the sensation of sharp pinpricks. No, it would seem he enjoys the weather well enough, and his reasons for being where he is now are entirely different. Though if one were to get within sniffing distance of him, they might not be nearly as secret. His attention hovers on the floor before his feet as he makes his way to an alcove, where the jacket is dropped in the place of a clean towel (removed for future use). A glance over his shoulder, designed originally to plot his course, does find Vanya, and so the man pauses before going to strip. Belatedly, he even offers, "Umm... hello."
Vanya's in the water, head resting on the lip of the pool, eyes closed. Yes, she's aware of footsteps, but she's always been one of those people who tries not to notice others in the baths. However, when a voice calls out, she can't help but open her eyes and glance in that direction. "Ah ... hello," she offers in return, sinking just a little lower in the water, glad for the all-concealing mist. "Weather still nasty outside?" It's a casual enough question, and the topic, although bland, is certainly neutral enough. "How're you and Arekoth doing?" Not quite as neutral, more specific in that she recognizes the voice and the figure in the steamy confines of the baths.
This returned greeting, for some reason, has H'kon settled, and he sets about tugging his tunic over his head. "It's cold. There's snow, wind," the brownrider replies, with all the sound of one giving a report to his superior. Pants, underthings, socks, all join the pile that had been started by the riding jacket. H'kon brings his towel nearer the edge of Vanya's pool, though he makes sure not to leave it in any sort of puddle on the floor. "I'm fine. Arekoth..." Eyes half-close, and there's a slight grimace, though this could just as well be attributed to the fact that he's easing himself into the water, and having to adjust to the warmth. "It's cold. But he's fine." These words come a bit more hollow.
Vanya has lowered her eyelids, essentially giving H'kon what privacy she can, at least until she hears him easing into the water. Then she'll open her eyes and regard the brownrider for a moment before offering a soft, thoughtful "hmm." It's still several second more before she actually speaks. "Well, the cold makes my own bones ache, so I can see where it would bother his leg," she says, quietly. "Are the exercises doing him /any/ good at all?" There's a kind of hopeful tone in her question, and a bit of resignation, as well. As if, perhaps, she's hoping for the best, but is prepared for the worst.
H'kon takes his time in lowering himself into the water, though it can be hoped Vanya isn't scandalised when she does open her eyes. Hands hold to the edge of the pool, and he uses his arms to control his descent, though the harsh definition of the muscles upon them (increased by genetic predisposition, nevermind the dragonriding lifestyle) might be lessened by the rising steam. "Faranth, I don't know," comes an openly exhasperated reply. A sharp breath taken in as the water reaches just below the pectorals. "I... misjudged the landing today." There's a flash of anger, though it settles to a deep and disappointed frown. "The winds, the snows... he hit it funny." His hands are moved away from the stone, allowed to float, and H'kon settles himself with a bit of a 'hmph' to a bench.
There's a soft intake of breath, and Vanya -- scandalized or no -- turns toward the rider. "Oh. I was afraid of that wind. It's so high. Did he hurt himself badly?" She seems about ready to climb out of the pool and go to the brown, despite the wind and cold. "I hope he's soaking like we are. The heat will be good for the leg, if that was what he hurt." There is such concern in her tone of voice, like she can practically feel the hurt herself. "Two of the lower caverns girls slipped today. One broke her leg, and the other twisted her wrist. It's just awful. I didn't think I'd ever get to Sinopa's weyr today."
"It wasn't the wind," H'kon notes sharply. "-I- wasn't paying proper attention." Control is regained of the until-now floating arms, which move to hug up against his chest in the semblance of being crossed. The question of the dragon's soaking is met with a shake of his head. "No." Icy eyes are closed fully, and the brownrider fades out for a moment. Once he does look back to Vanya, he wears something of a guilty expression. This fades soon enough into that disappointed look from before. No comment is offered about slipping caverns girls.
Vanya has sense enough not to try an convince H'kon it wasn't his fault, not when he so blatantly said it was. "Well, I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose," she says, finally settling back down in the water. "If you get him into hot water, it may help any residual aching." It's said in one of those "suggestion" tones, not anything near a demand. "I know a good soak here helps me get through the night. I swear I wish there was some way to tap into this spring and heat my room. Even with extra blankets and two braziers, it gets cold in there at night."
"No difference," the brownrider finishes for his involvement in his dragon's recent encounter with the ground. A duller nod is offered, and, "He's going now," is added. Perhaps as a show of good faith. H'kon is willing to move on as the subject seems to switch. After a moment, the brownrider's posture even relaxes a bit, arms loosening from their position, though not quite allowed to float free. "It can be hard to warm up a bed," he's willing to admit. "I find it helps to do something beneath the covers before you actually mean to sleep." A pause, followed by some sort of realisation, and he's quick to note, "Like I'll knit sometimes, just 'til it gets warm." And now water is cupped and splashed on his face.
Vanya gives a faint start when H'kon mentions doing something "under the covers," a touch of color staining her cheeks. But that's just from the hot water and steam, right? When it's clarified, she gives a soft, "oh," and nods. "Well, that's an idea. I just don't know what I'd do. Hard to play a gittern or write or anything beneath a blanket. That's why I come in here and soak for a while. I let my body absorb as much heat as possible, then rush back to my room and jump in bed. That seems to help." She pauses. "I also drink a cup of hot tea, sometimes." Her lips do twitch a little after a moment. "D'ven, of course, has different ideas on how to keep a room warm. I made the mistake of asking him once in front of someone. It was ... a little embarrassing, albeit rather funny."
H'kon shakes his head to clear away excess water from his face. The move isn't entirely effective, though he relaxes more fully after it's been accomplished. "You don't have to be fully under them," he muses. "Just that when you go to lie down... it's harder to generate heat then if you're doing something. For me, anyway." The mention of the name 'D'ven' has the man pausing a moment, most likely to place the name. "Well... it would work well." Now there is a hint of a smile. The man appreciates good sexual humour. "I'd imagine," is added, once he's managed to smile some of his amusement out.
And Vanya's cheeks redden just a bit more. "Very well," she murmurs, looking down at the surface of the water, sinking just a bit more. "I also recommend getting about three heavy blankets from storage, which works just fine until the laundry gets backed up and you don't get them back for two days and nights." She chuckles. "I practically lived in here and the hatching gallery then. I was about ready to walk out in the hallway and grab the first person I saw to sleep with me." There's a brief pause, then a quick, "As in /sleep,/ for body heat." No, that's not really any better. "Um ... you know what I mean, I'm sure."
H'kon's confusion is clear, whether an attempt was made to hide it or not. He says nothing at first, taking the moment to bring water, cupped in his hands, up over his hair time and time again, the water defining it into spikes in some places, and emphasising what little wave its length will allow in others. "I suppose. I don't know I've ever been cold enough to want to bring someone to sleep with, though," he finally murmurs, the last hand running over his head moving at a leisurely pace. It falls to wrap about his abdomen.
Vanya sobers. "It was a joke, more or less," she explains. "Less, rather than more, apparently. One way to keep warm in extreme cold is to share body heat. It's not always effective, but it will stave off hypothermia, at times." She takes a breath, exhales slowly, then lays her head back against the lip of the pool once more. "I didn't mean sleep with as in sex," she adds. "It just sounded that way. Despite what people seem to think, I don't sleep around." Rather dry, that tone.
This draws more of a blank expression than anything. "Vanya, I know," H'kon points out rather bluntly. "And I would have to be /very/ cold." There's a pause, following which H'kon shakes his head, slowly, and for no reason other than the conversation being had. "It was pointless to say. I apologise." The sincerity of this apology can't be questioned. H'kon withdraws that arm from around his torso, and, holding it underwater, sets with the other hand to rubbing at the hairs on it. "And you don't have to tell me over again. I believe you."
Vanya's eyes open again, and she sighs. "We always seem to talk at cross purposes, don't we?" she remarks. "I was ..." She stops. "It's all right, H'kon. I was just making conversation." Another sigh, and she settles back in the water. "I don't tell jokes very well, or funny stories, either, for that matter. I've never been good at it. I can appreciate a good joke, but it's better if someone else tells it. I always mess it up." She shrugs one shoulder. She doesn't really say anything more for a long time. In fact, it might even appear she's drifted off to sleep there in the water. Save that there's movement behind her eyelids which would indicate she's still very much awake.
"Cross purposes?" H'kon queries, not fully understanding just what she's getting at in this comment. "Conversation..." is then mused, though he will offer no further thoughts out loud on the topic. The brownrider joins her in her silence, scrubbing at his chest and shoulders, though he is, at the time, using nothing other than his own hands and the water in his attempts at cleansing himself. One leg is pulled up onto the bench with him, forcing the man to sit a bit more to the side. And it's only once he's got to rubbing at his knee that he notes, "I'm due to go to home sometime. I haven't been in a very long while. If you wanted to see Tillek, you could come." Subject change with a vengeance.
Vanya's eyes open and her head turns toward him for a long time before she answers. "That's very nice of you, H'kon, but you'd be going home to see your family, wouldn't you? I shouldn't want to intrude on the time you have with them," she says, voice quiet in the baths. "Though, perhaps I could go, and just walk around while you're visiting your folks." That's said very thoughtfully, and seems a satisfactory compromise. "I would like to see Tillek and the ocean. Like I said, I've never been there before." She pauses. "Thank you for thinking of me."
