10.02.3013: Weathering
Summary: Jevon and Anabethe take a moment to catch up.
Date: 16 September 2013
Related: None
Anabethe Jevon 


Drawing Room, The Blackspyre
Tucked high amidst the residential floors of the Blackspyre, this little room is set aside for meetings that do not require the use of the Great Hall. There are a half dozen tall, wing-backed leather chairs scattered around the room, clustered here and there around small side-tables. One wall bears a preserved drake's head, one of the largest ever killed, while the others are decorated with paintings, scenes from the First and Second System War. Several hand-held holoprojectors rest unobtrusively on tables around the room, allowing for the reading of books, watching of movies, or showing of presentations.
October 2, 3013

In the last couple of months, Anabethe has been spending a good deal of time working on administration tasks rather than out in the field. She hasn't given up on physical pursuits, though, making sure to still spend at least a few hours in the gym every day, sparring or otherwise keeping in shape. She's returning from there now, in a pair of short sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a braid and tattoos showing. "Dad?" she calls ahead of herself, moving toward the door to the drawing room and giving it a knock. "You in here?"

"Yeah," comes Jevon's voice from the large desk at the back of the room. He has been nursing a cold for the last couple days, his nose red and voice thick with congestion. He is thumbing through the most recent reports froma round the 'Spyre on his tablet, and hardly looks up when Bethe makes her way toward him. "Another report of scouts attacking the factories… at least this time it was on the most outskirts." He finally looks up, slumping back into his chair as it rocks and bounces slightly under the shift of his weight.

"Yeah, I saw," Anabethe grimaces, dropping into the chair across the desk from her father and stretching her legs out in front of herself. "We're really gonna need to step up some sort of security around them. Those damned scouts don't need much of a base of operations, and they seem to have a knack for getting into places they shouldn't be. How's the cold?" she asks, arching a brow and tilting her head to look him over.

"Fucking hurricane," Jevon grunts as he reaches up to rub at his pallid cheek, thick with a fresh layer of scruff surrounding his normally well-trimmed beard. He shrugs his broad shoulders a bit as he folds his hands together at his belly. "Wind, rain, cold, and everyone's surprised that spending twelve hours out in that shit gave me a cold." He shakes his head before he breathes out a steady exhale. "We need to start protecting our borders more. Talk to your cousin about setting up patrols. Vic needs an excuse to get out from under wedding plans at this point. He will appreciate the opportunity."

"Vic'll appreciate the chance to get in the field," Anabethe agrees, not without some sympathy for her cousin. She crosses her legs, making a rather intent study of her sneaker for a moment. "Speaking of weddings. What's the fall-out looking like with the Sauveurs? I know Soleil was kind of…complicated to begin with, but I can't imagine anyone's been thrilled with how it went down."

The High Lord almost groans when his daughter brings up Soleil. He reaches up to rub at his forehead, picking at a small scar just above his left brow. "Fuck," he says, sitting with that question for a long moment. "Emund doesn't blame us for what happened… nor does Janelle. Soleil wasn't exactly the most stable Eagle of the bunch, but hey… your brother seemed happy with her." He grunts. "Or so I thought. Gotta say, I still don't know what the fuck happened there." He turns his head, coughing roughly into his shoulder. Then he sighs, body sinking further into his chair. "Though all eyes are on this fucking Magnus and Janelle wedding now… if House Khournas wasn't already getting enough attention, we're getting plenty now."

"Not to speak ill of the dead, but she was a controlling fucking bitch," Anabethe grumbles, reaching up to rub a hand at the back of her neck. "And not a good influence on him. Think we're going to see an improvement without her trying to make him what she wanted him to be. Whatever the hell that was. And Reenie…Well. She'll figure it out. Eventually. Pretty's good, but there's a little bit more to- Yeah, I'm just gonna stop there before I give you a stomach bug to go with the cold," she grins back at her father.

Jevon waves his hand dismissively at mention of Reena. "By the Gods… I'm not all that surprised she's not having an easy time with Kadmus. Nathaniel Volen is a fucking pill, but I'm guessing that his personality was a contributing factor to why there's a feud between the Granthams and Volens." Then again, the Khourni and Grantham might be too much alike for that revelation to be much of a surprise. "But, Reena will make it work. Maybe she won't find her everlasting love with the seahorse, but she will do her duty and do it with pride."

"And sulking. Possibly a great deal of sulking." Anabethe pushes out of her chair, pacing slowly along the perimeter of the room. "In private, though, I'll give her that. I just hope she doesn't let it make her bitter. This Notice Project thing is good for her, though. Gives her something to focus on instead." Clearing her throat, she turns back toward her father. "So, that's Nitrim, Vic, and Reena down, and a potential bomb with Magnus. Saving me for damage control?"

