Worth It
Location: Aramia's Bar
Time: Night on Day 22, Month 12, Turn 2
Players: R'vain and Ella and various other NPCs
Scene: Things aren't going so well for the Weyrlingmaster, so a little visit outweyr seems in order.
The bar is warmly lit and warm in general, the large fire in the hearth seeing that the chill of outside doesn't make it in. Men talk and gamble and laugh. Many of the tables are full. It's Darcie and Juna behind the bar tonight, Kava, Perri, Triess, and Delia on the tables, and Ella, Lyren, Fenten, and Seyra dressed in those low-cut and complimentary getups that announce the other sort of work they're doing this evening. Ella is, for all of that dress, currently seated at a long table with a group of sailors. She's in a chair, not a lap, and she's got her own hand of cards, though the marks she bets with seem to belong to the grinning and handsome man to her left.
R'vain has to shoulder by a pair of sailors on their way out to get in. Well, he doesn't have to. He could wait. He could hold the door, and on some nights he would, keeping back in case there's urgent reason the sailors are leaving. But he /does/ shoulder his way past them tonight, and one of the men makes a remark, and R'vain half-turns in the doorway to send one flying back, and-- through some intervention of the divine-- it's left there, because the sailor's seen drunks who're too willing to start fights plenty in his time, and R'vain's easily distracted by a tip of a nod and a glance to remind him there's better pursuits available in the bar.
So R'vain turns back inward and steps inside, which at last and at least lets the door close behind him and seals out the bitter ocean-blown wind. Better. He shrugs off the cold and blows a shiver through his lips, then stalks farther in. The smell's not as strong as it's been for days-- the patrons and ladies wouldn't know that-- one has to get up close to sample the aroma. But the eyes and the cheeks are redder every day, and to someone who /hasn't/ seen him every day lately, the shift into the red spectrum is pretty apparent. It doesn't take him long to discern his prey. Short-cropped hair, dark and fine against the nape of a pale neck. Cards. The Weyrlingmaster paws marks in his pocket, a soft clacking lost in the murmur of the crowd, and stalks toward her a little slow, like he's stiff from overwork and cold.
Ella is all of those things. Pale with short cropped hair and playing cards. Playing them well, though that may not be much of a surprise. When one lives in a bar, one likely picks up more skills than just the one she's paid for. As R'vain stalks closer, her head tips back and she's laughing, leaning to the side so she can *bump* that sailor with her shoulder. The one whose marks she's using to bet with. "I'm tellin' him y'said, next time I see him. Just warning y'now. So's y'can get a head start." The sailor chuckles, reaching a hand back to brush the nape of Ella's neck. "You kiss and tell, Ella?" The woman smirks, tucking her cards in her lap to turn her head and smile up at the sailor. "Don't do that at all," she replies, "but y'ent kissed me yet, have ya, Hesbir?" It is in turning her head that she finally catches sight of that very Red Reaches, but her smile only deepens a little, her eyes finding his, before she turns back to the game.
R'vain splits a ready and toothy grin as soon as eye contact's made-- it's like tinder catching; her looking at him rouses that grin and sets him in a blazing good cheer-- and he prowls up behind Ella's chair. "And y'won't tonight if I got anythin' t'say," rumbles R'vain, a little slurred, the words tumbling into one another. It doesn't quite sound threatening, but it offers the possibility of conflict, just the way his words with the sailor outside did. But just as fast as he put on the offensive, he puts out the flag of friendship, too-- "S'a nice haircut she keeps. Shows off 'er neck." He laps his lips and puts a paw up on the back of Ella's chair; cautious, not quite trying to touch /Ella/, but it's Hesbir he's watching (it would be rude to look directly forward, at Ella's cards) so it's probable she'll feel his fingertips for a second before he curls them out of the way.
Ella has bowed her head and is peering at her cards as R'vain approaches, and his words, or rather their slurring, have her brows twitching upwards just a little bit. "Well boys," she says with a lazy grin, "guess I'm foldin'." The cards are tossed down on the table. Hesbir took on a bit of a frown as R'vain approached, but it shifts to something forced-friendly quickly enough. Fighting isn't thought too highly of here, and it's usually the man that throws the first punch what gets banned from the premises for a spell. Ella shoves her chair back, and never mind if it thumps a certain grabby bronzer's knees, as she pushes to a stand. Hesbir gets his hair ruffled and his slightly woeful look at her is reciprocated with a wink. "Be seein' you then, Ella." "I'm thinkin' y'will, Hesbir. Thinkin' y'will." Then she inches around the chair, takes a good look at her flushed and carrot-topped client, and begins making her way to the stairs, hips swishing just enough to call it an invitation to follow.
R'vain is not fast of reflex tonight; his knees get bumped, and he jerks back a half-pace while letting out a little 'uff' of complaint. Silence while the woman sets herself free from the game; his eyes follow her shape for a moment as she starts away. But the Weyrlingmaster delays a moment; he raises a paw to the back of his head and scrubs up the back of his hair with his flattened palm several times, a youthful gesture like a boy embarrassed-- 'gosh, she's going up there for /me/?'-- but there's a completely non-embarrassed sort of sly grin waiting for Hesbir. When Ella's out of (what R'vain thinks is) earshot, he bends over the chair she vacated and sidelongs a gruff, loud non-whisper Hesbir's way. "S'short f'reason." Badly slurred and whiffed of wine, but the intonation's lascivious, advisory. It's a suggestion for next time. He shoves up from the chair and trails after Ella then, making speed by means of shoulders broad enough to clear the way.
It is, indeed, short for a reason, though perhaps not the reason R'vain imagines. Ella makes her way up the stairs, skirts whispering and flashing in the light. She slips into the same room she always slips into and waits until he follows before pushing the door shut, leaning up against it, and sliding the bolt home. She smiles again, her dark eyes warm and shining, as she watches him. "Hey there, Red. Y'have a bit of a celebration b'fore y'stopped by, then?" Smirk. "Wanna keep it goin'?"
It would be fair to say he has probably imagined a thousand reasons and come to one he likes best; this, however, does not affect the truth of his advice. He is smug about it, about being picked on zero notice and in seconds flat over someone who'd already been paying Ella's way through a card game; and that smugness twists his mouth into a leering snigger while he pushes himself up the stairs. Down the hallway a few doors, to the one she always takes, through after her, and around about-face inside the room so he can turn a first full look on and over her where she's leant against the door. "S'been-- s'been-- " Not the answer she's looking for. He raises a paw and scrubs the back of it across his forehead, wiping off sweat that's not there, eyes squinched. They widen as his hand drops and he prowls toward her. "Missed you," which is also not what she was looking for, but through his smirking grin it's harmless enough.
"Sure y'did," Ella laughs as her hands idly resettle skirts that do not need adjusting. "Can't miss me when m'here, though. I got wine, y'want any more. Or other stuff, but you get sick on m'rug, I ent gonna be too happy, Red." She pushes away from the door to move to the bed, setting down on the edge of it and leaning back on her hands.
Prowling aborts as she walks away, around, past. He turns slowly in place to track her, then stares after her with brows furrowing as he moves. "Won't be." Of this he sounds certain enough, but R'vain's expression is more perplexed than displeased or brash, and the smirk's slid away for safekeeping somewhere else. For a moment it would actually seem most like he's not sure what he ought to be doing here, but the moment passes and he starts toward her again, shoulders drawn down a little, hunting in earnest now. "Wine," he approves; and as single-word sentences are hard to slur, it's sort of nice how there's a reasonable delay before he tacks on, "Later."
"Sure," comes Ella's easy agreement. She falls quiet and simply watches as the bronzerider lurks closer, flushed face, slurred words, and all. One foot swings idly, slippered toes peeking out from her hem and then vanishing again. "Whatever y'like, Red."
R'vain achieves the space beside Ella's legs, and leans a knee into the bed. He swings a paw for her arm, for the one farther from him, like he'd be liable to swing her back with his grip and crawl up over her, but if that's his aim he fails; instead his hand just sweeps up along the fabric of her gown, then back down with the backs of his knuckles brushing, and his head winds up tilted with green gaze following this motion, curious and interested. He sinks into his knee, bending the bedding, threatening to slide floorward with the slouch of his shoulders and weak bend of his leg-- but not sliding quite yet. From her neckline his eyes do wander back up and in a moment he says, like it's a very important thing, more important than laying her out and getting a little exercise would be, "Why'd y'come up?"
Ella is silent and relaxed as the weyrlingmaster's posture and motions make tiny promises that never come true. Her dark eyes watch his thick fingers as they brush her arm, then her skirts, and if her foot swinging taps against his leg, it stops after a moment, toes simply resting on the floor. Her head tips to the side at this very careful question, but the smile that follows, and the answer, are easy. "Cuz y'wanted me to."
R'vain grunts, and tilts his head this other way, swinging his gaze down the lines and curves of her to her knees; he watches them bend and unbend as her foot shifts from touching him to touching the floor. "'magine th'fellow buyin' y'in wanted y'to too," he remarks, mostly intelligible. He runs his tongue up over his upper teeth, then pokes it into his cheek, making a lump; in a moment it recedes. Now he slides, though intentionally; he tucks a leg under and balances himself with a hand-- he comes to kneel sloppily beside her legs, an arm up on the bed, the other hand reaching for a foot to coax it back up from the ground into his palm. "What were y'talkin' about?" Paranoia and curiosity would look the same with him staring down at her foot, but his expression reveals neither.