H'kon moves his hands more pensively over the dark hairs that cover his shin. "That's... what I had thought. I wouldn't bring you to my family, and you don't need me to see the hold." Now there's a more appropriate scrubbing motion, which covers all sides of his lower leg, even moving to work at his foot and toes. "There is no point in thanking me either. Thinking about you isn't something I choose to do. It just happens." Shoulders get a shrug now, and he's turning in the other direction on the bench, so as to work at the other leg.
Vanya's head tilts to the side and she studies H'kon for a long moment. "I ... see," she says, and seems a bit perplexed for several moments. "You know, taken in the wrong context, that could sound just a bit ... I don't know, kind of like a left-handed compliment. I don't know why, but I feel oddly ... insulted." She moistens her lips. "You know, when we were talking the other day, and I said sometimes you can be a little on the offensive side? That's what I mean. You offered something nice, but then turn around and ... well, make it seem like it's not so nice." She pauses, then clarifies. "I mean, it's nice that you think of me, but saying it's not something you choose to do ..." A head shake. "I really don't understand you sometimes, H'kon." She doesn't seem upset, just confused.
H'kon's leg is lowered back down, only half-scrubbed, and he sits a bit straighter. His own brow finds a crease for the woman's words. "I didn't mean it to be... not nice." The brownrider does his best to make out every little detail of his toes through the water, with an intense stare. He takes a long moment before speaking once more: "I don't try to think about you. It just happens. It's not that I resent it... or don't want it." Brow is further furrowed, and, vexed, he adds, "Don't be insulted, I did not want that."
Vanya watches him still, but it's not with harsh eyes. More with gentleness. "H'kon, I'm not really insulted. It was a nice gesture, and I appreciate the honesty. I --" She stops, uncertain how to proceed. "It's hard to explain. I don't expect you to think about me. That's not what I meant by not nice. It's just I think people would take that the wrong way. Like you found thinking about them ... unpleasant, or something." Her brow creases. "It's flattering you think of me at all, and I appreciate the invitation. You could have just left it at that, really." She turns her head back and stares across the water for a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. It's all right, and I'm not upset. Truly, I'm not. I'll be glad to go to Tillek with you."
That look from Vanya has H'kon shifting, shoulders rolling back, as if to stretch. Soon enough they're hunched all the more forward, and he's left peering at the healer. Finally, a quick nod of his head is given. "I'll let you know when we're going, then." Vanya is accorded a quick look, bordering on distrust, though overall cautious. "I suppose it's good I don't talk as much to other people," he then decides. This stated, the man goes to pressing hot water up against his whiskers, focusing only on those parts of his face that have the hair on them.
Now there's a chagrinned expression on her face. "No, no ... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, H'kon. I just ... I don't know what it is that gets us off on the wrong foot now and then. I wish I did, 'cause I don't want to do this. I don't like misunderstanding, or being misunderstood. It's ... shards, but I feel awkward and tongue-tied around you sometimes. /I/ know what I mean, but I don't explain it well, and I feel like I always have to explain myself." A hand comes out of the water and she presses it to her forehead. "It's just that your comment struck me as odd. Just ... odd." Vanya turns away in the water, reaching for a basket sitting beside the pool. She pulls out a bottle and opens it, pouring something onto a cloth. The smell of lavender begins to fill the steamy air.
H'kon pauses, with a hand clasped from chin to cheek, thumb covering up the corner of his mouth. He straightens a little, though by no means sitting up properly, and tilts his head a bit to the side, hand and all. A quick sniff goes for the smell of lavender, and then he's looking Vanya over. Not exactly polite in such a situation, though it's hardly an oggle. "You've been saying that. That we get... 'off on the wrong foot,'" he observes. "It doesn't happen as much as you think it does." A flash of uncertainty over his features, and he adds, "I don't think."
"Well, it /feels/ that way," Vanya replies, a faint edge to her voice. "It seems like what should be a perfectly normal conversation just takes a wrong turn. I don't know why, either, and that bothers me even more." She scrubs almost viciously at her shoulders, not really caring if H'kon's watching her or not. "I've never been so ... felt so ... /awkward/ around someone. I feel like you're just waiting for me to make a mistake so you can mistrust me, or something. I don't ..." She stops, just scrubbing in silence now, apparently trying to get her thoughts composed. "It's like there's a wall around you that I can't penetrate. I don't want to be your bosom buddy, but it would be nice to have some kind of rapport with you. I just feel like you're suspicious of me all the time."
"Shards, you feel a lot," H'kon notes. The one hand falls from his face, and is clasped quickly in the other. A bit of a tug-of-war goes on, until the hands are well positioned along the centre line of him; symmetrical. "I'm..." He can't keep a bit of a bothered look from his face, though it occurs with eyes mostly closed. "Surprised. That you don't think there's rapport." He looks away from mthe healer, and to his hands, twitching each finger in turn, starting with the little ones, and working up to the indexes.
Vanya's head snaps around. "Yes, I feel a lot," she says pointedly. "People /do/ feel things, and they say how they feel so other people will understand them." She presses her lips together for a moment. "Mostly I feel frustrated." She stops again. "No, never mind. This will just go around and around like it does every time we talk about anything not related to mechanics." She ducks down into the water, careful not to get her hair wet. "Machines are easier to talk about for you, but not for me. I don't think like a machine, I think like a human being." A moment of silence as the bottle is capped and replaced in the basket. There's no anger in her voice, just frustration. "H'kon, I'm trying, but I'm not being very successful at expressing myself. I'm just ... I should go sleep, I think." Her hand reaches out and snags a towel from the side of the pool, and she turns toward the steps.
H'kon can't keep a helpless look from crossing over his face. "Well you don't learn if you don't /do/, Vanya." There's that odd tone again, that suggests quotation of a memorised lesson. "I'm not going to understand why you're frustrated if you can't show me why." For this, his tone has gone strangely soft. And it stays that way. "That's just how it is.." In all this, the man has moved from the ledge, and slightly toward the seemingly fleeing healer. "And I don't know what you want me to say. If you could just ask it so it's not all confused..." Shrug now. "I don't know why."
His words arrest her movement, but she doesn't turn around to face him. "I /have/ been explaining, H'kon. I've been talking for what seems like hours, trying to explain why I feel frustrated. I can't /show/ you anything about feelings. They're nebulous, intangible things like thoughts. Ideas, concepts." There's a sag to her shoulders. "They're not machines that can be drawn out in schematics. It would be a lot easier if people came with a manual, diagrams, instructions, but they don't. You have to talk to one another, explain how you feel, and hope the other person can relate to you in some way."
H'kon finds that awkward half-face smile on his face, even as he notes, "You know, I never really use any manuals or instructions or diagrams when I'm working. I just take things apart and put them back like they were." He thinks this over for a moment, standing awkwardly in the pool now, arms floating idly, and looking entirely out of place. His fingers do give little twitches against the movement of the water, however. "I'm no good at explaining how I feel," he murmurs, almost sadly. "And I don't understand why you... don't." Leaning back a bit, to allow some of his own buoyancy to hold him, he murmurs, as what is intended as a last word on it, "After Arekoth, you're the one I talk the most to. I know that."
Vanya turns about half-way around. "You don't understand why I don't ... /what/?" she asks. Her own voice is soft enough, without rancor, just tired sounding. "I appreciate your skills, and admire the fact you can take things apart and put them back together. I do that, too, only with the human body. But ... we talk a different language. I don't know if it's the basic difference between male and female, or if it's just ... I don't know what you want /me/ to say." She moistens her lips, watching him in the water. "I like and respect you, but the only time we seem to communicate on any level is when we're talking machinery." A pause. "I don't want to just talk about that /all/ the time."
"Understand." The missing word supplied, H'kon closes his fingers on the water, hands forming into fists, and arms, for the pressure being exerted at their ends, tensing up a little. "Well I guess what you should say is what you want to talk about. Not machinery." He pauses, looking off to the side, in some sort of reflection. "I can't guess what else you want to talk about, though."
"Anything, H'kon," Vanya replies easily enough. "There're a million things to talk about -- and not even how you feel about something, though opinions are a good way to start a conversation. Who do you want to rise first, Tialith or Citalth? Who do you think would be better for the weyr, Sinopa or Roa -- or even Lexine?" She shakes her head and spreads her hands. "Those are just a couple of things. This is your home, and it's had some real shake ups in the past few months. What do you think of it?" Vanya takes a deep breath. "I just want to get to know what you think about things. I'm not trying to pry, just to ... I don't know, maybe find out if we have anything in common other than helping Arekoth." And then she stops. "Unless that's how you'd prefer things? Would it be best if we kept this strictly business? If that's what you're more comfortable with, I can talk to you /only/ about business."
H'kon leans farther back into the water, giving a bit of a sigh. "But Vanya, things like that... I can't know who would be better for the Weyr. They all ride gold, they'd all be acceptable. There's... nothing to say on such things." He raises a hand to scratch over the small past of hair on his chest. "And everything with E'sere and Aivey... do you even want to hear that?" Does he even want to talk about that, more like. The outer edges of his eyebrows have dropped, to have him looking almost sad. Even a little lost. Next words are spoken softly: "I don't want it to be just business."
