Logs:Bad Literature and Old Pictures
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| RL Date: 18 April, 2013 |
| Who: I'zech, Sabella |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Sabella reads I'zech some questionable literature and hands him over an old drawing. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 7, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Stormy |
| Mentions: E'sren/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Ah hem. I lifted some bad romance novel quotes from this website: http://romance.unclewaltersrants.com/ -- As such some of the poses may contain things that are a little racy. And hilarious. Mostly hilarious. Proceed cautiously those of you who are faint of heart. Or something. |
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| Records Room, High Reaches Weyr(#367RJs) Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets. To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.
Forget +weather. It's been sunny and awesome for way too many days on that thing. Today there's a crazy, window shaking storm. Rain is pouring down outside, lightening bolts are flashing in the sky and the clap of thunder is way intense. This is the type of storm that animals hide from. Sabella has taken refuge this afternoon amongst the stacks. And usually while she's here she's secreted away with one of her study partners, but today she's all by herself. Tucked away in a nook with her oversized sweater on, she has her feet curled up under her while she sits in one of the larger, overstuffed chairs. On the table across from her there's some educational looking papers, but in her hands is one of the really bad short romance tales that you can find hidden away amongst the more tedious stuff. Now and again she brings her hand up to her mouth and begins to giggle, quietly. Very quietly. It's exactly the kind of storm animals hide from, and even Rojeth has given up his usual weyrling-watching perch on the heights rather than spend his last living moments as a lightening rod. Maybe he's been forced inside altogether, to stare out at the sheeting rain. I'zech has surely been out, though, his shirt still damp and sticking to him from some trip across the bowl, his boots mud-splattered, though they've stopped leaving tracks, probably just because they've already been left in some other cavern. He moves into the records room as if no one's there, all leisurely confidence and haphazard disregard as he prowls the racks. His search seems to turn up empty, though, and as he prepares to move on to some other idle amusement, he sees Sabella all curled up with her book. He heads toward her and reaches to pluck it clear out of her hands. "What's this?" Does Rojeth even really exist? Is I'zech actually a dragonrider? Ghislaith has never seen him at any rate, neither has Sabella. But no matter, since the bronze isn't currently in the records with them. There's just a few stragglers, the woman manning the desk and the two of them. She doesn't notice anyone prowling around, doesn't hear his footsteps even as they approach from near. He's out of her line of sight and she's so engrossed in laughing at this one passage that she's taken completely by surprise when he plucks it out of her hands. She squeaks and tries to snatch it back but he's likely too quick for her. "In these parts they call that thing in your hands a 'book'. Boooooook." With a tiny huff of indignance she settles back into her chair. Rojeth totally exists. Just like the rain, even though that isn't in the records room either! But anyway, yes, this time I'zech gets the drop on her and should perhaps be thankful that the funny passage has her distracted enough to allow him his success. And now, just to play into her assumptions, he holds the book upside down as he gazes into its mysterious contents, putting on just a touch of by-gum baffled confusion. "Huh. Book, what a novel idea." He doesn't even try to make that funny, his delivery is rote and dull. "Just in these parts? What do they call it where you're from? Kindling?" He turns the thing so he can eyeball the title and, realizing what kind of book it is, he lifts an eyebrow at the indignant weyrling, a smirk spreading sharp across his face. "Really?" You can see the rain. They've both witnessed rain. But yes, anyway. "Oh, a pun compounded by a dry delivery. You've been hanging out with the wrong kinds of people, I see." Sabella observes as she slips her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater, watching him turn the book around in his hands with evident amusement. "Where I come from they call it pure comedic gold. But that's sort of long, so we usually go for book too." The smirk spreads across his face and she should be looking embarassed, but instead she just cracks a crooked smile. She breaks the self-hug so that she can get onto her knees on the chair and reach out over the arm to try and snatch the book back. "Don't even think about knocking it. Here, let me show you." "Yeah, I'm fucking hysterical," I'zech drolls back, even if he is still smirking at the girl with her hands in her sweater sleeves. "Do they give you promotions for words like 'compounded'? Sure you can't do any better than that?" He's not really looking for an answer, though, and the smirk breaks into a bit of a sneer. He pulls a step back from her reaching hand as he turns the book to skim the contents again, right side up this time. It's a feint, though, stepping away, because he just as easily rocks back again and he hands it over. "Okay, show me." His boots drag as he heads toward that opposing comfy chair, heedless