Happenstance with Lady High Reaches
WHO: Sian, R'vain
WHEN: day 22, month 4, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
WHERE: Caucus Office
WHAT: Sian offers to fix R'vain's stubbly-jaw issues. And some other stuff happens.
OTHER: This log here immediately precedes the log below.
Sian strides into the office, dumping three scrolls onto an empty desk and muttering something not very polite about 'inbreeding' and 'morons' and 'shell-shocked riders' or maybe that's just what it -sounds- like until she looks up and notices the two of you present. A polite smile is suddenly firmly in place and she offers a nod of her head to R'vain first, then the other lady. "My apologies. I didn't mean to intrude."
Nessila purses her lips at the rather obvious approach taken by the man she is supposedly tutoring "Very well, it would not be improper of me to educate you in your table manners. From all I have seen they could probably do with a considerable polish. I shall arrange a suitable location for us to taken a meal together. As well as the relevant attendants" Not alone then. She may not be as innocent and naive as 'lady of the Blood' suggests. At the arrival of another she turns and nods very politely "My Lady Sian. You could never intrude. I was merely assisting our Weyrlingmaster in some matters of personal etiquette"
If 'lady of the Blood' suggests innocent /or/ naive, R'vain's demeanor would not support any hypothesis asserting that he's aware of such suggestion. He turns upon Sian's intrusion, allowing quite tidily for Nessila to do the work of replying. The Lady Nerat's words only make him grin ever more so, white teeth shining. His manners could use polishing, but good luck cleaning out the mind. "I am perfectly accustomed to eating among rank," he observes, and further reminds Nessila, "and among servants." There is subtext there, something else he might say but, upon observing the Reachian Lady's general spirits and attitude, keeps to himself. "The Lady Nessila is quite right. Besides, I am the intruder here; this is the Caucus' chamber, not mine." There is a little sharpness about that. "I will leave you both to your work. Certainly I've been interruption enough."
Her voice dips into a near purr as Sian warms the smile just enough to bring some light into her eyes. "Please, do not run off on /my/ account, good sir. If the Lady Nessila is to see to your table manners, perhaps there are...other areas of polish you might wish to be educated on?" Calculated and precise, Sian offers a hand to R'vain. "A man of such talent and skill should always be willing to improve those...skills at a moment's notice, yes?" There's a pause, before she adds "..Or was that /prove/ skills? I do get that confused at times."
Nessila turns away to conceal her own amusement, and makes some show of returning her teaching utensils to their proper place "I think perhaps our lesson is concluded for today. Too much education will keep the riderman from his appointed duties. I could never forgive myself."
R'vain, ensnared, does look minimally discomfited. There are now, perhaps, officially one too many bodies in the office for his comfort. But he puts out a hand to lift Sian's fingers upon, and as is becoming his custom today bends a bit over them in a shallow bow before straightening and setting her fingers free. "Perhaps, Lady. But as much as I might like to /prove/ such improvement for your benefit-- " He pauses long enough to whet his lips with a brief lash of his tongue, glances at Nessila and back to Sian. "-- I think I've taken enough of the Lady Nerat's valuable time."
"Mmm...perhaps." Sian offers in reply, interlacing her fingers in front of her skirts as she watches the man like a particularly interesting breed of bug. "Lady Nessila, Lord Samian and I would consider having you join us for dinner sometime soon. I do hope that won't interfere with your...teaching duties too much, will it?" She turns to Nessila, the gaze now much sharper. "I'll look forward to discussing it with you anon." Then back to R'vain. "Tsk...good sir. We must see that you present a fine and proper representation of the skills of the Caucus teachers and as such, we may need to find you an attendant."
Nessila bobs ever so ever so, almost not noticable, to Sian "I will be at your immediate disposal, My Lady. I shall await the summons with anticpiation." There, everything tidied away. She thens ays "I must bid your leave now. I have to prepare my lessons for tomorrow. If you will excuse me. My lady, sir." That done she heads on her way.