At the soft tone of his voice, Vanya turns fully forward, though the towel is still clutched in one of her hands, covering most of her. She moves back over to where she was sitting, dropping the towel on the rim as she sinks back into the water. "Then tell me what you'd like it to be, H'kon," she says, her own voice very quiet. "I don't mind companionable silence," she tells him. "I'm more used to that than I am talking, but I do like to hear what others have to say ... even if I disagree with them. Exchanging thoughts and ideas can work on many levels, and just because I don't see eye to eye with someone doesn't mean I don't want to hear them." She takes a moment. "I'd /like/ to know what you think about things. It's ... it's important to me."
Muscles tighten all along his body once she's lowered herself back into the water, and that first question has been asked. The man has shifted to his toes, so as to be able to stand without water lapping at his mouth. Any leaning in the water has been well undone with this new, stiff posture. "I don't know what I want it to be," is rushed from his lips, H'kon almost tripping over the words as they tumble out. 'Companionable silence,' receives a quick nod, even putting him at ease. A little. The slightest stutter brings, "How- how important? To you. To know."
"Enough that I've spent hours trying to reach an understanding between us," Vanya replies, voice still soft. "I'm not sure why, so please don't ask, but what you think and feel are ... important." She looks down at the water and then back up to H'kon. "I could be wrong, but I got the impression you -- well, I kind of thought you were interested in how I felt about things." This last, is very soft. "Was I wrong? If so, just tell me. I won't be upset or hurt."
"You weren't wrong." His voice is still soft, to the point, probably, of being difficult to hear. "I... am. Interested." He turns his eyes rather directly to her, swallowing some spit build-up, and offering a vaguely awkward, vaguely uncomfortable smile. "I'm not really used to it," he adds. "Even with Arekoth it's..." Arms snap in to cross over his chest. The thought isn't finished. He's waiting for a response.
Vanya's silent a long time, her expression a little guarded, but not unpleasant nor harsh. "I know." Maybe not the response he was expecting, but she's not done. "The hardest thing in the world for me to do was to walk out of my room after E'sere --" A stop, a moment. "-- to talk to people again. To not run back to Healer Hall and escape the world. I wanted to hide from being hurt again, but a couple of good friends wouldn't let me crawl away. They made me face the fact I ... I'd been hiding from emotions all my life." She swallows. "Part of this is me. I'm afraid of getting to know you too well -- but I'm more afraid of /not/ getting to know you, too. It doesn't make sense, but I don't want to go back to what I was when I got here."
"You," he repeats. Shortly followed by a less certain, "Me?" H'kon looks up - anywhere that he can to look away from her really - and draws in a slow breath, eyelids fluttering closed. When this is exhaled, those icy eyes have been unlidded once more. His shoulders are no longer drawn up as high as they were. Arms are still crossed firmly. "I don't know if there's much going back I can do," he finally admits. Head is tilted downward, for the extra protection of his eyebrows, from under which he sets to peering at her.
Vanya can't look at H'kon, though. "Yes, you," she says quietly, perhaps embarrassed by the admission. "I don't know why you think that's so surprising. You're an intelligent man I both like and admire," she says. "You have interesting thoughts, and you're not afraid to look at things from several directions. I --" She draws her own arms across herself, closing in a bit, perhaps. "Why /shouldn't/ I want to get to know you? It's only, well, logical, considering how much time we've been spending around one another." She still doesn't look back at him. "There were times when you seemed to /want/ me to talk about how I felt, or what I thought, and not just about the project. I'm sorry if I ... misunderstood."
For one having recently bowed his head, H'kon is quick to lift it, craning his neck, even, for what added height it might give him. "I've told you I'm interested. In more than business. That you weren't wrong." These three things refreshed, his chin is pushed upward just a little more. Limbs are still crossed in that defensive posture. "And I don't mean you shouldn't. Though I'm... surprised." Not the first time this night he's said that, either. The tip of his tongue goes to moisten his lips. And for as much as she's not looking at him, he now seems unable to shift his gaze from her.
This seems to be one of those times when silence speaks louder than words. Vanya shifts her head around to where she's looking now away from him in another direction, her eyes lowered, but not closed. One hand lifts to bring hot water to her shoulders, to warm skin that has grown cool exposed to the air. She sinks a little, putting more of herself beneath the water, her cheeks reddened. She can feel the weight of his eyes on her, and it seems to make her slightly uncomfortable, but she says absolutely nothing for a good, long time. And when she does speak, it's barely a whisper. "Please say something."
H'kon does indeed note the motions, slowly biting at a bit of dried skin on his lip. The added tilt of his chin is the first thing to go, so soon he's head is at a more normal level. Thankfully, Vanya's descent into the pool doesn't make this too awkward, as it may otherwise have been for the extra height she has on him. The whispered request has a puzzled expression crossing his face. His first response is to set his head going in a slow, negating shake. "I-" and this denial is cut off. The tip of his tongue is pressed lightly between his teeth, in thought. The next words come no stronger, and are far more uncertain. "Come back with me." Something of a request, if not sounded as such.
Vanya's head finally turns in H'kon's direction, her eyes lifting to meet his. Her lips part slightly, as if she's about to say something, but she doesn't. Not immediately, at least, a hand lifts to wipe at her cheek, even the hot water cooling to her face. Then, after that long wait, she asks simply, "Are you sure?" The question is soft, the tone equally uncertain.
"No." And at least there's certainty in this answer, even if it only goes to disprove the same. His chest rises with a quick breath, and his arms break apart, brought down to his sides. H'kon's eyes close, and he winces at the distraction - though shortly a slow nodding of his head has begun. "Koth's waiting outside." Shortened dragon name. Momentarily disarmed. "We should... go." Pause. "Now."
Vanya hesitates a moment, then nods. She rises from the water, pulling the towel around herself as she makes her way toward the edge of the pool. Clothing is neatly laid out on the bench, and she waits only long enough to scoop up her basket before heading to where they lie. Drying off doesn't take long, and soon she's dressed, lacking only to put on her cloak. She carefully doesn't look at H'kon, giving him, perhaps, time to change his mind. She does, in fact, offer him that option, voice quiet when she speaks. "If ... if you aren't certain, perhaps another time ...?"
H'kon is now content to stare at the water. He doesn't watch her move for that towel, and certainly pays no attention to her legs as she leaves the pool. Once the ripples from her movements have relaxed, the dragonrider makes his own way out, grabbing that towel he'd left on the edge. He doesn't bother wrapping it about himself, instead toweling immediately at his hair and beard, even as he makes his way to his clothes. It doesn't take him long to dry himself fully, nor to pull his leathers back on. No sooner than his boots are on his feet, he moves so as to stand halfway between her and the exit, jacket hanging open. "Don't... say that. Again. Tonight." It isn't an order, and his voice wavers a bit. Drawing himself up a bit, he offers a more firm, "Arekoth is waiting outside. Come on."
And so, without another word, Vanya complies, moving toward the exit, pausing only long enough to wrap her cloak around herself and pick up her basket. It goes without saying she has uncertainties, trepidations. It's written on her face as much as in H'kon's voice only moments before. There's a tremble in her hand as it carries the basket, the glass bottles clinking slightly, that small sound echoing in the steamy haze of the baths as she makes her way past the rider toward the dragon waiting in the bowl. The hood of her cloak is drawn over her head, and she moves quietly, just one more of the shadows wavering on the weyr walls.
H'kon's Weyr
'Spartan' would be a generous adjective to apply to the weyr. H'kon has done little to transform the hole in the rock into a living space; the main area comprises a simple wooden table, solid, but scratched and scuffed from turns of use, two low-backed chairs in similar condition, and a chest in which tools and material can be stored, which can double as extra workspace or an extra chair. To one corner, only divided from the rest of the weyr by a second chest (this one for clothes), a mattress, most likely stuffed with straw, lies. On top of it are heaped furs, not luxurious, but necessary if one is to remain warm in the winters of High Reaches. In the opposite corner, nearest the dragon's couch, sits a wash basin that can be filled with water as required. Next to the basin, finally, is a sturdy wooden rack upon which clothes or gear can be hung.
With winds still blasting on the floor of the bowl, it's no wonder that the flight up to the ledge would be a cold one. H'kon remains silent, as he'd been since exiting the baths, though Arekoth was well willing to offer a rumbled greeting to Vanya upon spotting her. Even once landed in what shelter the ledge provides, the brownrider remains relatively mute. He slides from his lifemate's neck, and, with a gesture of his hand (the only form of communication he'd used over the entire journey), invites Vanya to do the same. At the entrance of the weyr, however, there's hesitation. Sure to have his shoulders square, cold lips offer the murmur of, "You'll be the first. No one else has ever..." Trailing off as the wind gives a howl, he glances to the woman. And then, with a certain resolve, pushes his way into the weyr.
