August 25, 2004
Trusilwyn comes by to apologise to R'hyn.

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Trusilwyn comes out of a tunnel.

R'hyn perches on an old chair just on the edge of the sands, mostly inside the ante-room where it's, at least, slightly cooler. Bent over his work - a hide in his lap - he murmurs something beneath his breath, head shaking. "No, not that. Bother."

Coming down the tunnel from the barracks, True pauses just at the mouth, poking her head around the corners to see if-- yes, there he is. With resentment like a eight pound block on her shoulder, Trusilwyn pulls her shoulders back and her chin up, stepping out onto the sands peripherally. In her clipped fashion, she stays to the outside as she rounds towards the Weyrleader and the Anteroom.

It's Arisvath, eyes shaded by only the innermost set of his eyelids, that notes Trusilwyn first. Wariness, at first, as those eyelids drawn back: he watches her closely as she moves, though is apparently satisfied by her peripheral movements. Nonetheless, his tail remains protectively in front of the Shadowy Menace Egg to his left.

Trusilwyn's pursed mouth expression slides its eyes over towards Arisvath, watching his movement around the egg (and, say, not bringing his tail down on her head or anything). Saved - for the moment - from death by crushing, True finishes the semicircle and closes in on R'hyn. She's hardly hiding her approach.

R'hyn tidily rolls up his hide and slides it into the small bag he has hung from the edge of the chair, without looking up at True as she approaches. "What is it, Trusilwyn?" he wants to know, eventually lifting his head to consider her eye-to-eye.

"T'ren said I needed to apologize for my behavior. So here I am." Her expression is as droll and insincere as one could imagine. Trusilwyn is nothing short of the definition of sulky teenager.

"I can see that you do so for all the right reasons," retorts R'hyn, folding his hands in his laps and considering Trusilwyn with a shake of his head.

Trusilwyn shrugs lightly, the hint of smug overtones lingering. "There's lots of reasons for everything in the world. So - well. I'm sorry. There. Done now." Her tight smile is neigh challenging.

R'hyn hesitates, as if deep in thought. "What has T'ren threatened you with if you don't apologise?" he asks, finally, his eyebrows raised in interest. He's quite calm - and no blush in sight.

With an eyebrow arching into a condescending angle, Trusilwyn's chin dips. "Nothing. What makes you say that?"

"I'm not completely stupid," R'hyn insists, lips pressing together sharply. "You're obviously not apologising out of any remorse; it stands to reason that you're actually listening to T'ren because you have no choice."

"Of because he's the Weyrsecond." Trusilwyn drops this into the conversation like it might have somehow escaped R'hyn's attention.

"Funny," says R'hyn, with a shake of his head. "You don't feel that way about what I say."

"Funny, that." Trusilwyn's smile is a brilliant as it is harsh and bitter.

The light grows wan as the spring day gives way to evening. A blanket of gray clouds cloaks the skies, blotting out the sky so that everything seems uncommonly dark and chilly. The spring air is cool, still brisk but no longer icy. (55F, 13C)

R'hyn's, in comparison, is actual verging on sweet and kind. "I wonder how you'll deal with my being your-- direct leader, in time, should you Impress. Have you thought of that?"

"I can't say as I have," Trusilwyn says breezily. "You can take that as you will, I suppose. On the other hand, it could say something about how long I think this... administration will last." Folding her hands behind her, she assumes a sort of casual belligerence stance.

R'hyn's shoulders - at least a little tense - give away something that his expression does not: he's finding this hard. "I should have anticipated /that/ response, clearly. Of course, it could be turns before Siramyth rises again - time enough, even, for these eggs to be grown up and graduated."

"That's true. And by that time, you and Kiora could have -easily- moved on to another weyr. Maybe, like, back to Ista for example." Mind like steel trap! Smiling hollowly again, True glances down the small corridor leading to the anteroom. "If we're done then?" Beat. "Sir?"

"You know that that won't happen." This time, R'hyn is all seriousness, and straightens in his seat. "We're here to stay, I'm afraid, and that's something you're going to have to come to grips with." Sighing, he shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. "Whatever. And in future? Simmer in resentment because the world is made to spite you behind closed doors. Because no one wants to hear."

Trusilwyn is fond of the last word. It fills her wrinkled little heart like nothing else. Because of it, she's always saying things she probably really shouldn't. Here's her chance to escape, more or less, but no. She takes R'hyn's verbal slap with a hard stare, one which she breaks for a cold smile. "Everyone says they're here 'forever' -- right up until they're told to get out. You could ask the Lady Priane about that, couldn't you? Thank you, sir." Hands still behind her, she turns away from the bronzerider in a dismissive gesture, heading down the antechamber's hall.

Trusilwyn heads over to the anteroom.

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