| Who | |
| What |
Mornings bring gossip and uncertainty. (Dual Log) Implied sex. |
| When | |
| Where |
After the last log where they got married. |
| OOC Date | 31 Dec 2016 07:00 |
Somewhere in High Reaches
Luciana and NPCs
Even a great Hold like High Reaches can have a small town feel to it, as winter closes its fist over the land. Outside, it's snowing - little flurries of the sort of symbolic precipitation that bode as a literary device to ensure onlookers understand that some life change is in the making. A portion of the great hall has been opened for the residents, and a number of the older aunties and uncles have arranged themselves around the hearth. In the infirmary, Zavyr's cot has been stripped, refurnished with new linens and put back where it had been before the woman's incessant questions and near-constant waking activity had necessitated the healer's moving her well to the far edges of the building. But Zavyr's stuff remains - her few clothes, that belt and pouch and staff - tucked into the corner. And none of the healers are of the notion that they should speak to Luciana, beyond the obvious: Zavyr is gone, but she went with the big man - Lane. She hasn't exactly been released, and she should come back to be looked at once more, for release.
Luciana has just about settled her debt with the hold and on finishing the last of her work for the day, she'd predictably gone straight for the infirmary… only to find that Zavyr was not within and that the Healer's would say little aside that she wasn't there and neither was Lane. Frustrated but not wholly concerned (yet), she'd turned back and left for the great hall instead. It's not her usual habit to dine with the rest of the hold's populace, but she makes an exception for today, planning to keep an eye on the traffic in and out of the hall. She only has a warm drink in hand, as she settles herself at one of the tables nearest the hearths, keeping a quiet eye and ear on her surroundings.
"A huge bronze. He was bigger than Suluth, even, I think!" An uncle chortles, "And that rider asking after those two? Did he find them?" Another auntie, rocking on her chair, takes a sip of some mulled beverage, and she nods, "My grandson, you know he works in the infirmary. The tall lad? Narkus - he'll make Masterhealer someday, mark my words - He was saying they didn't come back. Not together, anyway. So maybe the rider found them? Been interesting, what with blue dragons and brown dragons and now a bronze. Who are they, that they're attracting so much attention?"
Luciana's attention has certainly been piqued as she overhears the uncle and auntie gossiping between each other. Most of it she tosses aside, but the rest? Definitely of interest but she'll keep her head down and feign that she's not heard a thing. There's not even a glance towards the pair, though the rest of the hall is now being ignored.
"Narkus has no ambition, Felicy and you know it." The uncle returns, with a shake of his head, "Laziest lad I ever met." But it's obviously a tease, and his twinkling greys wink over at the old woman, earning him a light backhand slap. Another auntie settles into a nearby chair. "So. I think they're both Shunned. Just without the blue marks." Obviously this conversation has been going on for a while. "Knotless. Shiftless - the woman, she's too thin. Acts odd, like she doesn't know her way around polite society." To that, a murmur of ascent from Felicy, "My grandson says she asks the most strange questions. Raised Shunned, likely. Good Holder folk don't get knife wounds. And that man. Likely a thief. I suppose they'd make a pair. Someone should ask Harper Moakun to check into the Records. Isn't your niece an apprentice to him, Liten?" That's addressed to the teasing old uncle.
Luciana resists the temptation to mutter something about them getting on with it, already but there's a little more information shared… and it's nothing new. She figured that that would come about, eventually. Nothing to be helped for it, but the sooner they all leave, the better now. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she'll remain locked in her silent eavesdropping, waiting to see if something of worthwhile is said or if she should just go about hunting down Zavyr and Lane herself.
"I think that fellow is Criln, you know." This from the third old auntie. "But I heard her calling him 'Lane'." Immediate reaction delghts the biddie, as the other's expressions register first shock, then two of them begin to nod, "Thought he'd been sent to Crom, to work the mines." The uncle affirms, then shakes his head, as he adds, "But there are mines around here, aren't there? And young Criln was a bit of a terror. Might have gotten himself loose. But if that's him, he's actin' a bit more respectable. Figured Criln wanted a woman to bed, would just do it. Not be asking her to marry him." Affirmatives then. "And we'd have heard if he'd loosed from the mines, wouldn't we?" But it's another uncle, overhearing, who settles in now. His word is respsected; he was Guard, in his day, "Not necessarily. Criln, he caused a lot of trouble. And some panic. If he were loose…We might not be told of it. But the guards should be looking into it. Question the fellow. He don't act much like a criminal, but-" Then Felicy shakes her head, "He's violent. He's screaming in the infirmary. Came up swinging, after they had to fellis him to get him to sleep you know. That's what my grandson said. He'll make Masterhealer someday. Mark my words."
So the plot thickens and Luciana's ignoring the sliver of dread settling in the pit of her stomach. She's gripped her mug a little tighter, trying to sift through the gossip being spread between the aunties and uncles. If she speaks up now, it may disrupt the flow of information. Temptation is high though, she's never been one to sit long and patiently. Mines. Marriage. Loose and potentially dangerous criminal. NOT A GOOD MIX. She grits her teeth and listens…
"So they did go through with it?" Felicy asks of her friend, the aunt of the Harper's apprentice. That crony shrugs with a cackle, "When I asked Isabel this morning, she said that the Harper had sent off a document to Harper Hall with that visiting healer yesterday. He left this morning. It might have been another document, of course. But she couldn't ask, on account of classes today." The third auntie volunteers, "My daughter, she said that they were in the private rooms last night. Suppose we could go ask them?"