Vanya is positively chilled by the time Arekoth lands on the ledge. Toes, fingers, face -- all are tingling, her cheeks reddened by the blasting snow and sleet. She moves stiffly, not from feeling unwelcome, but because of the cold. Arekoth is given a gentle stroke of her hand and a murmur of thanks between chattering teeth. Her movements are automatic; this isn't her first visit to a weyr. But, she comes to a halt as H'kon speaks. It's obvious she's chilled, because when she speaks, there's a quaver to her voice. "I ... yes, you s-said so earlier," she replies, and can't stop the shivering. The cloak is drawn tighter around herself; well, as much as can be done with only one hand. The other still clutches the basket, since there was no time to drop it off at her room. "It's ... that wind is ... amazing. The only thing keeping her from outright shaking is the warmth from Arekoth's closeness.
The weyr isn't terribly warm either, though it does at least do a fine job of offering shelter from the elements raging outside. What's left of heat from the aforementioned water and towel-warming is focused nearer the dragon's couch. It is this way that Arekoth heads, with a parting croon that, somehow, manages to convey some sort of self-satisfaction. With his lifemate settling himself for the night, H'kon is left to his own awkward devices. Vanya is regarded a moment, and then he heads to that banged-up table, to clear some leatherwork onto a trunk. "You can leave your basket here."
Vanya moves stiffly forward, setting the basket down when there's room. Now that both hands are free, she holds the cloak even tighter around herself, glancing around. The familiar sight of her work-table to one side of the weyr brings a smile to her lips. "You put it back tog-gether," she manages. At least the weyr is out of the wind, and Arekoth makes a fairly good windblock at the entrance. "I hope you didn't have any trouble with it," she adds, forcing the chatter out of her voice. "Those little hinges can jam. That's the only flaw in the design I found." She reaches out and touches the padded surface, almost caressing it. "Thank you for keeping it up here for me. As soon as I can make arrangements for a workspace, I'll get it out of your way."
H'kon eyes the basket as Vanya goes about checking on her table. He shakes his head at the mention of trouble, whether she's looking at him or not. The rest of the talk about that work table finds no response from the brownrider, who instead is further unlidding a glow basket, and then, despite the cold, sliding his riding jacket off, and leaving it on a chair. Forcefully keeping his arms from clutching at his sides, H'kon turns his attention to the woman now. And there's a spoken word: "Vanya."
She turns at the sound of her name, her eyes searching for him in the dimness, lips curving into an almost shy smile as glows are opened and more of the weyr revealed. Including him. The hood was long before blown off her head, and there are crystals of snow melting in her hair. "Yes?" Voice now whisper soft, almost lost as the wind howls outside. A step taken toward him, herself feeling awkward and uncertain.
H'kon's lips twitch with what is finally an unspoken thought; but with attempts at speaking having failed, the only course of action he's left with is to close whatever space remains between them. This is done with rather soft steps. He looks her over a moment, eyes finally settling below her chin. On the clasp of that cloak. He reaches for this slowly, glancing to her face, sure matching the woman's own uncertainty easily, alert, lest he be called off in the motions.
If there is reluctance in the release of the cloak's fastening, it's only because of the temperature in the weyr. Vanya makes no protest as H'kon's hands reach for the clasp, and if there's trembling, well, it's cold, isn't it? She has some inches on him, standing taller than he by some distance. "I take after my father," she finds suitable for saying, odd thing that. Likely an apology for that height. "Mother's very small, petite, so Rappa says." The Weaver brother. "He's small like she is." Head turns slightly away. "I hope ... I hope you don't mind." This is where she finds herself uneasy. The moment of truth, some would say. To stay his hand, or welcome it? The question is in her eyes, likely why she has turned her face aside.
His fingers coming to rest on the clasp, H'kon pauses for a moment. As she speaks, he makes gives the fastening a quick visual inspection. And, despite the recent harsh cold, and that underlying chill within the stone walls of the weyr, his digits work deftly enough, and the thing is undone with no trouble. "I do not mind," is said slowly. He moves to slide the cloak from her shoulders, taking another careful breath, by no means the first this night. "It's..." Indecision. And a pause. He looks up to her, head pushed a bit to the side, so as to look at her properly. "It's stranger that... your face is familiar." There's a quick smile, nervous, but not as awkward on his features as those smiles that are offered up more regularly.
A chill washes over Vanya, but it has more to do with the removal of that warmth than anything suspect or eerie. "It is?" she inquires, head once again canting to the side. "I don't believe ... no, I can't remember meeting you before coming here" This is firm. "Father was a healer, and it's possible -- no, I doubt it, since he died when I was very young. You'd likely not have met him, since you're not that much older than me and I don't think he ever traveled to Tillek." She cannot help it; her arms find their way around her abdomen, and a shiver runs down her body. "I'm s-sorry," she says, apologizing for succumbing to the cold. "You really should get a brazier. It does take the chill off the air, if nothing more..."
"I don't mean from a long time," he clarifies. Whether for embarrassment, or simply his nature, no further attempt at an explanation is made. The cloak has since been tossed toward the same chair upon which his coat is hung. A flicker of concern crosses the rider's face for her shivering, and, perhaps instinctively, he shuffles a bit closer, his chest almost touching her body. "It will be warmer in the bed," H'kon goes on to promise. And a hand, strong, if most likely shorter than one of hers might be, is reached for Vanya's arm, just above the elbow.
There is no protest, nor argument on this. The bed, with all its furs probably /is/ warmer than the rest of the weyr -- with the exception of Arekoth's couch, which is firmly and fully occupied with the brown. Nor does Vanya ask for explanation of his comment, though there is curiosity in her expression for the answer. As for his closeness, she doesn't shrink from him, or protest maidenly modesty. No, a simple nod and she allows herself to be led toward the bed and its promise of warmth. Her shoes -- impractical slippers, not the boots he repaired for her -- are slipped off as she stands next to the mattress. There's no look of dismay at the simple mattress, although it's likely her own bed is made of similar materials, only framed. The hand on her arm is warm, and it is, perhaps, another reason for a lack of show of modesty. Another body means warmth.
H'kon pauses alongside her, managing the removal of one boot with only one hand. For the second, however, he does have to take his other hand from her. Once footwear is removed, he makes quick work of his tunic, though it is not tossed as carefully as were his jacket and her cloak, and is left to land where it will. The cold is readily seen on his skin, promptly covered in bumps, and it's only a few controlled rolls of muscles tensing that keeps him from an all-out shiver. Though having to stand on his toes to make the motion less awkward, H'kon does give a kiss to her cheek; doubtless one of the few gentle displays of affection to be had for the evening, on his part. And from here it's almost mechanical, as his fingers fall to the lacing at her front, only once having to re-grip the tie in the cold. He's clearly accustomed to working with half-frozen digits.
Vanya's own hands are shaking with cold, proving clumsy and finally allowing H'kon to do the actual work of the laces. Perhaps it's unconscious on both their parts, for it's not speed born of passion which allows for the removal of outer clothing. No, more of eagerness to climb beneath those furs and find warmth. For any who might envy riders their privacy, there are disadvantages, as well. The weyr is cold, for what is it at High Reaches but a cave in a frozen mountain range? Perhaps weyrs in a warmer clime might be different, but stone is stone, and stone in winter is cold. By the time her gown is removed and folded over the chair back, she is openly shivering, to the point her jaw is clenched to keep her teeth from clattering as they chatter. The kiss is met with a smile, at the least, but as soon as she's able, Vanya moves for the furs, lifting them, climbing under.
Even H'kon, despite his attempts at being the tough one, has set into shivering by the time Vanya's crawled beneath the furs. His own belt is fought with, without as much success as had been met with the cloak, and even the gown. He himself has crawled under the covers before he's had a chance to deal with any remaining clothing bits. Once here, on the relatively small mattress, body heat has a chance to work its magic. Even before this has had full a chance to take full effect, H'kon has rolled up onto his side, and is reaching for the woman, hands still cool, though warming quickly enough. Good circulation. The next kiss to be offered is entirely different from the first. This is of the type he's familiar with, that serves a purpose altogether different than any peck to the cheek could ever hope to.
It is a proven fact that a chilled body will gravitate toward the closest source of heat, and in this case, it is H'kon to which Vanya's cold body moves. There is only a moment of hesitation before she is close to him, her lips warming to his kiss. There's a shiver in her, part cold, and partly something more. Something which warms her beyond the furs and puts paid to the differences in height and emotional expressions. Burrowed beneath layers of furs, the small bed is soon warmed by their closeness. Or, perhaps, Vanya is too preoccupied to take note of the chilled air in the weyr. Be that as it may, she is soon content to enjoy the warmth of H'kon, and of his kisses.
Players: H'kon, Vanya
Location: Baths, H'kon's Weyr
Synopsis: A late night encounter in the baths leads to something unexpected. WARNING: Mild Invective & Adult/Sexual Situations.
Baths,
Around Midnight
The bathing cavern is divided into a number of large pools, each spacious enough for ten to fifteen people. There is one cold-water pool with the remainder being given over to water warm enough to fill the air with swirling clouds of steam. Each pool has been tiled in blue and white and boasts benches along the sides to allow people to sit and soak. Alcoves in the walls have been hollowed out to provide places to store clean, dry towels and various other bathing paraphernalia.
The corners of the room have been decorated with potted ferns, brought here from Ista Island. They are pampered and fussed over by the staff who keep the baths clean and stocked. The plants provide a cheerful splash of color in an otherwise pale and steamy cavern.
