Logs:A Page from a Harper's Romance
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| RL Date: 1 October, 2014 |
| Who: Lycinea, Weylaughn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea asks Weylaughn the hard questions in life. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 12, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Pulhaun/Mentions, Vesra/Mentions, Yewlani/Mentions |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves.
It's a page from a Harper's romance. Boy meets girl. Girl looks... gross. Yes, here comes Lycinea fresh from her afternoon and evening's labor in the kitchens. Her clothes bear the clinging scent of long-stale food and other small remnants on her two layers of patched skirts (one green, one orange that isn't the good kind of orange. On the other hand, her pink shirt looks like it's a little too small in the bust, so perhaps it distracts well enough. She's scuffing along, worn boots dragging on the floor, and then she happens across the holder; no dramatic entrance! "What are you doing here?" As if she knows him. The duckface takes immediate effect as she stops to put her hands on her hips. Apparently Lycinea isn't going to let him landslide the 'who would you rather not meet in the storerooms alone at night?' vote. Oh, he knows that tone well. Weylaughn's explorations stop abruptly and he pivots on a heel to face the source of that voice. There's a momentary flash of something on his face - but it's gone and replaced with an achingly apologetic smile just for the mystery woman. The Holder bends into a stiff, formal bow and intones in his slightly skewed Cromese accent, "Just looking for something that was lost, miss. That's all." He straightens, adjusts the hang of his cloak, and - despite her kitchen-disheveled clothing (or because of the shirt, who knows) - he offers a hand in greeting. As for that apologetic smile? It's gone supernova brilliant as he adds, "Weylaughn of Seven Echoes Hold at your service, miss. Are you also looking for something here, or...?" The blonde's brows can't help but take a hike up her now-wrinkled forehead. Her look takes disbelieving to a whole new level. Lycinea looks at the hand, but does not take it, "Does this-" she gestures to all of him, "-really work for you?" Evidently it's not for her. "I am just taking a shortcut to the bathing pool, not skulking about like some--" she pauses, because she can't seem to find the word for what she wants to call him; maybe it's working after all!! She steps closer, peering at him, arms relaxing just a little, though her hands don't leave her hips. Her look has turned a little curious! The hand is withdrawn when it's apparent she's not interested, though Weylaughn doesn't seem put out by it. Clearly, the Holder is accustomed enough to awkward social situations to take them in stride. The young woman's eyebrows lift and his rise in a mirrored motion, while his smile simply goes a bit tilted as she explains. "Well," he offers nonchalantly enough, "it suits me just fine - but if it's offensive, then I should trust you can set me on the right path, mm?" His hands end up behind his back, lending him a perpetual sense of formality when coupled with his straight-backed posture and squared shoulders. "But, please, pay me no mind at all if you're in a rush. I'm only looking for something I left behind earlier today." His smile falters just a little at that. "Then I'll be well on my way home again for the sevenday." "It's not offensive," Lycinea rolls her eyes. "It's just weird. Though I don't suppose I've ever seen a holder close up." She shifts so she can side eye him, as if this might give her a different perspective, though whether she's trying to make him more normal or more of the oddity he is to one raised in a Weyr... well. "So you're stealing something and making a run for it?" She surmises, glancing around this particular section of stores, "What do we have worth stealing that's not under lock and key?" This, at least, it sounds like she genuinely wants to know. The Holder clucks his tongue gently and is gracious enough to unlock his hands and spread his arms just a little for her benefit. Weylaughn remains still throughout her examination, such as it is, though his head ends up cocked a bit to one side. One eyebrow remains up as he remarks, "It's how I'm expected to dress, miss. If it's that weird, you could take the matter up with my Mother." Okay. That's probably weirder. But, anyway. "And- like I said, it's something of mine that I forgot. It's a satchel with my name on it - with a book in it that also has my name on it." His arms drop and his hands habitually lock behind his back again; the stiff formality is blunted with one of his lopsided, boyish grins. "It's not as if I could get away with stealing anything, anyway; I'm due to meet with the Weyrleader soon and that would just be poor form." "Oh," almost a sound of understanding, but then, "Oh, oh. You think I mean how you're dressed." Don't mind the laughter; it doesn't go on too long. Actually, it stops sort of short-- "Your mother still dresses you and you're how old?" Lya takes a step closer, bringing her really too close to be polite and she's peering the long way up to his handsome face probably trying to make her own best guess. "So if it's yours, why don't you get it when there's someone about to help you find it? And for that matter, if it's yours, and has your name on it, why did you forget it here?" Since he almost certainly must have done that on purpose, or so her tone suggests. "What? No. I can dress myself, thank you," Weylaughn replies with a deep furrowing of his brows. "Mother just prefers to approve the outfits I wear." The young woman's peering is met with a bit of cross-eyed counter-peering from the Holder - the effect is comical until he blinks and sorts things out, right down to a momentary flattening of his fine mouth. "Please. Appearances are important and I'm still a bit of a wherry about things, that's all." Note: no mention of his age at all. She'll just have to agonize over that - or not. "Anyway." He sniffs a bit, straightens, and takes a slight step back, which will either force her to follow - or back off, as she sees fit. "I had to leave in a hurry earlier," he replies with a renewed knitting of his brow. "Matters at home and all. I didn't realize I'd forgotten it until things were dealt with - and I've only just returned. I've been trying to find someone to help, but I do hate bothering people who are busy." More likely, he didn't find anyone at all, but hey. "..." It's a palpable silence. "So she dresses you." Lycinea concludes, of course. She follows (of course she does), because leaving the holder to his business would be-- well, a gift she's simply not prepared to give at this juncture. "Do all holders your age still have their mothers