"What, Hesbir? Yeh, maybe. 'Cept I was winnin' his marks easy enough stayin' downstairs, so weren't in no rush t'move. He's sorta..." Ella shrugs as a means of completing the sentence, her foot reappearing as it's coaxed, and settling against his palm. She seems only half aware of this. "Hesbir sails with Wrendall's all. We like t'tease, and maybe he was workin' his way up to sumthin', but he's got a girl at another port. Things were maybe goin' funny with that, but I'm bettin' he'll marry her. So." Shrug.
"So-- sure marks from me 'steada winnin' his few at'time, an'maybe' some'else." R'vain puts this together slowly, for him, and shows no disappointment at the revelation, which is out of character-- not even a mockery of disappointment, a pretense of wounded ego. Instead he wraps his palm around her foot and tucks his thumb against the side of its arch and rubs a firm, dragonhide-oiling circle there. He looks up at her, but it takes him a while to creep his gaze from ankle to knee. "D'you trust me? -- Uh-- and-- that-- that ain't meant t'be'leadin'." Up to her bustline with his eyes; a little grin, either for what he's said (he has presence of mind enough to have a few salacious thoughts about where that question might lead, in another night's circumstance) or for what he's looking at-- and then on up to her face. "Y'din't say whatcha were talkin' about." Pout.
The last question is addressed first, perhaps to buy Ella a bit of time to figure out how to answer the first one. Her toes curl as her foot presses against R'vain's hand. "Talkin' about Wrendall. Or, Hesbir was sayin' he thought he was better at cards, which he ent, and I told him I'd tell Wrendall so, I saw him next. Dunno what else. Nuthin'. Keepin' the table lively. S'all." Ella falls quiet for a little while, still working on that other quandary. Finally she says, "My line a'work, Red, trust don't come so easy. Trust you more'n most, though. Y'ent proven me wrong yet."
"You were winning," points out R'vain. "Winning o'him, anyway," he affords after a moment. His hand arches, the balls of his palm pressing into the sole of her foot. "D'y'think I'm trustworthy. Don't have t'be a simple answer." Like he figures it wouldn't be. His gaze's coming back down the line of her, down to knee and leg and back to the foot he's got in his hand, and even as his hand rubs her foot his expression seems a bit surprised to find it there.
"Well sure I was. Play cards with Seyra, an’ Hesbir ent nothin' compared to Seyra." Ella closes her eyes, sighing softly as her foot is massaged. "You sure got y'head in a funny place t'night," she muses languidly. But it's not a rebuke. It's just a statement. "Y'trustworthy? Guess it depends on what y'mean." One eye cracks open. "Y'got a way about you, might make folks hold back some, be more careful, they don't know ya. But that ent the same as bein' untrustworthy. Y'do what y'say y'will. Y'don't cheat on y'word. Y'take it right, when y'lose fair n' square. So...yeh. Y'trustworthy. Just, I think it's hard t'tell sometimes."
"I'm-- s'been-- lately-- " Awful. He drops his chin and stares at her foot, his hand for a moment stopping. It seems that he has to lean into the elbow on the bed in order to keep himself from slumping outright, and even so he bends his head so far forward that his forehead comes to rest against her knee. R'vain breathes then, deep and long and hard, and draws his elbow down off the bed so he can hold her foot in both hands, adjusting so he can prop those hands and that foot against his thigh. "If y'needed t'know somethin' 'bout me, who'd you ask?"
There is more quiet watching and as his head bows, Ella shifts her weight so she can move the arm nearest his curved shoulders to slide it slowly through his bristly hair. "Can't think'a anyone who'd know you better'n you, Red. Someone givin' you a tough run?" Her hand slides, slow and gentle, through his hair over and over again. Her own shoulders curl forward, but only so that she can whisper, husky and playful into his ear, "Want me t'punch 'em for ya?"
"S'been-- " Whatever it's been, he's been, lately-- besides soused-- R'vain can't seem to come up with words. But her hands in his hair have him purring a bit by the time she bends close, and he has to choke back that contentment that rumbles around in his throat so he can hear her whisper. A whisper that sends him upright and staring up at her with a sudden, cockeyed grin, which he holds for a moment before shaking his head and finally letting go of her foot. Finally reaching out to either side of her legs to get hold of the bed and half with his arms, half with his legs, pull himself up-- up, but bent deep at the waist, leaning into her face, aggressing at last. "A woman," he explains, voice more like the purring than speech. "Can't v'well punch'er m'self. But naw. Not yet."
Tsk. This is Ella's scold as her arms come to settle around his neck. He leans forward, so tonight, she leans back, demure. Tonight, that's how this game will be played. "Thought y'knew better than t'let a woman lay y'low. Leastways one you'd like t'have me punch. In a while. Mebbe." Her nose wrinkles. "Ent worth it. Whoever she is. She don't see you, Red, she ent worth y'botherin' with her."
"I /like/ women." Protest. Whine, actually. A defense for why he's let one lay him low. But it's a weakly given defense; he whines it against her lips, then mouths at them for a moment, nibbling without teeth. His hands find her knee before his legs, the one his forehead leaned against; then they paw upward, gathering cloth along the way. "Putcher hands in m'hair 'gain," he tells her skin, one syllable for each press of his lips to her lower lip, the underside of her chin, and all down her neck. "Hold on."
"Likin' 'em and lettin' 'em under y'skin're different..." but Ella knows the time for debate, and this is not it. Her lips are there for him to take, and she offers small kisses back as his mouth nibbles and tastes. Her head tilts, baring her throat for him. She flops onto her back so that her fingers can thread though the weyrlingmaster's hair: the source of his nickname. Her chuckle vibrates through her neck and chest at his words. "Make it sound like I wasn't plannin' on it anyhow." But then Ella falls quiet and does as she's told. And then some.
He's been rowdier; he's been more demanding; he's been more forceful. But R'vain is never too willing to be distracted from the pursuit of pleasure once he's got the quarry fixed in his sights, and even though foggy in the head, he's gained presence of mind and clarity of bloodstream enough since shouldering past the sailors outside to make a good show of the hunt. Determination becomes indulgence; indulgence becomes passion; passion becomes fury. The progression is certain and swift, and it's all he can manage to have her out of things he's not allowed to rip before he's lost in fire.
Those flames still stroke the inside of his skin some time later, when he lies beside her, one knee up, one down, his arm loosely pinned beneath her shoulders. The rouge in his cheeks has gained a new nature, and he might be considered better for it, even if his sweat yet contains a certain eau du vin. His chest heaves, but the heaving's slowing down, and a grin warps his mouth.
Ella blinks up at the ceiling a few times before simply letting her eyes drift shut. She rolls onto her side, one hand settling on R'vain's chest to rub it lazily. "Never borin', Red. Always gotta give y'that," she murmurs contentedly. There is a sigh, and then just lazy nothing. It's the sort of silence that often sits in the room between this pair. Comfortable. Waiting to be broken by his words or left as it is by his continued quiet.
A rumble sets the skin beneath her palm to gentle vibrations, the murmur of his contentment bent into pleased tones by her touch and his grin. R'vain allows a long time's silence to mull and season these moments of normalcy, to lend his mind to her words, drift away from them, and come back again with a question. So many questions, tonight. "How d'you mean, when y'say that?"
The weyrlingmaster is given a bit of a look. It's more surprise than anything else, Ella's head lifting slightly to study his smirking features. "Dunno." Her head flops back down onto the pillow. "Just ent. Yer, I dunno..." Her head is turned so she faces him, but she's watching the wall beyond instead. "Y'come t'see me, yer actually lookin' t'see -me-. S'nice is all."
He lifts his own head then, and looks down at her with his head a little turned. The fact that she's not looking at him registers visibly, a falling out between his brows and his mouth making R'vain look contorted a moment by confusion. It gives way to a twitchy acceptance and he puts his head back down. It takes him a moment to think on what he'll say, and to decide saying it's worth grinning, and worth tucking his arm up around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze so she'll know he's teasing-- at least in part. "Izzat so unusual, someone comes here t'see you and aims t' see /you/?"
"Well," ah, the smirk has returned to Ella's lips. "Ent somethin' I go holdin' m'breath about. Different folks want different things." Shrug. "Don't upset me none. Just nice t'know on occasion."
"Don't explain what's so not-boring." But R'vain's willing at last to let it go, after making her suffer this one last pout. The arm that's not under her he raises, elbow-up, to make a pillow for his own head. "Y'said y'ad wine?"
Ella chuckles. "Suppose I did. I got white an' red. I'm thinkin' red for ya?" She pushes up with a languid stretch before she begins shifting off the bed.
There's a snort from the part of the bed she's abandoning and a little rough, ragged laughter as he rolls over instinctively to cuddle against the warm place her body just vacated. "M'a better drinker than t'pick by color. 'less y'got blue or green or somethin' y'know, unique." Another laughing snort and R'vain turns his face into the furs, head shaking. From somewhere in there comes a muffled sound that might be 'whatever,' indifferent to what she'll pour for him.
"It's just the same basic sort as what's downstairs." She sways, nude, to a small row of shelves, pulling down two glasses and a skin. These are carried back to the bed. One glass is set on the end table, the skin is uncorked, and a local red is poured into the first glass, filling it halfway. This is held out to R'vain, and should he accept it, Ella pours the same for herself.
R'vain misses the nude swaying with his face buried in the blankets, but the closeness of her guarantees he hears the wine splash into the glass and he overturns, pushing himself half-up on one paw so he can hold up the other to take the glass she offers. His tongue parts his lips to wet them, then retreats. "So I gotta question." So thoughtful of him to warn her first. He swings up the glass for a drink, and with his whistle whet shoves back along the bed so he can lean against the disarray of pillows and headboard and wall behind them, grinning over at her, a paw patting the coverlet invitationally. "If /you/ had words against me an' I let 'em get t'me would that be stupid, t'let a woman do that, if th'woman's you?"