As is her wont, late night finds Vanya soaking in the hot water of a pool in the baths. The weather has turned positively nasty outside, and even a single trip across the bowl lowers the body temperature until noses, feet and hands tingle. Inside the baths, however, it's warm and damp, the thermal heating of natural hot springs a delight for a person whose even remotely active outside. That, and at this hour, it's usually deserted. Though much of Vanya's reticence regarding nudity has dissipated over the months, she still enjoys privacy. The quiet is nice, as well. With the cold outside, all too many people are staying inside, and that gets crowded.
H'kon may not tend to be in the baths, specifically, at this time of night. Almost without fail, however, he won't be sleeping, and this specific evening is no exception. He enters with his coat draped over one arm, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips as those facial extremities - ears and nose, both of which are bright red - regain feeling with the sensation of sharp pinpricks. No, it would seem he enjoys the weather well enough, and his reasons for being where he is now are entirely different. Though if one were to get within sniffing distance of him, they might not be nearly as secret. His attention hovers on the floor before his feet as he makes his way to an alcove, where the jacket is dropped in the place of a clean towel (removed for future use). A glance over his shoulder, designed originally to plot his course, does find Vanya, and so the man pauses before going to strip. Belatedly, he even offers, "Umm... hello."
Vanya's in the water, head resting on the lip of the pool, eyes closed. Yes, she's aware of footsteps, but she's always been one of those people who tries not to notice others in the baths. However, when a voice calls out, she can't help but open her eyes and glance in that direction. "Ah ... hello," she offers in return, sinking just a little lower in the water, glad for the all-concealing mist. "Weather still nasty outside?" It's a casual enough question, and the topic, although bland, is certainly neutral enough. "How're you and Arekoth doing?" Not quite as neutral, more specific in that she recognizes the voice and the figure in the steamy confines of the baths.
This returned greeting, for some reason, has H'kon settled, and he sets about tugging his tunic over his head. "It's cold. There's snow, wind," the brownrider replies, with all the sound of one giving a report to his superior. Pants, underthings, socks, all join the pile that had been started by the riding jacket. H'kon brings his towel nearer the edge of Vanya's pool, though he makes sure not to leave it in any sort of puddle on the floor. "I'm fine. Arekoth..." Eyes half-close, and there's a slight grimace, though this could just as well be attributed to the fact that he's easing himself into the water, and having to adjust to the warmth. "It's cold. But he's fine." These words come a bit more hollow.
Vanya has lowered her eyelids, essentially giving H'kon what privacy she can, at least until she hears him easing into the water. Then she'll open her eyes and regard the brownrider for a moment before offering a soft, thoughtful "hmm." It's still several second more before she actually speaks. "Well, the cold makes my own bones ache, so I can see where it would bother his leg," she says, quietly. "Are the exercises doing him /any/ good at all?" There's a kind of hopeful tone in her question, and a bit of resignation, as well. As if, perhaps, she's hoping for the best, but is prepared for the worst.
H'kon takes his time in lowering himself into the water, though it can be hoped Vanya isn't scandalised when she does open her eyes. Hands hold to the edge of the pool, and he uses his arms to control his descent, though the harsh definition of the muscles upon them (increased by genetic predisposition, nevermind the dragonriding lifestyle) might be lessened by the rising steam. "Faranth, I don't know," comes an openly exhasperated reply. A sharp breath taken in as the water reaches just below the pectorals. "I... misjudged the landing today." There's a flash of anger, though it settles to a deep and disappointed frown. "The winds, the snows... he hit it funny." His hands are moved away from the stone, allowed to float, and H'kon settles himself with a bit of a 'hmph' to a bench.
There's a soft intake of breath, and Vanya -- scandalized or no -- turns toward the rider. "Oh. I was afraid of that wind. It's so high. Did he hurt himself badly?" She seems about ready to climb out of the pool and go to the brown, despite the wind and cold. "I hope he's soaking like we are. The heat will be good for the leg, if that was what he hurt." There is such concern in her tone of voice, like she can practically feel the hurt herself. "Two of the lower caverns girls slipped today. One broke her leg, and the other twisted her wrist. It's just awful. I didn't think I'd ever get to Sinopa's weyr today."
"It wasn't the wind," H'kon notes sharply. "-I- wasn't paying proper attention." Control is regained of the until-now floating arms, which move to hug up against his chest in the semblance of being crossed. The question of the dragon's soaking is met with a shake of his head. "No." Icy eyes are closed fully, and the brownrider fades out for a moment. Once he does look back to Vanya, he wears something of a guilty expression. This fades soon enough into that disappointed look from before. No comment is offered about slipping caverns girls.
Vanya has sense enough not to try an convince H'kon it wasn't his fault, not when he so blatantly said it was. "Well, I'm sure you didn't do it on purpose," she says, finally settling back down in the water. "If you get him into hot water, it may help any residual aching." It's said in one of those "suggestion" tones, not anything near a demand. "I know a good soak here helps me get through the night. I swear I wish there was some way to tap into this spring and heat my room. Even with extra blankets and two braziers, it gets cold in there at night."
"No difference," the brownrider finishes for his involvement in his dragon's recent encounter with the ground. A duller nod is offered, and, "He's going now," is added. Perhaps as a show of good faith. H'kon is willing to move on as the subject seems to switch. After a moment, the brownrider's posture even relaxes a bit, arms loosening from their position, though not quite allowed to float free. "It can be hard to warm up a bed," he's willing to admit. "I find it helps to do something beneath the covers before you actually mean to sleep." A pause, followed by some sort of realisation, and he's quick to note, "Like I'll knit sometimes, just 'til it gets warm." And now water is cupped and splashed on his face.
Vanya gives a faint start when H'kon mentions doing something "under the covers," a touch of color staining her cheeks. But that's just from the hot water and steam, right? When it's clarified, she gives a soft, "oh," and nods. "Well, that's an idea. I just don't know what I'd do. Hard to play a gittern or write or anything beneath a blanket. That's why I come in here and soak for a while. I let my body absorb as much heat as possible, then rush back to my room and jump in bed. That seems to help." She pauses. "I also drink a cup of hot tea, sometimes." Her lips do twitch a little after a moment. "D'ven, of course, has different ideas on how to keep a room warm. I made the mistake of asking him once in front of someone. It was ... a little embarrassing, albeit rather funny."
H'kon shakes his head to clear away excess water from his face. The move isn't entirely effective, though he relaxes more fully after it's been accomplished. "You don't have to be fully under them," he muses. "Just that when you go to lie down... it's harder to generate heat then if you're doing something. For me, anyway." The mention of the name 'D'ven' has the man pausing a moment, most likely to place the name. "Well... it would work well." Now there is a hint of a smile. The man appreciates good sexual humour. "I'd imagine," is added, once he's managed to smile some of his amusement out.
And Vanya's cheeks redden just a bit more. "Very well," she murmurs, looking down at the surface of the water, sinking just a bit more. "I also recommend getting about three heavy blankets from storage, which works just fine until the laundry gets backed up and you don't get them back for two days and nights." She chuckles. "I practically lived in here and the hatching gallery then. I was about ready to walk out in the hallway and grab the first person I saw to sleep with me." There's a brief pause, then a quick, "As in /sleep,/ for body heat." No, that's not really any better. "Um ... you know what I mean, I'm sure."
H'kon's confusion is clear, whether an attempt was made to hide it or not. He says nothing at first, taking the moment to bring water, cupped in his hands, up over his hair time and time again, the water defining it into spikes in some places, and emphasising what little wave its length will allow in others. "I suppose. I don't know I've ever been cold enough to want to bring someone to sleep with, though," he finally murmurs, the last hand running over his head moving at a leisurely pace. It falls to wrap about his abdomen.
Vanya sobers. "It was a joke, more or less," she explains. "Less, rather than more, apparently. One way to keep warm in extreme cold is to share body heat. It's not always effective, but it will stave off hypothermia, at times." She takes a breath, exhales slowly, then lays her head back against the lip of the pool once more. "I didn't mean sleep with as in sex," she adds. "It just sounded that way. Despite what people seem to think, I don't sleep around." Rather dry, that tone.
This draws more of a blank expression than anything. "Vanya, I know," H'kon points out rather bluntly. "And I would have to be /very/ cold." There's a pause, following which H'kon shakes his head, slowly, and for no reason other than the conversation being had. "It was pointless to say. I apologise." The sincerity of this apology can't be questioned. H'kon withdraws that arm from around his torso, and, holding it underwater, sets with the other hand to rubbing at the hairs on it. "And you don't have to tell me over again. I believe you."
Vanya's eyes open again, and she sighs. "We always seem to talk at cross purposes, don't we?" she remarks. "I was ..." She stops. "It's all right, H'kon. I was just making conversation." Another sigh, and she settles back in the water. "I don't tell jokes very well, or funny stories, either, for that matter. I've never been good at it. I can appreciate a good joke, but it's better if someone else tells it. I always mess it up." She shrugs one shoulder. She doesn't really say anything more for a long time. In fact, it might even appear she's drifted off to sleep there in the water. Save that there's movement behind her eyelids which would indicate she's still very much awake.
