Morning
IC Date: Day 20, Month 13, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: Vanya, H'kon
Location: H'kon's Weyr, Vanya's Room
Synopsis: The morning after. Can you say awkward? I knew you could. WARNING: Mild adult situations.
H'kon's Weyr,
Pre-dawn
'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.
The weyr is cold early in the morning, perhaps even colder than it had been before they'd fallen asleep. Any heat that had been worked into the air has long since dissipated, and the only obvious physical evidence of the night's activities lies in what heat has been maintained by two bodies beneath the furs. Despite the relative smallness of the mattress, in his sleep H'kon had managed to keep off to one side, avoiding contact with the curled Vanya by bordering the edge of his bed. It is facing away from her, with his head tucked against his chest, and shoulder turned up enough to block any peripheral vision that the man wakes up. He's not slept long - no surprise for the vaguely insomniac brownrider - but this sleep was hard, and he finds himself disoriented. A stretch finds him turning to his back. But it's the brush of his arm against the warm skin of another person that startles him fully awake, breath catching as blurred events are drawn back into mind.
Usually a healer is a light sleeper, but removed from such a medical environment for so long has led Vanya to sleep far deeper than she used to. That, and the fact cold tends to make her sleep harder than usual, means the brushing of an arm against her back does little more than make her stir slightly, and shiver as cold air seeps beneath the furs. Otherwise, she remains curled in the near-fetal position she has adopted in recent months, conserving warmth of her body and the bed around herself. What she dreams is anyone's guess, but apparently there is at least subconscious awareness since she stirs once more moments later. There is also a subtle shifting toward the other warmth in the bed with her, the gravitational pull of something cold to something warm natural. The size of the bed matters little; her own is scarcely smaller, but the air around the bed is considerably colder than her room.
The explanation of this /other/ in his weyr is put on hold for a moment as the woman stirs. Her name is mouthed, though not even an outbound breath accompanies it, leaving it fully soundless. H'kon's lips press together in a thin, pensive line as the sleeping healer is observed. The movement toward him has his eyes widening, and one arm slid out from beneath the furs, careful to limit the entry of cold air beneath the covers, but also quick enough that, should he need it for any reason, be it blocking, tucking in, or otherwise, it's readily available. The hairs on this arm are quick to stand up, the skin going bumpy for the temperature, and H'kon's first actual spoken words of this new day are a hushed and hurried, "Scorch it," for the temperature.
A faint brush is one thing, but actual spoken words are another, and there's a soft "mm?" kind of sound from Vanya. One of those muzzy, just-half-awake kind of noises people make when they're sleeping and something penetrates the fog. Her eyes don't even open when she does it, nor does she really move too much closer. The only thing she really does is straighten out her legs, in the bed, feet encountering cold sheets beyond that range of body heated bedclothes. This earns a bit of a grunt from her, but there's no flailing of arms, nor much of anything else. Just legs stretching, and what shifting of weight coming with such movement. Maybe a yawn, but nothing really coherent. Realization of where she is and who she's with will come ... well, probably any time now.
H'kon is likely of little help in further waking. The sound from has him paying far less attention to the cool air. Instead, eyes are trained on the woman, jaw is set, and though he hasn't quite tensed, his posture changes somewhat, having him ready to move. The movement that does, after a time, come is an unexpected one, and the rider himself looks surprised at it; for sure enough, as she shifts, so do the furs. And that arm that he's got outside the warmth does indeed reach to tug these back up, so as to avoid any unnecessary early exposure on Vanya's part. Hand is withdrawn just as quickly, clutched against his covered side. Fingers remain splayed, still ready for action. And H'kon's expression of surprise changes to one of basic puzzled concern.
Some women are compulsive cuddlers. Perhaps fortunately for H'kon, Vanya doesn't seem the cuddly type, and is perfectly content to remain on her own side of the bed. Albeit, for the size of the bed, her side takes up at least part of the middle. But, she burrows back down under the furs, unconsciously seeking warmth after the furs shifted slightly. That's when consciousness begins to return, when that cold penetrates and the shivers begin. A few other noises, mostly just "morning" sounds, are heard as Vanya begins to wake. "Mm...?" Eyes blink open, then close again. Her head turns and she sniffs. No, this doesn't smell like her room. Not that it's foul, but it's not /her/ smell. Brow knits. A soft cough. Awareness of someone else near. Eyes open again, focusing. Startlement. Confusion. Realization. Recognition. Remembrance. "Morning." Voice cracking. Not quite fully awake, but too awake to pretend sleep.
Once these morning sounds begin, H'kon props himself up a little more; even if it does mean that his bare chest will be all the more exposed to the cold. His foot, farther down the bed, gives a few impatient twitches at having been awake for a good space of time already, and still lying idle. His foot, needless to say, is mostly ignored for this other... situation. "Yeah," comes a low confirmation for the time of day. "Early. Still dark." The man spares a quick glance toward the dragon couch. Then the squinting goes to locate some form of clothes, and the pants found, which are thankfully within reach, are grabbed before he will look back to Vanya.
It takes Vanya a little longer to wake fully, and it's obvious she's not as eager to depart the warmth of furs and bed as H'kon is. She burrows deeper, though she does turn onto her back beside the man she slept with. Throat is cleared, so her voice is a bit more normal when she does speak. "So I see." Another yawn, and one of those tense body stretches that limber people can do. Back arching, shoulders pressed to the mattress, then legs straightening, toes pointing. Once this is accomplished, she dares to look at him, turning onto her side. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
As Vanya burrows into the bed, H'kon, taking a quick, deep, bracing breath, pushes himself out of it. Motions are rushed in the tugging on of the same pants that had been discarded so recently. He does pause when fastening the belt as she stretches, watching the motion, expression turning a touch less stern. In all this, the cold can't be forgotten, and, a quick glance failing to reveal the location of his tunic, H'kon sits back down on the mattress, tugging at the corner of cover nearest him. "It's... fine." This attempt at drawing the furs up around him is failing rather miserably, as there's not enough slack for him not to risk uncovering the healer. "I can get your clothes," is added as some sort of excuse, before he's up and trying to track down a shirt.
Vanya frowns slightly, loathe to leave the warmth. "Sure," she comments, turning back toward her side of the bed. "I'm sure my chemise is around here someplace," she remarks, tone kind of dry. "I doubt I tossed it very far from the ... ah, here it is." The item of clothing is located near the bed, and there's wherry-bumps on her arm as she reaches for it. "Shards, it's c-cold." The underdress is dragged back under the covers with her, as is her pair of underwear. The stockings will have to wait until she has clothes on to be found. Or, no, "If you can locate my stockings...?" He did offer, after all. As for everything else? Well, she'll warm them up before she puts them on, thankyouverymuch.
H'kon moves gingerly on the cold floor, opting for the tunic before he even considers finding socks. Though by no means truly warm, the material intercepting the cold air on its way to his skin does much for his comfort level. The gown that had been folded over the chair earlier is gathered, and brought back to the bed. Stockings (ahah!), one of which is near the foot of the mattress, one of which lies off to the side, are also retrieved for Vanya. The furs are eyed wistfully, but, with the woman seemingly dressing beneath them, he contents himself to hug his arms to his chest for warmth. "I'm sorry about the cold."
Students learn all kinds of tricks, including dressing while still in bed to conserve warmth. The chemise and underwear are donned, but Vanya still doesn't seem to want to leave the furs. "It's all right," she assures H'kon. "I'll be ready to dress in a moment. If you ... aren't your feet freezing?" she asks, since he doesn't seem to be wearing anything like socks. "You'll catch your death. At least put your socks on." She manages to finish dressing, and reaches for her stockings and gown. It's still dark in the weyr, but she can at least see the outline of Arekoth on his couch. "Hate to wake him up to take me down," she murmurs.