A sigh wants to slip through Ella's lips but it is suppressed as she accepts the offered spot on the bed. She plops down, comfortable in her nakedness, if not in being so quizzed. "I oughta check th'knot on yer shirt, Red. Make sure you ent been a harper all this time an' I missed it. All this askin'..." She pauses to sip. "First off, I don't sass." Uh huh. "Don't use m'words that way. I'd just break y'nose." Another small sip. "Second, y'let -me- get under y'skin yer a damn fool. Y'know that, Red."
Thick, sudden snort, and R'vain drops his head, shaking it, grinning wide, biting something back. Something about being accused of harperdom. He's barely recovering from that, using a gulp of wine to wash down the choke, when she inspires another one (if a more good-natured one) with 'I don't sass.' He's sputtering into the glass, then has to swallow a deep drought to get over the sputtering, then leans over to bend his head and try nips at her earlobe. "A'right, a'right, a'right," he tells that ear, then bends lower and lips a few mouthy kisses down the side of her neck before straightening. "M'point's this, does it matter what th'woman's about, who she is, how much I ought t'let'er get t'me?"
"Red, are you askin' a whore about relationships?" Ella murmurs, smirking as her head tips to the side. "I dunno. I suppose it could depend. Y'know her, it'd warrant more'n if she was just some flashy thing what dropped a few mean thoughts. Suppose she ranks high enough, I prolly couldn't punch her," Ella sort of says and sort of purrs as his lips travel. "She were blooded, I prolly couldn't. She were, like, y'best friend's girl, guess that'd matter too."
R'vain can't seem to get a good drink done; she's so quick with the things that make him snork or sputter or choke on the wine that the glass is miraculously half-full after a whole minute's time. "I'm askin a woman about women," he good-naturedly growls once he's swallowed the latest snort, bending his head so he can put his mouth on her neck, and nip with a little teeth this time. "Ain't m'best friend's girl, not yet anyway. Ain't mine either."
"And Blooded?" Ella gets her first question of the night in, even if it's just a tease. "She that?" Sip. "She's with someone, though. Someone y'think's all right? Red, I just can't think what a girl could say to ya that'd be such a worry. Y'don't seem the sort for poetry and love songs."
"No. She's a rider's daughter." He nips a line of toothy caresses down the side of her neck to the place where collarbone meets shoulder, over the curve of that shoulder, then away. Picking up his head, R'vain fixes Ella with a green stare of brief surprise, then lets a broad smirk crawl across his mouth. "Poems'n'songs don't worry me," he points out, and turns away to tip up the wine glass. For all that turning away makes it seem like his attention's all on the drinking, the arm nearer her slinks around, looking for space between her back and the wall, a way to tuck her in his embrace. He raises a knee then and reaches out to balance the wineglass' foot on his kneecap. "She's, uh, she's got a guy. Ain't like that. With me. Jus', she's important. Think she hates me."
"A rider's daughter," Ella muses. "Mmm, well, I could prolly hit 'er then. That don't sound so bad." She quiets, hand keeping a careful hold on the wineglass as her head again tilts back and to the side, allowing him better access to the skin of her neck. "Mmm..." as he tries to be sneaky about grabbing her closer, Ella discreetly shifts to make that sneaking successful, and she squirms nearer, leaning against his side. "Didja do somethin'? To make her hate'cha? Or she just does?"
"Y'could but y'shouldn't. She's-- " Her squirming against him's distracting, or pleasing, or most likely both and he angles toward her as she leans into him. Cozy, and naked. He grins at her, then R'vain turns his head and looks up at his wineglass on his knee. He stares intently at it for a moment, then slowly unwraps his paw from it while silence stretches out after her questions. It balances. He takes care to be sure his knee stays steady, watching the glass while his paw creeps over his belly toward her, toward bare skin he might like to touch. For all that his hands and his knee are willing to distract themselves with various forms of entertainment his voice is a little dulled, words thickened, and not just slurred by wine. "Dunno. Did a few things probly. Just bein' me. Don't think she gets it. She went pokin' through m'stuff." He swallows. "Guess she din't like what she found."
Ella's interest is mostly on that balanced glass, which seems to be combined with wandering hands. "Don't y'spill wine on m'sheets, Red. Or I -will- punch y'in th'nose," she warns with a grin. Her own glass is still held securely in her hands and she sips. "Yer maybe a little hard t'get. Specially if she ent used to y'sort. But..." Ella scowls. "Snoopin'? Dunno what I think 'bout that. Sorta funny, her wantin' t'know 'bout you and she's not y'girl. Y'sure she ent? Y'sure bout her an' this other fella?"
His nose wrinkles, but her warning wobbles him more than anything he might have pawed at would have, and the wine shivers just a bit in the glass-- so R'vain lifts up his hand with a sigh of petulance and resteadies the foot of the glass against his knee, leaving his hand draped there to hold it. "Nose been punched before," he needlessly remarks. "Pretty sure. Sure about th'guy. She defended him, sorta. Din't have to, he din't do anything. She defended 'erself. Thinks I deserve snoopin'. Don't trust me. Wouldn't ask." Rambling. Maybe he makes a note of this fact. Maybe he's just a bit miserable. Either way he shuts himself up by taking the wine off his knee and putting it instead to his lips.
"Don' make much sense to me," Ella murmurs again. She takes a slightly larger sip from her glass. "What's she's gotta be so interested in you for that she's snoopin'. Guess there's bits y'don' wanna say, but that's fine." Sip. Ella stares at the edge of the bed as she considers. "Ain't gonna say she had a right. She didn't. I'd still hit 'er, but, sometimes a girl's got a cause not t'trust. Some lessons y'learn and y'don't unlearn no matter what."
"She's-- " R'vain drinks again, after only this much, frowning around the rim of the glass. His green eyes reflect red wine; the wine reflects his eyes. Neither is complimentary. "S'been-- " He lifts the glass and swirls it, watching the liquid inside move while he swallows an extra time, needlessly. One more drought, this one deep, meaningful. It drains the glass. "She's th'lil'weyrwoman. She wants t'be th'big one. S'kinda complicated."
And with those few words, R'vain gets even for all of the snrking and snorting Ella's made him do with his wine. The cup is to her lips and her eyes widen, shoulders jerking forward, and she snrks into the glass. There is a brief interlude where Ella is simply coughing, her own cheeks pinkening as she fights to catch her breath. "Fuck, Red," Ella gasps, wiping at tearing eyes. "Warn a girl." She sniffs and frowns down at her knees. "Won't punch that one," she notes quietly.
"Ella--!" R'vain half-turns toward her as she coughs and hunches and tears up. "What, she's just-- I mean, she's-- it ain't like-- " And then he stops, ruddy brows drawing low over eyes full of emerald confusion. His tongue goes up over his teeth and comes back down again, *tschk.* "I dunno what it's like. Guess she's searchin' me out. I just ain't s'posed t'do th'same. Ain't allowed t'tell 'er my own self even." He draws up the other knee, angling back against the wall and away a little bit from Ella-- the one arm stays around her, but the one with the wineglass slings out over his knees, so he's half-posed in a mockery of a rocking fetal position. It seems to bring him no comfort to speak of, and in a moment he looks over at her and waves the glass with a lazy twitch of his paw. "Got more've that?"
"I might." Ella clears her throat and then pauses to down the rest of her own glass. "But yer gonna fess up b'fore I pour anymore. So she went through y'stuff and then defended...her fella f'somethin' an' hates you an' won't let y'tell'er things? Y'better explain what's doin' more clearly cuz I find m'self a mite more interested. Then I'll give y'another glass."
"She went through m'office." A correction put out in a distinctly grumpy note. But he turns his attention on her and lets one knee slide back down, his sour mouth all twisted against her desire for an explanation. "I went t'see her t'ask why not just ask me and she warn't there but Ashwin was and I talked t'im and that was mostly fine, but she came t'me later and just ripped my 'ead off how I's never t'go there again and this is /after/ she /goes through my things/, d'you follow?"
Through all this R'vain never gets heated; if anything he sounds more and more miserable and agonized, and when he's done he turns away, aiming even to slip his arm out from behind Ella's back.
Ella studies her own glass and then reaches over for the skin to fill it, and then to fill R'vain's as well. When that's done, another healthy gulp is taken and Ella stares down at her wine, for once missing the discomfort as she's lost in some quandary of her own. "That don' make any kinda sense. She wouldn'..." Sip. "I follow," she murmurs, "but I don'..." The wine is set down and she turns as R'vain curls away. Scoot scoot, and a hand is set lightly on his shoulder. "M'sorry she did that. It happened like you say, she ent what I thought."
"Y'know'erthen," mumbles R'vain, looking into his now-full glass, not at Ella at all. His shoulder lies still beneath her hand; the tension's out of him, she's seen to that. But the unhappiness remains, and he sits there looking into the wine for some refuge from it.
"Thought I knew 'er a bit. Kinda worried maybe not." There's another heavy gulp and the wine is set down. "Don' let 'er get under y'skin. She did that, still say she ent worth it." Ella huffs a sharp sigh as if those words maybe cost her a bit of something. She scoots over to rest her chin on his shoulder, arms draping around him in a lazy hug if he'll let them.