"Cross purposes?" H'kon queries, not fully understanding just what she's getting at in this comment. "Conversation..." is then mused, though he will offer no further thoughts out loud on the topic. The brownrider joins her in her silence, scrubbing at his chest and shoulders, though he is, at the time, using nothing other than his own hands and the water in his attempts at cleansing himself. One leg is pulled up onto the bench with him, forcing the man to sit a bit more to the side. And it's only once he's got to rubbing at his knee that he notes, "I'm due to go to home sometime. I haven't been in a very long while. If you wanted to see Tillek, you could come." Subject change with a vengeance.
Vanya's eyes open and her head turns toward him for a long time before she answers. "That's very nice of you, H'kon, but you'd be going home to see your family, wouldn't you? I shouldn't want to intrude on the time you have with them," she says, voice quiet in the baths. "Though, perhaps I could go, and just walk around while you're visiting your folks." That's said very thoughtfully, and seems a satisfactory compromise. "I would like to see Tillek and the ocean. Like I said, I've never been there before." She pauses. "Thank you for thinking of me."
H'kon moves his hands more pensively over the dark hairs that cover his shin. "That's... what I had thought. I wouldn't bring you to my family, and you don't need me to see the hold." Now there's a more appropriate scrubbing motion, which covers all sides of his lower leg, even moving to work at his foot and toes. "There is no point in thanking me either. Thinking about you isn't something I choose to do. It just happens." Shoulders get a shrug now, and he's turning in the other direction on the bench, so as to work at the other leg.
Vanya's head tilts to the side and she studies H'kon for a long moment. "I ... see," she says, and seems a bit perplexed for several moments. "You know, taken in the wrong context, that could sound just a bit ... I don't know, kind of like a left-handed compliment. I don't know why, but I feel oddly ... insulted." She moistens her lips. "You know, when we were talking the other day, and I said sometimes you can be a little on the offensive side? That's what I mean. You offered something nice, but then turn around and ... well, make it seem like it's not so nice." She pauses, then clarifies. "I mean, it's nice that you think of me, but saying it's not something you choose to do ..." A head shake. "I really don't understand you sometimes, H'kon." She doesn't seem upset, just confused.
H'kon's leg is lowered back down, only half-scrubbed, and he sits a bit straighter. His own brow finds a crease for the woman's words. "I didn't mean it to be... not nice." The brownrider does his best to make out every little detail of his toes through the water, with an intense stare. He takes a long moment before speaking once more: "I don't try to think about you. It just happens. It's not that I resent it... or don't want it." Brow is further furrowed, and, vexed, he adds, "Don't be insulted, I did not want that."
Vanya watches him still, but it's not with harsh eyes. More with gentleness. "H'kon, I'm not really insulted. It was a nice gesture, and I appreciate the honesty. I --" She stops, uncertain how to proceed. "It's hard to explain. I don't expect you to think about me. That's not what I meant by not nice. It's just I think people would take that the wrong way. Like you found thinking about them ... unpleasant, or something." Her brow creases. "It's flattering you think of me at all, and I appreciate the invitation. You could have just left it at that, really." She turns her head back and stares across the water for a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. It's all right, and I'm not upset. Truly, I'm not. I'll be glad to go to Tillek with you."
That look from Vanya has H'kon shifting, shoulders rolling back, as if to stretch. Soon enough they're hunched all the more forward, and he's left peering at the healer. Finally, a quick nod of his head is given. "I'll let you know when we're going, then." Vanya is accorded a quick look, bordering on distrust, though overall cautious. "I suppose it's good I don't talk as much to other people," he then decides. This stated, the man goes to pressing hot water up against his whiskers, focusing only on those parts of his face that have the hair on them.
Now there's a chagrinned expression on her face. "No, no ... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, H'kon. I just ... I don't know what it is that gets us off on the wrong foot now and then. I wish I did, 'cause I don't want to do this. I don't like misunderstanding, or being misunderstood. It's ... shards, but I feel awkward and tongue-tied around you sometimes. /I/ know what I mean, but I don't explain it well, and I feel like I always have to explain myself." A hand comes out of the water and she presses it to her forehead. "It's just that your comment struck me as odd. Just ... odd." Vanya turns away in the water, reaching for a basket sitting beside the pool. She pulls out a bottle and opens it, pouring something onto a cloth. The smell of lavender begins to fill the steamy air.
H'kon pauses, with a hand clasped from chin to cheek, thumb covering up the corner of his mouth. He straightens a little, though by no means sitting up properly, and tilts his head a bit to the side, hand and all. A quick sniff goes for the smell of lavender, and then he's looking Vanya over. Not exactly polite in such a situation, though it's hardly an oggle. "You've been saying that. That we get... 'off on the wrong foot,'" he observes. "It doesn't happen as much as you think it does." A flash of uncertainty over his features, and he adds, "I don't think."
"Well, it /feels/ that way," Vanya replies, a faint edge to her voice. "It seems like what should be a perfectly normal conversation just takes a wrong turn. I don't know why, either, and that bothers me even more." She scrubs almost viciously at her shoulders, not really caring if H'kon's watching her or not. "I've never been so ... felt so ... /awkward/ around someone. I feel like you're just waiting for me to make a mistake so you can mistrust me, or something. I don't ..." She stops, just scrubbing in silence now, apparently trying to get her thoughts composed. "It's like there's a wall around you that I can't penetrate. I don't want to be your bosom buddy, but it would be nice to have some kind of rapport with you. I just feel like you're suspicious of me all the time."
"Shards, you feel a lot," H'kon notes. The one hand falls from his face, and is clasped quickly in the other. A bit of a tug-of-war goes on, until the hands are well positioned along the centre line of him; symmetrical. "I'm..." He can't keep a bit of a bothered look from his face, though it occurs with eyes mostly closed. "Surprised. That you don't think there's rapport." He looks away from mthe healer, and to his hands, twitching each finger in turn, starting with the little ones, and working up to the indexes.
Vanya's head snaps around. "Yes, I feel a lot," she says pointedly. "People /do/ feel things, and they say how they feel so other people will understand them." She presses her lips together for a moment. "Mostly I feel frustrated." She stops again. "No, never mind. This will just go around and around like it does every time we talk about anything not related to mechanics." She ducks down into the water, careful not to get her hair wet. "Machines are easier to talk about for you, but not for me. I don't think like a machine, I think like a human being." A moment of silence as the bottle is capped and replaced in the basket. There's no anger in her voice, just frustration. "H'kon, I'm trying, but I'm not being very successful at expressing myself. I'm just ... I should go sleep, I think." Her hand reaches out and snags a towel from the side of the pool, and she turns toward the steps.
H'kon can't keep a helpless look from crossing over his face. "Well you don't learn if you don't /do/, Vanya." There's that odd tone again, that suggests quotation of a memorised lesson. "I'm not going to understand why you're frustrated if you can't show me why." For this, his tone has gone strangely soft. And it stays that way. "That's just how it is.." In all this, the man has moved from the ledge, and slightly toward the seemingly fleeing healer. "And I don't know what you want me to say. If you could just ask it so it's not all confused..." Shrug now. "I don't know why."
His words arrest her movement, but she doesn't turn around to face him. "I /have/ been explaining, H'kon. I've been talking for what seems like hours, trying to explain why I feel frustrated. I can't /show/ you anything about feelings. They're nebulous, intangible things like thoughts. Ideas, concepts." There's a sag to her shoulders. "They're not machines that can be drawn out in schematics. It would be a lot easier if people came with a manual, diagrams, instructions, but they don't. You have to talk to one another, explain how you feel, and hope the other person can relate to you in some way."
H'kon finds that awkward half-face smile on his face, even as he notes, "You know, I never really use any manuals or instructions or diagrams when I'm working. I just take things apart and put them back like they were." He thinks this over for a moment, standing awkwardly in the pool now, arms floating idly, and looking entirely out of place. His fingers do give little twitches against the movement of the water, however. "I'm no good at explaining how I feel," he murmurs, almost sadly. "And I don't understand why you... don't." Leaning back a bit, to allow some of his own buoyancy to hold him, he murmurs, as what is intended as a last word on it, "After Arekoth, you're the one I talk the most to. I know that."
Vanya turns about half-way around. "You don't understand why I don't ... /what/?" she asks. Her own voice is soft enough, without rancor, just tired sounding. "I appreciate your skills, and admire the fact you can take things apart and put them back together. I do that, too, only with the human body. But ... we talk a different language. I don't know if it's the basic difference between male and female, or if it's just ... I don't know what you want /me/ to say." She moistens her lips, watching him in the water. "I like and respect you, but the only time we seem to communicate on any level is when we're talking machinery." A pause. "I don't want to just talk about that /all/ the time."
"Understand." The missing word supplied, H'kon closes his fingers on the water, hands forming into fists, and arms, for the pressure being exerted at their ends, tensing up a little. "Well I guess what you should say is what you want to talk about. Not machinery." He pauses, looking off to the side, in some sort of reflection. "I can't guess what else you want to talk about, though."
