Logs:An Unsurprising Surprise
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| RL Date: 1 November, 2014 |
| Who: Lycinea, Telavi, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros surprises Lya with the trip to the beach she asked for but possibly doesn't want. Telavi chaperones. It's an awesome time. Really. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr and Ista Hold |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| The familiar cacophony of sound surrounds the kitchens. Pots and pans, spoons and knives, they all have their signature sound, mixed within the voices and shouts of the cook staff of High Reaches Weyr. It is not any different on just another winter's morning, where the snow outside is fresh and the appetites aplenty. When Lycinea comes around on her usual rounds of duties, however, one of the cooks - a portly woman with a coiffure of bright red curls - shoos her away with a wooden ladle. "Get, be gone with ya, there ain't no work for ya today, and sides, they be wanting ya in the bowl, out there. Good riddance," she harrumphs, and returns to stirring whatever concoction she's got simmering over the fire. Everyone else in the kitchens would repeat the same thing - there is work for the blonde to be done out in the bowl, far away from the warmth and sound of the kitchen. But what awaits Lycinea out in the snow is not another job, no, but a weyring-sized brown and his rider, the latter of which is dressed in full riding gear, going over the straps with cautious fingers. V'ros sighs and steps back to shield his eyes from the sun with a hand, looking up at Zmeyth's returned gaze. They share a moment and then, the weyrling turns to address the other pair accompanying them. "She's not very punctual," he mutters, his brow clearly creasing beneath the helmet. "How long ago did you ask her to show up?" Telavi inquires, as light but also as pointed as one of the more slender stalactites. She's ensconced herself atop Solith's neck in a quite comfortable fashion, though her cheeks are also quite pink with cold; Zmeyth's outsized the green for months now, but that just means Solith can't shade him all the way unless she's accidentally found a particularly lucky-- or unlucky-- angle. Once, Lycinea might've braved that wooden ladle to say something unkind in answer, but now? She needs only be told once. She shrugs at the red-head and goes to collect her heavy (new) wool coat and get moving toward the bowl. The eyes that follow her are uneasy. At first, surely her newfound tractability was a welcomed relief to those who'd earned grey hairs in their association with her. But now? It's gone on too long; like a wild runner, broken, her tameness is unnatural, and because she isn't a runner, unnerving. They probably hope for a happy medium, but wouldn't anything be better than this? She arrives in the bowl, gloved hands stuffed into her pockets and hooded head bowed. She does eventually have to look up since she wasn't given more specific instructions than "the bowl." That's when she sees V'ros and Telavi and stops. She stands there a pair of frosty breaths before angling toward them and approaching. She looks just thrilled to see them (not). Fun already! "I didn't." Preparation isn't the weyrling's forte, and could be the folly of the whole operation -- no specific time could have them sitting out in the bowl all day. V'ros shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his hands, needlessly checking his riding gear and doing another check of his straps, that is, until Lycinea walks outside. He jerks his head around to Telavi and Solith, opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and turns around to face the kitchen aide. "Uh, hey, Lya," he says by way of greeting; a real smooth operator, this one. "We should-- here." Explaining things is overrated, so he shoves an extra riding helmet at her. Does she get it? Does he need to spell it out? Because he probably won't. A V'ros move. "Then don't you say she's late." That's pointed too, not quite as lightly, though Tela hasn't yet brought out the icepicks. At least watching V'ros fidget provides the greenrider brief amusement-- brief, because she's seen months of it-- before Lya comes out; for the girl Tela smiles, one brow a titch higher than the other, absolutely not interfering in V'ros' approach and instead awaiting what's going to happen. Lya's brows draw together and her lips pinch into a flattened half-duck as the helmet is thrust at her. "Are we going to the beach?" This is directed at Telavi as much as V'ros and will have to serve as greeting because she makes no other, nor does she move to take the helmet. V'ros frowns when she doesn't automatically take the helmet. "Yeah, we are. You said that's what you wanted to do, so we.." He looks back at Telavi again and shrugs. "Put on the helmet, Lya," he says, holding it out farther-- to her. "Unless you want your head to freeze off, or you aren't coming," Telavi