Neutral Positions (and a Workaholic)

Xanadu Weyr - Weyrleaders' Office
Office and retreat, this is the domain of Xanadu's Weyrleaders. The door is in the southern wall, quite close to the western end while the northern wall is dominated by big, expansive windows, framed by sumptuous deep blue drapes edged with a brilliant gold braid and tied back with a thick rope of braided gold and blue cord. In between, the western wall is covered floor to ceiling with shelves that house all sorts of records, manuals and supplies that are used on a day-to-day basis.
The southern wall has the Weyrleader's desk — plain fellis wood, well polished and masculine. From behind his desk, the Weyrleader can look straight through the windows and out onto the main airspace of Xanadu. The eastern wall is where the Weyrwoman's desk resides: a lovely piece of furniture made of warm cherry wood. From her seat, a glance sideways gives her an equally good prospect out the window. There are a few other seats, some comfortably arranged around a low round table for small, informal meetings while there also some that can be drawn up to one of the desks.
On the west side of the door, the space is occupied by a low oblong table where refreshments can be set without someone needing to intrude. There is also an 'incoming' tray where incoming correspondence or similar items can be left.

It might be a flashback to times long past: a pop from between, the appearance of one elegant (thank you very much) firelizard intent on keeping what is very clearly a message from Risali out of K'vir's reach until the poor man has been thoroughly harassed and, depending on what K'vir does in the godless hours of early morning (or late, late evening), has been forced from his comforts to capture her and thus gain the letter that probably wasn't worth catching at all. 'K'vir,' it reads in eloquent but hasty script, 'Weyrleader's office. - Risali.' And should K'vir deign to heed the absolutely ridiculous summons of his weyrmate at an hour that probably doesn't actually exist, he will find the entirety of the administrative halls abandoned and quiet, showing no signs of the usual bustle and life it teems with the much more reasonable hours of daylight. Now only Risali remains, pressed beneath a layer of blankets meant to ward off the chill of autumn and in possession of a mug of klah pushed to one corner of her desk, abandoned long enough for the steam once rising from it to have subsided and the drink itself to have cooled. There are papers everywhere, strewn out in haphazard abandon that she's hunched over with hair wild from hands that have run through it one too many times and eyes that bespeak the need for a bed sometime soon. But Risali persists (as a Risali do), one hand appearing from beneath blankets with writing utensil in tow so that she might scribble out something on a piece of paper and then lean over it, writing something new in its place with brows furrowed in concentration, lips moving to form the words she writes without sound. THIS. THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED TO, K'VIR. AND WHY, EVEN? THAT IS THE MYSTERY.

L I S T E N. Who does Risa think K’vir is? DOES SHE NOT KNOW HIM AT ALL? He is well experienced in the twilight hours, the unspeakable hours, the unreasonable hours — that’s been MUCH OF HIS LIFE for Turns now, as a Wingsecond to Galaxy (and hello, little ones in their weyr??). Do you think he’d complain? Well, okay. FINE! He has some choice words this time, because the summons comes on his —blissful— rotation of ‘days off’ after his recent stint of overnight shifts. So, predictably with his run of luck, the firelizard borne summons interrupts his —beauty— sleep. Understandably, K’vir isn’t in the mood for games but plays along anyways (like the smart man he can sometimes be). He’s not a big enough fool to ignore the written words either, even if he has to stare long and hard at the note and then longingly at their bed —whycan’thejustsleep—. Many long suffering SIGHS later, some cursing and a specific oath (or three), he’s dressed in the most casual wear he can find because DAMN IT HE’S STAYING IN HIS JAM JAMS! It’s his one concession (to himself). Which means by the time he’s slipping into the office, he’s wearing a comfy pair of loose pants and an equally thin but relaxed shirt that matches his bedhead. WHY EVEN? That’s written all over his groggy squinting to the paper strewn area. “Everything okay, Risa?” IS SHE OKAY (clearly not, but hey, he actually doesn’t stupidly mutter THAT)? Rumbled is his greeting, gruffly concerned but also PERPLEXED. WHY. WHY!? His internal clock is weeping for this disruption but look how sweet he is, still dragging his sorry ass out of bed and across the Weyr FOR HER (you’re welcome).