Being told he's going to catch his death is enough to spark a rather dry, "I'll be fine," from the brownrider. Though he does indeed locate his own socks, and sits on the floor just beside the mattress to don them. He's quick to jump back up from the cold stone ground, standing once more alongside the bed, shifting from foot to foot occasionally, not unlike the movements of candidates' feet on hot sands. "He... I probably half woke him up anyway, when I saw you there." The comment is meant as comforting, and H'kon juts his chin to the side of the bed which Vanya occupies, to explain the exact location of 'there'.
Vanya smiles, bracing herself to flip back the covers and put on her stockings. She manages without shivering too badly, each stocking pulled up a leg and tied in place with the ribbons. They're shapely legs, strong and sturdy. "Well, I guess it was a bit of a spur of the moment thing," she admits. She doesn't say anything or ask anything about the previous night. No need; they both know what happened, after all. "That's better," she says, tucking her legs beneath herself and pulling up the furs. "I'm sorry. It takes a bit for me to get going on cold mornings. But ... I'll hurry, since you likely need to get ready for drills." The gown is tucked beneath the furs for a few minutes, just to take the chill off of it. At least her cloak is fur-lined, and it will help on the way back down.
H'kon certainly notices the shape to her legs, and indeed casts an extended glance or four in Vanya's directions as the stockings are pulled on. "You don't have to hurry too much," he notes, if a touch grudgingly. "We're usually up earlier than we need to be." The cold finally gets the better of him, and H'kon moves to perch on 'his side' of the bed, tucking only his feet beneath the covers, knees pulled up to his chest for whatever extra insulation that will provide above the furs. He looks to her again, even if all that stocking action has since passed. This is a more thoughtful gaze. And it's not without some discomfort, made obvious in his voice and in the sudden motion of his hands at his ankles, that he notes, "I... enjoyed having you..." the trailing end suggests the search for a proper word or two, but in the end, with a slight twitch of an eyebrow, he seems to decide that these words do just fine. A nod gives a bit more finality to the statement.
Let it not be said Vanya is without a sense of humor, and a smile touches her lips at the comment. "And I enjoyed being had," she quips before she can prevent it from slipping out. Perhaps the grin will translate it better than the words, because there's a warmth to it. "I ... thank you for having me up to your weyr," she adds, pulling her dress over her head. Layers of clothes do help to keep out the cold, but like him, she keeps her feet covered for the moment. "Breakfast should be out soon. Hot klah sounds good right now, I don't know about you." Idle chatter. Awkward, perhaps. Make awkward because she doesn't really ever know what to say in situations like this. With E'sere, it was always easy; he did the talking. With D'ven, well, she was always more fuzzy-headed because of the drink. Now...? Well, she's sober and uncertain. "I hope ... it was everything you expected."
H'kon actually laughs at her comment. Of his own accord, no less - for Arekoth is either still asleep, or doing a very good job of pretending to be so. He moves to tuck his arms in about his ribs, and leans forward into upraised knees once more. "Breakfast would be better there," is agreed simply. Any ease in the moment is lost at the talk of expectations, and a sobered brownrider gives the faintest nod of his head. "As I said. I enjoyed it." Hesitation, and with an obvious push he adds, "Very much."
Breakfast. Yes. Something easy to consider, and less difficult to talk of. "Oh, I hope they have those sausages again. They're delicious." And, the thought of food, hot food and hot klah do seem to motivate her somewhat. No more talk of expectations, then. Vanya looks for her shoes; they, too, are near the bed. A few moments beneath the furs and they're warmer. Swinging her legs around, the shoes are put on, and then it's Vanya's turn to stand. The final parts of her clothes are put on, her hair smoothed as best she can. "I can't say I'm looking forward to the trip back down, but it'll be warm in the cavern, at least. And maybe not crowded to the point we can't get a seat near the fire."
H'kon takes a turn toward the detached for further talk of breakfast, a dull nod being sent to the topic of sausages. He stands up from the mattress as well, making quickly for his boots. The relief upon pushing his feet into the fleece-lined footwear is obvious. "It shouldn't be crowded so early, no," H'kon offers, absently, as some sort of agreement. He moves to the chair upon which both her cloak and his riding jacket had been slung. A little nagging frown catches at the corners of his mouth as he makes his way to Vanya, to hold the outerwear out to her. "It was good, then," he more states than asks - though an expectant look is given to her, nonetheless.
Vanya turns to reach for her cloak and her hand brushes his. "Yes, H'kon, it was good," she says, and smiles. There is gentleness in the smile, and warmth. Perhaps it's a sixth sense women have, but she can read the uncertainty in his words, and it touches something inside her. "I'm not all that experienced, but it was nice." And before she can stop herself, she's leaning forward, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. One of her hands reaches up and cups his cheek, fingers cool on his skin. The beard tickles, but she does nothing more than smile.
The touch to his hand finds his eyes straying that way; surely a brush couldn't be totally unexpected, and perhaps there's some other reason for his gaze to settle there. He gets partway into a mumbled, "It's new to me in some-" before he's being kissed. Halting and awkward motions respond to this, with that hand not holding his own coat reaching for her (it settles, strangely almost, on one of her elbows). He doesn't think to return the kiss. He does manage to give a quick rub of his cheek - and as such, of his whiskers as well (thankfully they're in a longer stage, and relatively soft) - to her in return. An uncertainty remains, yes - but there's the vague hint of a smile on nhis face as well.
Those fingers stroke the beard on his face, smoothing it down, combing through it. "I would have thought it not so soft," Vanya comments absently, the smile still on her face. There's affection in her tone of voice, and a hint of humor. "So often beards are wiry." But the touch doesn't last much longer, though it's not an abrupt movement away from him. "New things are good sometimes," she murmurs, and glances down at the hand on her elbow. "You have good hands. Strong. But you don't have to be so tentative when you touch me. I won't break." And still she smiles, even as she brings the cloak up to her shoulders, drawing it on. "We can eat in my room if it's crowded," she offers. "With both braziers, it's actually warm."
H'kon finds his eyelids drifting shut for the fingertips on his face. As soon as this contact is ended, however, his eyes snap back open, and he straightens up a little. For lack of better fidgetting, his jacket is pulled on, though not yet done up. "I guess they can be good," he allows for 'new things'. "I... it's..." Head is given a shake, and he waves a hand dismissively. Nevermind that. The fingers of the hand on her elbow give a twitch before that hand is pulled away, and H'kon nods lightly. "I... okay. Eating in your room would be okay." A glance to Arekoth, who has finally lifted his head. Then, a final inspection to his own hand before he's willing to let it fall to his side, and there's an extraordinarily tentative, "I'll remember. For... next time?"
Vanya's lips curve upwards. "Yes, next time," she says, nodding. At the movement from Arekoth, she turns toward the brown, moving in that direction, detouring only to pick up her basket from the desk. "Morning, Arekoth," she says, reaching a hand to stroke his neck when she's close enough. "While we're eating breakfast, why don't you go soak in the hot springs? On such a cold morning, it might help loosen the muscles." It's only a suggestion, and the brown is free to take it or not, as he chooses. "I do hate to rouse you, but the day awaits, my fine, handsome friend." Now that she's awake, Vanya seems in fine spirits. "If you'll be so kind as to give me a leg up, we'll make this trip as brief as possible." She turns back to H'kon, smiling and waiting for him to join her. "I'll sit behind you and take advantage of you blocking the wind," she teases.