Nessila has left.
R'vain's toothy grin disappears. In its place arrives the far more subdued smile of someone whose primary purpose has just changed: no stalker he, now. Just a fly on a wall, listening and filing notes away. "Thank you, Lady," says the Weyrlingmaster in lieu of some other, more proper farewell, and he says it so very far under his breath that there's little chance Nessila would have caught it anyway. He turns back toward Sian, who of course would have heard, not being half out the door. For her, he arranges a somewhat less keen, even lazy expression, and overturns a paw in indifference. "An attendant, Lady? The Weyr serves up drudges enough to keep up with my weyrlings; I am by comparison no excessive burden upon their service." When sober, at least. "And it's hardly a rider's place to be followed about by the type of attendant my Lady's station might befit. So I must ask what you mean."
"Perhaps someone to stop by your weyr of a morning to insure that your clothes are attended to and your beard is properly shaven?" Sian shifts demeanor slightly now that Nessila is out of the room too. A hand half-lifts, then lowers again. "If you wish a lady to be more interested in touching your face, it helps if it is smooth-shaven."
There is all kind of potential in answering this remark, potential that the grin R'vain wore when Sian first intruded upon his 'lesson' with Nessila might suggest he'd fulfill, in that Lady's company. But this is a different Lady. "A good point, and well taken, Lady. But it is not in my manner to overstep my bounds." He must say this kind of thing often; he lies with a straight face. "Perhaps the Weyrleader," a title he manages to sneer only the very slightest bit around, "rates such attention, but I have never. /My/ work is dirty stuff, with the hatchlings and all. There are few enough mornings I can guarantee the day wouldn't spoil all that care."
A soft 'tsk' and Sian moves closer, hand lifting now, hovering just out of reach of your cheek, eyes meeting yours. "Some jobs are done because they are necessary, some are done because they put us in a position of convenience for learning...things." The desire to touch is there, and the faint hint of fear at your position and male status. Bold, yes, but not foolish. Usually.
A drunkard, certainly; a raging tyrant in the barracks, indeed; a terror to the girls in the lower caverns, quite likely. But R'vain is not quite an idiot. "I can only assume, Lady, your belief is that a smooth jaw," unlike the rough one he turns just to the side so her hand has its touch, its apparent desire fulfilled without any trace of gentle intrigue on his part, "would put me in a position to learn 'things.' And what would my lady have me do with them should I learn them?" The muscle now beneath her fingertips tightens, his expression cool, even a little glaring. As if she has some nerve-- and by grace of Blood and that alone has his attentive respect just the same.
Fingers are smooth and lightly scented, and Sian touches the rough cheek for a moment, a faint hint of longing flickering, for the observant, deep in the back of her eyes before she slowly draws her fingers down the stubble and away before she lets the hand lightly settle for a moment on your chest. "Use them to put you in the very position you are best created to be. Some men are born to power, some are given it, and others attain it by skill and prowess." Gotta give her points for guts. She may be Blood, but she is woman - daring much by approaching a dragonrider...and one such as you.
"Believe me, Lady, the idea has occurred to me." R'vain lifts his hand to cover her fingers upon his chest and levels his emerald regard upon her; those eyes glare and glitter, as hard as the gems they might reflect. If he sees something of desire deep in the depth of /her/ gaze, she will find in /his/ the vague creeping vines of suspicion. And his hand over hers? Hardly a sweet gesture. It is as if he's caught a dagger just before it might pierce his heart. "And if you believe you stand to benefit from my advantage then by all means, say how you would help me accomplish it."
A faint intake of breath at the firm grip on her hand and Sian lifts her eyes to meet yours. "High Reaches is my home. My son may be Lord, but my word still holds much weight with him." She swallows and adds softly. "I don't appreciate being 'ordered' to supply guards to watch /my/ people. I have...many reasons to see things change."