"Anything, H'kon," Vanya replies easily enough. "There're a million things to talk about -- and not even how you feel about something, though opinions are a good way to start a conversation. Who do you want to rise first, Tialith or Citalth? Who do you think would be better for the weyr, Sinopa or Roa -- or even Lexine?" She shakes her head and spreads her hands. "Those are just a couple of things. This is your home, and it's had some real shake ups in the past few months. What do you think of it?" Vanya takes a deep breath. "I just want to get to know what you think about things. I'm not trying to pry, just to ... I don't know, maybe find out if we have anything in common other than helping Arekoth." And then she stops. "Unless that's how you'd prefer things? Would it be best if we kept this strictly business? If that's what you're more comfortable with, I can talk to you /only/ about business."
H'kon leans farther back into the water, giving a bit of a sigh. "But Vanya, things like that... I can't know who would be better for the Weyr. They all ride gold, they'd all be acceptable. There's... nothing to say on such things." He raises a hand to scratch over the small past of hair on his chest. "And everything with E'sere and Aivey... do you even want to hear that?" Does he even want to talk about that, more like. The outer edges of his eyebrows have dropped, to have him looking almost sad. Even a little lost. Next words are spoken softly: "I don't want it to be just business."
At the soft tone of his voice, Vanya turns fully forward, though the towel is still clutched in one of her hands, covering most of her. She moves back over to where she was sitting, dropping the towel on the rim as she sinks back into the water. "Then tell me what you'd like it to be, H'kon," she says, her own voice very quiet. "I don't mind companionable silence," she tells him. "I'm more used to that than I am talking, but I do like to hear what others have to say ... even if I disagree with them. Exchanging thoughts and ideas can work on many levels, and just because I don't see eye to eye with someone doesn't mean I don't want to hear them." She takes a moment. "I'd /like/ to know what you think about things. It's ... it's important to me."
Muscles tighten all along his body once she's lowered herself back into the water, and that first question has been asked. The man has shifted to his toes, so as to be able to stand without water lapping at his mouth. Any leaning in the water has been well undone with this new, stiff posture. "I don't know what I want it to be," is rushed from his lips, H'kon almost tripping over the words as they tumble out. 'Companionable silence,' receives a quick nod, even putting him at ease. A little. The slightest stutter brings, "How- how important? To you. To know."
"Enough that I've spent hours trying to reach an understanding between us," Vanya replies, voice still soft. "I'm not sure why, so please don't ask, but what you think and feel are ... important." She looks down at the water and then back up to H'kon. "I could be wrong, but I got the impression you -- well, I kind of thought you were interested in how I felt about things." This last, is very soft. "Was I wrong? If so, just tell me. I won't be upset or hurt."
"You weren't wrong." His voice is still soft, to the point, probably, of being difficult to hear. "I... am. Interested." He turns his eyes rather directly to her, swallowing some spit build-up, and offering a vaguely awkward, vaguely uncomfortable smile. "I'm not really used to it," he adds. "Even with Arekoth it's..." Arms snap in to cross over his chest. The thought isn't finished. He's waiting for a response.
Vanya's silent a long time, her expression a little guarded, but not unpleasant nor harsh. "I know." Maybe not the response he was expecting, but she's not done. "The hardest thing in the world for me to do was to walk out of my room after E'sere --" A stop, a moment. "-- to talk to people again. To not run back to Healer Hall and escape the world. I wanted to hide from being hurt again, but a couple of good friends wouldn't let me crawl away. They made me face the fact I ... I'd been hiding from emotions all my life." She swallows. "Part of this is me. I'm afraid of getting to know you too well -- but I'm more afraid of /not/ getting to know you, too. It doesn't make sense, but I don't want to go back to what I was when I got here."
"You," he repeats. Shortly followed by a less certain, "Me?" H'kon looks up - anywhere that he can to look away from her really - and draws in a slow breath, eyelids fluttering closed. When this is exhaled, those icy eyes have been unlidded once more. His shoulders are no longer drawn up as high as they were. Arms are still crossed firmly. "I don't know if there's much going back I can do," he finally admits. Head is tilted downward, for the extra protection of his eyebrows, from under which he sets to peering at her.
Vanya can't look at H'kon, though. "Yes, you," she says quietly, perhaps embarrassed by the admission. "I don't know why you think that's so surprising. You're an intelligent man I both like and admire," she says. "You have interesting thoughts, and you're not afraid to look at things from several directions. I --" She draws her own arms across herself, closing in a bit, perhaps. "Why /shouldn't/ I want to get to know you? It's only, well, logical, considering how much time we've been spending around one another." She still doesn't look back at him. "There were times when you seemed to /want/ me to talk about how I felt, or what I thought, and not just about the project. I'm sorry if I ... misunderstood."
For one having recently bowed his head, H'kon is quick to lift it, craning his neck, even, for what added height it might give him. "I've told you I'm interested. In more than business. That you weren't wrong." These three things refreshed, his chin is pushed upward just a little more. Limbs are still crossed in that defensive posture. "And I don't mean you shouldn't. Though I'm... surprised." Not the first time this night he's said that, either. The tip of his tongue goes to moisten his lips. And for as much as she's not looking at him, he now seems unable to shift his gaze from her.
This seems to be one of those times when silence speaks louder than words. Vanya shifts her head around to where she's looking now away from him in another direction, her eyes lowered, but not closed. One hand lifts to bring hot water to her shoulders, to warm skin that has grown cool exposed to the air. She sinks a little, putting more of herself beneath the water, her cheeks reddened. She can feel the weight of his eyes on her, and it seems to make her slightly uncomfortable, but she says absolutely nothing for a good, long time. And when she does speak, it's barely a whisper. "Please say something."
H'kon does indeed note the motions, slowly biting at a bit of dried skin on his lip. The added tilt of his chin is the first thing to go, so soon he's head is at a more normal level. Thankfully, Vanya's descent into the pool doesn't make this too awkward, as it may otherwise have been for the extra height she has on him. The whispered request has a puzzled expression crossing his face. His first response is to set his head going in a slow, negating shake. "I-" and this denial is cut off. The tip of his tongue is pressed lightly between his teeth, in thought. The next words come no stronger, and are far more uncertain. "Come back with me." Something of a request, if not sounded as such.
Vanya's head finally turns in H'kon's direction, her eyes lifting to meet his. Her lips part slightly, as if she's about to say something, but she doesn't. Not immediately, at least, a hand lifts to wipe at her cheek, even the hot water cooling to her face. Then, after that long wait, she asks simply, "Are you sure?" The question is soft, the tone equally uncertain.
"No." And at least there's certainty in this answer, even if it only goes to disprove the same. His chest rises with a quick breath, and his arms break apart, brought down to his sides. H'kon's eyes close, and he winces at the distraction - though shortly a slow nodding of his head has begun. "Koth's waiting outside." Shortened dragon name. Momentarily disarmed. "We should... go." Pause. "Now."
Vanya hesitates a moment, then nods. She rises from the water, pulling the towel around herself as she makes her way toward the edge of the pool. Clothing is neatly laid out on the bench, and she waits only long enough to scoop up her basket before heading to where they lie. Drying off doesn't take long, and soon she's dressed, lacking only to put on her cloak. She carefully doesn't look at H'kon, giving him, perhaps, time to change his mind. She does, in fact, offer him that option, voice quiet when she speaks. "If ... if you aren't certain, perhaps another time ...?"
H'kon is now content to stare at the water. He doesn't watch her move for that towel, and certainly pays no attention to her legs as she leaves the pool. Once the ripples from her movements have relaxed, the dragonrider makes his own way out, grabbing that towel he'd left on the edge. He doesn't bother wrapping it about himself, instead toweling immediately at his hair and beard, even as he makes his way to his clothes. It doesn't take him long to dry himself fully, nor to pull his leathers back on. No sooner than his boots are on his feet, he moves so as to stand halfway between her and the exit, jacket hanging open. "Don't... say that. Again. Tonight." It isn't an order, and his voice wavers a bit. Drawing himself up a bit, he offers a more firm, "Arekoth is waiting outside. Come on."
And so, without another word, Vanya complies, moving toward the exit, pausing only long enough to wrap her cloak around herself and pick up her basket. It goes without saying she has uncertainties, trepidations. It's written on her face as much as in H'kon's voice only moments before. There's a tremble in her hand as it carries the basket, the glass bottles clinking slightly, that small sound echoing in the steamy haze of the baths as she makes her way past the rider toward the dragon waiting in the bowl. The hood of her cloak is drawn over her head, and she moves quietly, just one more of the shadows wavering on the weyr walls.
H'kon's Weyr
'Spartan' would be a generous adjective to apply to the weyr. H'kon has done little to transform the hole in the rock into a living space; the main area comprises a simple wooden table, solid, but scratched and scuffed from turns of use, two low-backed chairs in similar condition, and a chest in which tools and material can be stored, which can double as extra workspace or an extra chair. To one corner, only divided from the rest of the weyr by a second chest (this one for clothes), a mattress, most likely stuffed with straw, lies. On top of it are heaped furs, not luxurious, but necessary if one is to remain warm in the winters of High Reaches. In the opposite corner, nearest the dragon's couch, sits a wash basin that can be filled with water as required. Next to the basin, finally, is a sturdy wooden rack upon which clothes or gear can be hung.