Arekoth offers a happy set of rumbled somethings to Vanya in return for her greeting and recommendations. H'kon has kept back, watching the two, with one lip twitching a bit, in something that looks almost like a sneer - though it lacks in bitterness or anger. The man's expression is the result of momentary troubled thought. Her invite rouses him soon enough from his little brood, and the dragonrider makes his way after her. Arekoth already moves so that he will have little difficulty in manoeuvring off the ledge, while still keeping in the sheltered area for ease of mounting. The brown crouches, a bit awkward, yes, with the right leg extended; the requested leg up. "If I can block it for you," he murmurs, a touch belated, to Vanya in reply. "You really are quite tall." Nevermind if, sat down, the height issue is a different story.
"I'll scrunch down behind you," Vanya assures H'kon, chuckling. "You'd be surprised how small I can make myself to keep out of the cold wind." She manages to maneuver herself onto the leg, then up onto the neck ridge, settling into place with practiced ease. She gives Arekoth a pat, thanking him for the boost, then sets about fastening straps. Even for that small flight, yes. The wind is still howling outside, and she's no wish to be swept off a dragon's back. It's not the fall she minds; it's the landing. "Yes, I'm tall, but that comes in handy sometimes, too. Especially reaching for upper shelves. I don't often have to use a step stool. Of course, there are disadvantages, too. I used to slouch a lot since I towered over my cousins. They're both petite. The perfect Lord Holder's children."
H'kon makes his own way up to settle behind a neckridge, offering a quick, good morning smack to the side of the dragon's neck as he does so. Amicable, of course. The treatise on tallness is listened to, with the occasional nod, as he, too, attaches his straps. Perhaps more because Vanya had done so than for any fear of safety. Arekoth, passengers aboard, stands on three legs, rolling that left forepaw about testily a few times. "Lord Holder?" H'kon manages to ask, though the second word is almost lost as the dragon makes an un-announced jump into the winds.
Vanya doesn't really give much of an answer to this, especially since Arekoth is now heading out to the ledge and the wind howls even louder out there than inside. "I'll explain later," she says, leaning close to H'kon's ear to speak. True to her word, she scrunches down behind him, and he does block some of the wind. Her head rests on his back, face turned to the side, eyes closed. the cold cuts through every layer of clothing she wears like a knife through soft cheese, and her body involuntarily shakes. It's not that far down, but precautions need to be taken in such a fierce wind, so it takes time to get to the bowl.
H'kon finds himself doing his best to keep his shoulders broad, and his frame turned into the wind, an instinct no doubt in part buoyed by the feel of the woman hiding at his back. Arekoth goes about proving that his boasts of strength are well-founded, wing movements powerful and precise as he navigates the winds and snow. Leaving his wind-blocking to instinct, and whatever secondary information on the gusts that oozes to his brain via his lifemate, H'kon focuses his conscious attention on the upcoming landing. The man does not desire a repeat of last night's limb-twisting.
Vanya, for her part, is content to leave the flying to the experts, concentrating on making herself as small and compact as she can behind the shorter H'kon. Short, but broad, yes. And those are powerful shoulders she ducks behind. There's certainly nothing wrong with H'kon's physique; he has the fit constitution of a rider, and she's felt the strength of those hands and arms. And there's certainly nothing small about his intellect or his ingenuity, both of which Vanya has come to admire. And Arekoth is proving himself quite able in tackling the wind; nothing wrong with his take off, and the landing is sufficiently smooth to not risk further injury. once the dragon's touched down in the bowl, she makes quick work of the straps, perhaps eager to reach warmth inside.
Arekoth crouches as low as he can, in such a position so that his body will block the majority of the winds while the pair of humans slide to the ground. H'kon frees himself from the straps, dropping to the ground as per the original plan. He is nowhere near as rushed as Vanya seems to be to get to the warmth of the caverns. Tilting his head so as to take any winds off the side of his head rather than straight on his face, his eyes close for a quick and quiet conversation. Only then does the brownrider head for the caverns proper, still prepared to do what he can to block the elements from the healer. Arekoth, once his services are no longer required, sets off for the dragon baths, as was suggested.
Vanya's Room
There isn't much a person can do to disguise the fact this room is little more than a cave. The walls are stone, smoothed by hand or by some long-forgotten or long-gone machine used by those who first built the weyr. The door is solid wood, sturdy, the fixtures utilitarian. The basic furniture is all there -- bed, table, two chairs, wall shelves and a wooden storage chest. Simple. As is the occupant, since there is little in the way of fancy knickknacks or personal possessions. The bed has plain sheets, two down-filled pillows, and a warm, woven blanket in dark green. The chest holds clothes, and more blankets as a bastion against the cold, High Reaches winter. A glow basket hangs from the wall over the bed, another sits on the table, glows replenished whenever needed by those unseen people who perform this task.
On a shelf above the table are a bottle of ink, writing instruments, sand and some already prepared hides. Very rare and precious paper documents are carefully arranged on another shelf, held down by a polished stone collected from some place. Yet another shelf holds vials and bottles of lotions, astringents, and other containers of herbs and oils. The only luxurious thing here, if it can be called that, is a hand-made rug that lies beside the bed on top of a thick layer of reeds. Stone floors are notoriously cold on bare feet. A black cloak hangs on a peg by the door, as does a gittern, the instrument carefully wrapped in a protective bag. A basket, leather satchel and two pairs of boots sit on the floor beneath.
Although not nearly as crowded as it will be soon, there's a chill in the air of the living cavern. Those few who are up and about pay little heed to the pair as they enter. Vanya pauses only long enough to determine that breakfast is already on the serving tables before heading in that direction. A quick word with a drudge produces a tray, and she busies herself gathering dishes and utensils. "If you'll grab us a pitcher of klah," she suggests to H'kon, "we can take this back to my room." She still hasn't shaken off the chill from being dragonback in the snow and icy wind, and her cheeks are reddened by the cold. "I guess you're used to flying in that weather, but I'm not. I'm freezing." Food gathered -- a healthy selection of fruit, bread, meat and cheese -- she leads the way through the nearly deserted lower caverns to her room. The door is nudged open with one hand, while the other balances the tray. Once she sets the tray down on the table, she turns to light both braziers and open glows. Small as the room is, the coals soon have warmth in the air.
H'kon's posture doesn't change much as they leave the wintery weather for the shelter of the caverns; his shoulders remain squared and firm, but this time it's in preparation for a crowd. Which turns out not to be there. Either way, the brownrider is in a defensive mindset as he moves in for a pitcher of klah. Glowers are swapped with a drudge (who, her icy demeanour toward the man would suggest, knows him from some past experience), but thankfully, H'kon's will to move after Vanya prevents any further incident. After looping his fingers through the handles of two empty mugs, he follows the woman from the main living caverns to her room. Once inside, the tray is given a repositioning nudge so that the klah may also be set on the table. Mugs join it, and he steps back to admire his handywork. Looking at the table only lasts so long, though, and soon his standing in the middle of the room seems awkward. Especially once the twitching of bored feet starts.