He lets them. He does not turn into them, but R'vain moves his glass out of the way so they can drape him, and he bends his head to rub his lips thoughtfully, not quite kissingly, along one feminine forearm. "Yeah. I'm kinda worried maybe not m'self," he mutters against that skin, and draws a breath around it, then sighs a sigh upon it, then raises his head and the glass and manages an awkward gulp while she's holding him. After the gulp he turns his head toward hers, where she chinrests upon his shoulder, and dips in for a slightly wine-damp smooch on her cheek. "Din't know y'knew'er or I wouldn't've said," he mutters as quiet as he can get.
"M'glad y'said," Ella murmurs. "Well, no, maybe m'not. M'head was a whole lot happier not knowin'. But m'glad anyhow." She huffs faintly, tipping her head just enough to offer a small kiss to his lips before he retreats. "Really thought she was...didn't even know she was a weyrwoman til after she left. We all liked 'er bunches." Sigh. "Poor Red." Her chin lifts a little as a thought occurs to her. "Don't suppose she could be...I mean, I hear the girl dragons get sorta funny sometimes..."
He takes the kiss, smirking a little after it-- see, she's improved him already. But he turns the smirk down into his glass. "What was she 'ere for? I could f'give'er all kinds of misdeeds if any of 'em made me grin." R'vain puts the smirk against the rim of the glass and tips the foot of it up, sending way too much of the contents into his mouth; he swallows a couple of times, then lowers the glass half the fullness it had before, holding a third swallow ready behind his lips. He stares at the wine, the reflection staring back, then swallows again, hard. "Don't think that's it. If it is, though, we'd all be th'better f'it. Get it done a'ready. F'ranth."
"Suppose we'd all rest a bit easier, things were squared at th'weyr. She came here cuz...shit, Red, y'been comin' here how many turns and y'really don' know?" Ella tips her head so she can laugh against the back of his neck. "Don' pay much attention do ya, if th'thing t'notice ent inna skirt round here."
The back of his neck shifts beneath her laughter, R'vain twisting his head around to try to squint an emerald glare sideways out of the corners of his eyes at her. "What," he kicks out, huff. "Wha'd I miss then? Why'd'y'think I come here anyhow, I'm s'posed t'be payin' attention t'stuff not in skirts?" Huff again, with a snort this time, and he turns back to his glass to tilt it up and drain the rest.
Ella only shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "Ashwin's Aramia's boy. Her son." Her chin settles again on R'vain's shoulder. "He brought her by, which is somethin' new. An she had her knot off an' we didn't know. Stole her away, talked her ear off, wouldn't'a guessed she was anythin' fancy. Thought that was real nice, and I'd trust Ash t'pick someone worth it. Course we never much thought he'd pick -a- girl at all, but..." Her body shifts against R'vain's back as she shrugs, "surprise."
The emphasis on 'a' girl, singular, sparks some amusement in the bronzerider she's draped against and again he turns his head toward her, eyeing her from over his shoulder. "What, y'think he'd pick a dozen?" R'vain smashes a little laugh flat after that and leans a little bit to try to put up his emptied glass somewhere out of the way so he can turn around some in her arms. "So what, he spend 'is off-hours here? Ain't never noticed. Mustn't play cards much. Or stay 'way from riders." Shrug. It's not a question, just a defense: the Weyrlingmaster never saw the guard, or never noticed seeing him if he saw, so he must not have been nearby. Simple. "Funny," he admits though, and fails to smash the next little series of chortles down.
"Well, he didn't pick a dozen all at once, but Ash weren't really the settlin' type. Paid a visit here or there when he was lookin' for somethin'...just his way. Til her. Mmm," Ella's arms loosen enough that R'vain can turn. "He visits when he can. Helps out 'round here, fixes things. Grew up here, so..." Ella just shakes her head. "Red, he's been here prolly half th’times you paid a visit." She snickers. "Shit, he helped throw y'out th'one time y'were too drunk t'mind y'manners proper."
"That was turns ago and y'know it," grouses R'vain. Can't expect a man to recall his drunken stupors of the distant past. And because drunkenness is on the table his gaze is drawn to the empty glass he's put aside; the good cheer he had for a moment drains away faster than even the wine did, and he looks back at her with an expression nameable only as melancholy. It does not fit his rowdy features well at all. "Y'good t'me, Ella. I ain't meant t'make anything hard f'y'w'all th'talkin'."
"Y'think I'd really let'cha make anythin' hard for me?" Ella asks with a lazy smirk. Then, as a thought occurs to her, that smirk deepens. "Well. -One- thing." Her fingers press against his sides but then she studies him, the smirk retreating to allow for a more solemn study. "Hate t'see y'so down."
He manages a little laugh for that. Pretty awful. It deserved at least a rich rumble, if not grabby paws and tumbling among the pillows. Just a little laugh. "Yeah," R'vain says to Ella's latter, and looks at her for a long moment before shaking his head. "Yeah. Sorry. I know." A paw comes up to touch her face, but the touch is drifty and loose and doesn't last long before his hand's going back down and his eyes are shutting and he's turning away again. This time, to swing his feet slowly off the bed. "Busy on Turn's End?" Without a subject it might be hard to tell if his mumbly question means the bar, or her.
"Usually. Folks want somethin' t'celebrate or somethin t'help f'get they got nuthin' t'celebrate. But most ways it's th'girls workin' th'tables that run their feet raw." If there is worry that Ella's little joke didn't get the anticipated response, she is at least professional enough to hide it. "Y'gonna stop by?"
"Maybe. There'll be a thing at th'weyr. Don't wanna go." R'vain slides off onto his feet, a paw raising to ruffle up the back of his head, having little net effect on the arrangement of his hair. He shakes his head after that, and prowls down the length of the bed to its foot, where certain parts of the clothes he came with rest in disarray. "If you're workin' th'tables I could at least find a card game or somethin'." He swipes up his pants in a handy paw and leans the side of his leg against the side of the bed while straightening them out so he can get into them. "If you ain't workin th'tables, even better."
If R'vain is getting dressed, then Ella will have to do the same, so she slides off the bed to follow the bronzerider's lead and gather up and get her clothing back on. At least her hair needs nothing more than a quick run-through of her fingers to look settled. "Y'don' wanna go, don' go." She stills as she scoops up her underthings and is halfway to putting them on. "Y'know..." the words come slow. Underthings are settled on her body before she finishes, "you can bet Aramia'll want Ashwin home t'help keep an eye on things. And he's gonna need a ride t'get here."
R'vain pauses mid-buttoning up his pants. They're leather, his preference, and it takes him a little work to deal with them, but it's work he's accustomed to. He keeps that leg bent against the bed as much as he can, too; it steadies him. "Wouldn't mind bringin' 'im. Can't imagine th'weyrwoman'd like me to, though." As if that's that he goes back to buttoning, finishes it, and gets his shirt scooped up to start on next. But he's only got one sleeve on when he turns around toward Ella. A pause to look her over, and a little bit of a sly grin for the altered perspective on her figure underthings provide. "S'pose he don't have t'tell 'er if I bring 'im. Ought t'be able t'pick 'is own ride."
The slip comes on next, and then the corset. "More'n a month til Turn's End. Who knows what'll be then?" Ella sucks in a breath and wrenches the ties, tying them off before reaching for her underskirts. "Don' think Ash is one t'sneak around, Red." Ella's dark eyes twinkle. "Ent one t'bother. He'll say what he's doin', an' he'll do it. Can't see that she could take 'im if y'got some big party goin' on at th'weyr anyhow."
"If you say so." Like he thinks something different about the man they're discussing. He puts his head down to attend to the fingers and the buttons of the shirt. This is harder than the pants, for whatever reason. Less practiced, maybe. The wine can't be helping, not the two glasses put back so fast here, nor whatever number of glasses he had before his arrival. "Think he might not be upfront as all that." But R'vain can agree with her on one thing, shrugging as he finishes the shirt enough to call it finished-- three buttons open still-- and sweeps up his jacket. Less clothes means quicker dressed. "S'his business t'decide. I'll offer, if it seems right b'then. Meanwhile." Meanwhile he comes 'round the bed, approaching her, head still down; only right before her does he look up, and then have not much, apparently, to say. Jacket over his arm he just looks at her, and smiles a bit, barely.
The overthings come on last and the final buttons are snapped up, fingers smoothing her hair down again. That comment about Ashwin earns R'vain a look that's slightly quizzical and slightly surprised. "He ent a talker, but Ash don't play games. What'd he do?" Ella settles her skirts to peer up at R'vain as he stands before her. She brushes his cheek lightly with the back of her knuckles. "Thanks f'th'visit."
"Wouldn't answer me," provides R'vain, minimalist for the moment. Her thanks make him grin a little better than he had before, and lend his reply a certain boyish gracelessness. "Aw, Ella." One step closer and he puts a hand out for her waist. She knows what comes next, when he's not in such deep cups, anyway. It's not too much different even so. The Weyrlingmaster closes up the space between them and bends his head to angle a kiss from her; he's never fussy, lips or chin or the stretch of her neck will do. It's cover for a hand going from his pocket to her palm. Tonight he holds her hand a little tighter than he should, wrenches his thick fingers in among hers and crushes what's between their hands into their skin, and if that reeks a bit of desperation-- well, it's short-lived. He's got to leave. And he's not much good at that. So he raises his head and doesn't really look at her as he disentangles his fingers from hers-- and because he knows the rates, and she knows he knows the rates, and because he tips a bit too well on top of them, R'vain doesn't stop to be sure she's satisfied with what remains in her hand. He heads for the door, and fast as he can slinks through.