Well, there's only so much Luciana can overhear before likely assuming far too much. She'll drain the rest of her drink and set the mug down with a little more force than necessary as she stands. She's not about to go kicking down the doors of the private rooms (tempting, so tempting)… but she might go hunting some poor, poor Harper now. Shame the Healer is gone, she'd have gone straight for him. That Harper will have to do.
Harper Moakun works in a cheery classroom with windows that show that ever-sifting snow draping over the hillsides that lead to the woods and the river beyond. A few children linger, evidently pleased to be in the man's company as the Harper is working on a drum body, sharp tools in nimble hands, carving the bowl out of a thick tree trunk that had been felled and aged, likely for this purpose. He looks up from the story that one lad is telling him - some whimsical tale about an escaped watchwher and a woman's most valuable runner beasts, that doesn't sound like it will end well for the runners. "Miss," the elderly Harper grins, "Can I help you?"
Luciana may have been on the warpath storming her way across the hold but the moment she realizes there are children in that classroom? Complete change in her demeanour. Tension is gone. Frustration too (it still lurks though). She'll even manage a rather decently convincing smile to hopefully reassure everyone that she's not a threat. See? Nice woman. Who… doesn't dress like one. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she offers as an apology first and nods her head respectfully to the elderly Harper. "Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak to you." 'Privately' is heavily implied in tone.
"Jamon, Farn, can you two shut the door after yourselves? And tell Marim to bring some tea, if you would?" The man rises with some complaint from old bones, and he'll step over to offer and arm to Luciana - ever the gentleman, despite how she is clad. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, miss..?" A name is requested, and his own given, "Harper Moakun, of High Reaches Hold. Please, have a seat."
Luciana will reach for the elderly Harper's arm without a second thought. This isn't the first time she's had to play such a role and while it's something she can't comfortably wear for long, this little meeting shouldn't be too draining. "Luciana, of…" Crap. "Southern Weyr, currently. Thank you," She may be tempted to help him to a seat but, thinking that may insult him, will ease herself into one of the empty chairs. "I'd overheard that you may have met with some friends of mine? One would've been a young woman. Pale hair, blue eyes? Her companion would've been a young man, older and darker skinned?" Ring any bells before she drops names?
"Lane and Zavyr. Yes. They did drop by. Southern Weyr? Did you come with the bronzerider that was here? I heard he wore Igen Weyr colors." -Because Harpers hear everything, know everything, right? And notice he volunteers nothing more thn the confirmation of the name of the two people, "Luciana of Southern Weyr, currently." The man is shrewd. Goes with the master's knot on his shoulder.
Luciana's patience wavers but she'll keep that small, pleasant smile in place for now. "That would be them, yes. And I'm afraid I do not know of the bronzerider. I'm affiliated with Southern Weyr, often work for the Weyrwoman there, as an assistant. Family business brought me here," The Harper may not be so forthcoming with information but she will be. Even if she's normally the shrewd one. She wants answers though, damn it! "Did they say anything? I'd normally not ask, but my business here has since… overlapped with them." Please don't make her say it.
The man possesses a mischievous smile and it lurks in his hazel eyes now, as he studies Luciana. "You've been with her quite a bit. I inquired, Luciana of Southern Weyr. The healers have suggested that you are perhaps related to Zavyr? I do wonder about their hurry, then. And why you might not have witnessed for them. Are they usually prone to impulsive decisions?" But then he does sober, "Are either of them …Running from any…Justice? The bronzerider…" By the hue of his dragon alone, L'xan merits consideration as an authority, "Arrived angry, left moreso, I am told. But he did not take them with him. On account of their wounds?"
"We crossed paths for a time in Southern Weyr," Luciana's only going to say that much, though she is caught a little off guard when the Harper apparently knows of their connection or assumed as much from the Healers. "Family business," she attempts to evade giving too much, but hurriedly because: "Witnessed them?" It can't be but it's pretty damning and obvious with the words 'impulsive decisions' being doled out. Without even realizing it, she's begun to stand again and some part of her mind must be working on the idea of kicking down doors now. "They were both wounded, yes. And they're not running from anything…" Well, that she knows of! "Thank you for your time, Harper Moakun." She's going to leave now, with likely all the wrong ideas in her head.
Or perhaps the right ones. "Now then, Assistant Luciana… It's winter here now. And the guards might be looking for something to do. You might keep your temper in check." He adds, as a helper comes in with the tea, "And they were both willing. Seems young people are sometimes prone to impetuous actions. And what's done, is done. Be well, then. And take the long way to their room, mind." The Harper will watch Luciana's exit with more than some concern.
Lane and Zavyr
Sometime during the night, or perhaps early morning, Zavyr got up leaving Lane nestled with three lizards. She slipped out of the bed and put the spare log on the fire and stood there in front of it, watching the flames lick the wood. Some would have saved that log, against future cold. But Zavyr is here now, and the chill is here now, and the log is here now, and it is used. Perhaps the same brand of logic, born of privation and insecurity, that had her say 'yes' last night. Finally, Zavyr finds that silken cord. She slides it through her fingers, absently, before looking back at the bed to study the man's - her husband's - form there. Another shiver visits her, another tremor not born of her recuperation, but of a mixed terror and thrill. Securing the length of silk between two fingers, Zavyr strips out of Lane's shirt, steps out of her skirt, undergarments and pads toward the bed fully nude, detouring only to fetch Lane's/her knife. And then she'll ease onto the bed, tucking herself into a sitting position next to Lane, that knife on the far side of the bed, while she turns her attention to the cord. Clever fingers begin to braid it, and measure the braid against her own wrist, then against that she imagines Lane's. So it is when Lane feels the tugging on his hand, the gentle guidance of that hand to on top of the covers, it's settled over the now braided silken cord, and Zavyr's voice is quiet, "Finger, please. Right there." Where those pale eyes look, looped around a bracelet now looping his wrist.
