Logs:Above Big Heads
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 3 October, 2015 |
| Who: Lycinea, Nikalas |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In yet another weird encounter, Lycinea still hasn't mastered sensitivity or generosity of spirit and aims to make Nik uncomfortable. (It works.) He only thinks she's growing a second head. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: <OOC> Nikalas says, "He's like a friendly giraffe." |
  |
>---< Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr(#273RJs) >-------------------------------<
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. Someone has left Nikalas to his own devices in the storerooms, trusting that he'll be able to pick something out for himself; the lanky teenager's already made a fine start, if one overlooks how the shirts slung over his arm don't promise to match its length any better than what he currently wears, and how the cheerfulness to his whistling has begun to fade. Lycinea's appearance in long, grey skirt and pale pink blouse with her hair loose around her shoulders save for the small bead-and-shell-dotted braids interspersed throughout is hardly a sign that authority has arrived to monitor the teen working through the clothes. In fact, the small woven basket slung over one arm is just about as far from a clipboard or other. Still, when the blonde ceases her unobtrusive approach and speaks, her tone is one engineered to make the inattentive or wrong-doing jump, "Those for your little brother?" Nik's definitely on the inattentive scale; when he recovers, the grin he gives her holds no guile. "Shells, sneak up on me, why don't you? Nah, these are for me." He extends one long arm, showing the expanse of wrist and wiggling it-- there's an audible crack-- before letting it retract. "Just because it's coming on winter and all." "Seems like it'd be really difficult now that you're expecting me," Lya answers with a slight considering purse to her lips. The idea is quickly dismissed and she moves toward the younger boy, eyeing the shirt more than the teen. "And you feel risque revealing your wrist to the world and want every shirt you own to inevitably do the same?" It's drawled in question but it can't be genuine with the squint of her eyes. Setting her basket aside, she reaches without hesitation to claim one of the shirts he's already laid claim to, to shake it out. "Did you even try these on?" "Next time," Nik says. "...Risky?" is more of a question. He's fine with just handing over the shirt, not a care in the world, though he does look down on her in a solely literal sense to see what she's doing with it. "No? They looked right. And they weren't scratchy." Make that, look down on her hopefully. "Risque." Lya corrects. "If you think bare wrist is inclined to attract the doe-eyed girls to fawn over you more than your father's name and position. I'm not sure I'm thrilled to see that much of your epidermis, though I'll grant you that now you're out of that awkward all elbows and knees period you probably don't need to wear a bag over your head or anything," she even flashes him an encouraging sort of smile, friendly (or something). O-kaaaaay. That's the look Nik's giving her, along with a slow physical recoil that has him shifting the pile of shirts over to his far arm. "Where did that even come from? Did I mention my dad? I didn't, did I?" Did he? That was so long ago; he's confused. Maybe it's the smile. Not prone to self-doubt, a muscle twitches anyway, right under the acne that might necessitate a bag were people like Lya more... picky. "Look, you can keep the shirt if you really want." "No, but everyone else does whenever your name comes up. It's got to be tough when everyone knows who he is and who he is to you." Lya answers, shaking out the shirt she holds and holding it up as if to size it against him, squinting. "I don't want the shirt, but you should get shirts that will solve your problem, not see you back here in a month for another. And ones that suit you." She doesn't say 'you're the weyrleader's son after all' but one might infer it given the rest of what's been said. They do? That look's written all over his face too. "Not really," Nik says, but slowly. He's still looking at her, and with the tilt of his head, that swoop of strawberry-blond hair's about to fall over. "Yeah, okay, whatever." She may say she doesn't want the shirt, but he doesn't move to take it. Maybe he suspects it's growing a second collar to go with her second head. He nods. "Ones that suit me, I can do that." He starts to back away, slowly, careful of whatever might lurk behind a too-rapidly-growing teenager. If it were, at least it would fit her well. Judging from the way Lya's lips curl (to full duckitude) she's skeptical to an extreme that it will do the same. As he starts to back off, she balls up the shirt and tosses it to (at?) him. "You can always roll the sleeves up a bit if they're a bit long to give you more time before you need to trade them in." This is the voice of experience. "I bet Farideh would advise you about what would suit you." This offer comes, surely, from the goodness in Lya's heart. "If she has time." Weyrwomen being busy people and all that. Nikalas can catch things, at least, and does. Her aim doesn't hurt. "Yeah, okay." Sleeves, he can do that. As for Farideh, his laugh isn't so much self-deprecating as genuinely good-humored, like Lya's telling the joke with him instead of on him; "Yeah, she's totally going to do that. I'll ask her right after I ask about petting her eggs. You know, after Niahvth's. You have a good night now," y'hear? "Careful," Lya warns with a severe look, "asking to pet a woman's eggs is even more risque than a little flash of wrist-flesh." She touches the side of her nose with a finger as if she's lending the teen an insider tip. She's a girl, she probably knows these things. "Farideh might dress you in lace after that sort of bold request." A thought that seems to prompt her to smile pleasantly to the retreating boy. If he keeps going, she'll probably even wiggle her fingers at him to bid him farewell. |
Leave A Comment