The Weyrlingmaster seems to weigh this notion for a time, perhaps against the suspicion in his cool regard. "And I do not appreciate the Hold's guards being posted at a Weyr protected adequately by riders /I/ trained," he replies after a time, intonation musing, as if he is toying with the notion of the Lady's suggestions. Slowly his hand unclasps from hers, drifting away with a savory stroke of his thumb drawn up between two of her fingers before he drops that paw back to his side. "Tell me what I must do, then, in your opinion. And if it involves this attendant-- how I know I trust him." A pause, in which cruel amusement props up his mouth in a white-toothed smirk. "Or her."
"In light of your...training needs." Sian begins, watching your face, "Perhaps /I/ could be persuaded to come to your weyr of a morning and assist in 'overseeing' your grooming? I used to shave my father, and late husband, for special events." She leaves her hand in place after you remove yours, for all of a span of heartbeats, then lets it slowly slide lower before she draws it away. "An alliance with me would not be something to shy away from."
R'vain's brows go up. It is not a subtle expression. "My thanks, my Lady, for the offer. But you have not answered my question." Ouch. "Perhaps if I see to my own shave, you would be willing to stop by and advise me on technique." He presents her with a smile, settling his brows back into place. "At least that would not require you to lower yourself to attending my grooming yourself. And while I work at it, we could discuss alliances." Now he puts out his hand, palm up, as if he would once more lift her fingers in that courting gesture he used in greeting her.
Sian's expression stills and she takes a step back, hands folding before her. "I have attempted to meet with you more than once, R'vain, and now you seem to feel that you can manage your political maneuverings on your own? I wish you the best of luck, then, in all your endeavors." Apparently it's an all or nothing deal.
The Weyrlingmaster's paw retracts, finding a new resting place in the crook of his opposite elbow, arms closing across his chest. He tips his goateed chin down, regarding the Lady High Reaches from beneath the flare of red lashes. "I am not hard to find, Lady Sian. If you have looked for me before, then you will surely understand that I find it a little bizarre that the circumstance of our meeting must, for whatever reason, involve your hands, my throat, and a fine blade."
Blink. Blink..blink. Sian suddenly starts to giggle. She lifts her fingers to her lips and lowers her lashes and chuckles like a young girl. "Oh, forgive me, good sir, but...I had not thought of it from /that/ particular angle. I have no interest in slitting /your/ sweet throat, Weyrlingmaster." She seems highly amused and put a bit off her guard.
Again: not an idiot. And not a very trusting sort, either. R'vain clearly does not buy it, but upon her word somewhat relents. "Then what advantage do you expect to have in this peculiar agreement?" His arms unfold and he takes a step away, an excuse to half-turn and eye the door along the line of his shoulder. Voice a bit lower, and a bit tired: "Other than the assurance I'm likely to have a smoother jaw by your hand than my own."
The laughter softens and Sian glances at the door herself, then moves towards it and leans against it, effectively blocking it for the moment. "May I speak plainly then? Without fear of reprisal?" Yes, if your judgement of body language is at all clear, she's being brutally honest and blunt.
Perhaps the man is not so great a judge of body language-- his own continues to telegraph mistrust. But he smiles as she blocks off the door, so it cannot trouble him too much to be trapped within. Still, he keeps his voice low, as though just outside might await prying ears. "Of course," says he in that soft tone, overturning his hand again; this time, the gesture is supplicant. "I give that much to anyone, Lady, on any subject." So he turns toward her, expectant, somewhat smiling.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but as a woman, I have little power." Right. "It would suit me better to have someone of your...stature...as a buffer between myself and the vagaries of the world. In exchange, I can see to it that you present a much more powerful and 'together' image, one that speaks of someone more likely to be able to handle true power instead of the illusion of it that they try to pacify you with." Sian pauses, watching your face. A faint shrug and she murmurs. "We can try it for a little while. See how we both fare with it. If it works, great. If not, then we were each just another of the other's dalliances, no?"