For once Lane didn't object to the firelizards clustering around. The woman at his side was more important. He stayed up late watching her sleep in his arms till he also had fallen asleep. He blinks awake slowly this time, nit scared awake by demon nightmares. Not quite awake he looks downwards at his wrist where she works with his hand. "Zav?" The query comes quietly as he lets her take his hand.
"Yours." Zavyr grins at him, then prompts again, "Finger. There. Hold that secure so I can finish the braid. Mine won't be as classy, unless you know how to braid?" Then, once he's put the requested finger on the cord, Zav will continue to braid it, almost seamlessly into the whole. The cord lays snug against his skin, but not tight, and the blade flashes firelight as Zavyr brings it to bear, severing the cord. "I have scars on my back, Lane. Bad ones. If we ever meet the man who put them there, you cannot kill him." It's a heads up. "And you already…You already… It's done. You can't," she half-smiles, now trying to work the braided cord around her own much slenderer wrist, before she tests stretchiness. "You can't leave me over them. Or you can, but it'd not work with your honor, I don't think. Just warning you." Zavyr settles the knife on Lane's hip and begins to suture the cords together with more clever knots, before she'll dare another look at Lane's features.
Bemused Lane follows her direction to hold down the cord while she finishes the braid. Jewelry wasn't exactly something he had ever expected to wear, but right now he's in a glow that would probably make him do anything that she asked of him, jewelry being the least of it. Her words cast a bucket of cold water over that warmth though. He doesn't move as she continues to work - that knife is SHARP man - but watches her. Only once he's sure that she is done does he reach out to try to take her braided arm in his, symbolic. "Let me see?" Quietly. No mention on the not killing of the person who gave her the scars though. That's a conversation for another time.
She will study him for a long moment, before nodding. "Let me finish this." Her bracelet will be slightly less snug, as she completes it first, before slipping it over her hand, a feat made easier by the fact that Zavyr is a fairly accomplished escape artist and while bonds are usually heading in the 'off' direction, this particular loop goes fairly easily in the 'on' direction. Zavyr offers knife and her wrist to Lane, "Cut off the excess?" The remaining cord is taken; every part of it precious to Zavyr. That, and the knife is set aside. "Understand," Zavyr reaches for one of his hands with both of hers, "That what I did… It warrented beheading. But instead, he chose to … A whip." Quieter, appealing perhaps to Lane's sense of order, "He was, to us in the Underground, our Lord Holder. And I defied him and to his mind, put the place at risk when I escaped. He had me brought back. All of me. Not just my head." But she will finally turn around, shifting in the bed, to reveal the turn-and-a-half old scars that stripe her back horizontally. The flogging must have been damn near disabling - calculated to be just on this side of permanent real damage. But Zavyr will wear the scars, lacing over pale skin, for the rest of her life.
Lane watches her slip that bracelet on, glancing down at his own once or twice briefly. Apparently she fixed the problem of him not having a ring to give her in her own way. When the excess is gone he sifts to be sitting up, and when she turns he reaches outwards to lay a warm hand on her back. His fingers trace the marks and while she may be all 'you can't kill him', a slow fire begins in Lane's gut that promises a very different ending if this man should ever show his name and face to the former guard. Someone really needs to stop Lane from becoming a vigilante of the worst kind. Maybe Zavyr can do it, except, he'd have to tell her his plans first which, so far, the whole open-plan-telling hasn't come out in their whirlwind relationship. He traces the scars with is fingers slowly before reaching out to envelop her with his arms, his bare skin touching hers as he kisses her neck from behind. "No scar could stop me from loving you." He says it quietly, firmly, and with uncountable conviction. He'll even attempt to interject some amount of levity. "Did you realize you're naked?" And that Lane has never actually seen her completely so?
Baham engendered a fierce loyalty in his followers. Sabik sacrificed himself as 'leader', for his master. And most have never spoken Baham's name or rank or doings to any of authority. For a den of theives, raiders and cutthroats, the premise is unheard of. But Baham also inspired fear as well, and those whose lips would not remain sealed out of devotion (like Zavyr), have likely held their tongue for fear of having it cut out, should the man or his remaining followers track down any traitorous party. So Lane may entertain his visions of revenge, but to him Zavyr's punisher will remain anonymous, for she will not tell him who the leader of the Rokuul was. Lane's touch, warm and electric, has Zavyr easing herself back into his arms, dipping her head and pulling her hair forward to lend him the skin of her neck, her hands sliding over his. "Yes. And you're not naked enough." No doubt, Zavyr has managed a grin.
All the meta will have to be held for a later date, and Lane's anger will just have to be set aside. For now. Something in the future will bubble up most likely, but it's nothing that can't wait. His lips trace the curve of her neck and down to her shoulder. He's not an experienced lovemaker, but he knows a little. "Wife." Quietly said, it's the most erotic thing he could say. Because it means that finally he can give in to what he has wanted these last few sevens of having her lay next to him completely (mostly) chaste.