With winds still blasting on the floor of the bowl, it's no wonder that the flight up to the ledge would be a cold one. H'kon remains silent, as he'd been since exiting the baths, though Arekoth was well willing to offer a rumbled greeting to Vanya upon spotting her. Even once landed in what shelter the ledge provides, the brownrider remains relatively mute. He slides from his lifemate's neck, and, with a gesture of his hand (the only form of communication he'd used over the entire journey), invites Vanya to do the same. At the entrance of the weyr, however, there's hesitation. Sure to have his shoulders square, cold lips offer the murmur of, "You'll be the first. No one else has ever..." Trailing off as the wind gives a howl, he glances to the woman. And then, with a certain resolve, pushes his way into the weyr.
Vanya is positively chilled by the time Arekoth lands on the ledge. Toes, fingers, face -- all are tingling, her cheeks reddened by the blasting snow and sleet. She moves stiffly, not from feeling unwelcome, but because of the cold. Arekoth is given a gentle stroke of her hand and a murmur of thanks between chattering teeth. Her movements are automatic; this isn't her first visit to a weyr. But, she comes to a halt as H'kon speaks. It's obvious she's chilled, because when she speaks, there's a quaver to her voice. "I ... yes, you s-said so earlier," she replies, and can't stop the shivering. The cloak is drawn tighter around herself; well, as much as can be done with only one hand. The other still clutches the basket, since there was no time to drop it off at her room. "It's ... that wind is ... amazing. The only thing keeping her from outright shaking is the warmth from Arekoth's closeness.
The weyr isn't terribly warm either, though it does at least do a fine job of offering shelter from the elements raging outside. What's left of heat from the aforementioned water and towel-warming is focused nearer the dragon's couch. It is this way that Arekoth heads, with a parting croon that, somehow, manages to convey some sort of self-satisfaction. With his lifemate settling himself for the night, H'kon is left to his own awkward devices. Vanya is regarded a moment, and then he heads to that banged-up table, to clear some leatherwork onto a trunk. "You can leave your basket here."
Vanya moves stiffly forward, setting the basket down when there's room. Now that both hands are free, she holds the cloak even tighter around herself, glancing around. The familiar sight of her work-table to one side of the weyr brings a smile to her lips. "You put it back tog-gether," she manages. At least the weyr is out of the wind, and Arekoth makes a fairly good windblock at the entrance. "I hope you didn't have any trouble with it," she adds, forcing the chatter out of her voice. "Those little hinges can jam. That's the only flaw in the design I found." She reaches out and touches the padded surface, almost caressing it. "Thank you for keeping it up here for me. As soon as I can make arrangements for a workspace, I'll get it out of your way."
H'kon eyes the basket as Vanya goes about checking on her table. He shakes his head at the mention of trouble, whether she's looking at him or not. The rest of the talk about that work table finds no response from the brownrider, who instead is further unlidding a glow basket, and then, despite the cold, sliding his riding jacket off, and leaving it on a chair. Forcefully keeping his arms from clutching at his sides, H'kon turns his attention to the woman now. And there's a spoken word: "Vanya."
She turns at the sound of her name, her eyes searching for him in the dimness, lips curving into an almost shy smile as glows are opened and more of the weyr revealed. Including him. The hood was long before blown off her head, and there are crystals of snow melting in her hair. "Yes?" Voice now whisper soft, almost lost as the wind howls outside. A step taken toward him, herself feeling awkward and uncertain.
H'kon's lips twitch with what is finally an unspoken thought; but with attempts at speaking having failed, the only course of action he's left with is to close whatever space remains between them. This is done with rather soft steps. He looks her over a moment, eyes finally settling below her chin. On the clasp of that cloak. He reaches for this slowly, glancing to her face, sure matching the woman's own uncertainty easily, alert, lest he be called off in the motions.
If there is reluctance in the release of the cloak's fastening, it's only because of the temperature in the weyr. Vanya makes no protest as H'kon's hands reach for the clasp, and if there's trembling, well, it's cold, isn't it? She has some inches on him, standing taller than he by some distance. "I take after my father," she finds suitable for saying, odd thing that. Likely an apology for that height. "Mother's very small, petite, so Rappa says." The Weaver brother. "He's small like she is." Head turns slightly away. "I hope ... I hope you don't mind." This is where she finds herself uneasy. The moment of truth, some would say. To stay his hand, or welcome it? The question is in her eyes, likely why she has turned her face aside.
His fingers coming to rest on the clasp, H'kon pauses for a moment. As she speaks, he makes gives the fastening a quick visual inspection. And, despite the recent harsh cold, and that underlying chill within the stone walls of the weyr, his digits work deftly enough, and the thing is undone with no trouble. "I do not mind," is said slowly. He moves to slide the cloak from her shoulders, taking another careful breath, by no means the first this night. "It's..." Indecision. And a pause. He looks up to her, head pushed a bit to the side, so as to look at her properly. "It's stranger that... your face is familiar." There's a quick smile, nervous, but not as awkward on his features as those smiles that are offered up more regularly.
A chill washes over Vanya, but it has more to do with the removal of that warmth than anything suspect or eerie. "It is?" she inquires, head once again canting to the side. "I don't believe ... no, I can't remember meeting you before coming here" This is firm. "Father was a healer, and it's possible -- no, I doubt it, since he died when I was very young. You'd likely not have met him, since you're not that much older than me and I don't think he ever traveled to Tillek." She cannot help it; her arms find their way around her abdomen, and a shiver runs down her body. "I'm s-sorry," she says, apologizing for succumbing to the cold. "You really should get a brazier. It does take the chill off the air, if nothing more..."
"I don't mean from a long time," he clarifies. Whether for embarrassment, or simply his nature, no further attempt at an explanation is made. The cloak has since been tossed toward the same chair upon which his coat is hung. A flicker of concern crosses the rider's face for her shivering, and, perhaps instinctively, he shuffles a bit closer, his chest almost touching her body. "It will be warmer in the bed," H'kon goes on to promise. And a hand, strong, if most likely shorter than one of hers might be, is reached for Vanya's arm, just above the elbow.
There is no protest, nor argument on this. The bed, with all its furs probably /is/ warmer than the rest of the weyr -- with the exception of Arekoth's couch, which is firmly and fully occupied with the brown. Nor does Vanya ask for explanation of his comment, though there is curiosity in her expression for the answer. As for his closeness, she doesn't shrink from him, or protest maidenly modesty. No, a simple nod and she allows herself to be led toward the bed and its promise of warmth. Her shoes -- impractical slippers, not the boots he repaired for her -- are slipped off as she stands next to the mattress. There's no look of dismay at the simple mattress, although it's likely her own bed is made of similar materials, only framed. The hand on her arm is warm, and it is, perhaps, another reason for a lack of show of modesty. Another body means warmth.
H'kon pauses alongside her, managing the removal of one boot with only one hand. For the second, however, he does have to take his other hand from her. Once footwear is removed, he makes quick work of his tunic, though it is not tossed as carefully as were his jacket and her cloak, and is left to land where it will. The cold is readily seen on his skin, promptly covered in bumps, and it's only a few controlled rolls of muscles tensing that keeps him from an all-out shiver. Though having to stand on his toes to make the motion less awkward, H'kon does give a kiss to her cheek; doubtless one of the few gentle displays of affection to be had for the evening, on his part. And from here it's almost mechanical, as his fingers fall to the lacing at her front, only once having to re-grip the tie in the cold. He's clearly accustomed to working with half-frozen digits.
Vanya's own hands are shaking with cold, proving clumsy and finally allowing H'kon to do the actual work of the laces. Perhaps it's unconscious on both their parts, for it's not speed born of passion which allows for the removal of outer clothing. No, more of eagerness to climb beneath those furs and find warmth. For any who might envy riders their privacy, there are disadvantages, as well. The weyr is cold, for what is it at High Reaches but a cave in a frozen mountain range? Perhaps weyrs in a warmer clime might be different, but stone is stone, and stone in winter is cold. By the time her gown is removed and folded over the chair back, she is openly shivering, to the point her jaw is clenched to keep her teeth from clattering as they chatter. The kiss is met with a smile, at the least, but as soon as she's able, Vanya moves for the furs, lifting them, climbing under.
Even H'kon, despite his attempts at being the tough one, has set into shivering by the time Vanya's crawled beneath the furs. His own belt is fought with, without as much success as had been met with the cloak, and even the gown. He himself has crawled under the covers before he's had a chance to deal with any remaining clothing bits. Once here, on the relatively small mattress, body heat has a chance to work its magic. Even before this has had full a chance to take full effect, H'kon has rolled up onto his side, and is reaching for the woman, hands still cool, though warming quickly enough. Good circulation. The next kiss to be offered is entirely different from the first. This is of the type he's familiar with, that serves a purpose altogether different than any peck to the cheek could ever hope to.
It is a proven fact that a chilled body will gravitate toward the closest source of heat, and in this case, it is H'kon to which Vanya's cold body moves. There is only a moment of hesitation before she is close to him, her lips warming to his kiss. There's a shiver in her, part cold, and partly something more. Something which warms her beyond the furs and puts paid to the differences in height and emotional expressions. Burrowed beneath layers of furs, the small bed is soon warmed by their closeness. Or, perhaps, Vanya is too preoccupied to take note of the chilled air in the weyr. Be that as it may, she is soon content to enjoy the warmth of H'kon, and of his kisses.