provides as though both are perfectly legitimate options. "If this isn't a good time..." reminded, she cups her gloved hands around her face to mouth, 'Do you have your period?' Lya rolls her eyes at Telavi, so that must not be it. She looks to V'ros and her expression is, to her credit, quite bland as she asks, "Do you want me to be naked on the beach?" She doesn't wait for an answer though because 1. she's probably not sure he'll be able to speak after a question like that and 2. it's cold out, "I need to go get my suit." If he'd just warned her, he could've saved himself the wait. Instead, the younger blonde turns on her heel and heads for the nearest entrance to the caverns. The question, rightly, catches him off guard, and it's with confusion that V'ros watches her walk back to the caverns. He turns to look up at Telavi, helmet still between his hands. "Did you bring yours?" It's obviously the only question left to ask, that or: is Lycinea even going to come back? A suit?! Clearly the thought had never occurred to Telavi, if those wide eyes-- she's so good at wide eyes-- and the fingers flitted to her lips are any indication; so shocked is the greenrider, she just can't reply with actual words until she gets a reaction. Telavi's reaction is given a squinty-eyed study; it's doubtful he sees anything but honest surprise. "I didn't either. I didn't think we were.. it's winter, even if it's.. hot, there." V'ros sighs and flips the helmet in his hands, shaking his head. "Can't we just go to a market?" with another look up at the greenrider. Disappointed Telavi. She sighs. "Don't look at me that way; it's not like it's my plan. But if it makes you feel better, you can bring along a sack of firestone and practice throwing it..." on second thought, "but only if you have it by the time she gets back." He might, if he hurries. Lya isn't long in making her return but she didn't run to the resident's quarters and back. When she comes back, she carries a small, worn drawstring satchel looped diagonally over her shoulder. Then, she'll accept the helmet from V'ros, if he's still offering and not off getting firestone and ask, "Who'm I riding with?" Blue-green eyes flick between the riders. The greenrider's suggestion is met with a blank stare. Toss firestone? Really? V'ros chooses to wait out Lycinea instead, and happily hands over the helmet when she returns. He takes a couple steps backwards, motioning towards the still-seated Telavi. "I'll help you up on Solith," he mumbles, keeping his head down as he moves towards the green; obvious reasons he pointedly isn't looking at Telavi are obvious. "You will?" Telavi inquires, her tone more teasing than not. She gives Lya a brief, almost apologetic glance-- but rather than gloss it over, mostly, per her social MO... "V'ros." She lowers her voice as though to spare his blushes. "Remember not to volunteer someone else's dragon, hmm? Much as I'd be glad to oblige Lya, it's been too long since you've had elevator duty," even if he'd had it that morning. "Please do take her yourself." It's all very pleasant and authoritative at the very same time, as though she's all set for them to get on with their excursion. V'ros stops in his tracks, eyes lifting to Telavi again; they widen at her words. "Um.. I.." He drops his gaze and rubs the back of his neck, silence filling in the seconds after the greenrider's command. "Okay, Lya, back over.." Not lifting his eyes from his feet, the weyrling shuffles back towards his own dragon, a quiet sigh his only concession to his reticence to comply. Then, he'll pull himself up into the straps, only leaning down to offer the kitchen girl his hand when he's settled between ridges. « He's not too bright, but he's mine, » Zmeyth, as loving as ever, comments on his rider's ineptness. The helmet stays frozen at Lya's chest as her eyes follow between the riders at their Teachable Moment. By the time V'ros is turning to Zmeyth, the helmet is coming up (and if she rolls her eyes behind it, well...) and she briefly shoots Telavi a look like maybe she's weighing the moral cost of stunting the brownrider's social development after all. That is gone by the time V'ros has himself situated. Her grip on his hand is strong and her scramble inelegant. She's obviously not terribly used to riding dragons, though not completely without experience. She's silent and focused, not on V'ros, or Zmeyth, but on keeping her breakfast, which she might have thought better of eating had someone who knows she sometimes pukes on/near dragons bothered to tell her. Finally! Telavi, though neutral on some things, is not so neutral when it comes to getting going; she waits until Lya seems situated before signaling Solith to become airborne... with a nimbleness that has no concern for the sanctity of Zmeyth's hide. « What do you... » like, want, something Solith doesn't have the words for, « about him? » It would be easy, once they're up high, for the adult dragon