Time: Night on Day 22, Month 12, Turn 2
Players: R'vain and Ella and various other NPCs
Scene: Things aren't going so well for the Weyrlingmaster, so a little visit outweyr seems in order.
The bar is warmly lit and warm in general, the large fire in the hearth seeing that the chill of outside doesn't make it in. Men talk and gamble and laugh. Many of the tables are full. It's Darcie and Juna behind the bar tonight, Kava, Perri, Triess, and Delia on the tables, and Ella, Lyren, Fenten, and Seyra dressed in those low-cut and complimentary getups that announce the other sort of work they're doing this evening. Ella is, for all of that dress, currently seated at a long table with a group of sailors. She's in a chair, not a lap, and she's got her own hand of cards, though the marks she bets with seem to belong to the grinning and handsome man to her left.
R'vain has to shoulder by a pair of sailors on their way out to get in. Well, he doesn't have to. He could wait. He could hold the door, and on some nights he would, keeping back in case there's urgent reason the sailors are leaving. But he /does/ shoulder his way past them tonight, and one of the men makes a remark, and R'vain half-turns in the doorway to send one flying back, and-- through some intervention of the divine-- it's left there, because the sailor's seen drunks who're too willing to start fights plenty in his time, and R'vain's easily distracted by a tip of a nod and a glance to remind him there's better pursuits available in the bar.
So R'vain turns back inward and steps inside, which at last and at least lets the door close behind him and seals out the bitter ocean-blown wind. Better. He shrugs off the cold and blows a shiver through his lips, then stalks farther in. The smell's not as strong as it's been for days-- the patrons and ladies wouldn't know that-- one has to get up close to sample the aroma. But the eyes and the cheeks are redder every day, and to someone who /hasn't/ seen him every day lately, the shift into the red spectrum is pretty apparent. It doesn't take him long to discern his prey. Short-cropped hair, dark and fine against the nape of a pale neck. Cards. The Weyrlingmaster paws marks in his pocket, a soft clacking lost in the murmur of the crowd, and stalks toward her a little slow, like he's stiff from overwork and cold.
Ella is all of those things. Pale with short cropped hair and playing cards. Playing them well, though that may not be much of a surprise. When one lives in a bar, one likely picks up more skills than just the one she's paid for. As R'vain stalks closer, her head tips back and she's laughing, leaning to the side so she can *bump* that sailor with her shoulder. The one whose marks she's using to bet with. "I'm tellin' him y'said, next time I see him. Just warning y'now. So's y'can get a head start." The sailor chuckles, reaching a hand back to brush the nape of Ella's neck. "You kiss and tell, Ella?" The woman smirks, tucking her cards in her lap to turn her head and smile up at the sailor. "Don't do that at all," she replies, "but y'ent kissed me yet, have ya, Hesbir?" It is in turning her head that she finally catches sight of that very Red Reaches, but her smile only deepens a little, her eyes finding his, before she turns back to the game.
R'vain splits a ready and toothy grin as soon as eye contact's made-- it's like tinder catching; her looking at him rouses that grin and sets him in a blazing good cheer-- and he prowls up behind Ella's chair. "And y'won't tonight if I got anythin' t'say," rumbles R'vain, a little slurred, the words tumbling into one another. It doesn't quite sound threatening, but it offers the possibility of conflict, just the way his words with the sailor outside did. But just as fast as he put on the offensive, he puts out the flag of friendship, too-- "S'a nice haircut she keeps. Shows off 'er neck." He laps his lips and puts a paw up on the back of Ella's chair; cautious, not quite trying to touch /Ella/, but it's Hesbir he's watching (it would be rude to look directly forward, at Ella's cards) so it's probable she'll feel his fingertips for a second before he curls them out of the way.
Ella has bowed her head and is peering at her cards as R'vain approaches, and his words, or rather their slurring, have her brows twitching upwards just a little bit. "Well boys," she says with a lazy grin, "guess I'm foldin'." The cards are tossed down on the table. Hesbir took on a bit of a frown as R'vain approached, but it shifts to something forced-friendly quickly enough. Fighting isn't thought too highly of here, and it's usually the man that throws the first punch what gets banned from the premises for a spell. Ella shoves her chair back, and never mind if it thumps a certain grabby bronzer's knees, as she pushes to a stand. Hesbir gets his hair ruffled and his slightly woeful look at her is reciprocated with a wink. "Be seein' you then, Ella." "I'm thinkin' y'will, Hesbir. Thinkin' y'will." Then she inches around the chair, takes a good look at her flushed and carrot-topped client, and begins making her way to the stairs, hips swishing just enough to call it an invitation to follow.
R'vain is not fast of reflex tonight; his knees get bumped, and he jerks back a half-pace while letting out a little 'uff' of complaint. Silence while the woman sets herself free from the game; his eyes follow her shape for a moment as she starts away. But the Weyrlingmaster delays a moment; he raises a paw to the back of his head and scrubs up the back of his hair with his flattened palm several times, a youthful gesture like a boy embarrassed-- 'gosh, she's going up there for /me/?'-- but there's a completely non-embarrassed sort of sly grin waiting for Hesbir. When Ella's out of (what R'vain thinks is) earshot, he bends over the chair she vacated and sidelongs a gruff, loud non-whisper Hesbir's way. "S'short f'reason." Badly slurred and whiffed of wine, but the intonation's lascivious, advisory. It's a suggestion for next time. He shoves up from the chair and trails after Ella then, making speed by means of shoulders broad enough to clear the way.
It is, indeed, short for a reason, though perhaps not the reason R'vain imagines. Ella makes her way up the stairs, skirts whispering and flashing in the light. She slips into the same room she always slips into and waits until he follows before pushing the door shut, leaning up against it, and sliding the bolt home. She smiles again, her dark eyes warm and shining, as she watches him. "Hey there, Red. Y'have a bit of a celebration b'fore y'stopped by, then?" Smirk. "Wanna keep it goin'?"
It would be fair to say he has probably imagined a thousand reasons and come to one he likes best; this, however, does not affect the truth of his advice. He is smug about it, about being picked on zero notice and in seconds flat over someone who'd already been paying Ella's way through a card game; and that smugness twists his mouth into a leering snigger while he pushes himself up the stairs. Down the hallway a few doors, to the one she always takes, through after her, and around about-face inside the room so he can turn a first full look on and over her where she's leant against the door. "S'been-- s'been-- " Not the answer she's looking for. He raises a paw and scrubs the back of it across his forehead, wiping off sweat that's not there, eyes squinched. They widen as his hand drops and he prowls toward her. "Missed you," which is also not what she was looking for, but through his smirking grin it's harmless enough.
"Sure y'did," Ella laughs as her hands idly resettle skirts that do not need adjusting. "Can't miss me when m'here, though. I got wine, y'want any more. Or other stuff, but you get sick on m'rug, I ent gonna be too happy, Red." She pushes away from the door to move to the bed, setting down on the edge of it and leaning back on her hands.
Prowling aborts as she walks away, around, past. He turns slowly in place to track her, then stares after her with brows furrowing as he moves. "Won't be." Of this he sounds certain enough, but R'vain's expression is more perplexed than displeased or brash, and the smirk's slid away for safekeeping somewhere else. For a moment it would actually seem most like he's not sure what he ought to be doing here, but the moment passes and he starts toward her again, shoulders drawn down a little, hunting in earnest now. "Wine," he approves; and as single-word sentences are hard to slur, it's sort of nice how there's a reasonable delay before he tacks on, "Later."
"Sure," comes Ella's easy agreement. She falls quiet and simply watches as the bronzerider lurks closer, flushed face, slurred words, and all. One foot swings idly, slippered toes peeking out from her hem and then vanishing again. "Whatever y'like, Red."
R'vain achieves the space beside Ella's legs, and leans a knee into the bed. He swings a paw for her arm, for the one farther from him, like he'd be liable to swing her back with his grip and crawl up over her, but if that's his aim he fails; instead his hand just sweeps up along the fabric of her gown, then back down with the backs of his knuckles brushing, and his head winds up tilted with green gaze following this motion, curious and interested. He sinks into his knee, bending the bedding, threatening to slide floorward with the slouch of his shoulders and weak bend of his leg-- but not sliding quite yet. From her neckline his eyes do wander back up and in a moment he says, like it's a very important thing, more important than laying her out and getting a little exercise would be, "Why'd y'come up?"
Ella is silent and relaxed as the weyrlingmaster's posture and motions make tiny promises that never come true. Her dark eyes watch his thick fingers as they brush her arm, then her skirts, and if her foot swinging taps against his leg, it stops after a moment, toes simply resting on the floor. Her head tips to the side at this very careful question, but the smile that follows, and the answer, are easy. "Cuz y'wanted me to."
R'vain grunts, and tilts his head this other way, swinging his gaze down the lines and curves of her to her knees; he watches them bend and unbend as her foot shifts from touching him to touching the floor. "'magine th'fellow buyin' y'in wanted y'to too," he remarks, mostly intelligible. He runs his tongue up over his upper teeth, then pokes it into his cheek, making a lump; in a moment it recedes. Now he slides, though intentionally; he tucks a leg under and balances himself with a hand-- he comes to kneel sloppily beside her legs, an arm up on the bed, the other hand reaching for a foot to coax it back up from the ground into his palm. "What were y'talkin' about?" Paranoia and curiosity would look the same with him staring down at her foot, but his expression reveals neither.