That single word nearly shuts down Zavyr's breathing. She shivers under his touch, a litany of emotion warring: Happiness, desire, fear, anticipation. "That really happened, didn't it?" Zavyr intones, her hand riding his before she twists to look at him. The hearth's fire backlights Zavyr's hair, washes pale illumination over her skin. She leans in to steal a kiss, shifting most of her weight from her injured shoulder, to hip, to then lean against him. "Oh you poor man." All three lizards are roused, flit up to higher perches, eyes whirling particolored hue as they shift from one to another spot in the room, unsure.
Lane glances upwards at the firelizards as they swirl around and make their ruckus. "Make them go away?" He will take the poor man comment and actually smile about it, though he's not going to keep doing what she (and he) obviously want until the little spies are gone from the room and they are actually alone. Except for more kissing. THAT can happen with the visitors.
"You shy?" Zavyr laughs, suddenly, before she'll ease herself around to face the man. One hand begins to work the fastenings of his shirt, but the other will secure her balance with a loop around Lane's neck. The lizards, one by one, disappear, with suspicious Valor being last to go. Likely they have joiend some ring of wild lizards around the feeding pens of Igen, watching a dragon eat and awaiting her to leave, so they might take leftovers. And alone. At last. "Lane." His name, quietly spoken, before she'll begin to nibble his beard, working her way to his ear, even as she will tug his shirt up, as a hint.
Lane resists all of Zavyr's attempts to put nicknames on him, and his real name is as important to him coming from her lips as any avowal of love that may otherwise come. He lets her slip off his shirt and pulls her down onto the bed carefully, paying attention to her still-healing injury so that he doesn't jar it and break the moment. His pants will stay on - for now, as he gathers the woman up against him and kisses her firmly.
Her inexperience in even this - heavy petting - is telling. Zavyr's nervous system betrays her, and she cannot taste and touch enough of him, with the expediency her growing desire demands. "Lane." She has some idea of what she wants, but no idea how to get him to accomplish it, and only the twinges of her healing shoulder advise small caution as her hands rove over his chest, as she slings a leg over his, as she pulls herself into that kiss, opens her mouth to him and yields her neck, while fingers press into the muscle of his back.
Eventually Lane will take the lead in this, finally shifting to lose those pants, and move this towards a conclusion wrapped in desire and put off want. He'll try to be gentle and slow, but he himself was too honor bound to do much of this himself. IN the end, it'll likely hurt her, and he'll apologize once it is done, smoothing back her hair as he eases away from her. "Zav?" Hopefully she forgives him.
An eager lover, enthusiasm tempered only by lingering uncertainty, Zavyr will have urged him with awkward, frantic caresses, short nails and only shyly finally letting her hands stray below his hips. Even in the aftermath, she'll follow him as he settles and curl against him, breath warm on his skin, as fingers explore the skin she'd never seen either. "Hi Lane." She'll pull back enough that he can see her smile. "I think we need more practice."
Lane smiles into the space between them, reaching out to smooth back her blond hair from her eyes so he can just look at her intently. "We'll get more." A nagging thought about pregnancy crosses his mind but he shoves it aside for another time. This IS NOT IT. "We should probably get you back to the healers though."
"And then more practice?" Zavyr asks, lifting herself into his touch and propping herself on her uninjured shoulder. "And do you want to… Do you want to go to Igen or Southern, Lane? He will give you a job. I can perform at the Bazaar." Permit! - Bah!. "I don't know if they will let us leave here with a promise to pay them. I'm sorry I cost so much." There's more she could say, but does not, instead studying his features.
"I have nothing in Southern." Lane says it slowly, the thought of going that far away having never even crossed his mind. "Except you if you go." Honesty there as he levers himself up out of the bed and looks for his clothing that has gotten discarded. "I can cover most of it from savings. The rest… I can work for. It shouldn't take long." Misogyny rising it's head as there is no mention of Zavyr also working.
"I can perform, Lane. And I can work. You shouldn't have to do it all. We're together, right? You and me? And I'll be well soon enough." Zavyr will pull the covers over herself but shift to watch him as he moves, as he looks to find his clothes, and nevermind her fetching his shirt under the covers with her, so he can't put that on yet. "Do you want to go to Igen? Or we try somewhere else?" Then she grins, "See? We're having a discussion. Go us." She takes these small victories, but can't quite wrap her head around 'wife' yet.
Lane searches around for his shirt, eyebrows pulling together as he can't seem to find the shirt. Huh. It can't be too far away. Kneeling he goes to look under the bed for that shirt. "I don't know what I want. L'xan has a job for me." Apparently. Unless he's changed his mind because of Lane's decision to marry Zavyr. (Which is possible.) "I'll stay with you." There, that's simple enough, right? "I can't imagine Southern…from what I know… would have any use for a performer."
"No. And they think that the other version of me is a pirate." Zavyr scoots over to become a distraction, drawing her hand down the bare skin of Lane's back. "I heard men can't…Ah. Bed a woman until after a break. How long of a rest?" Impish expression, there, should Lane look. "But the brig is much nicer in Southern. Cleaner. The guards were more civil. Even with a pile of pirates in there. The guard at Igen Weyr…" She shakes her head. The rest is unvoiced: L'xan is there, and L'xan obviously has some distaste regarding Zavyr, that she'd not suspected. "I could perform at the Underground hold."