to send a visualization and go... but it's too easy. No, it's V'ros' trip; Solith merely circles, plainly awaiting the other pair's visualization for them to double-check. Situated and all - for that short ride to Ista - just before Zmeyth takes off from the ground, launching his dark bulk into the sky after the green. « Not much, but he listens and doesn't make hasty decisions, » since they're being honest and whatnot. His smoky baritone is replaced by an image of the sky over Ista; not the Weyr, but rather, above the Hold and its coastline. « He says it's suitable. » Lycinea will just have to hold on, for now, as the brown jumps between and they met the icy cold of that black nothingness before bursting out of the air above Ista Island. Hopefully the gasp Lycinea takes and the breath she holds when they come out in the tropical air is more about maybe a fear of heights than keeping her breakfast. Nevermind that her arms have found their way around V'ros' waist and her unbreathing face is pressed into the back of his jacket. If she's going to be disappointed by their visiting the Hold and not the Weyr, it'll have to wait because she's not looking anywhere just now. 'He listens.' There's a wistful eddy along Solith's more audible, « That is something. Sometimes it's hard, » for her, « to tell the difference between quick-good and hasty-bad. Fast is good, » said with a slightly foreign intonation. She must approve the visualization, for she doesn't seek to alter it, and instead glides downward towards the beach and the comfort of warm sand... without even peeking at what the other pair's up to. Zmeyth must approve, for though he has no words for the green, his smoke and darkness lingers on the peripheries; no argument is good news. They circle down to the beach, landing with much more ease than in months previous. V'ros' expression is hard to see behind the helmet and goggles, but it could be noted that he stays very still, not even bothering to prod the kitchen girl into moving until she does so herself. It might be thought of as an attempt at romance, the arms around V'ros' waist. Lya probably wouldn't be pleased to have it thought so, but that's probably not the reason she groans into V'ros' coat and the admirably tries to clear both the brownrider's coat and poor Zmeyth's neck. Certainly, the girl would have chosen to keep her breakfast if she could have. She's occupied with that some moments before she's mumbling her apology, cheeks red, one hand digging into her satchel to pull out a ... sock? With ... yarn? On it, to scrub across her mouth before being thrust back into the bag. It must have been a clean sock, as these things go (else she'd probably have tried for a second losing of what was already lost). Whether sound or smell, something triggers Solith's renewed attention; her headknobs skew back and she changes course right as Telavi's looking back too. It leaves the greenrider rubbing her neck as Solith finally lands, a decent distance away from Zmeyth. Away, most importantly, enough that if he should shake like a wet canine, it would be unlikely to land on them. If dragons could look resigned.. Zmeyth twitches his wings, but remains as stoic as his rider. "You're--" V'ros grimaces and shakes his head, which he turns away while Lycinea is hurling up her stomach. He doesn't have a choice but to stay seated and strapped in, considering he'd have to brave vomit and gravity on his way down. "Okay?" he grumbles to the blonde, his hands gripping the straps with an unnecessary amount of strength. "Fine." Lya is understandably put-out. "The motion. I would've skipped breakfast, only--" He didn't tell her they were going anywhere. "Sorry." She adds, because V'ros isn't H'vier, and really, "Sorry," is for Zmeyth before her frozen fingertips poking out from a pair of holey fingerless gloves begin to fumble over the buckles. A rider, Lya most certainly is not, if there was any doubt beyond the obvious lack of dragon. Left to her own devices, she will make it to the ground. It'll just take time; if V'ros chooses to render assistance, then it'll be faster, but who could blame him for not at this point? Is anything at all unusual happening over there, by that other dragon? Telavi's busy with her own dismounting, and beach-preparing, and hair-neatening, and all those other important things. It's Solith who sighs to Zmeyth, « I can smell it. » « You can carry her home, » Zmeyth tells Solith - and who can blame him, vomit and all. He is not the happiest dragon at the moment. Bad enough his own rider used to retch after flight, now he's added a second. But Lycinea will find she has to dismount on her lonesome, and V'ros will only climb down once she's got her feet on the sandy beach shore, where he can see her. "You should drink some water," he suggests, and just stands there, helmet and goggles in the one hand; no, he won't offer his own waterskin. "I don't have any." Lycinea points out the