"What, Hesbir? Yeh, maybe. 'Cept I was winnin' his marks easy enough stayin' downstairs, so weren't in no rush t'move. He's sorta..." Ella shrugs as a means of completing the sentence, her foot reappearing as it's coaxed, and settling against his palm. She seems only half aware of this. "Hesbir sails with Wrendall's all. We like t'tease, and maybe he was workin' his way up to sumthin', but he's got a girl at another port. Things were maybe goin' funny with that, but I'm bettin' he'll marry her. So." Shrug.
"So-- sure marks from me 'steada winnin' his few at'time, an'maybe' some'else." R'vain puts this together slowly, for him, and shows no disappointment at the revelation, which is out of character-- not even a mockery of disappointment, a pretense of wounded ego. Instead he wraps his palm around her foot and tucks his thumb against the side of its arch and rubs a firm, dragonhide-oiling circle there. He looks up at her, but it takes him a while to creep his gaze from ankle to knee. "D'you trust me? -- Uh-- and-- that-- that ain't meant t'be'leadin'." Up to her bustline with his eyes; a little grin, either for what he's said (he has presence of mind enough to have a few salacious thoughts about where that question might lead, in another night's circumstance) or for what he's looking at-- and then on up to her face. "Y'din't say whatcha were talkin' about." Pout.
The last question is addressed first, perhaps to buy Ella a bit of time to figure out how to answer the first one. Her toes curl as her foot presses against R'vain's hand. "Talkin' about Wrendall. Or, Hesbir was sayin' he thought he was better at cards, which he ent, and I told him I'd tell Wrendall so, I saw him next. Dunno what else. Nuthin'. Keepin' the table lively. S'all." Ella falls quiet for a little while, still working on that other quandary. Finally she says, "My line a'work, Red, trust don't come so easy. Trust you more'n most, though. Y'ent proven me wrong yet."
"You were winning," points out R'vain. "Winning o'him, anyway," he affords after a moment. His hand arches, the balls of his palm pressing into the sole of her foot. "D'y'think I'm trustworthy. Don't have t'be a simple answer." Like he figures it wouldn't be. His gaze's coming back down the line of her, down to knee and leg and back to the foot he's got in his hand, and even as his hand rubs her foot his expression seems a bit surprised to find it there.
"Well sure I was. Play cards with Seyra, an’ Hesbir ent nothin' compared to Seyra." Ella closes her eyes, sighing softly as her foot is massaged. "You sure got y'head in a funny place t'night," she muses languidly. But it's not a rebuke. It's just a statement. "Y'trustworthy? Guess it depends on what y'mean." One eye cracks open. "Y'got a way about you, might make folks hold back some, be more careful, they don't know ya. But that ent the same as bein' untrustworthy. Y'do what y'say y'will. Y'don't cheat on y'word. Y'take it right, when y'lose fair n' square. So...yeh. Y'trustworthy. Just, I think it's hard t'tell sometimes."
"I'm-- s'been-- lately-- " Awful. He drops his chin and stares at her foot, his hand for a moment stopping. It seems that he has to lean into the elbow on the bed in order to keep himself from slumping outright, and even so he bends his head so far forward that his forehead comes to rest against her knee. R'vain breathes then, deep and long and hard, and draws his elbow down off the bed so he can hold her foot in both hands, adjusting so he can prop those hands and that foot against his thigh. "If y'needed t'know somethin' 'bout me, who'd you ask?"
There is more quiet watching and as his head bows, Ella shifts her weight so she can move the arm nearest his curved shoulders to slide it slowly through his bristly hair. "Can't think'a anyone who'd know you better'n you, Red. Someone givin' you a tough run?" Her hand slides, slow and gentle, through his hair over and over again. Her own shoulders curl forward, but only so that she can whisper, husky and playful into his ear, "Want me t'punch 'em for ya?"
"S'been-- " Whatever it's been, he's been, lately-- besides soused-- R'vain can't seem to come up with words. But her hands in his hair have him purring a bit by the time she bends close, and he has to choke back that contentment that rumbles around in his throat so he can hear her whisper. A whisper that sends him upright and staring up at her with a sudden, cockeyed grin, which he holds for a moment before shaking his head and finally letting go of her foot. Finally reaching out to either side of her legs to get hold of the bed and half with his arms, half with his legs, pull himself up-- up, but bent deep at the waist, leaning into her face, aggressing at last. "A woman," he explains, voice more like the purring than speech. "Can't v'well punch'er m'self. But naw. Not yet."
Tsk. This is Ella's scold as her arms come to settle around his neck. He leans forward, so tonight, she leans back, demure. Tonight, that's how this game will be played. "Thought y'knew better than t'let a woman lay y'low. Leastways one you'd like t'have me punch. In a while. Mebbe." Her nose wrinkles. "Ent worth it. Whoever she is. She don't see you, Red, she ent worth y'botherin' with her."
"I /like/ women." Protest. Whine, actually. A defense for why he's let one lay him low. But it's a weakly given defense; he whines it against her lips, then mouths at them for a moment, nibbling without teeth. His hands find her knee before his legs, the one his forehead leaned against; then they paw upward, gathering cloth along the way. "Putcher hands in m'hair 'gain," he tells her skin, one syllable for each press of his lips to her lower lip, the underside of her chin, and all down her neck. "Hold on."
"Likin' 'em and lettin' 'em under y'skin're different..." but Ella knows the time for debate, and this is not it. Her lips are there for him to take, and she offers small kisses back as his mouth nibbles and tastes. Her head tilts, baring her throat for him. She flops onto her back so that her fingers can thread though the weyrlingmaster's hair: the source of his nickname. Her chuckle vibrates through her neck and chest at his words. "Make it sound like I wasn't plannin' on it anyhow." But then Ella falls quiet and does as she's told. And then some.
He's been rowdier; he's been more demanding; he's been more forceful. But R'vain is never too willing to be distracted from the pursuit of pleasure once he's got the quarry fixed in his sights, and even though foggy in the head, he's gained presence of mind and clarity of bloodstream enough since shouldering past the sailors outside to make a good show of the hunt. Determination becomes indulgence; indulgence becomes passion; passion becomes fury. The progression is certain and swift, and it's all he can manage to have her out of things he's not allowed to rip before he's lost in fire.
Those flames still stroke the inside of his skin some time later, when he lies beside her, one knee up, one down, his arm loosely pinned beneath her shoulders. The rouge in his cheeks has gained a new nature, and he might be considered better for it, even if his sweat yet contains a certain eau du vin. His chest heaves, but the heaving's slowing down, and a grin warps his mouth.
Ella blinks up at the ceiling a few times before simply letting her eyes drift shut. She rolls onto her side, one hand settling on R'vain's chest to rub it lazily. "Never borin', Red. Always gotta give y'that," she murmurs contentedly. There is a sigh, and then just lazy nothing. It's the sort of silence that often sits in the room between this pair. Comfortable. Waiting to be broken by his words or left as it is by his continued quiet.
A rumble sets the skin beneath her palm to gentle vibrations, the murmur of his contentment bent into pleased tones by her touch and his grin. R'vain allows a long time's silence to mull and season these moments of normalcy, to lend his mind to her words, drift away from them, and come back again with a question. So many questions, tonight. "How d'you mean, when y'say that?"
The weyrlingmaster is given a bit of a look. It's more surprise than anything else, Ella's head lifting slightly to study his smirking features. "Dunno." Her head flops back down onto the pillow. "Just ent. Yer, I dunno..." Her head is turned so she faces him, but she's watching the wall beyond instead. "Y'come t'see me, yer actually lookin' t'see -me-. S'nice is all."
He lifts his own head then, and looks down at her with his head a little turned. The fact that she's not looking at him registers visibly, a falling out between his brows and his mouth making R'vain look contorted a moment by confusion. It gives way to a twitchy acceptance and he puts his head back down. It takes him a moment to think on what he'll say, and to decide saying it's worth grinning, and worth tucking his arm up around her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze so she'll know he's teasing-- at least in part. "Izzat so unusual, someone comes here t'see you and aims t' see /you/?"
"Well," ah, the smirk has returned to Ella's lips. "Ent somethin' I go holdin' m'breath about. Different folks want different things." Shrug. "Don't upset me none. Just nice t'know on occasion."
"Don't explain what's so not-boring." But R'vain's willing at last to let it go, after making her suffer this one last pout. The arm that's not under her he raises, elbow-up, to make a pillow for his own head. "Y'said y'ad wine?"
Ella chuckles. "Suppose I did. I got white an' red. I'm thinkin' red for ya?" She pushes up with a languid stretch before she begins shifting off the bed.
There's a snort from the part of the bed she's abandoning and a little rough, ragged laughter as he rolls over instinctively to cuddle against the warm place her body just vacated. "M'a better drinker than t'pick by color. 'less y'got blue or green or somethin' y'know, unique." Another laughing snort and R'vain turns his face into the furs, head shaking. From somewhere in there comes a muffled sound that might be 'whatever,' indifferent to what she'll pour for him.
"It's just the same basic sort as what's downstairs." She sways, nude, to a small row of shelves, pulling down two glasses and a skin. These are carried back to the bed. One glass is set on the end table, the skin is uncorked, and a local red is poured into the first glass, filling it halfway. This is held out to R'vain, and should he accept it, Ella pours the same for herself.
R'vain misses the nude swaying with his face buried in the blankets, but the closeness of her guarantees he hears the wine splash into the glass and he overturns, pushing himself half-up on one paw so he can hold up the other to take the glass she offers. His tongue parts his lips to wet them, then retreats. "So I gotta question." So thoughtful of him to warn her first. He swings up the glass for a drink, and with his whistle whet shoves back along the bed so he can lean against the disarray of pillows and headboard and wall behind them, grinning over at her, a paw patting the coverlet invitationally. "If /you/ had words against me an' I let 'em get t'me would that be stupid, t'let a woman do that, if th'woman's you?"