Once the braziers are lighted, Vanya turns her attention to removing her cloak, which is hung on its peg. The basket it deposited on the floor beneath it, and then she's free to turn her attention to the food. Fortunately, it's not far from her room to the living cavern, and it's still hot. "Don't stand on ceremony, H'kon," she says, moving to a chair. "I'm starved. Pour us some klah, and I'll get things set up." She does just this, removing plates and bowls from the tray, and arranging them for ease of reach. "There's sweetener if you'd like, and salt. On the shelves. I'm fine as it is." And she must be, for she picks up a fork and spears one of those sausages. "Dara used to bring me breakfast every morning when I was on duty in the infirmary," she remarks. "She's the one who makes these." Obviously meaning the sausage.
H'kon arches a brow to her, watching Vanya's motions for a moment. Shifting his weight from one foot on to the other, H'kon does fill the first mug. This is pushed in the woman's direction, and then his own mug is filled. "Fine without," is his near-muttered response to the offer of sweetener and salt. He glances about him, finding a chair and dragging it up behind him, only to flop into it. Before setting to finding food, his head is tilted first to one side, then to another, to get some decent cracks from the neck. And then he too is securing a sausage. This is eyed. "Oh," is all he can think to say for the background information. Nevermind; he'll focus on biting the thing, and settling into the new setting; there's still an uneasiness about him.
The shiver running down Vanya now has nothing to do with the cold. "Ew. That just /sounds/ painful," she manages around a bite of the sausage. "I know it likely isn't, but that always reminds me of bones breaking." She chuckles softly, shaking her head, then applying her attention to the food. It doesn't take the room long to heat up, and soon it's quite cozy there. "See what I mean about the braziers? I don't know if they have any larger ones left, but there were some down in stores. They burn wood or a type of firestone, and it makes things a lot more comfortable." She picks up a piece of bread spread with butter and jam, biting. Klah follows. "There's furniture there, too. Nothing fancy, but good and serviceable. That's where I got my bed. They have larger ones, too." Hints? Maybe. "Suggestion, only," she assures the rider. "Even mattresses not stuffed with straw. Comfortable, too."
H'kon sets the fork'd sausage down, to remove that riding jacket. This is left to hang on the back of his chair, thus keeping him from having to get up. "I think what I've got in my weyr works just fine," he notes, unable to keep that slightly defensive tone from his voice. "My life stays relatively simple. I don't need much." Perhaps as something of a peace offering, he adds, "I might look into the brazier." Then it's back to the sausage, which is quickly finished. A piece of fruit is grabbed next, inspected carefully, but not yet lifted to his mouth. Shifting in his chair, H'kon glances around this room once more.
Vanya doesn't press the issue, merely nods. She eats in silence for a little longer, then quietly says, "I wasn't meaning to make you think there was anything wrong with the way you have things in your weyr. I was only suggesting maybe a few things might make it more comfortable if --" She stops, then looks down at the tray a moment. "Never mind. It was just a suggestion. The brazier might make it better for Arekoth's leg, as well. Heat is a good healer. Which reminds me. I should work with him again soon. Maybe tonight after dinner. He's moving well with it, though. That was a smooth landing this morning, even with that awful cross wind."
"If... oh." Being told not to mind has H'kon doing his very best to push the curiosity from his mind. His eyes close, and stay this way as he notes, "He would like that. And," the right eye is opened, "tonight should be okay for it." Right eye opens, too. "Later, though. There... are things I would like to do, once our duties to the Weyr are dealt with." Finally a bite is taken of that bit of fruit (which he's, of course, been playing with this whole time).
Vanya nods, but doesn't elaborate on what she told him to never mind. If he cannot figure it out for himself, perhaps she'll come back to it some time. Or, he can ask another rider what a woman might mean by mentioning something like that. "Oh? You have some projects to finish? If that's the case, I can wait to work with Arekoth until tomorrow night, or something. He seems to be doing well on his own, with just the exercises. I didn't notice his limp being quite as pronounced as it was before we started." The bread is finished, and it's on to another sausage.
H'kon gives his head a shake. "Today will be fine," he insists, taking on that tone that gives things a certain finality. It's closely followed with a less confident note of, "Unless you're going to be busy tonight. Like, if you want to sleep or anything, then I suppose it's no difference. You say he can wait." The brownrider shrugs, and takes another bite of fruit. His left leg, the foot of which is tucked beneath the chair, takes to a quiet bouncing. Excess energy.
"I'm fine with either," Vanya assures him. "I'm not particularly busy today, and my evening is totally free. I'll catch a couple more hours of sleep, since Sinopa's not going to be out and about much with all this bad weather." She pauses, then gives a soft sigh. "I just wish one of the queens would rise and eliminate all this waiting. At this point, I don't care if it's Tialith or Citalth, but one of them needs to rise soon." She shakes her head, looking troubled. "A large clutch would do a world of good on so many levels." Her klah mug is picked up, cupped in both hands, but not immediately sipped. "As much as I hope Citalth rises, I think Roa would make a good weyrwoman. A lot of people seem to like her, well enough, and we really do need an active, participating weyrleader. J'cor is ... since Karth cannot fly, that's got to weigh heavily on the riders."
"This evening, then," H'kon confirms, sitting up a little bit straighter. "One will rise soon. If the Weyr's situation is desperate enough," the brownrider adds, faith quite unshakable. The mention of J'cor's Karth has the browrider going relatively quiet. "We will see who it is," he finally murmurs on this topic. "More change..."
"Change can be good, H'kon," Vanya says, slowing down with her eating, and stifling a bit of a yawn. "Not all change, maybe, but things have to change or they stagnate. Nothing grows in stagnate water. It all dies, gets choked and dies. So ... maybe it's time for a change in the way things are. Maybe not as drastic as the Instigators wanted, but in order for people to progress, there needs to be some change, some new things introduced to encourage that growth." Another moment has her yawning again. "That's the problem with being warm and fed. You get sleepy." She sits back in her chair, stretching her feet out toward one of the braziers.
H'kon apparently isn't much for this certain morning meal. He's been picking at the food brought in to the woman's room, at best. "I suppose," is given, less than enthusiastically, in return. H'kon does not press the issue further, though remains quiet for a good moment. The foot-twitching continues, and his brow takes up a crease before he's set to move on. He does, however, glancing up to Vanya, almost startled by his own internal subject change. "Perhaps you should sleep, then. Arekoth and I do have drills this morning..." Half-eaten, the bit of fruit is left on his plate, and H'kon gets to his feet, sweeping his jacket off the back of the chair, clearly pleased even for this bit of movement.
Vanya nods. "All right, then," she says, nodding. "Thanks for sharing breakfast with me," she adds, abandoning the rest uneaten. "I'll see the tray gets taken back to the kitchen later." It's hard for Vanya to miss that repressed energy, but chooses not to comment. There are, after all, some things inherent in a person, and restless movement is apparently something inborn with this man. "I'd say enjoy yourself, but somehow enjoy and that weather out there just don't seem to match up this morning. The thought of drills up there in the wind and snow make me cold thinking about it." She chuckles. "Clear skies doesn't seem appropriate, either, somehow. So, perhaps take care and I'll see you and Arekoth tonight will have to do. As for me, I'm going to curl up under my quilts and catch some sleep before braving the day." She smiles, rising. Moving to H'kon's side, she presses a brief kiss to his bearded cheek. "Be careful."
"Cold, yes," H'kon confirms, pausing near her before making for the door. Surely this will at least give Arekoth time to get himself out of the baths. "But it will be a good exercise. I'm... sure we will enjoy it." There's that awkward, off-centred smile. Her kiss to his cheek still comes off as foreign to him, and he does shoot a questioning look to Vanya; but, a shake of his head neglects any further exploration of that thought which is puzzling him. "Until later tonight, then..." And casting about his brain for the perfect adieu yields only, "Sleep well." And with that, he's out the door.