Lane looks at Zavyr, confused at the sudden question that she's asking. "We have to get you to the healers again Zavyr." Not that he's against figuring out that, uh, rest period, but he's a RESPONSIBLE husband who has a full desire to make sure his wife is taken care of fully. For the last comment though Lane gives up the attempt to look for his shirt and knees down next to the bed so he can take up her hand. "You will never have to perform there again. L'xan… he's more…" Lane searches for the word, "merciful. We just have to do it legally. In the bazaar." So… Lane wants to go back to Igen?
She doesn't trust him at all: L'xan. Zavyr looks in this man's features, searching them, wondering if this is another moment of what seems to be his intentional blindness to what she sees. And what will happen when L'xan calls in the favors Zavyr owes him? And perhaps Lane is put into a position where he must arrest his wife? -For this is her world, and L'xan seems to have a much stronger grasp of it, as demonstrated through his words, than Lane does. "If you bed me again," Zavyr offers, "I'll give you your shirt back." The distraction is meant as much for her as for Lane. "Then we can go to the healers. I bet they will still be there, if we get there a bit later. But you're not done with your husbandly duties." There. She got that word out, that time, and with a small smile as well.
Even with the scare L'xan gave last night, Lane can't help but more or less trust the dragonrider. He acts too much like the guards that Lane grew up idolizing. As for the comment about husbandly duties Lane misinterprets it as he takes the shirt she offers back to him and stands. "I'll always take care of you." Like a husband should.
He doesn't get the shirt; Zavyr tugs it. "No. You've made me wait how long to be bedded by you, Lane. That husbandly duty. Now." Quietly requested. "The rest… You can try. But I am somewhat difficult to deal with, much less take care of. Would you like evidence?" One brow quirks, even as she tries to pull the man in bed via his shirt, "References?" Zavyr shakes her head, "This…" She glances at her wrist and then his, and the bands there, "Has only changed one thing, Lane. And maybe you get a sense of my life now. Now, I'm here. You're here. The healers can wait."
But, uh, the rest period? Lane resits being pulled into bed, but… marriage requires compromise right? So he finally gives up and crawls back into bed next to her. "We're going to have to compromise." A lot of compromise between her free day-by-day take on life, and Lane's desire to PLAN everything down to minute details. He reaches out to twine bracelet hand with hers. It's going to be their little symbol.
Emboldened, Zavyr will straddle him and go for one, then many kisses, spread across all his available skin. "Right." Zavyr agrees when she comes up for air. "Absolutely. Compromise. Like." Kisses, caresses, little bites, "You let me work, too. And you bed me when I ask, and I'll bed you when you ask." He'll see the grin. "And you'll laugh at my stupid jokes, and I'll try to teach you how to juggle. And one of us should learn how to cook. And we don't have to live in a storage closet anymore, if you don't want to. And I suppose," Zavyr continues between tasting his skin lower across his torso, "You're not much keen on being married to a 'lad' at Igen, are you?" She groans, "If you're going to have me give up the freedom that disguise lends me, then you'll be making it quite worth my being female, Lane-my-Lane."
Lane relaxes onto the bed slowly as Zavyr works her way around his body, eyes closing against the sensation she causes on his skin. "No, we'll have a real place to live." Breathing deeply he reaches up and runs his hands though her hair. She's facinated by his beard, and he loves her hair. "Please don't cut your hair." Randomly, and hey, he's asking please. Opening his eyes he pushes her away so he can look into her eyes. "Do you want me to take the job L'xan has offered?"
Oh, that's an ardor-quencher, that question. Zavyr drops to lay atop Lane, propping herself on his chest to study his face. Skin to skin contact is something of a distraction, but she takes her time to answer, "I… Don't trust him, Lane. I thought…" She's not sure what she thought. "If you take the job, do you have to keep it?" Clearly, this world of Lane's and L'xan's is not one Zavyr is familiar with. "You need to think long-term." Zavyr's lips twitch; this marriage has not changed HER mind about her future. Especially if she keeps her hair long, turns to looking female. The Fool has enemies in the Bazaar, in the Underground, and those enemies would LOVE to capitalize on sundry revenges on a female Fool. "If he cannot be trusted, you will quit? And we can go somewhere else?" We! Because she is his wife! Lane will again feel the tremble through her. "Do you want that job, Lane?"
There's a door. And it's shut. And Valor crouches outside of the door, like some little marker of ownership of who might be behind the door.
How convenient, that Valor acts as a marker! Makes Luciana's job of hunting down the correct door MUCH EASIER. Really, she'd only meant to knock, but some impulse makes her choose to use a good kick from her foot instead. It's not her fault Lane didn't lock the damn door and it's not her fault that High Reaches has crappy ones that apparently yield under minimal assault. So. HELLO rude interruption? Potentially painfully awkward?
Zavyr's not wearing anything right now, and lays across Lane. There's absolutely NOTHING chaste about their repose and it won't look any better when Lane jumps as the door pounds open. His arms go around Zavyr to push her to one side (protectively) as he lunches for the knife that was lying to one side. Whatever their conversation was before, it's going to take a firm BREAK. "Get down Zavyr," Lane, full on protective~
It's true, he does have pants on. They're just not like, done up completely.
And Zavyr's quick-silver motion, shoved to the side - a visible tangle of loose near-white hair, that horrifically-scarred back, with another more recent scar across the back of one of her shoulders, and that near painfully thin form dropping behind the bed. Valor is in now, and images shared have Zavyr calling out, "Sharps! Lane! Hold!" The sheet she collects from the bed is likely a gesture to Luciana; obviously Lane has already seen it all.