R'vain's mouth twists somewhat, but whatever sour taste her initial words inspire upon his tongue, the way she goes on sweetens the brew. 'Pacify' brings out a soft snort and a singular, violent nod, and it is apparent from there how this must go. "You speak with sensibility. I still think your plan a little odd-- " He need not add that he doesn't trust those hands, especially since he remarks enough upon them with a glance of emerald that falls from her eyes to her fingers and slides swiftly back up. "But I will make my weyr presentable for you. Should I expect you a certain day or will you be at your convenience? I can suggest a rider to bring you up-- " His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, abruptly cutting that off. "I'm sure you have your own preferences."
"My plan is odd, but that way, no one could guess it." Sian grins at you, a hint of relief in her expression. "I could meet you tomorrow, and you could escort me yourself?" She pauses for a long moment, then steps away from the door and towards you, both hands offered, palms down. "R'vain, I would be a fool to try and hurt a dragonrider, nevermind one of your power and stature. I respect the dragons too much, for one, and honor what you and yours do, for another."
R'vain rumbles a note of thoughtful dissent, but does not give voice to his no-vote on the Lady's assertion. Instead he steps forward and puts his hands out, palms curled and tipped to the side, making shelves upon which to take each of her hands and gently, slightly lift them. "Lady Sian. I expect you respect the dragons' penchant for obedience to their betters and swift sharing of private information." His mouth twitches, a smile teasing its corners. After a moment he gives into it and grins upon her, eyes wicked gleaming. "I assure you I share neither trait." He bends then, daring enough this time to aim kisses at the backs of her knuckles, first one hand, then the other.
Fingers curl into yours and Sian laughs softly, eyes shining as you kiss her knuckles. As first one hand is kissed, then the other, Sian slowly rolls them over within your grip, now showing them palm up. A sign of trust and openness. "And the fact that they are just so...large." Size matters? "So, you neither have obedience to your betters nor a swift sharing of private information? That sounds quite...fun."
"Consider what my betters have done, Lady." R'vain turns his hands, after a moment, just enough so that he may slide his thumbs into her palms. The broad nails could stand a little cleaning, but the skin is soft enough from dragon-hide oil, and he is adequately confident in his touch to insinuate slow circles across the muscles of the largest thumb-joint. "And I am sure you see value in the ability to keep a secret. But indeed, I do keep myself entertained. Perhaps I can keep you entertained as well." A beat. "Where shall I meet you, and when? I-- " --can't quite help a widening of grin, a show of teeth-- "don't want to interrupt your work."
No, she will /not/ let her knees tremble at that touch like some untried girl. Sian takes a slow breath that does - interesting - things to her bodice, not wholly unintended. "I have no classes to teach tomorrow, so, at your whim is most easily entertained." she offers, voice soft. "And keeping a secret is often a matter of life and breath, is it not?"
"Oh, indeed." The Weyrlingmaster's thumbs slide a firm course down the palms of her hands to the space between the largest fingers' joints. Then he releases her hands and redirects his eyes, using a tip of his head as a sparing bow and an excuse for what his gaze has been up to. "Tomorrow, then. Come by the feeding grounds gate a little after dawn; I'll leave some weyrlings there to get carcasses and take my time getting back to the barracks."
Curling her fingers in to her palms, Sian almost seems to want to hold on to that sensation before she once more, primly, interlaces fingers before her. "I'll be there. I'll save my breaking of the fast until after we've groomed you, then perhaps we can talk more over klah and bread?"
"That would be," replies R'vain with a smile, "a pleasure." Another tip of his head, this one somewhat final of note. "Thank you, Lady, for keeping me. But I think now I really must get back to my charges. Unless there's anything else, will you excuse me?"
"Of course, R'vain. Thank you for your time. I'll see you in the morning." Sian murmurs, offering a nod of her head and a soft smile. "Do enjoy the rest of your day?"
"I will. You've brightened it considerably." R'vain turns for the door, opens it, and is halfway through before turning again. "I am-- " The grin becomes cheshire again. "As ever, your servant. Good afternoon." Then, he's gone.