Players: Vanya, H'kon
Location: H'kon's Weyr, Vanya's Room
Synopsis: The morning after. Can you say awkward? I knew you could. WARNING: Mild adult situations.
H'kon's Weyr,
Pre-dawn
'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.
The weyr is cold early in the morning, perhaps even colder than it had been before they'd fallen asleep. Any heat that had been worked into the air has long since dissipated, and the only obvious physical evidence of the night's activities lies in what heat has been maintained by two bodies beneath the furs. Despite the relative smallness of the mattress, in his sleep H'kon had managed to keep off to one side, avoiding contact with the curled Vanya by bordering the edge of his bed. It is facing away from her, with his head tucked against his chest, and shoulder turned up enough to block any peripheral vision that the man wakes up. He's not slept long - no surprise for the vaguely insomniac brownrider - but this sleep was hard, and he finds himself disoriented. A stretch finds him turning to his back. But it's the brush of his arm against the warm skin of another person that startles him fully awake, breath catching as blurred events are drawn back into mind.
Usually a healer is a light sleeper, but removed from such a medical environment for so long has led Vanya to sleep far deeper than she used to. That, and the fact cold tends to make her sleep harder than usual, means the brushing of an arm against her back does little more than make her stir slightly, and shiver as cold air seeps beneath the furs. Otherwise, she remains curled in the near-fetal position she has adopted in recent months, conserving warmth of her body and the bed around herself. What she dreams is anyone's guess, but apparently there is at least subconscious awareness since she stirs once more moments later. There is also a subtle shifting toward the other warmth in the bed with her, the gravitational pull of something cold to something warm natural. The size of the bed matters little; her own is scarcely smaller, but the air around the bed is considerably colder than her room.
The explanation of this /other/ in his weyr is put on hold for a moment as the woman stirs. Her name is mouthed, though not even an outbound breath accompanies it, leaving it fully soundless. H'kon's lips press together in a thin, pensive line as the sleeping healer is observed. The movement toward him has his eyes widening, and one arm slid out from beneath the furs, careful to limit the entry of cold air beneath the covers, but also quick enough that, should he need it for any reason, be it blocking, tucking in, or otherwise, it's readily available. The hairs on this arm are quick to stand up, the skin going bumpy for the temperature, and H'kon's first actual spoken words of this new day are a hushed and hurried, "Scorch it," for the temperature.
A faint brush is one thing, but actual spoken words are another, and there's a soft "mm?" kind of sound from Vanya. One of those muzzy, just-half-awake kind of noises people make when they're sleeping and something penetrates the fog. Her eyes don't even open when she does it, nor does she really move too much closer. The only thing she really does is straighten out her legs, in the bed, feet encountering cold sheets beyond that range of body heated bedclothes. This earns a bit of a grunt from her, but there's no flailing of arms, nor much of anything else. Just legs stretching, and what shifting of weight coming with such movement. Maybe a yawn, but nothing really coherent. Realization of where she is and who she's with will come ... well, probably any time now.
H'kon is likely of little help in further waking. The sound from has him paying far less attention to the cool air. Instead, eyes are trained on the woman, jaw is set, and though he hasn't quite tensed, his posture changes somewhat, having him ready to move. The movement that does, after a time, come is an unexpected one, and the rider himself looks surprised at it; for sure enough, as she shifts, so do the furs. And that arm that he's got outside the warmth does indeed reach to tug these back up, so as to avoid any unnecessary early exposure on Vanya's part. Hand is withdrawn just as quickly, clutched against his covered side. Fingers remain splayed, still ready for action. And H'kon's expression of surprise changes to one of basic puzzled concern.
Some women are compulsive cuddlers. Perhaps fortunately for H'kon, Vanya doesn't seem the cuddly type, and is perfectly content to remain on her own side of the bed. Albeit, for the size of the bed, her side takes up at least part of the middle. But, she burrows back down under the furs, unconsciously seeking warmth after the furs shifted slightly. That's when consciousness begins to return, when that cold penetrates and the shivers begin. A few other noises, mostly just "morning" sounds, are heard as Vanya begins to wake. "Mm...?" Eyes blink open, then close again. Her head turns and she sniffs. No, this doesn't smell like her room. Not that it's foul, but it's not /her/ smell. Brow knits. A soft cough. Awareness of someone else near. Eyes open again, focusing. Startlement. Confusion. Realization. Recognition. Remembrance. "Morning." Voice cracking. Not quite fully awake, but too awake to pretend sleep.
Once these morning sounds begin, H'kon props himself up a little more; even if it does mean that his bare chest will be all the more exposed to the cold. His foot, farther down the bed, gives a few impatient twitches at having been awake for a good space of time already, and still lying idle. His foot, needless to say, is mostly ignored for this other... situation. "Yeah," comes a low confirmation for the time of day. "Early. Still dark." The man spares a quick glance toward the dragon couch. Then the squinting goes to locate some form of clothes, and the pants found, which are thankfully within reach, are grabbed before he will look back to Vanya.
It takes Vanya a little longer to wake fully, and it's obvious she's not as eager to depart the warmth of furs and bed as H'kon is. She burrows deeper, though she does turn onto her back beside the man she slept with. Throat is cleared, so her voice is a bit more normal when she does speak. "So I see." Another yawn, and one of those tense body stretches that limber people can do. Back arching, shoulders pressed to the mattress, then legs straightening, toes pointing. Once this is accomplished, she dares to look at him, turning onto her side. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."
As Vanya burrows into the bed, H'kon, taking a quick, deep, bracing breath, pushes himself out of it. Motions are rushed in the tugging on of the same pants that had been discarded so recently. He does pause when fastening the belt as she stretches, watching the motion, expression turning a touch less stern. In all this, the cold can't be forgotten, and, a quick glance failing to reveal the location of his tunic, H'kon sits back down on the mattress, tugging at the corner of cover nearest him. "It's... fine." This attempt at drawing the furs up around him is failing rather miserably, as there's not enough slack for him not to risk uncovering the healer. "I can get your clothes," is added as some sort of excuse, before he's up and trying to track down a shirt.
Vanya frowns slightly, loathe to leave the warmth. "Sure," she comments, turning back toward her side of the bed. "I'm sure my chemise is around here someplace," she remarks, tone kind of dry. "I doubt I tossed it very far from the ... ah, here it is." The item of clothing is located near the bed, and there's wherry-bumps on her arm as she reaches for it. "Shards, it's c-cold." The underdress is dragged back under the covers with her, as is her pair of underwear. The stockings will have to wait until she has clothes on to be found. Or, no, "If you can locate my stockings...?" He did offer, after all. As for everything else? Well, she'll warm them up before she puts them on, thankyouverymuch.
H'kon moves gingerly on the cold floor, opting for the tunic before he even considers finding socks. Though by no means truly warm, the material intercepting the cold air on its way to his skin does much for his comfort level. The gown that had been folded over the chair earlier is gathered, and brought back to the bed. Stockings (ahah!), one of which is near the foot of the mattress, one of which lies off to the side, are also retrieved for Vanya. The furs are eyed wistfully, but, with the woman seemingly dressing beneath them, he contents himself to hug his arms to his chest for warmth. "I'm sorry about the cold."
Students learn all kinds of tricks, including dressing while still in bed to conserve warmth. The chemise and underwear are donned, but Vanya still doesn't seem to want to leave the furs. "It's all right," she assures H'kon. "I'll be ready to dress in a moment. If you ... aren't your feet freezing?" she asks, since he doesn't seem to be wearing anything like socks. "You'll catch your death. At least put your socks on." She manages to finish dressing, and reaches for her stockings and gown. It's still dark in the weyr, but she can at least see the outline of Arekoth on his couch. "Hate to wake him up to take me down," she murmurs.