And that's enough to stop Luciana dead in her tracks. It's probably not the first time she's interrupted in such a manner (and that probably didn't end as well as this might) and neither is she some chaste, modest person. So, sorry guys, but she'll just sort of hang there in the doorway with her head slightly tilted in an evasive manner. "Use that knife, Lane and you'll regret it!" Never mind she's woefully unarmed. No apologies either. "Need to talk. Now." Not now, now. She's obviously reaching for that door to step out for the time being. "Get decent, both of you." FFS. Not that it's either of their faults but…
Lane stays with the knife held up for a few seconds beyond Zavyr's identification, but eventually he does let it lower. He's too tangled up with Zavyr to really be able to get up quickly anyway. "This isn't what it looks like." Since one of their most recent conversations involved JUST THIS kind of thing… "What happened?" That they have to get dressed right now?
"This is exactly what it looks like, Lane." Zavyr murmurs, "Except not exactly the exact compromising position that I was hoping to be in. Except I was not wanting to be interrupted." She'll reach to draw a hand over his bare chest with a quick smile up at him. "What happened is she likely heard some talk." The door's having burst in still has Zavyr's heart in a quick cadence, and she'll reach to catch up Lane's shirt, offering it to him, before locating and putting on her own clothes. Joy has joined Valor, but Hope remains somewhere else, likely biding her time. "Alright, my Lane. You ready?" Zavyr looks at Lane, prior to opening the door to once more admit Luciana.
What else was it supposed to look like? Luciana had busied herself outside the door by pacing a short circuit in front of it, but the moment it opens again? She'll step inside. After being certain there's nothing going on. If she's feeling charitable, she may apologize to Zavyr later (sorry, Lane). And in true Luciana fashion, she won't even say a thing and just cross her arms and stare at them both. Well? START EXPLAINING.
Lane get into his clothing properly and stands at the side of the bed. Around both of their wrists is a blue braided bracelet. He reaches out to curl an arm around Zavyr. "She's your aunt." Lane, whispering to Zavyr.
"That's not fair." Zavyr points out with a touch of humor darkening her usually crystal gaze, "Your family cast you out. And they sure as hell aren't going to take you back now. Shackled, as you are." That word very deliberately chosen, though Zavyr leans against Lane just slightly when she speaks it. "We are…" Zavyr blinks, then looks up at Lane, before back into Luciana's blue gaze, "Wed." A heartbeat. "Surprise." Another: "I mean, it was… To us. Too. Kind of just happened." ONLY in Zavyr's world would a handfasting 'just happen'.
Luciana's going to latch right on that too! "Kind of just happened?" That's not even how HER world works! If it did, she'd have been married three times over by now. She's scowling but not entirely AT both of them. This news would normally be a joyful thing but given all that's happened? Pardon her for not exactly smiling about it. "What, exactly, brought it on and so impulsively that you didn't even have a few minutes to spare to warn me?"
"You've made it clear you do not like me." Lane says this as he runs a finger over the bracelet around his wrist. So, telling the aunt isn't exactly on his to-do list when he's hell bent on upending everything in his life.
"No. No, that wasn't quite it." Zavyr amends to Lane's words, with another look up at him. "It was fast." This, to Luciana. "We were talking. And he wants to send me back with you. To Southern. And I wanted him to go. And he …" Ah shit, how did it go? Zavyr looks back up at Lane, before back at Luciana, "And he… I…" She is quite aware that this is not the explanation her aunt is looking for. "So. He asks. And I said yes." Zavyr's contralto gets quieter, "And he asked them where the Harper was. And he carried me there. And… It was really fast." She wears Lane's shirt now, and a skirt, and bare feet whose toes are crunched up against the chill of the rock floor. "I wasn't really thinking," Zavyr admits, "About asking…About telling anyone."
"And you've not exactly given me reason to," Luciana's quick to fire back at Lane and might have said more if Zavyr hadn't spoken up right then. She'll do her best to follow the explanation and almost has to hold up her hands in a warding gesture. She still makes a gesture, but it's more out of the last of her frustrations than anything else. "So somehow talking about what was next lead to this?" A wave of her hand between them. "No, you weren't thinking!" Blunt truth there. But? Luciana sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose. Why? Why can't anything be easy in her life? "It's what you wanted?" Asked to BOTH of them, when her hand lowers.
Slowly Lane nods at Luciana's question, reaching out to hold Zavyr's hand. "I don't know what comes next." But whatever it is… "But I'm going to do it with her."
Wow. That's an interesting question. Zavyr shifts under Lane's hand and looks up at him, then over to Luciana. "I never considered marrying." That's spoken truthfully. "I.. Cannot quite believe this has happened. But I want him." She draws a breath, "And this was… This was what he wanted. So it makes sense." Her one hand remains in his, and her other one caresses his, clasped on hers. "I have a place now." And her location doesn't seem to matter so much, anymore.
Luciana casts a sharp look to Lane, but it doesn't harbor the usual anger behind it. She still doesn't fully trust him or like him but she's not about to fight him in front of Zavyr. There's a dry huff from the woman, but some of the tension is easing from her posture. "Not sure if I'd agree with that," About it making sense. It doesn't make sense to her but then, this is a woman who has completely nixed the idea of marriage in her head. "And where is that place? Here? Igen?" Southern is not mentioned. Implied, but not listed. Her gaze had settled on Zavyr for the most part, but now shifts to Lane. Well?
Lane looks downwards at Zavyr, his gaze no longer at Luciana whatsoever. "Not here." These characters need to actually get back on the grid of the real game. >.> "Igen, maybe? Unless you know a job we could both get there that would fit our… skill sets elsewhere."