WHEN: day 22, month 4, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
WHERE: Caucus Office
WHAT: Sian offers to fix R'vain's stubbly-jaw issues. And some other stuff happens.
OTHER: This log here immediately precedes the log below.
Sian strides into the office, dumping three scrolls onto an empty desk and muttering something not very polite about 'inbreeding' and 'morons' and 'shell-shocked riders' or maybe that's just what it -sounds- like until she looks up and notices the two of you present. A polite smile is suddenly firmly in place and she offers a nod of her head to R'vain first, then the other lady. "My apologies. I didn't mean to intrude."
Nessila purses her lips at the rather obvious approach taken by the man she is supposedly tutoring "Very well, it would not be improper of me to educate you in your table manners. From all I have seen they could probably do with a considerable polish. I shall arrange a suitable location for us to taken a meal together. As well as the relevant attendants" Not alone then. She may not be as innocent and naive as 'lady of the Blood' suggests. At the arrival of another she turns and nods very politely "My Lady Sian. You could never intrude. I was merely assisting our Weyrlingmaster in some matters of personal etiquette"
If 'lady of the Blood' suggests innocent /or/ naive, R'vain's demeanor would not support any hypothesis asserting that he's aware of such suggestion. He turns upon Sian's intrusion, allowing quite tidily for Nessila to do the work of replying. The Lady Nerat's words only make him grin ever more so, white teeth shining. His manners could use polishing, but good luck cleaning out the mind. "I am perfectly accustomed to eating among rank," he observes, and further reminds Nessila, "and among servants." There is subtext there, something else he might say but, upon observing the Reachian Lady's general spirits and attitude, keeps to himself. "The Lady Nessila is quite right. Besides, I am the intruder here; this is the Caucus' chamber, not mine." There is a little sharpness about that. "I will leave you both to your work. Certainly I've been interruption enough."
Her voice dips into a near purr as Sian warms the smile just enough to bring some light into her eyes. "Please, do not run off on /my/ account, good sir. If the Lady Nessila is to see to your table manners, perhaps there are...other areas of polish you might wish to be educated on?" Calculated and precise, Sian offers a hand to R'vain. "A man of such talent and skill should always be willing to improve those...skills at a moment's notice, yes?" There's a pause, before she adds "..Or was that /prove/ skills? I do get that confused at times."
Nessila turns away to conceal her own amusement, and makes some show of returning her teaching utensils to their proper place "I think perhaps our lesson is concluded for today. Too much education will keep the riderman from his appointed duties. I could never forgive myself."
R'vain, ensnared, does look minimally discomfited. There are now, perhaps, officially one too many bodies in the office for his comfort. But he puts out a hand to lift Sian's fingers upon, and as is becoming his custom today bends a bit over them in a shallow bow before straightening and setting her fingers free. "Perhaps, Lady. But as much as I might like to /prove/ such improvement for your benefit-- " He pauses long enough to whet his lips with a brief lash of his tongue, glances at Nessila and back to Sian. "-- I think I've taken enough of the Lady Nerat's valuable time."
"Mmm...perhaps." Sian offers in reply, interlacing her fingers in front of her skirts as she watches the man like a particularly interesting breed of bug. "Lady Nessila, Lord Samian and I would consider having you join us for dinner sometime soon. I do hope that won't interfere with your...teaching duties too much, will it?" She turns to Nessila, the gaze now much sharper. "I'll look forward to discussing it with you anon." Then back to R'vain. "Tsk...good sir. We must see that you present a fine and proper representation of the skills of the Caucus teachers and as such, we may need to find you an attendant."
Nessila bobs ever so ever so, almost not noticable, to Sian "I will be at your immediate disposal, My Lady. I shall await the summons with anticpiation." There, everything tidied away. She thens ays "I must bid your leave now. I have to prepare my lessons for tomorrow. If you will excuse me. My lady, sir." That done she heads on her way.
Nessila has left.