Risali is looking at how sweet he is — and possibly making the entire situation worse by squinting at him as if she isn't quite sure what he's doing there. Or maybe she's not sure what she is doing here. Those grey eyes drag with painstaking slow attentiveness over his state of (un)dress right up to that hair before they dart toward the window, toward the empty inky blackness of an overcast night. "I " a beat, as Risali drops whatever it is that she was writing with, allowing it to clatter on the desk as she turns her attention back to her weyrmate. " just wanted to see you." YEAH, KYZEN. LET THAT SINK IN. SHE RUINED YOUR BEAUTY (DON'T TRY TO CROSS IT OUT, YOU HEATHEN) SLEEP SO THAT SHE COULD GAZE UPON YOUR MAJESTY. But maybe it was a mistake, because there's genuine confusion crossing her expression, dropping her voice to a whisper that's almost apologetic in and of itself as she asks, "Is it that late?" UNCONSCIONABLY? Yes. Which might be why Risali is suddenly grabbing her mug of Klah, tilting it at enough of an angle to glimpse the liquid long since having surrendered its heat, and then looking back to her weyrmate with shoulders coming up towards her chin. IS SHE TRYING TO HIDE INSIDE OF HER OWN SELF? Yes. Yes she is. "You ah," a beat, as grey eyes jump his person again and her tongue comes across her lips before teeth sink into her bottom lip. "You look… good?" HALF ASLEEP? GRUFF AND PERPLEXED AND STILL SOMEHOW STRIKINGLY HANDSOME? ALL OF THE ABOVE!!! "Sorry," comes quieter still, as Risali JUST SITS THERE, STARING AT HIM, AS IF SHE DID NOT JUST SUMMON HIM TO HER. "… Klah?" R I S A L I. YOU CANNOT OFFER THAT POOR MAN YOUR SUPER COLD KLAH. But she does anyway, pushing it toward him with the tips of three fingers and a please-forgive-me smile.

LET THAT SINK IN? It was more a (light) kick to the gut. K’vir wasn’t ready and as such actually grunts under his breath. Just wanted to see him!? He stares at her for a breadth of a second, uncertain as if he hasn’t heard right, before relenting with another of his heavy sighs. “Risa.” Love. “How long have you been working?” Which is code for: I’m here now. His tone gentles despite the still-sleep roughened edge to it, blue eyes noting her confusion and silently brushing aside the apology. “Yeah,” It’s late. “It’s alright.” IS IT THOUGH? K’vir’s brows furrow the second those words leave his lips. Obviously something isn’t right, but LISTEN — he’s out of it and his mind works slow ON A GOOD DAY. Her compliment (was it!?) draws a single lifted brow, but there’s FINALLY a shadow of a smirk there and an amused rumble that rises to a soft chuckle. “Do I?” HE’S NOT BUYING IT RISA. Her apology, again, has him sobering and whether she wants him too or not, he’s coming around her desk and promptly leaning against the edge of it right by her side. Lifting his hand, he’ll smooth back some of her hair, while also finding an excuse to trail a few fingers in a caressing brush against her cheek. Soothing. Comforting. Inviting her to more, on her terms, but without pressure or expectations on his end of things. Her offer of klah is waved off with a slight shake of his head. (EW NO THANKS) “What has you up at all hours of the night? I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to… help?” he falters near the end, almost tripping his way into saying ‘convince you to come to bed’. FOOL OF A BRONZERIDER! K’vir doesn’t SAY IT, but it’s there in his gaze regardless because IT CANNOT BE HELPED. He’s worried but he’s clearly making a (sleepy) effort not to smother her with it.