Being told he's going to catch his death is enough to spark a rather dry, "I'll be fine," from the brownrider. Though he does indeed locate his own socks, and sits on the floor just beside the mattress to don them. He's quick to jump back up from the cold stone ground, standing once more alongside the bed, shifting from foot to foot occasionally, not unlike the movements of candidates' feet on hot sands. "He... I probably half woke him up anyway, when I saw you there." The comment is meant as comforting, and H'kon juts his chin to the side of the bed which Vanya occupies, to explain the exact location of 'there'.
Vanya smiles, bracing herself to flip back the covers and put on her stockings. She manages without shivering too badly, each stocking pulled up a leg and tied in place with the ribbons. They're shapely legs, strong and sturdy. "Well, I guess it was a bit of a spur of the moment thing," she admits. She doesn't say anything or ask anything about the previous night. No need; they both know what happened, after all. "That's better," she says, tucking her legs beneath herself and pulling up the furs. "I'm sorry. It takes a bit for me to get going on cold mornings. But ... I'll hurry, since you likely need to get ready for drills." The gown is tucked beneath the furs for a few minutes, just to take the chill off of it. At least her cloak is fur-lined, and it will help on the way back down.
H'kon certainly notices the shape to her legs, and indeed casts an extended glance or four in Vanya's directions as the stockings are pulled on. "You don't have to hurry too much," he notes, if a touch grudgingly. "We're usually up earlier than we need to be." The cold finally gets the better of him, and H'kon moves to perch on 'his side' of the bed, tucking only his feet beneath the covers, knees pulled up to his chest for whatever extra insulation that will provide above the furs. He looks to her again, even if all that stocking action has since passed. This is a more thoughtful gaze. And it's not without some discomfort, made obvious in his voice and in the sudden motion of his hands at his ankles, that he notes, "I... enjoyed having you..." the trailing end suggests the search for a proper word or two, but in the end, with a slight twitch of an eyebrow, he seems to decide that these words do just fine. A nod gives a bit more finality to the statement.
Let it not be said Vanya is without a sense of humor, and a smile touches her lips at the comment. "And I enjoyed being had," she quips before she can prevent it from slipping out. Perhaps the grin will translate it better than the words, because there's a warmth to it. "I ... thank you for having me up to your weyr," she adds, pulling her dress over her head. Layers of clothes do help to keep out the cold, but like him, she keeps her feet covered for the moment. "Breakfast should be out soon. Hot klah sounds good right now, I don't know about you." Idle chatter. Awkward, perhaps. Make awkward because she doesn't really ever know what to say in situations like this. With E'sere, it was always easy; he did the talking. With D'ven, well, she was always more fuzzy-headed because of the drink. Now...? Well, she's sober and uncertain. "I hope ... it was everything you expected."
H'kon actually laughs at her comment. Of his own accord, no less - for Arekoth is either still asleep, or doing a very good job of pretending to be so. He moves to tuck his arms in about his ribs, and leans forward into upraised knees once more. "Breakfast would be better there," is agreed simply. Any ease in the moment is lost at the talk of expectations, and a sobered brownrider gives the faintest nod of his head. "As I said. I enjoyed it." Hesitation, and with an obvious push he adds, "Very much."
Breakfast. Yes. Something easy to consider, and less difficult to talk of. "Oh, I hope they have those sausages again. They're delicious." And, the thought of food, hot food and hot klah do seem to motivate her somewhat. No more talk of expectations, then. Vanya looks for her shoes; they, too, are near the bed. A few moments beneath the furs and they're warmer. Swinging her legs around, the shoes are put on, and then it's Vanya's turn to stand. The final parts of her clothes are put on, her hair smoothed as best she can. "I can't say I'm looking forward to the trip back down, but it'll be warm in the cavern, at least. And maybe not crowded to the point we can't get a seat near the fire."
H'kon takes a turn toward the detached for further talk of breakfast, a dull nod being sent to the topic of sausages. He stands up from the mattress as well, making quickly for his boots. The relief upon pushing his feet into the fleece-lined footwear is obvious. "It shouldn't be crowded so early, no," H'kon offers, absently, as some sort of agreement. He moves to the chair upon which both her cloak and his riding jacket had been slung. A little nagging frown catches at the corners of his mouth as he makes his way to Vanya, to hold the outerwear out to her. "It was good, then," he more states than asks - though an expectant look is given to her, nonetheless.
Vanya turns to reach for her cloak and her hand brushes his. "Yes, H'kon, it was good," she says, and smiles. There is gentleness in the smile, and warmth. Perhaps it's a sixth sense women have, but she can read the uncertainty in his words, and it touches something inside her. "I'm not all that experienced, but it was nice." And before she can stop herself, she's leaning forward, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. One of her hands reaches up and cups his cheek, fingers cool on his skin. The beard tickles, but she does nothing more than smile.
The touch to his hand finds his eyes straying that way; surely a brush couldn't be totally unexpected, and perhaps there's some other reason for his gaze to settle there. He gets partway into a mumbled, "It's new to me in some-" before he's being kissed. Halting and awkward motions respond to this, with that hand not holding his own coat reaching for her (it settles, strangely almost, on one of her elbows). He doesn't think to return the kiss. He does manage to give a quick rub of his cheek - and as such, of his whiskers as well (thankfully they're in a longer stage, and relatively soft) - to her in return. An uncertainty remains, yes - but there's the vague hint of a smile on nhis face as well.
Those fingers stroke the beard on his face, smoothing it down, combing through it. "I would have thought it not so soft," Vanya comments absently, the smile still on her face. There's affection in her tone of voice, and a hint of humor. "So often beards are wiry." But the touch doesn't last much longer, though it's not an abrupt movement away from him. "New things are good sometimes," she murmurs, and glances down at the hand on her elbow. "You have good hands. Strong. But you don't have to be so tentative when you touch me. I won't break." And still she smiles, even as she brings the cloak up to her shoulders, drawing it on. "We can eat in my room if it's crowded," she offers. "With both braziers, it's actually warm."
H'kon finds his eyelids drifting shut for the fingertips on his face. As soon as this contact is ended, however, his eyes snap back open, and he straightens up a little. For lack of better fidgetting, his jacket is pulled on, though not yet done up. "I guess they can be good," he allows for 'new things'. "I... it's..." Head is given a shake, and he waves a hand dismissively. Nevermind that. The fingers of the hand on her elbow give a twitch before that hand is pulled away, and H'kon nods lightly. "I... okay. Eating in your room would be okay." A glance to Arekoth, who has finally lifted his head. Then, a final inspection to his own hand before he's willing to let it fall to his side, and there's an extraordinarily tentative, "I'll remember. For... next time?"
Vanya's lips curve upwards. "Yes, next time," she says, nodding. At the movement from Arekoth, she turns toward the brown, moving in that direction, detouring only to pick up her basket from the desk. "Morning, Arekoth," she says, reaching a hand to stroke his neck when she's close enough. "While we're eating breakfast, why don't you go soak in the hot springs? On such a cold morning, it might help loosen the muscles." It's only a suggestion, and the brown is free to take it or not, as he chooses. "I do hate to rouse you, but the day awaits, my fine, handsome friend." Now that she's awake, Vanya seems in fine spirits. "If you'll be so kind as to give me a leg up, we'll make this trip as brief as possible." She turns back to H'kon, smiling and waiting for him to join her. "I'll sit behind you and take advantage of you blocking the wind," she teases.