"And his skill set is the sort that catches people of my skill-set." Zavyr adds with a quick grin flashed up at Lane once more. She draws her hand now up Lane's arm, partially, before abruptly recalling that in fact Luciana is in the same room, and those wandering fingers are constrained to Lane's waist, out of Luciana's sight. "But his skill set is likely a bit more…Acceptable. We were thinking, with winter coming on, likely Igen. Southern thinks I'm a pirate. At Igen, I merely have to check in every three days, so they can keep tabs on me." Arid tones.
Luciana really tries hard not to roll her eyes but she will level a look at both of them. "Can we not all be mature here and just say it?" she drawls in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "You are… were, a Guard," Point to Lane. "You're an entertainer and thief," Point to Zavyr. "But never a pirate. No one in Southern thinks that. Guilty, perhaps, of associating with pirates, which is different and something I could get dropped," Because she has those sorts of connection and because it was HER FAULT. "And I'm a former pirate, now assistant to the Weyrwoman," Spy, really. "Not that we're considering my skills. You two, however, will have to figure that out. I'd joke and say we could probably all work on a ship but…" No. Definitely not. "If you've any allies in Igen, then I'd say go there first. If that fails… Southern is an option." Because she'd help them. Even with her annoyance and misgivings about this new development. She really needs to TALK to Zavyr at some point.
"She's not a thief anymore." At least, Lane's going to assume that Zavyr isn't going to tell him if she steals things that aren't hers. That is going to have to be one of the 'compromises' that this marriage is built around. "I don't know if we can trust L'xan." Even though Lane is generally sure that the man means well. The issue of him being a rider is off to the side. "And I'd have a job."
"I'm a good thief." Zavyr points out. "Never been caught, as a thief." But she'll squeeze his fingers and draws his hand up to kiss his knuckles, absently. "Right. So Igen first. And we'll see where that leads us. Do you think D'ean will take us there, Sharps? Otherwise I could see if Divale would, but after L'xan gets done with her, she might be too…Irate to." Zavyr shrugs. Probably best to sneak back, and address Divale privately. "And you'll come visit there, Sharps?" She looks up at Lane, "We need to get the stupid debt settled, too, so we can leave."
Luciana quirks a brow when Lane and Zavyr's answers are so different in nature concerning her skills as a thief but she doesn't point it out. "And best to keep it that way and focus on your other skill sets. You've a knack for drawing a crowd and entertaining them," she gently reminds Zavyr, without bringing up the fact that that's how Luciana caught sight of her in the first place. "D'ean… might, if he can." There's something underlying her tone there. Concern. Guilt, even. "Depends on what has happened and if he's not too exhausted. I've asked a lot of him, lately." Overstepping lines, for sure. "Don't know this L'xan fellow and don't know Divale, either." So that'll be up to Lane and Zavyr to choose their backup. Divale's reaction to the news may depend on how L'xan throws it at her but they may not be far off the mark. "I'll visit when I can. Should have work up this way again soon. Bit more on the opposite coast but nothing says I can't backtrack to Igen."
"We could also walk home." It would just take some time to trace their way across Pern. Honestly, Lane would love to NOT have to get on a dragon back again soon. Irrational dislike of riders and flying altogether and such. "Give us time to just… be us." Before outside OPINIONS can create more cracks in their relationship. Just look at what happened with ONE stray comment from L'xan the night before.
That stray comment was honed and aimed and shot to kill. Zavyr is sure of it. She laughs, then. "Walk to Igen from here? How about runners?" His suggestion is actually taken partially seriously, but with the snow still falling outside, and the promises of freezing nights that will stretch Zavyr's powers of endurance far too much, she'd prefer to be out of the High Reaches area. "Or a wagon to somewhere where we could walk?" Luciana is given a quick grin, and abruptly, Zavyr will release Lane to cross to Luciana and embrace her. Tightly.
"You have to consider Threadfall, too. And costs for methods of travel, lodging and if you're going to rough it, you need to time it and be sure you damn well know where there's cover," Luciana's having fun poking holes in all their plans! Just a little too much fun. "There's by ship, too. Reputable ships. Lane, they'd find work for you as partial payment. Zavyr… they won't let you work. Best not to argue it with them." She'd know, first hand. She's not expecting Zavyr to embrace her, but it'll be returned, just as tightly and Lane, for the moment, will be ignored. "Hey, kid," she mutters, using the gruff, tougher voice. Just like old times! "Getting sentimental on me?"
"It's been a hella seven, Sharps." Zavyr admits, and steps back to study the other. "I want to see you. When you're ready to talk about…About your sister." Verain was Luciana's sister before she was Zavyr's mother and Zavyr will certainly yield that to her. "And maybe I - we - we can visit Southern. Sometime. But they do still think I'm a pirate. And you'll have to harass Drex for me. Keep him in line." A twitch of her lips. "I might have him to thank for much of this mess." Finally she'll step back and squeeze Luciana's shoulders. "Talk to D'ean. Ask if he's willing. And then we can decide." She'll send a look to Lane, and back to Luciana, "We're to the healers, to see if they'll discharge me." Because Lane will likely NOT leave until he has proof of that, too.