How long has she been working? How long has she been working? Risali bristles — visibly — at the words that certainly do not deserve to be bristled at. But this is Risali, and so she bristles anyway — only to deflate, grey eyes jumping from blue to the black of night sitting in wait outside of her window before she speaks. "… I don't know." Is that guilt? Perhaps, guilt that the weyrwoman tries to rub away or assuage by rubbing at the tiredness limning her eyes. "It's been a long day," comes quieter still, Risali shifting beneath those blankets as if drawing them closer to trap more warmth. Then her eyes are back on her weyrmate. It's the question about his state of LOOKING GOOD that has Risali raising her own brow in return, one that challenges him to tell her that she's wrong even as she reveals one hand, gestures up and down (to a ridiculously unnecessary degree, an unspoken (and snide) commentary on his height, IF EVER THERE WAS ONE). "I mean, I don't know about the rest of the world, but I'm certainly digging the…" One, two, five… exhale. "Pajamas." And the laugh that comes is more a huff of sound, a pull of her lips at each corner, the kind that hits her eyes but never erupts into more… or perhaps it just doesn't get the chance to bloom because suddenly K'vir is right there. And oh, that touch. Tension bleeds from Risali's body, eyes fluttering closed as she more than allows the contact, she traps it, catching at his wrist with a curl of her own fingers around the jut of bone. She turns her cheek into his palm, catches the length of one of his fingers on a slow, upward drag against her bottom lip as eyes come open, half-lidded, watching K'vir from beneath thick lashes with a look that says too much. It's salacious at best, perhaps lending a different interpretation to those THOUGHTS ABOUT COMING TO BED, but then Risali is letting him go (with a soft kiss pressed to the pad of his finger) and back to hiding once more beneath too many blankets. "I can't get these numbers right," Risali admits, indicating the sprawl of papers with a jut of her chin. "They come out different every time, no matter who I've asked." A beat, and then almost too soft. "Maybe I am tired." YOU THINK? She lets that HARD-ADMITTED TRUTH linger between them for just a moment, and then she sniffs. "Anyway, what's wrong with my Klah, bronzerider?" DON'T MIND HER, REACHING OUT SLOW TO PULL IT TOWARDS HER, CRADLING IT NEAR HER CHEST LIKE SOME TINY SMAUG HOARDING TREASURE. "You don't like Klah?" Does she sip it out of spite? Yes. But don't worry. Her face says she regrets it MERE SECONDS LATER, even as she forces out, "It's delicious." It's not. It's cold. And it's not.

Oh crap. K’vir tenses when he picks up on Risali bristling at his words and his hackles raise out of instinctual habit. Even as she deflates, it takes him a breath or two until he wills himself to relax. The guilt that supposedly rises in her answer has his lips thinning into a tight line but he doesn’t begrudge her that feeling; no matter how much he disagrees. “Yeah?” he prompts gently instead, a mixed question and quiet acknowledgement. When do they NOT have long days? He blinks at her raised brow, briefly tracking the movement of her hand and it’s clear that HE IS NOT MAKING THE CONNECTION, HERE. K’vir’s head tilts in silent query, looking as —adorably— bewildered as Zekath often is with much of the world. “… I’ll keep it in mind, then, that this specific pyjama look does it for you.” he replies dryly, mouth slowly quirking into a vague smirk. Rawr? He chuckles along with her, however briefly that mirth lasts between them (or is abruptly cut off because of his proximity). He may be dense most days, but he’s not blind and K’vir watches in silent and rapt fascination on how his touch sparks such a reaction in her. Was that his goal? Not quite. He isn’t complaining though! Not under that salacious look she gives him. Reward enough! The kiss to his fingers is just an added bonus to an already great payoff in his books. Does he look a little disappointed when she goes back to hiding under the blankets? Maybe, but he keeps it under wraps and twists just enough to get a better look at the sprawled papers. It allows him to inch that much closer to her too and for now K’vir keeps from —smothering— holding her. “I’m not great with the more complex equations,” he warns, already feeling —clueless— unsure about what he might be looking at. DOES SHE REALLY WANT HIM MEDDLING? “Probably the wrong person to ask to proof your work.” But? “You are tired.” FIGHT HIM, RISA! K’vir won’t budge on that, keeping his voice gentled but insistent. SHE HAS THE ANSWER, HERE! “Can this wait? Even if you just, I don’t know… power nap?” Like he does. Wait, that’s probably not the example he wanted to give! Now they’re on to the klah again and K’vir rolls his eyes slightly when she challenges him. Her OPEN REGRET is met by a burning smugness from him. How does that taste, Risa, dear? “Liar.” he bluntly and flatly tells her outright and, before he really does end up dead or strangled by her hands, leans in to kiss her forehead. Withdrawing swiftly, he’ll slide off the edge of the desk and aim to snatch that mug out of her grip while she’s at it. “If you’re going to insist on pushing through this, at least let me get us,” US. Not her. “Some fresh klah?”