R'vain's toothy grin disappears. In its place arrives the far more subdued smile of someone whose primary purpose has just changed: no stalker he, now. Just a fly on a wall, listening and filing notes away. "Thank you, Lady," says the Weyrlingmaster in lieu of some other, more proper farewell, and he says it so very far under his breath that there's little chance Nessila would have caught it anyway. He turns back toward Sian, who of course would have heard, not being half out the door. For her, he arranges a somewhat less keen, even lazy expression, and overturns a paw in indifference. "An attendant, Lady? The Weyr serves up drudges enough to keep up with my weyrlings; I am by comparison no excessive burden upon their service." When sober, at least. "And it's hardly a rider's place to be followed about by the type of attendant my Lady's station might befit. So I must ask what you mean."
"Perhaps someone to stop by your weyr of a morning to insure that your clothes are attended to and your beard is properly shaven?" Sian shifts demeanor slightly now that Nessila is out of the room too. A hand half-lifts, then lowers again. "If you wish a lady to be more interested in touching your face, it helps if it is smooth-shaven."
There is all kind of potential in answering this remark, potential that the grin R'vain wore when Sian first intruded upon his 'lesson' with Nessila might suggest he'd fulfill, in that Lady's company. But this is a different Lady. "A good point, and well taken, Lady. But it is not in my manner to overstep my bounds." He must say this kind of thing often; he lies with a straight face. "Perhaps the Weyrleader," a title he manages to sneer only the very slightest bit around, "rates such attention, but I have never. /My/ work is dirty stuff, with the hatchlings and all. There are few enough mornings I can guarantee the day wouldn't spoil all that care."
A soft 'tsk' and Sian moves closer, hand lifting now, hovering just out of reach of your cheek, eyes meeting yours. "Some jobs are done because they are necessary, some are done because they put us in a position of convenience for learning...things." The desire to touch is there, and the faint hint of fear at your position and male status. Bold, yes, but not foolish. Usually.
A drunkard, certainly; a raging tyrant in the barracks, indeed; a terror to the girls in the lower caverns, quite likely. But R'vain is not quite an idiot. "I can only assume, Lady, your belief is that a smooth jaw," unlike the rough one he turns just to the side so her hand has its touch, its apparent desire fulfilled without any trace of gentle intrigue on his part, "would put me in a position to learn 'things.' And what would my lady have me do with them should I learn them?" The muscle now beneath her fingertips tightens, his expression cool, even a little glaring. As if she has some nerve-- and by grace of Blood and that alone has his attentive respect just the same.
Fingers are smooth and lightly scented, and Sian touches the rough cheek for a moment, a faint hint of longing flickering, for the observant, deep in the back of her eyes before she slowly draws her fingers down the stubble and away before she lets the hand lightly settle for a moment on your chest. "Use them to put you in the very position you are best created to be. Some men are born to power, some are given it, and others attain it by skill and prowess." Gotta give her points for guts. She may be Blood, but she is woman - daring much by approaching a dragonrider...and one such as you.
"Believe me, Lady, the idea has occurred to me." R'vain lifts his hand to cover her fingers upon his chest and levels his emerald regard upon her; those eyes glare and glitter, as hard as the gems they might reflect. If he sees something of desire deep in the depth of /her/ gaze, she will find in /his/ the vague creeping vines of suspicion. And his hand over hers? Hardly a sweet gesture. It is as if he's caught a dagger just before it might pierce his heart. "And if you believe you stand to benefit from my advantage then by all means, say how you would help me accomplish it."
A faint intake of breath at the firm grip on her hand and Sian lifts her eyes to meet yours. "High Reaches is my home. My son may be Lord, but my word still holds much weight with him." She swallows and adds softly. "I don't appreciate being 'ordered' to supply guards to watch /my/ people. I have...many reasons to see things change."