Jevon watches his daughter pace, remaining lax in his chair. His steel-colored eyes narrow slightly as she clears her throat and starts in on this particular topic. He is quiet for a moment, almost torturing her with the bit of silence. Then he starts to laugh — it is deep and rumbling, but only before it collapses into a series of harsh coughs. He starts to tap at his chest with the flat of his fist, his grin still wide. "Oh, Bethe… I'm definitely saving you for last. Besides, after your last hurrah, I thought you could wait a bit longer before I hitch your wagon to another horse." He continues to grin. "You here to make me aware of a preference?"

"Yeah, real funny, Dad," Anabethe says with a flat look at her father, pulling her braid over her shoulder as she goes to drop back into her chair. "Not against waiting. To get hitched again, that is. Just kind of tired of sitting around waiting for someone else to know about it before I do. Sure you can figure out why that might make me a little jumpy." Setting her elbow on the arm of the chair, she brushes the tail of her braid at her temple, watching him. "I don't- I'm not- I know it doesn't really matter if I've got a preference. I'm not asking to get hitched. And I know it's not-" She stops, letting out a heavy breath. "Flint Grantham. We fit. Just so you know." She looks away, catching the inside of her cheek between her teeth. "Can't make a tactical decision without all the information."

"I'm not going to surprise you with a marriage, Bethe… I did that to you once already, and look how that shit worked out for me," Jevon says dryly. Then he leans back deeper into his chair once more, reaching up to rub at his chin. "You mean Sir Jacob Grantham," he says after a moment. Then he releases a whoosh of air, looking momentarily tired. "I'll consider Sir Jacob, but…" He looks up toward her. "You know that the Granthams are not going to be a strong alliance. I was hoping you'd consider an Arborenin, honestly… perhaps a Peake or Hollolas if Eryn's direct brood doesn't appeal to you." He grimaces. "I might even consider a Valen of some kind… that is if Kallista doesn't kill me outright for even suggesting such an idea."

"I know," Anabethe replies, perhaps a little too quickly. "I know. And Vic's marrying Devon, and it would pretty much nullify the whole point of Reena's marriage, and it's not like we get anything from Ignis we don't already get from our own lava pit. I know. He knows. We know." She takes a deep breath, dropping her braid to rub a hand at her brow as she stares at the drake skull on the wall. "Aidan's not interested in women. Brigham's not either, though that's more an issue of focus. Maybe. Also, short. The other one's nice enough, but he's…" She grimaces. "Very nice. Twenty-four years old and doesn't really know what he wants to do with his life. Talking about squiring up. As for Brennart and Tristan, they're both so bland I still don't remember which one is which. And for the Valens, they seem to be by and large taken." Shrugging, she lets her hand fall again as she looks back to her father. "For what it's worth, I'd totally back you against Kallista," she says with a wan smile.

Jevon listens to his daughter ramble off her possible suitors, and he just starts to grin. "Are you saying the pot is a bit dry, Bethe?" He shrugs a bit. "The way I see it… Mikhail is a good boy, about ready to be squired, following where he's suppose to follow. If Devon and Vic start getting busy with the babymaking right away, that'll add even more potential Khourni to the family brood. You got time, daughter… I'm not rushed if you aren't. We don't need to be flooding the tabloids with Khournas weddings. So unless you think your ovaries are drying up, we can take our time finding someone that won't end up like the damn Laskarises."

"I'm saying the pot's full of mystery meat," Anabethe says dryly, though there's a faint smirk at one corner of her lips. "And no, my ovaries aren't drying up. Just figured…it was probably smarter to put things out on the table than spend so much time sneaking around that I end up blindsided. After everything that's gone on with Nitrim, the one thing I keep thinking is I wish he'd just been open and honest with us. So. Trying to learn from his mistakes."

Jevon can't seem to help himself as he replies with an equally dry, "The younger children are suppose to learn from the older children's mistakes, not the other way around." Then he shakes his head a bit, releasing a sigh. "You're old enough that I can include you in negotiations of your next marriage. I want to make sure this one sticks, Bethe…" He casts her a fatherly look before he rubs at his cheek once more. "Got anything else for your old man?"

"Yeah, sorry. I guess that's the down side of having such a perfect oldest child, right?" Anabethe grins at her father, pushing up from her chair and stepping over to press a kiss to his cheek. "All good, Dad. I'll talk to Vic about setting up patrols around the factories. You need anything else?"

"Perfect my old sagging ass," Jevon says, though he is smiling toward his daughter. He accepts the kiss good-naturedly, actually looking quite pleased at his daughter's affection. Then he sighs, waving his hand dismissively. "No, go away." He hesitates. "Tell your mother that you think I should have soup tonight." Which means he doesn't want Micaya to think he requested it directly.

"Right. Dad should have soup for dinner, he sounds awful. Got it. And he should probably head for bed early. Probably needs some cuddling time." Anabethe gives her father a playful salute, trailing off about the things that Dad probably needs on her way out.

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