doing things for them? I thought most holders your age were married and having their pretty wives popping out babies already?" She tilts her head, "Or maybe you are married and your wife is back home, even now, pregnant, barefoot, making sandwiches-- what is it that holder wives actually do?" Weylaughn must be the authority, right? He can field all the holder questions for the ignorant. She doesn't offer to help him, of course. (Of course.) "I dress myself," really is just an audible confirmation of ruffled feathers. Weylaughn catches himself before letting that ruffling get further; he does a quick internal audit and that's reflected in slight adjustments to his stance and manner. "Most Holders my age are married and with children, but I am not. There haven't been any... acceptable matches offered, considering my lineage." Of course, if Lycinea's insisting on not helping, he'll just have to help himself - so to speak. He starts to move, preparing to resume his prowl through the stores. "And my mother does very little with cooking. She has a cook for that. Most of her time is spent doing her Harpering work and supplementing what her husband earns." Curious wording, that. "I suspect many Holder's wives are busy securing their husbands' lines, in any case." Translation: popping out babies. "But to assume all they know how to do is make sandwiches is terribly silly." "So... sandwiches and lying like a fish out of water if you're lucky?" Lycinea sums up in her own special way, still following. She whistles low, "You have great things to look forward to, that being the case. And you're leaving here in a seven? In such a hurry to get away from weyrfolk?" Beat. "And back to your mother? And her husband? Who apparently doesn't make enough money?" See? She's listening! These are all polite conversational topics, right? Sandwiches and fish-floppery is nothing that the Holder will dignify with a response. Instead, Weylaugh is mindful to keep his hands in plain sight for the girl - which is to say behind his back, fingers twined, if she insists on following - while he noses about. "Mother can't manage the Hold alone," he replies after a moment. "And her husband is atrocious at it; he's better in the fields. So, I need to be there to help tend to things, so she can focus on other duties. I'm only here to meet with the Weyrleaders, if they're about, or spend some time meeting people. The rest of my time is spent working." Sort of. But she needn't know that. Polite or not, some credit should be given to the lad for being willing to talk about it in the first place. He cuts a sidelong look at her, over his shoulder, before his attention returns to where it belongs. "This is a terribly long shortcut to the bathing pool, isn't it?" Lycinea seems to have gone temporarily deaf, just as he asked that last question, and of all the rest, the only thing she chooses to respond to just now is, "Are you going to meet me?" The lad comes to a full stop at that question and he cocks a glance over at her. Fortunately, he's not offended at her sudden case of temporary deafness. Rather, question is countered with question keenly enough: "Are you going to give me your name?" Wey makes a slow turn to face her, head tipped - just so - with curiosity. Lycinea's chin tips down and her brows up after taking one step too many and rebounding back so she doesn't get too-too close. "Are you going to ask me for my name?" One corner of Weylaughn's mouth twitches. He's been good about keeping his smile in check but, now, it's threatening to break free. "Are you going to give it if I do?" But, lest the game continue to levels of ridiculousness that might be unbearable, he dips his chin in her direction as a slight concession, and simply goes for: "Because, if you won't, this whole thing would have been a terrible waste of your time," and his, surely, but that's not the point. "So, for the sake of freeing us both up... what is your name, miss?" The kitchen worker flutters her lashes prettily up at him, "As it happens, Weylaugn of Seven Echoes Hold, I have a special talent for wasting time," her own, other people's, particularly her boss'... She takes a pair of steps back. For a moment it seems like wasting their collective times was all she was after, but after a briefly sucked in breath, her hands finding their way behind her back, which, oh, happens to make her chest stick out a little more (and unlike most lower caverns women, she seems truly unaware of this), and says, simply, "Lya." Another step back. "The pleasure is mine, Lya." It's a good thing she's moving back, because that gives Weylaughn room to tuck into another of those formal bows of his. No, he's not doing it because he might get a different angle while looking at her, Faranth forbid. When he straightens, he takes his time to unnecessarily straighten his cloak. "I will meet with you," he assures, "after I find what I'm looking for." The last bit brings a hint of something pained to his features and tone; it's subtle, but it's there. Whatever the book is - and nevermind the bag - it must be of some measure of importance to the lad, moreso than spending time with a lady of the Weyrbred persuasion. "It oughtn't take long," is a hasty addition. That bow earns another side eye from the blonde. "I didn't ask if you were going to meet with me," Lya clarifies, "And meeting people in the bathes is weird," in case that was his plan. "I just asked if you wanted to meet me, since you hadn't really," if meeting is defined by a two way exchange of names. "So now you have." Then, "I might've seen a bag with your name on it that way, when I was getting things earlier," she waves a hand, "But I can't promise it's still there." And that seems to be all he gets, because with that, she's taking one more step back and turning to go. Because helping out is no big thing, right? Just because she was maybe almost nice to the weirdo hold boy, there's no need to make a deal about it. Faranth. "Technically," and here the Holder goes, well, all technical, "I would be meeting with you after I find what I'm looking for, regardless of when it was." The rest? Heck if he knows. Weylaughn's still, clearly, a stranger in a strange land. "Or meeting you again, as the case may be." Clarification follows along with hers, though there's a faint wrinkle of his nose at something or another. The direction indicated is noted, filed away, and he flashes Lya one of those brilliantly boyish smiles. "Many thanks to you, Lya. I shall look forward to meeting with you when I return to the Weyr." A shallow bow just adds another layer of quasi-formality to his appreciation - and while she's turning to go, he's venturing off in the direction she gestured in - and not at all questioning why she didn't mention that detail a bit earlier. |
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