The Weyrlingmaster seems to weigh this notion for a time, perhaps against the suspicion in his cool regard. "And I do not appreciate the Hold's guards being posted at a Weyr protected adequately by riders /I/ trained," he replies after a time, intonation musing, as if he is toying with the notion of the Lady's suggestions. Slowly his hand unclasps from hers, drifting away with a savory stroke of his thumb drawn up between two of her fingers before he drops that paw back to his side. "Tell me what I must do, then, in your opinion. And if it involves this attendant-- how I know I trust him." A pause, in which cruel amusement props up his mouth in a white-toothed smirk. "Or her."
"In light of your...training needs." Sian begins, watching your face, "Perhaps /I/ could be persuaded to come to your weyr of a morning and assist in 'overseeing' your grooming? I used to shave my father, and late husband, for special events." She leaves her hand in place after you remove yours, for all of a span of heartbeats, then lets it slowly slide lower before she draws it away. "An alliance with me would not be something to shy away from."
R'vain's brows go up. It is not a subtle expression. "My thanks, my Lady, for the offer. But you have not answered my question." Ouch. "Perhaps if I see to my own shave, you would be willing to stop by and advise me on technique." He presents her with a smile, settling his brows back into place. "At least that would not require you to lower yourself to attending my grooming yourself. And while I work at it, we could discuss alliances." Now he puts out his hand, palm up, as if he would once more lift her fingers in that courting gesture he used in greeting her.
Sian's expression stills and she takes a step back, hands folding before her. "I have attempted to meet with you more than once, R'vain, and now you seem to feel that you can manage your political maneuverings on your own? I wish you the best of luck, then, in all your endeavors." Apparently it's an all or nothing deal.
The Weyrlingmaster's paw retracts, finding a new resting place in the crook of his opposite elbow, arms closing across his chest. He tips his goateed chin down, regarding the Lady High Reaches from beneath the flare of red lashes. "I am not hard to find, Lady Sian. If you have looked for me before, then you will surely understand that I find it a little bizarre that the circumstance of our meeting must, for whatever reason, involve your hands, my throat, and a fine blade."
Blink. Blink..blink. Sian suddenly starts to giggle. She lifts her fingers to her lips and lowers her lashes and chuckles like a young girl. "Oh, forgive me, good sir, but...I had not thought of it from /that/ particular angle. I have no interest in slitting /your/ sweet throat, Weyrlingmaster." She seems highly amused and put a bit off her guard.
Again: not an idiot. And not a very trusting sort, either. R'vain clearly does not buy it, but upon her word somewhat relents. "Then what advantage do you expect to have in this peculiar agreement?" His arms unfold and he takes a step away, an excuse to half-turn and eye the door along the line of his shoulder. Voice a bit lower, and a bit tired: "Other than the assurance I'm likely to have a smoother jaw by your hand than my own."
The laughter softens and Sian glances at the door herself, then moves towards it and leans against it, effectively blocking it for the moment. "May I speak plainly then? Without fear of reprisal?" Yes, if your judgement of body language is at all clear, she's being brutally honest and blunt.
Perhaps the man is not so great a judge of body language-- his own continues to telegraph mistrust. But he smiles as she blocks off the door, so it cannot trouble him too much to be trapped within. Still, he keeps his voice low, as though just outside might await prying ears. "Of course," says he in that soft tone, overturning his hand again; this time, the gesture is supplicant. "I give that much to anyone, Lady, on any subject." So he turns toward her, expectant, somewhat smiling.
"Forgive me for stating the obvious, but as a woman, I have little power." Right. "It would suit me better to have someone of your...stature...as a buffer between myself and the vagaries of the world. In exchange, I can see to it that you present a much more powerful and 'together' image, one that speaks of someone more likely to be able to handle true power instead of the illusion of it that they try to pacify you with." Sian pauses, watching your face. A faint shrug and she murmurs. "We can try it for a little while. See how we both fare with it. If it works, great. If not, then we were each just another of the other's dalliances, no?"