A sigh wants to slip through Ella's lips but it is suppressed as she accepts the offered spot on the bed. She plops down, comfortable in her nakedness, if not in being so quizzed. "I oughta check th'knot on yer shirt, Red. Make sure you ent been a harper all this time an' I missed it. All this askin'..." She pauses to sip. "First off, I don't sass." Uh huh. "Don't use m'words that way. I'd just break y'nose." Another small sip. "Second, y'let -me- get under y'skin yer a damn fool. Y'know that, Red."
Thick, sudden snort, and R'vain drops his head, shaking it, grinning wide, biting something back. Something about being accused of harperdom. He's barely recovering from that, using a gulp of wine to wash down the choke, when she inspires another one (if a more good-natured one) with 'I don't sass.' He's sputtering into the glass, then has to swallow a deep drought to get over the sputtering, then leans over to bend his head and try nips at her earlobe. "A'right, a'right, a'right," he tells that ear, then bends lower and lips a few mouthy kisses down the side of her neck before straightening. "M'point's this, does it matter what th'woman's about, who she is, how much I ought t'let'er get t'me?"
"Red, are you askin' a whore about relationships?" Ella murmurs, smirking as her head tips to the side. "I dunno. I suppose it could depend. Y'know her, it'd warrant more'n if she was just some flashy thing what dropped a few mean thoughts. Suppose she ranks high enough, I prolly couldn't punch her," Ella sort of says and sort of purrs as his lips travel. "She were blooded, I prolly couldn't. She were, like, y'best friend's girl, guess that'd matter too."
R'vain can't seem to get a good drink done; she's so quick with the things that make him snork or sputter or choke on the wine that the glass is miraculously half-full after a whole minute's time. "I'm askin a woman about women," he good-naturedly growls once he's swallowed the latest snort, bending his head so he can put his mouth on her neck, and nip with a little teeth this time. "Ain't m'best friend's girl, not yet anyway. Ain't mine either."
"And Blooded?" Ella gets her first question of the night in, even if it's just a tease. "She that?" Sip. "She's with someone, though. Someone y'think's all right? Red, I just can't think what a girl could say to ya that'd be such a worry. Y'don't seem the sort for poetry and love songs."
"No. She's a rider's daughter." He nips a line of toothy caresses down the side of her neck to the place where collarbone meets shoulder, over the curve of that shoulder, then away. Picking up his head, R'vain fixes Ella with a green stare of brief surprise, then lets a broad smirk crawl across his mouth. "Poems'n'songs don't worry me," he points out, and turns away to tip up the wine glass. For all that turning away makes it seem like his attention's all on the drinking, the arm nearer her slinks around, looking for space between her back and the wall, a way to tuck her in his embrace. He raises a knee then and reaches out to balance the wineglass' foot on his kneecap. "She's, uh, she's got a guy. Ain't like that. With me. Jus', she's important. Think she hates me."
"A rider's daughter," Ella muses. "Mmm, well, I could prolly hit 'er then. That don't sound so bad." She quiets, hand keeping a careful hold on the wineglass as her head again tilts back and to the side, allowing him better access to the skin of her neck. "Mmm..." as he tries to be sneaky about grabbing her closer, Ella discreetly shifts to make that sneaking successful, and she squirms nearer, leaning against his side. "Didja do somethin'? To make her hate'cha? Or she just does?"
"Y'could but y'shouldn't. She's-- " Her squirming against him's distracting, or pleasing, or most likely both and he angles toward her as she leans into him. Cozy, and naked. He grins at her, then R'vain turns his head and looks up at his wineglass on his knee. He stares intently at it for a moment, then slowly unwraps his paw from it while silence stretches out after her questions. It balances. He takes care to be sure his knee stays steady, watching the glass while his paw creeps over his belly toward her, toward bare skin he might like to touch. For all that his hands and his knee are willing to distract themselves with various forms of entertainment his voice is a little dulled, words thickened, and not just slurred by wine. "Dunno. Did a few things probly. Just bein' me. Don't think she gets it. She went pokin' through m'stuff." He swallows. "Guess she din't like what she found."
Ella's interest is mostly on that balanced glass, which seems to be combined with wandering hands. "Don't y'spill wine on m'sheets, Red. Or I -will- punch y'in th'nose," she warns with a grin. Her own glass is still held securely in her hands and she sips. "Yer maybe a little hard t'get. Specially if she ent used to y'sort. But..." Ella scowls. "Snoopin'? Dunno what I think 'bout that. Sorta funny, her wantin' t'know 'bout you and she's not y'girl. Y'sure she ent? Y'sure bout her an' this other fella?"
His nose wrinkles, but her warning wobbles him more than anything he might have pawed at would have, and the wine shivers just a bit in the glass-- so R'vain lifts up his hand with a sigh of petulance and resteadies the foot of the glass against his knee, leaving his hand draped there to hold it. "Nose been punched before," he needlessly remarks. "Pretty sure. Sure about th'guy. She defended him, sorta. Din't have to, he din't do anything. She defended 'erself. Thinks I deserve snoopin'. Don't trust me. Wouldn't ask." Rambling. Maybe he makes a note of this fact. Maybe he's just a bit miserable. Either way he shuts himself up by taking the wine off his knee and putting it instead to his lips.
"Don' make much sense to me," Ella murmurs again. She takes a slightly larger sip from her glass. "What's she's gotta be so interested in you for that she's snoopin'. Guess there's bits y'don' wanna say, but that's fine." Sip. Ella stares at the edge of the bed as she considers. "Ain't gonna say she had a right. She didn't. I'd still hit 'er, but, sometimes a girl's got a cause not t'trust. Some lessons y'learn and y'don't unlearn no matter what."
"She's-- " R'vain drinks again, after only this much, frowning around the rim of the glass. His green eyes reflect red wine; the wine reflects his eyes. Neither is complimentary. "S'been-- " He lifts the glass and swirls it, watching the liquid inside move while he swallows an extra time, needlessly. One more drought, this one deep, meaningful. It drains the glass. "She's th'lil'weyrwoman. She wants t'be th'big one. S'kinda complicated."
And with those few words, R'vain gets even for all of the snrking and snorting Ella's made him do with his wine. The cup is to her lips and her eyes widen, shoulders jerking forward, and she snrks into the glass. There is a brief interlude where Ella is simply coughing, her own cheeks pinkening as she fights to catch her breath. "Fuck, Red," Ella gasps, wiping at tearing eyes. "Warn a girl." She sniffs and frowns down at her knees. "Won't punch that one," she notes quietly.
"Ella--!" R'vain half-turns toward her as she coughs and hunches and tears up. "What, she's just-- I mean, she's-- it ain't like-- " And then he stops, ruddy brows drawing low over eyes full of emerald confusion. His tongue goes up over his teeth and comes back down again, *tschk.* "I dunno what it's like. Guess she's searchin' me out. I just ain't s'posed t'do th'same. Ain't allowed t'tell 'er my own self even." He draws up the other knee, angling back against the wall and away a little bit from Ella-- the one arm stays around her, but the one with the wineglass slings out over his knees, so he's half-posed in a mockery of a rocking fetal position. It seems to bring him no comfort to speak of, and in a moment he looks over at her and waves the glass with a lazy twitch of his paw. "Got more've that?"
"I might." Ella clears her throat and then pauses to down the rest of her own glass. "But yer gonna fess up b'fore I pour anymore. So she went through y'stuff and then defended...her fella f'somethin' an' hates you an' won't let y'tell'er things? Y'better explain what's doin' more clearly cuz I find m'self a mite more interested. Then I'll give y'another glass."
"She went through m'office." A correction put out in a distinctly grumpy note. But he turns his attention on her and lets one knee slide back down, his sour mouth all twisted against her desire for an explanation. "I went t'see her t'ask why not just ask me and she warn't there but Ashwin was and I talked t'im and that was mostly fine, but she came t'me later and just ripped my 'ead off how I's never t'go there again and this is /after/ she /goes through my things/, d'you follow?"
Through all this R'vain never gets heated; if anything he sounds more and more miserable and agonized, and when he's done he turns away, aiming even to slip his arm out from behind Ella's back.
Ella studies her own glass and then reaches over for the skin to fill it, and then to fill R'vain's as well. When that's done, another healthy gulp is taken and Ella stares down at her wine, for once missing the discomfort as she's lost in some quandary of her own. "That don' make any kinda sense. She wouldn'..." Sip. "I follow," she murmurs, "but I don'..." The wine is set down and she turns as R'vain curls away. Scoot scoot, and a hand is set lightly on his shoulder. "M'sorry she did that. It happened like you say, she ent what I thought."
"Y'know'erthen," mumbles R'vain, looking into his now-full glass, not at Ella at all. His shoulder lies still beneath her hand; the tension's out of him, she's seen to that. But the unhappiness remains, and he sits there looking into the wine for some refuge from it.
"Thought I knew 'er a bit. Kinda worried maybe not." There's another heavy gulp and the wine is set down. "Don' let 'er get under y'skin. She did that, still say she ent worth it." Ella huffs a sharp sigh as if those words maybe cost her a bit of something. She scoots over to rest her chin on his shoulder, arms draping around him in a lazy hug if he'll let them.