Risali doesn't mind the space K'vir diminishes when he comes closer; if anything, Risali attempts to bridge what little space is left, leaning into him as his eyes take in the slew of mathematical equations scribbled out and attempted over and over and over again. There's a huff of laughter for K'vir's admission, a softly wry, "Neither am I," that implies he can clearly see her struggle. It's on damn near every page laid out before him. But there's a beat, a shake of her head as Risali inserts a softer still, "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Kyzen." It's somber too, the kind of praise that comes with meaning, with the weight of Risali's regard on K'vir's face for a moment too long. And maybe it's the gravity of that she shakes with idiotic attempts to down Klah long since cooled. It's not the most disgusting thing she's ever had, it's just better when it's piping hot. Regardless, K'vir asks if Risa's work can wait and those grey eyes are dropping back to it, studying it, considering it as she breathes out, "Probably," in a way that implies she isn't going to power nap long enough to find out. It's his accusation, HIS ASPERSIONS CAST UPON HER HONOR, that have Risali laughing again, shifting to bump a shoulder into K'vir's side and then pressing upward into that kiss, eyes closed. "Only when it doesn't matter," she assures him, as if the quality of her klah is not an untruth worthy enough of such titles. But K'vir moves to leave and Risali watches him stand, leaning forward with one elbow on her desk in a move that might look more casually relaxed were there not 80 blankets (at least) piled on top of her. She listens, intent for a moment on his words before those grey eyes drop back to the paper spread across her desk and — "Wait." A shift, Risali rising from the deeps of her sea of blankets, letting them fall into a haphazard, mismatched pile as she stands, as hands move to start gathering up sheets and stack them back into some semblance of order. "If R'hyn finds out I was working this late again, he'll probably bar the office doors until the afternoon and tell me I can come in after I get some sleep." There's a pull at the corner of her lips, a grimace tinged with affection, affection that gutters out when her smile does. "I hate him." She doesn't, try as she might to muster enough conviction to make even that lie sound believable. It's probably about as successful as her attempts to play off the deliciousness of her Klah. "I'll come with you," she says instead, "and then we can go home." To their bed — or well, he can go to their bed. It's clear when Risali hefts up that stack of work to settle against her hip that her intention is not to relax, but to hide the discriminating evidence of her late-night venture from the Weyrleader when he comes in tomorrow morning. DOES IT MATTER? At least for now, K'vir gets Risali tucking in under his Klah-free arm, pressing into the hard lines and the heat of his body, so diminutive beside him. "To Klah!" And then, home.