R'vain's mouth twists somewhat, but whatever sour taste her initial words inspire upon his tongue, the way she goes on sweetens the brew. 'Pacify' brings out a soft snort and a singular, violent nod, and it is apparent from there how this must go. "You speak with sensibility. I still think your plan a little odd-- " He need not add that he doesn't trust those hands, especially since he remarks enough upon them with a glance of emerald that falls from her eyes to her fingers and slides swiftly back up. "But I will make my weyr presentable for you. Should I expect you a certain day or will you be at your convenience? I can suggest a rider to bring you up-- " His eyes narrow and he shakes his head, abruptly cutting that off. "I'm sure you have your own preferences."
"My plan is odd, but that way, no one could guess it." Sian grins at you, a hint of relief in her expression. "I could meet you tomorrow, and you could escort me yourself?" She pauses for a long moment, then steps away from the door and towards you, both hands offered, palms down. "R'vain, I would be a fool to try and hurt a dragonrider, nevermind one of your power and stature. I respect the dragons too much, for one, and honor what you and yours do, for another."
R'vain rumbles a note of thoughtful dissent, but does not give voice to his no-vote on the Lady's assertion. Instead he steps forward and puts his hands out, palms curled and tipped to the side, making shelves upon which to take each of her hands and gently, slightly lift them. "Lady Sian. I expect you respect the dragons' penchant for obedience to their betters and swift sharing of private information." His mouth twitches, a smile teasing its corners. After a moment he gives into it and grins upon her, eyes wicked gleaming. "I assure you I share neither trait." He bends then, daring enough this time to aim kisses at the backs of her knuckles, first one hand, then the other.
Fingers curl into yours and Sian laughs softly, eyes shining as you kiss her knuckles. As first one hand is kissed, then the other, Sian slowly rolls them over within your grip, now showing them palm up. A sign of trust and openness. "And the fact that they are just so...large." Size matters? "So, you neither have obedience to your betters nor a swift sharing of private information? That sounds quite...fun."
"Consider what my betters have done, Lady." R'vain turns his hands, after a moment, just enough so that he may slide his thumbs into her palms. The broad nails could stand a little cleaning, but the skin is soft enough from dragon-hide oil, and he is adequately confident in his touch to insinuate slow circles across the muscles of the largest thumb-joint. "And I am sure you see value in the ability to keep a secret. But indeed, I do keep myself entertained. Perhaps I can keep you entertained as well." A beat. "Where shall I meet you, and when? I-- " --can't quite help a widening of grin, a show of teeth-- "don't want to interrupt your work."
No, she will /not/ let her knees tremble at that touch like some untried girl. Sian takes a slow breath that does - interesting - things to her bodice, not wholly unintended. "I have no classes to teach tomorrow, so, at your whim is most easily entertained." she offers, voice soft. "And keeping a secret is often a matter of life and breath, is it not?"
"Oh, indeed." The Weyrlingmaster's thumbs slide a firm course down the palms of her hands to the space between the largest fingers' joints. Then he releases her hands and redirects his eyes, using a tip of his head as a sparing bow and an excuse for what his gaze has been up to. "Tomorrow, then. Come by the feeding grounds gate a little after dawn; I'll leave some weyrlings there to get carcasses and take my time getting back to the barracks."
Curling her fingers in to her palms, Sian almost seems to want to hold on to that sensation before she once more, primly, interlaces fingers before her. "I'll be there. I'll save my breaking of the fast until after we've groomed you, then perhaps we can talk more over klah and bread?"
"That would be," replies R'vain with a smile, "a pleasure." Another tip of his head, this one somewhat final of note. "Thank you, Lady, for keeping me. But I think now I really must get back to my charges. Unless there's anything else, will you excuse me?"
"Of course, R'vain. Thank you for your time. I'll see you in the morning." Sian murmurs, offering a nod of her head and a soft smile. "Do enjoy the rest of your day?"
"I will. You've brightened it considerably." R'vain turns for the door, opens it, and is halfway through before turning again. "I am-- " The grin becomes cheshire again. "As ever, your servant. Good afternoon." Then, he's gone.