D'ean will not take them anywhere, either, until they have clearance. Luciana may remember that too, from the bluerider's refusal to take Zavyr when she was fevered. "Has it ever been, kid but when have we ever had it any other way?" Luciana has to admit to that with a dry laugh. It falters at the mention of Drex, "I don't know why you insist I even deal with him. He could've killed you! He should be dead or working the mines." Clearly, he's used up his second chance with her already. He has Zavyr to thank for his life or it would've been ended by now, by either Lane or Luciana's hand. "I'll send Barq to D'ean and probably have an answer for you by the time you finish with the Healers." She would likewise squeeze Zavyr's shoulders but, because of the injuries, she'll settle for grasping her upper arms. "You'll see more of me, I promise. And we'll talk." Alone. "I can still take you to the… home hold." Graves. "Later. Once things have settled. But you are my family now. Remember that." In case everything goes sideways and awry.
"Alright. Thank you." And as Lane goes about straightening the place up, Zavyr will step out the door with Luciana, to speak for a few moments, in private. "He's a good man, Lane. He wants to take care of me." Which is allowed with a sniff, before Zavyr grins again, "I knew he wanted to marry me. He'd said as much. But his rules had him wanting to get situated first. So he took me by surprise. And I could not say no. I will not lose him again." Zavyr touches the binding cord on her wrist. "Until he throws me out. Which…Well." Zavyr grins, "You know me."
Luciana steps outside that door and will keep her voice lowered, mostly because anyone can be overhearing them now and not just Lane. "I want to believe you, Zavyr and part of me does. Since I don't think you'd tolerate anyone who wouldn't treat you well," She can HOPE, right? "But I don't know him like you do." So, therefore, she does not trust him. "Maybe in time. If this… makes you happy then I won't come between it. However," She smirks. "Try not to push all his buttons on the first day?" There's a lot more she might want to say, but here is not the time or place. So she'll embrace Zavyr again, higher than before. "Just be careful, alright? Take the necessary precautions." Which could mean anything but given the situation? Might mean one thing specific. "And keep in touch."
She nods. "If I'm at a Weyr, there are riders who can take me *between*. But," she glances towards the door. "If he wanted children…" Zavyr would very likely concede to concieve. "I've had a lot of crushes on a lot of men. Hobby of mine." Zavyr doesn't move to leave the embrace, but lets her chin rest on Luciana's shoulder and studies the middle-distance of white-on-grey, before she'll add, "Ever look into a man's eyes and you see your children there? And you never considered children? And there's a future there, for you? He was frantic when he brought me back to the healer, when I was infected," Zavyr murmurs, "And I told him that this wasn't how I was going to die. That he should relax." Luciana can likely feel Zavyr's heartbeat through her thin chest, "How I figured I'd die… Is alone. But…Maybe not."
"Best to consider that far down the road," Luciana remarks firmly and pointedly. "Talk to the Healers in Igen. Just ask for the infusions. They know what you'll mean." Since she doesn't trust riders or think they'd be reliable for that. Her advice is not wrong. Now would NOT be the time for a child. "I'm probably the worst person to ask about men and family, kid. Though I think I can grasp what you're getting at." The embrace remains and she doesn't seem in any rush to let Zavyr go. Who cares who may walk into that hallway! "You two love each other." Simple. "Which is more than some can say."
"Yes." Zavyr will only reluctantly step back to look at Luciana. "So I came here to find about my family. I'm glad there is someone left. And I got one. He," Zavyr grins, an expression that brightens her features, "Didn't sign with his family name. Said we'd make our own. I don't know how - what happened. But it's good. And I will try to make him as happy as he's made me, but… We'll see how long it takes him to wise up and realize the raw deal he got." The grin lingers, though. Finally Zavyr's hands drop and that seems a signal for Hope and Joy both to manifest out of *between*, to whirl around and be joined seconds later by Valor. "He grounds me. And I think I make him think. About people." She nods. "We'll see what happens at Igen. I'm afraid. But that's not new."
Luciana smirks but there's only fondness there when Zavyr steps back. "And I'm glad my assumptions weren't wrong. If it means having to relieve nightmares and old, old wounds then… It's worth it." Since she won't be empty handed from it or as broken hearted over the outcome. "If he's come this far? And hasn't tired of you yet? Might be stuck with him, you know." She teases gently and will reach out to playfully ruffle Zavyr's hair a bit as she grins, "It's good to be afraid sometimes, kid. Spent half my life that way. Tends to sometimes work in your favour. It's part of being brave." Glancing down the hall, she'll exhale heavily. "And I better get that message to D'ean. It's probably some terrible hour in Southern right now." It'd just be their luck, really. "I'll be out by the stables, once you and Lane are done with the Healers." She starts to move away, but pauses after one step to regard Zavyr shrewdly. "And sorry I interrupted… things." Smirk.
Zavyr laughs, then! The full grin was back. "I had to marry the man, to get him to bed me!" And the deed has been done. "I was trying to talk him into more practice." She winks, though, as bawdy and saucy an expression as any woman working in the red light district. "We'll be down shortly. Unless I can talk him into another…" She tilts her head to the room, with another wink, and then smoothes down the unfamiliar skirts, and shakes her head. "This is going to be insane." That, from the woman who has been disguised as the Fool, traveling and braving the world alone, from Underground to the deserts to the Hatching Sands, to pirate ships and brigs and weyrs afar. This domestic adventure has her much more concerned. But she'll meet Lane as he exits, on cue, and loop her arm with his, and allow him to lead her to the Healers. Luciana might hear Zavyr's amused voice, in return to something Lane speaks… Something to the effect of, "No, I think if you carry me, that'd be a strike against their releasing me as healthy…" Then, "No, I am really good at walking. Really."