He’s smart enough to not engage in a roundabout argument over his intelligence, at least! K’vir will save that for another day and time, when the humor is better appreciated and not likely to be misconstrued. Instead he meets her gaze and smiles in that manner to show her, unspoken, that he knows and he understands. He breathes a sigh of relief too, when she agrees that the work can wait and they can avoid butting heads over THAT too! At the bump to his shoulder, he smirks again before going on the move and brought to a stop under her single worded request and doing just as asked — he waits, turning slightly to watch her stand and shed that piled blanket fort. “Can’t say I blame him, though he should know that’d it take more than barring the office doors to stop you.” he idly remarks, not believing her last remark for even a single moment. It’s her offer to join him that gets his attention and his entire posture relaxes, the smile on his lips —sleepy— warm and loving. “I’d really like that.” WASN’T THAT THE WHOLE POINT OF HIM COMING HERE? Or did he really expect to be summoned and then just go home alone (listen, he plans for ALL ANGLES THESE DAYS)? Is he going to protest her bringing the work home too? Probably… but he bites his tongue and shelves that battle for another time as well. “To klah!” he echoes, while drawing her tight and close to his side and ushering them both out onto the first leg of their quest! LUCKILY, the Weyr is deserted at this hour. It could be a nice and quiet walk and for the most part, it IS, until K’vir makes a cinnamon-roll attempt to strike lighthearted conversation (maybe he’s trying not to spook some of the overnight lower cavern workers by their unconventional arrival). “Do you want some snacks to go with our very late-night klah?” he asks. What’s next, ambiance lighting? No, just a tangent into dangerous territory that he tried to soften with some offers of nibbles. “We should have a little getaway — just us. Even if it’s just an evening.” LISTEN, he’s not going to gamble high, okay? THEY’RE BOTH BUSY PEOPLE! But he’s putting that thought out there, all the same.

GOOD, K'VIR, because Risali would thoroughly KICK YOUR PRECIOUS ASS. Nobody — nobody — gets to sass her weyrmate. Not even K'vir. Though Risali is clearly reconsidering her stance on this (or just debating whether he still deserves a thorough kicking of his whole ass) if the look she rolls his way is anything to go by. "I'm so glad you're on his side." It's dry, humor underneath even as she gathers her things and moves to join him for that trek across down hallways and out into the caverns. Does she want snacks? Risali considers this for a moment, and then whispers, "I haven't eaten yet." SERIOUSLY RISALI? Her look challenges him to say something, and then she's pulling him along a little harder. "So yes, I would love some snacks." And a dinner plate, probably, if the way she gathers up two plates for herself can be an indication of what's to come. But not before that pause, the surprise that rocks her and roots her to the spot, that drags grey eyes slow up to blue where they hold for one, two, three heartbeats too long. "I…" A getaway, just them? Risali goes up to her tippy-toes, straining upward to press a hand against K'vir's forehead, a look of consternation on her face before she feels her own forehead. "You're going to take time from work?" Never mind the daunting loom of what even a weekend shirking her own responsibilities will bring when she returns. That, at least, is temporary. "How many fingers am I holding up?" RISA. There's devious mischief on the slow pull of her lips even as she holds three fingers in front of his eyes and waves them about for a moment. Then she drops back to her heels, pushing her hand back through the loop of his arm and body to hook elbows before she starts dragging him towards those aforementioned nibbles. "I'd like that," comes quiet. The rest can be planned once she's brought home two plates of food stacked precariously on her work papers and falls asleep without touching either.

“Just trying to stick to a neutral position.” K’vir quips back with equal dry humor to Risali’s claim on him taking sides. HE WOULD NEVER~ How dare! (we all know what side he’s on, anyhow) Even if she didn’t want snacks, he’s feeling peckish enough to raid something other than fresh klah out of the kitchens. SERIOUSLY, though!? He struggles to bite back a SIGH when she admits to skipping meals —don’t start that fight, don’t start that fight— and wisely just smirks knowingly (she can kick him for it). “Alright.” NO COMMENT on the two plates gathered up. He dropped a bomb of another sorts on her instead and is too focused on how Risali is reacting. Maybe he’s sweating, a little? Or it’s that slippery feel of dread, which is quickly reversed to a bemused half-smile when she rises up to check his forehead. “Am I that bad that you don’t believe me?” YES, K’VIR. YOU ARE. That might knock some of the wind out of his sails, but he recovers quick for once and he laughs quietly for her prompt. “Three.” He’ll indulge her that much, before dipping in and down to place a fleeting kiss to her lips before she can escape him entirely and loop her arm with his. “It’s a date, then.” he replies just as quiet, content to be dragged along back home with his weyrmate. Is he mad about the untouched refreshments? NOT EVEN A BIT. K’vir will be relieved when Risa sleeps, becoming a hypocrite again when he remains cuddled around her, very much awake and lost in thought, but eventually following suit. He’ll deal with repercussions when she wakes~

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License