Arekoth offers a happy set of rumbled somethings to Vanya in return for her greeting and recommendations. H'kon has kept back, watching the two, with one lip twitching a bit, in something that looks almost like a sneer - though it lacks in bitterness or anger. The man's expression is the result of momentary troubled thought. Her invite rouses him soon enough from his little brood, and the dragonrider makes his way after her. Arekoth already moves so that he will have little difficulty in manoeuvring off the ledge, while still keeping in the sheltered area for ease of mounting. The brown crouches, a bit awkward, yes, with the right leg extended; the requested leg up. "If I can block it for you," he murmurs, a touch belated, to Vanya in reply. "You really are quite tall." Nevermind if, sat down, the height issue is a different story.
"I'll scrunch down behind you," Vanya assures H'kon, chuckling. "You'd be surprised how small I can make myself to keep out of the cold wind." She manages to maneuver herself onto the leg, then up onto the neck ridge, settling into place with practiced ease. She gives Arekoth a pat, thanking him for the boost, then sets about fastening straps. Even for that small flight, yes. The wind is still howling outside, and she's no wish to be swept off a dragon's back. It's not the fall she minds; it's the landing. "Yes, I'm tall, but that comes in handy sometimes, too. Especially reaching for upper shelves. I don't often have to use a step stool. Of course, there are disadvantages, too. I used to slouch a lot since I towered over my cousins. They're both petite. The perfect Lord Holder's children."
H'kon makes his own way up to settle behind a neckridge, offering a quick, good morning smack to the side of the dragon's neck as he does so. Amicable, of course. The treatise on tallness is listened to, with the occasional nod, as he, too, attaches his straps. Perhaps more because Vanya had done so than for any fear of safety. Arekoth, passengers aboard, stands on three legs, rolling that left forepaw about testily a few times. "Lord Holder?" H'kon manages to ask, though the second word is almost lost as the dragon makes an un-announced jump into the winds.
Vanya doesn't really give much of an answer to this, especially since Arekoth is now heading out to the ledge and the wind howls even louder out there than inside. "I'll explain later," she says, leaning close to H'kon's ear to speak. True to her word, she scrunches down behind him, and he does block some of the wind. Her head rests on his back, face turned to the side, eyes closed. the cold cuts through every layer of clothing she wears like a knife through soft cheese, and her body involuntarily shakes. It's not that far down, but precautions need to be taken in such a fierce wind, so it takes time to get to the bowl.
H'kon finds himself doing his best to keep his shoulders broad, and his frame turned into the wind, an instinct no doubt in part buoyed by the feel of the woman hiding at his back. Arekoth goes about proving that his boasts of strength are well-founded, wing movements powerful and precise as he navigates the winds and snow. Leaving his wind-blocking to instinct, and whatever secondary information on the gusts that oozes to his brain via his lifemate, H'kon focuses his conscious attention on the upcoming landing. The man does not desire a repeat of last night's limb-twisting.
Vanya, for her part, is content to leave the flying to the experts, concentrating on making herself as small and compact as she can behind the shorter H'kon. Short, but broad, yes. And those are powerful shoulders she ducks behind. There's certainly nothing wrong with H'kon's physique; he has the fit constitution of a rider, and she's felt the strength of those hands and arms. And there's certainly nothing small about his intellect or his ingenuity, both of which Vanya has come to admire. And Arekoth is proving himself quite able in tackling the wind; nothing wrong with his take off, and the landing is sufficiently smooth to not risk further injury. once the dragon's touched down in the bowl, she makes quick work of the straps, perhaps eager to reach warmth inside.
Arekoth crouches as low as he can, in such a position so that his body will block the majority of the winds while the pair of humans slide to the ground. H'kon frees himself from the straps, dropping to the ground as per the original plan. He is nowhere near as rushed as Vanya seems to be to get to the warmth of the caverns. Tilting his head so as to take any winds off the side of his head rather than straight on his face, his eyes close for a quick and quiet conversation. Only then does the brownrider head for the caverns proper, still prepared to do what he can to block the elements from the healer. Arekoth, once his services are no longer required, sets off for the dragon baths, as was suggested.
Vanya's Room
There isn't much a person can do to disguise the fact this room is little more than a cave. The walls are stone, smoothed by hand or by some long-forgotten or long-gone machine used by those who first built the weyr. The door is solid wood, sturdy, the fixtures utilitarian. The basic furniture is all there -- bed, table, two chairs, wall shelves and a wooden storage chest. Simple. As is the occupant, since there is little in the way of fancy knickknacks or personal possessions. The bed has plain sheets, two down-filled pillows, and a warm, woven blanket in dark green. The chest holds clothes, and more blankets as a bastion against the cold, High Reaches winter. A glow basket hangs from the wall over the bed, another sits on the table, glows replenished whenever needed by those unseen people who perform this task.
On a shelf above the table are a bottle of ink, writing instruments, sand and some already prepared hides. Very rare and precious paper documents are carefully arranged on another shelf, held down by a polished stone collected from some place. Yet another shelf holds vials and bottles of lotions, astringents, and other containers of herbs and oils. The only luxurious thing here, if it can be called that, is a hand-made rug that lies beside the bed on top of a thick layer of reeds. Stone floors are notoriously cold on bare feet. A black cloak hangs on a peg by the door, as does a gittern, the instrument carefully wrapped in a protective bag. A basket, leather satchel and two pairs of boots sit on the floor beneath.
Although not nearly as crowded as it will be soon, there's a chill in the air of the living cavern. Those few who are up and about pay little heed to the pair as they enter. Vanya pauses only long enough to determine that breakfast is already on the serving tables before heading in that direction. A quick word with a drudge produces a tray, and she busies herself gathering dishes and utensils. "If you'll grab us a pitcher of klah," she suggests to H'kon, "we can take this back to my room." She still hasn't shaken off the chill from being dragonback in the snow and icy wind, and her cheeks are reddened by the cold. "I guess you're used to flying in that weather, but I'm not. I'm freezing." Food gathered -- a healthy selection of fruit, bread, meat and cheese -- she leads the way through the nearly deserted lower caverns to her room. The door is nudged open with one hand, while the other balances the tray. Once she sets the tray down on the table, she turns to light both braziers and open glows. Small as the room is, the coals soon have warmth in the air.
H'kon's posture doesn't change much as they leave the wintery weather for the shelter of the caverns; his shoulders remain squared and firm, but this time it's in preparation for a crowd. Which turns out not to be there. Either way, the brownrider is in a defensive mindset as he moves in for a pitcher of klah. Glowers are swapped with a drudge (who, her icy demeanour toward the man would suggest, knows him from some past experience), but thankfully, H'kon's will to move after Vanya prevents any further incident. After looping his fingers through the handles of two empty mugs, he follows the woman from the main living caverns to her room. Once inside, the tray is given a repositioning nudge so that the klah may also be set on the table. Mugs join it, and he steps back to admire his handywork. Looking at the table only lasts so long, though, and soon his standing in the middle of the room seems awkward. Especially once the twitching of bored feet starts.
Once the braziers are lighted, Vanya turns her attention to removing her cloak, which is hung on its peg. The basket it deposited on the floor beneath it, and then she's free to turn her attention to the food. Fortunately, it's not far from her room to the living cavern, and it's still hot. "Don't stand on ceremony, H'kon," she says, moving to a chair. "I'm starved. Pour us some klah, and I'll get things set up." She does just this, removing plates and bowls from the tray, and arranging them for ease of reach. "There's sweetener if you'd like, and salt. On the shelves. I'm fine as it is." And she must be, for she picks up a fork and spears one of those sausages. "Dara used to bring me breakfast every morning when I was on duty in the infirmary," she remarks. "She's the one who makes these." Obviously meaning the sausage.