He lets them. He does not turn into them, but R'vain moves his glass out of the way so they can drape him, and he bends his head to rub his lips thoughtfully, not quite kissingly, along one feminine forearm. "Yeah. I'm kinda worried maybe not m'self," he mutters against that skin, and draws a breath around it, then sighs a sigh upon it, then raises his head and the glass and manages an awkward gulp while she's holding him. After the gulp he turns his head toward hers, where she chinrests upon his shoulder, and dips in for a slightly wine-damp smooch on her cheek. "Din't know y'knew'er or I wouldn't've said," he mutters as quiet as he can get.
"M'glad y'said," Ella murmurs. "Well, no, maybe m'not. M'head was a whole lot happier not knowin'. But m'glad anyhow." She huffs faintly, tipping her head just enough to offer a small kiss to his lips before he retreats. "Really thought she was...didn't even know she was a weyrwoman til after she left. We all liked 'er bunches." Sigh. "Poor Red." Her chin lifts a little as a thought occurs to her. "Don't suppose she could be...I mean, I hear the girl dragons get sorta funny sometimes..."
He takes the kiss, smirking a little after it-- see, she's improved him already. But he turns the smirk down into his glass. "What was she 'ere for? I could f'give'er all kinds of misdeeds if any of 'em made me grin." R'vain puts the smirk against the rim of the glass and tips the foot of it up, sending way too much of the contents into his mouth; he swallows a couple of times, then lowers the glass half the fullness it had before, holding a third swallow ready behind his lips. He stares at the wine, the reflection staring back, then swallows again, hard. "Don't think that's it. If it is, though, we'd all be th'better f'it. Get it done a'ready. F'ranth."
"Suppose we'd all rest a bit easier, things were squared at th'weyr. She came here cuz...shit, Red, y'been comin' here how many turns and y'really don' know?" Ella tips her head so she can laugh against the back of his neck. "Don' pay much attention do ya, if th'thing t'notice ent inna skirt round here."
The back of his neck shifts beneath her laughter, R'vain twisting his head around to try to squint an emerald glare sideways out of the corners of his eyes at her. "What," he kicks out, huff. "Wha'd I miss then? Why'd'y'think I come here anyhow, I'm s'posed t'be payin' attention t'stuff not in skirts?" Huff again, with a snort this time, and he turns back to his glass to tilt it up and drain the rest.
Ella only shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "Ashwin's Aramia's boy. Her son." Her chin settles again on R'vain's shoulder. "He brought her by, which is somethin' new. An she had her knot off an' we didn't know. Stole her away, talked her ear off, wouldn't'a guessed she was anythin' fancy. Thought that was real nice, and I'd trust Ash t'pick someone worth it. Course we never much thought he'd pick -a- girl at all, but..." Her body shifts against R'vain's back as she shrugs, "surprise."
The emphasis on 'a' girl, singular, sparks some amusement in the bronzerider she's draped against and again he turns his head toward her, eyeing her from over his shoulder. "What, y'think he'd pick a dozen?" R'vain smashes a little laugh flat after that and leans a little bit to try to put up his emptied glass somewhere out of the way so he can turn around some in her arms. "So what, he spend 'is off-hours here? Ain't never noticed. Mustn't play cards much. Or stay 'way from riders." Shrug. It's not a question, just a defense: the Weyrlingmaster never saw the guard, or never noticed seeing him if he saw, so he must not have been nearby. Simple. "Funny," he admits though, and fails to smash the next little series of chortles down.
"Well, he didn't pick a dozen all at once, but Ash weren't really the settlin' type. Paid a visit here or there when he was lookin' for somethin'...just his way. Til her. Mmm," Ella's arms loosen enough that R'vain can turn. "He visits when he can. Helps out 'round here, fixes things. Grew up here, so..." Ella just shakes her head. "Red, he's been here prolly half th’times you paid a visit." She snickers. "Shit, he helped throw y'out th'one time y'were too drunk t'mind y'manners proper."
"That was turns ago and y'know it," grouses R'vain. Can't expect a man to recall his drunken stupors of the distant past. And because drunkenness is on the table his gaze is drawn to the empty glass he's put aside; the good cheer he had for a moment drains away faster than even the wine did, and he looks back at her with an expression nameable only as melancholy. It does not fit his rowdy features well at all. "Y'good t'me, Ella. I ain't meant t'make anything hard f'y'w'all th'talkin'."
"Y'think I'd really let'cha make anythin' hard for me?" Ella asks with a lazy smirk. Then, as a thought occurs to her, that smirk deepens. "Well. -One- thing." Her fingers press against his sides but then she studies him, the smirk retreating to allow for a more solemn study. "Hate t'see y'so down."
He manages a little laugh for that. Pretty awful. It deserved at least a rich rumble, if not grabby paws and tumbling among the pillows. Just a little laugh. "Yeah," R'vain says to Ella's latter, and looks at her for a long moment before shaking his head. "Yeah. Sorry. I know." A paw comes up to touch her face, but the touch is drifty and loose and doesn't last long before his hand's going back down and his eyes are shutting and he's turning away again. This time, to swing his feet slowly off the bed. "Busy on Turn's End?" Without a subject it might be hard to tell if his mumbly question means the bar, or her.
"Usually. Folks want somethin' t'celebrate or somethin t'help f'get they got nuthin' t'celebrate. But most ways it's th'girls workin' th'tables that run their feet raw." If there is worry that Ella's little joke didn't get the anticipated response, she is at least professional enough to hide it. "Y'gonna stop by?"
"Maybe. There'll be a thing at th'weyr. Don't wanna go." R'vain slides off onto his feet, a paw raising to ruffle up the back of his head, having little net effect on the arrangement of his hair. He shakes his head after that, and prowls down the length of the bed to its foot, where certain parts of the clothes he came with rest in disarray. "If you're workin' th'tables I could at least find a card game or somethin'." He swipes up his pants in a handy paw and leans the side of his leg against the side of the bed while straightening them out so he can get into them. "If you ain't workin th'tables, even better."
If R'vain is getting dressed, then Ella will have to do the same, so she slides off the bed to follow the bronzerider's lead and gather up and get her clothing back on. At least her hair needs nothing more than a quick run-through of her fingers to look settled. "Y'don' wanna go, don' go." She stills as she scoops up her underthings and is halfway to putting them on. "Y'know..." the words come slow. Underthings are settled on her body before she finishes, "you can bet Aramia'll want Ashwin home t'help keep an eye on things. And he's gonna need a ride t'get here."
R'vain pauses mid-buttoning up his pants. They're leather, his preference, and it takes him a little work to deal with them, but it's work he's accustomed to. He keeps that leg bent against the bed as much as he can, too; it steadies him. "Wouldn't mind bringin' 'im. Can't imagine th'weyrwoman'd like me to, though." As if that's that he goes back to buttoning, finishes it, and gets his shirt scooped up to start on next. But he's only got one sleeve on when he turns around toward Ella. A pause to look her over, and a little bit of a sly grin for the altered perspective on her figure underthings provide. "S'pose he don't have t'tell 'er if I bring 'im. Ought t'be able t'pick 'is own ride."
The slip comes on next, and then the corset. "More'n a month til Turn's End. Who knows what'll be then?" Ella sucks in a breath and wrenches the ties, tying them off before reaching for her underskirts. "Don' think Ash is one t'sneak around, Red." Ella's dark eyes twinkle. "Ent one t'bother. He'll say what he's doin', an' he'll do it. Can't see that she could take 'im if y'got some big party goin' on at th'weyr anyhow."
"If you say so." Like he thinks something different about the man they're discussing. He puts his head down to attend to the fingers and the buttons of the shirt. This is harder than the pants, for whatever reason. Less practiced, maybe. The wine can't be helping, not the two glasses put back so fast here, nor whatever number of glasses he had before his arrival. "Think he might not be upfront as all that." But R'vain can agree with her on one thing, shrugging as he finishes the shirt enough to call it finished-- three buttons open still-- and sweeps up his jacket. Less clothes means quicker dressed. "S'his business t'decide. I'll offer, if it seems right b'then. Meanwhile." Meanwhile he comes 'round the bed, approaching her, head still down; only right before her does he look up, and then have not much, apparently, to say. Jacket over his arm he just looks at her, and smiles a bit, barely.
The overthings come on last and the final buttons are snapped up, fingers smoothing her hair down again. That comment about Ashwin earns R'vain a look that's slightly quizzical and slightly surprised. "He ent a talker, but Ash don't play games. What'd he do?" Ella settles her skirts to peer up at R'vain as he stands before her. She brushes his cheek lightly with the back of her knuckles. "Thanks f'th'visit."
"Wouldn't answer me," provides R'vain, minimalist for the moment. Her thanks make him grin a little better than he had before, and lend his reply a certain boyish gracelessness. "Aw, Ella." One step closer and he puts a hand out for her waist. She knows what comes next, when he's not in such deep cups, anyway. It's not too much different even so. The Weyrlingmaster closes up the space between them and bends his head to angle a kiss from her; he's never fussy, lips or chin or the stretch of her neck will do. It's cover for a hand going from his pocket to her palm. Tonight he holds her hand a little tighter than he should, wrenches his thick fingers in among hers and crushes what's between their hands into their skin, and if that reeks a bit of desperation-- well, it's short-lived. He's got to leave. And he's not much good at that. So he raises his head and doesn't really look at her as he disentangles his fingers from hers-- and because he knows the rates, and she knows he knows the rates, and because he tips a bit too well on top of them, R'vain doesn't stop to be sure she's satisfied with what remains in her hand. He heads for the door, and fast as he can slinks through.