obvious. Apparently whatever is in her satchel does not include water. Still, she doesn't waste time on V'ros and his suggestions right now. She goes to the edge of the water, shucking out of her boots and socks as she goes. Saltwater is not for drinking, but it's perfect for getting unpleasant tastes out of one's mouth, if a bit gritty. It's only after attending to this important task that she freezes, staying crouched, and then with just her fingertips she begins drawing patterns in the black sand in front of her, satchel slung across her back and safe from the water that rushes up in even rhythm to erase her doodles. « I can, » Solith agrees with uncharacteristic primness. Her rider's already stripped out of unnecessaries, if arguably not all of them, leaving a sleeveless tunic that's now pretending to be a dress; Tela minces underneath Solith's neck and towards them, hissing not unhappily at the hot black sand. "What did I miss?" What will they admit to? « Yours shouldn't let mine have these kinds of ideas. » The ideas that leads blonde women to throwing up on him. Zmeyth, divested of his burdens, starts to move away, past the green and farther down the beach. « Come on. » V'ros turns to address Telavi, letting Lycinea doodle her heart out for now. "She.. uh, riding doesn't suit her," he says, with a shrug, letting his eyes rove past, to the kitchen girl, where they remain, coupled with a concerned frown. "I puked," Lya's answer is simpler, though her tone is distracted as she draws in the sand. "I would've skipped breakfast if I'd known," because certainly she knows she gets airsick. "What makes the sand black?" She asks as she pushes up onto her feet and turns to look back at the riders, adjusting the satchel across her back, fingers gripping the strap across her chest as if it were a lifeline to the life she leads back in the Weyr. The life that is much smaller than foreign beaches with black sand. « How did she give him those ideas? » Solith, puzzled. The green dragon sniffs at the pile of her straps and Telavi's gear, then stretches her wings with a little wriggle as though it had been a long, long time since she opened them last. Telavi's pulled a little moue as her dragon begins to wander along with Zmeyth's suggestion. Rather than address bodily functions, the greenrider glances briefly at their pawprints and then says to Lya, "It's where Thread first fell. Faranth used up her flames here, and that's why the sands are black and queens don't flame anymore." « No, » Zmeyth assures, « but she could have told him no. » Reptilian-patterned hide is less sooty looking in the bright sunlight Ista offers, a sunlight that the brown luxuriates in, ambling slowly towards the water's edge some distance from their riders. V'ros frowns, his eyes shifting from Lycinea to follow the path of the two dragons; it's with a sigh that he drops his chin and his gaze roves to the doodles in the black sand. "Why does it matter what color the sand is? It's.. sand." Telavi's explanation is much better. "Really?" Lya doesn't really believe the greenrider she's giving a suspicious side-long glance to, until V'ros' addition has her hunching her shoulders and looking out to sea for a moment before she's rising, arms crossed tight across her chest, "Alright, I'm ready to go home." Just like that. « Yes? » The question is less for Solith's rider's ability than for why. The green yawns, then plays at stepping within Zmeyth's pawprints, even if she does have to stretch; it takes her away from the humans too, away from going-home. "That's where volcanoes come from, after all," Tela says in the face of doubtfulness, lifting her fingers to study her nails silhouetted against the sunlight; could one have developed a snag? Hopefully not! "Sand is interesting," she says more to V'ros. "I had a friend once, she layered all sorts of different colors in a jar to remember palaces by... Go back, already? We just got here." « Are you fast? Can you fly fly faster than a fish.. » What's that world.. the thing fish do in the water.. V'ros, on the other side, says out loud, "Swim." And immediately winces, his cheeks flushing. « Swim? » But the rider, rolling his shoulders back, flicks looks between the greenrider and the kitchen aide. "We just.. got here. What's wrong? Why do you want to leave? It wasn't easy to get here. It wasn't easy to.." He spreads his hands and stares at Lycinea, brows knit in bewilderment "You don't want to be here," she calls V'ros on it, "I don't want to be here. Telavi came to make sure no one got lost between, so why are we all pretending?" What Lya means to say is V'ros is a killjoy to her sand curiosity and she doesn't want to play anymore. Unfortunately, she can't just take her toys and go home without help. "I don't even know why you bothered to do this anyway." She sighs, letting her hands fall to her sides, fingers balled up into nervous fists. « I catch fish sometimes, » Solith says comfortably, as though