H'kon arches a brow to her, watching Vanya's motions for a moment. Shifting his weight from one foot on to the other, H'kon does fill the first mug. This is pushed in the woman's direction, and then his own mug is filled. "Fine without," is his near-muttered response to the offer of sweetener and salt. He glances about him, finding a chair and dragging it up behind him, only to flop into it. Before setting to finding food, his head is tilted first to one side, then to another, to get some decent cracks from the neck. And then he too is securing a sausage. This is eyed. "Oh," is all he can think to say for the background information. Nevermind; he'll focus on biting the thing, and settling into the new setting; there's still an uneasiness about him.
The shiver running down Vanya now has nothing to do with the cold. "Ew. That just /sounds/ painful," she manages around a bite of the sausage. "I know it likely isn't, but that always reminds me of bones breaking." She chuckles softly, shaking her head, then applying her attention to the food. It doesn't take the room long to heat up, and soon it's quite cozy there. "See what I mean about the braziers? I don't know if they have any larger ones left, but there were some down in stores. They burn wood or a type of firestone, and it makes things a lot more comfortable." She picks up a piece of bread spread with butter and jam, biting. Klah follows. "There's furniture there, too. Nothing fancy, but good and serviceable. That's where I got my bed. They have larger ones, too." Hints? Maybe. "Suggestion, only," she assures the rider. "Even mattresses not stuffed with straw. Comfortable, too."
H'kon sets the fork'd sausage down, to remove that riding jacket. This is left to hang on the back of his chair, thus keeping him from having to get up. "I think what I've got in my weyr works just fine," he notes, unable to keep that slightly defensive tone from his voice. "My life stays relatively simple. I don't need much." Perhaps as something of a peace offering, he adds, "I might look into the brazier." Then it's back to the sausage, which is quickly finished. A piece of fruit is grabbed next, inspected carefully, but not yet lifted to his mouth. Shifting in his chair, H'kon glances around this room once more.
Vanya doesn't press the issue, merely nods. She eats in silence for a little longer, then quietly says, "I wasn't meaning to make you think there was anything wrong with the way you have things in your weyr. I was only suggesting maybe a few things might make it more comfortable if --" She stops, then looks down at the tray a moment. "Never mind. It was just a suggestion. The brazier might make it better for Arekoth's leg, as well. Heat is a good healer. Which reminds me. I should work with him again soon. Maybe tonight after dinner. He's moving well with it, though. That was a smooth landing this morning, even with that awful cross wind."
"If... oh." Being told not to mind has H'kon doing his very best to push the curiosity from his mind. His eyes close, and stay this way as he notes, "He would like that. And," the right eye is opened, "tonight should be okay for it." Right eye opens, too. "Later, though. There... are things I would like to do, once our duties to the Weyr are dealt with." Finally a bite is taken of that bit of fruit (which he's, of course, been playing with this whole time).
Vanya nods, but doesn't elaborate on what she told him to never mind. If he cannot figure it out for himself, perhaps she'll come back to it some time. Or, he can ask another rider what a woman might mean by mentioning something like that. "Oh? You have some projects to finish? If that's the case, I can wait to work with Arekoth until tomorrow night, or something. He seems to be doing well on his own, with just the exercises. I didn't notice his limp being quite as pronounced as it was before we started." The bread is finished, and it's on to another sausage.
H'kon gives his head a shake. "Today will be fine," he insists, taking on that tone that gives things a certain finality. It's closely followed with a less confident note of, "Unless you're going to be busy tonight. Like, if you want to sleep or anything, then I suppose it's no difference. You say he can wait." The brownrider shrugs, and takes another bite of fruit. His left leg, the foot of which is tucked beneath the chair, takes to a quiet bouncing. Excess energy.
"I'm fine with either," Vanya assures him. "I'm not particularly busy today, and my evening is totally free. I'll catch a couple more hours of sleep, since Sinopa's not going to be out and about much with all this bad weather." She pauses, then gives a soft sigh. "I just wish one of the queens would rise and eliminate all this waiting. At this point, I don't care if it's Tialith or Citalth, but one of them needs to rise soon." She shakes her head, looking troubled. "A large clutch would do a world of good on so many levels." Her klah mug is picked up, cupped in both hands, but not immediately sipped. "As much as I hope Citalth rises, I think Roa would make a good weyrwoman. A lot of people seem to like her, well enough, and we really do need an active, participating weyrleader. J'cor is ... since Karth cannot fly, that's got to weigh heavily on the riders."
"This evening, then," H'kon confirms, sitting up a little bit straighter. "One will rise soon. If the Weyr's situation is desperate enough," the brownrider adds, faith quite unshakable. The mention of J'cor's Karth has the browrider going relatively quiet. "We will see who it is," he finally murmurs on this topic. "More change..."
"Change can be good, H'kon," Vanya says, slowing down with her eating, and stifling a bit of a yawn. "Not all change, maybe, but things have to change or they stagnate. Nothing grows in stagnate water. It all dies, gets choked and dies. So ... maybe it's time for a change in the way things are. Maybe not as drastic as the Instigators wanted, but in order for people to progress, there needs to be some change, some new things introduced to encourage that growth." Another moment has her yawning again. "That's the problem with being warm and fed. You get sleepy." She sits back in her chair, stretching her feet out toward one of the braziers.
H'kon apparently isn't much for this certain morning meal. He's been picking at the food brought in to the woman's room, at best. "I suppose," is given, less than enthusiastically, in return. H'kon does not press the issue further, though remains quiet for a good moment. The foot-twitching continues, and his brow takes up a crease before he's set to move on. He does, however, glancing up to Vanya, almost startled by his own internal subject change. "Perhaps you should sleep, then. Arekoth and I do have drills this morning..." Half-eaten, the bit of fruit is left on his plate, and H'kon gets to his feet, sweeping his jacket off the back of the chair, clearly pleased even for this bit of movement.
Vanya nods. "All right, then," she says, nodding. "Thanks for sharing breakfast with me," she adds, abandoning the rest uneaten. "I'll see the tray gets taken back to the kitchen later." It's hard for Vanya to miss that repressed energy, but chooses not to comment. There are, after all, some things inherent in a person, and restless movement is apparently something inborn with this man. "I'd say enjoy yourself, but somehow enjoy and that weather out there just don't seem to match up this morning. The thought of drills up there in the wind and snow make me cold thinking about it." She chuckles. "Clear skies doesn't seem appropriate, either, somehow. So, perhaps take care and I'll see you and Arekoth tonight will have to do. As for me, I'm going to curl up under my quilts and catch some sleep before braving the day." She smiles, rising. Moving to H'kon's side, she presses a brief kiss to his bearded cheek. "Be careful."
"Cold, yes," H'kon confirms, pausing near her before making for the door. Surely this will at least give Arekoth time to get himself out of the baths. "But it will be a good exercise. I'm... sure we will enjoy it." There's that awkward, off-centred smile. Her kiss to his cheek still comes off as foreign to him, and he does shoot a questioning look to Vanya; but, a shake of his head neglects any further exploration of that thought which is puzzling him. "Until later tonight, then..." And casting about his brain for the perfect adieu yields only, "Sleep well." And with that, he's out the door.