that could answer that. His last prints she rabbit-hops into, hindpaws together. Telavi says in a low tone, a helpful tone, "This is your cue-- 'you' meaning 'V'ros'-- to protest that no, you really do want to be here, and then act like it. Or if you don't, then suck it up and admit it. I won't judge you." ...Maybe. « Can any other dragon catch fish as well as you, Solith? » Zmeyth has all the questions today, even as he wades into the waterline and watches the waves lapping the sand. His rider's predicament is his own. V'ros has the look of someone who stepped in something unpleasant and wishes they could redo that step. He stares at Telavi, clearly worried, but since she's not being helpful, he has not choice except to address Lycinea. "You should.. know me that well. I don't do things I don't want to. We're here. We should.. enjoy it." He's nervously glancing back and forth, but sticks by his words, to stay, and even gestures to the dragons down the way. "They're enjoying it." "You mean like that time you apologized for breaking my arm because Quinlys told you to?" Lya asks, "Or that time you talked to me when you and all your friends were swimming at the lake?" Those things V'ros clearly wanted to do? She sighs and turns away from the pair of unhelpful riders, moving a handful of paces back from the water (and away from them) so she can start stripping off her pants, since apparently they're not going home right now like she wants. Hopefully V'ros doesn't have a heart attack before a pair of belted shorts are revealed beneath. They're a little on the short side, comparative to say, her pants, but they're to her mid-thigh so not terribly revealing. « Of course? » Solith's never counted herself the best at anything, though also nothing like the worst; again there's that questioning note: what is Zmeyth getting at? She doesn't leapfrog the larger dragon, but rather stops, watching the tip of his tail as though it were a fish. Not so helpful Telavi, meanwhile, starts wandering along the beach in the opposite direction from the dragons, but parallel to the water: away from all of them. She's humming, under her breath, with only that one stifled not-quite-giggle to applaud Lya's retort. Smoky humor - or, something like it anyway - accompanies the lazy movements of the brown, who kind of lolls into the surf. « You should be sure. What are you good at? » Damnit, Telavi! V'ros might be staring hard at her back, as if willing the woman to come back, with his hands clenched at his sides. "What's wrong? I did what you wanted," this, to Lycinea, with a frustration look tossed in her direction. He's pointedly not looking down, at her swimming shorts; he's keeping his eyes firmly above the shoulders. Fortunately for V'ros, even though Lya's coat is the next thing to come off, it seems her choice of swimming attire is entirely innocuous. The shorts, the belt, a blouse with a fairly high neckline tucked into them. Nothing to embarrass the poor holdbred boy. She folds her clothes and then tucks them into the satchel along with her boots before sliding it back to her back. "Actually, I said to forget about it because you didn't want to go to the beach and I didn't want to make you." But here they are anyway. She sighs and heads toward the water, pausing where the water can come up to tickle her toes. "And now we're here and you're just-- This is incredible." She declares, gesturing out to the water. "And you're being a downer, V'ros." That last is part accusation and part complaint. "So if that's all this is going to be, then I just want to go home." « Teaching the not-yet-Fast, » is what Solith chooses to reply, sunlight teasing every tiny mote of smoke; there's an unusual quality to that 'Fast' that may be less than familiar, not something of High Reaches, and possibly a touch pleased with itself. Telavi's a greenrider, not a doctor; she keeps walking, and with what's getting to be a jaunty quality, as much as one can have such a thing when traversing sand. At least there's not so much of a sashay as to upset the hem of her tunic, not even when abandoning Lycinea; perhaps the younger girl just hasn't raised her voice enough through all those declarations, yet. Or perhaps Tela's going deaf? « That's all? » Zmeyth's interest, piqued. "I don't know what you want." V'ros rubs hands down his face, frustrated for not the first time. He doesn't have much else to say, so.. "Fine. We can leave if that's what you want, but it's a waste." "It is a waste." Lya agrees, turning a glare on V'ros before she's stalking away from the surf to undo the undressing she just did. Then there's silence and sullenness all the way home. « No, » Solith says lightly, lighter than light, even as she darts a paw at his tail when it's visible between the waves; though she's amenable to heading back to the straps, it's only to oversee, not to go. Zmeyth can handle the rest of that. |
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