of his damp clothes when he pours himself to sit, hands on wide-spread knees. "You gonna read to me?" "I know you are. I laugh at you in my head all the time." She taps two fingers to her temple, just in case he doesn't know where that part of the human body is located. "Of course, that's how promotions work. Where have you been? And why, do you want to start having conversations using only words that have two syllables or more? We'd be here awhile." Sabs points out with a quick smirk. He steps away and she almost squeaks again, catching the noise in her throat around the time that she regains her balance on the arm of the chair. The book is returned though and she snaps it up, dropping down with some oompf into the cushions. Her light fingers thumb through the pages quickly, skimming for a good part. "Oh yes, I'm going to read to you." Probably something inappropriate. She clears her throat then, sits up straight. Her tone is hushed, yet dramatic. Overly dramatic. And she puts just enough emphasis on the truly awful parts. "Sophia had discarded her bra with reluctance, knowing her full breasts," A grasping motion is made in the air, "had a tendency to jiggle alarmingly when unrestrained." And then, "Those blazing but oddly cold blue eyes seemed to seer" Hissing noise included, hand clenching/clawing gesture thrown in for free, "through her dress, their fire heating her skin, their ice freezing her nipples into hard little pebbles." For a beat, it looks like I'zech might have some comment on all this stuff about where heads are located, words with multiple syllables; his mouth opens and closes again, but rather than continue the volley of wits, he just nestles his head back into the cushion of the chair, letting his eyes close like he's ready for his bedtime story. Except there's something in the promise of her intention, in the clearing of her throat, that has him cracking an eye at her. She only gets to 'jiggle' before the bronzerider spreads a wide, feral smile. And when she's done and the word 'pebbles' is finished hanging in the air, he says, "I liked the parts about tits." It's a wonderfully appropriate conversation for a weyrling and her weyrlingmaster to have. "The author seems to have a very loose grasp of temperature. If you can call them an... author." He's looking dubious. "Gonna keep going?" "I'm not surprised that you did." Sabs comments back with a wry twist to her mouth. She must have already gone through these parts so she doesn't break straight out into laughter, there's just the definite stamp of humor on her face to tell for it. "Right? I think the 'author' might be afraid of tits too, by the way. They jiggle alarmingly when unrestrained? What, does he want them to be kept in a cage so they don't frighten anyone?" As for his question, she nods her head. Ah hem. At least one more. "But she was so hot and slick, and she clung to him like a treed feline and whispered hot promises of a future he wanted so bad he could taste it. And he began to thrust more emphatically, to twist against her at the apex of each lunge like a tomcat stropping against the first person to ever offer a friendly hand." She... doesn't act out the parts of that one with her hand. "I don't think some of these words mean what he thinks they mean." And before this can get even more inappropriate, she snaps the book closed. "Comedy." "It was written by a guy?" That part seems to amuse I'zech even further. "Yeah, I'm trying to think of a situation where I'd be alarmed by the jiggle. But..." Hazel eyes narrow, gaze pointed off toward the edge of a rack that has nothing to do with boobs, only books. Though there's a little something distant in his expression that might leave it up to debate which of those things he's actually seeing. "And then I..." He drifts off as if he's forgotten what they were talking about, that they were talking at all. Except, in a blink, he's grinning darkly again, eyes sharp. "Caged tits." Now there's an idea that lifts an appreciative eyebrow. "I think I prefer them running wild. Alarmingly wild. Herds of them, dashing across the countryside." He skims a hand out over some imaginary plane. Oh, but she's going on. So that hand lifts to scratch at his head, fingers grinding around his scalp rather aimlessly. "Apex. That's like, the peak, yeah? So what the fuck is an apex doing there? How is this broad shaped, exactly? Is she upside down?" Though that, like caged boobs, has it's own merits. But he waves that hand and frowns. "I've heard enough but... Yeah, I see that's a way to pass a boring afternoon." He yawns deeply, not bothering to cover his mouth. "Better than weyrling studies, at least." "Right?" Sabella responds, holding the book up. She tosses it over to him so that he can see the author's name for himself. "Usually women write this sort of thing. But... tomcat? I mean, I guess. If you're into that sort of thing." It's probably telling that the book is funny to her. Because the way he breaks down what an apex is has her laughing, loud and brightly. A couple of 'shhhs' echo across the records and she clamps her hand over her mouth. "I don't know really. Apparently she's an alarmingly wild woman with an apex that can resist twisting and emphatic thrusting." The weyrling rolls her shoulders before sinking back into the chair, her legs curling up underneath her again. "I did my share of them for today and yesterday. E'sren's still hanging all over his family, so I was able to sneak some non-studying into my studying." Basically, goofing off when there isn't someone there to stop her. It probably doesn't help that I'zech hasn't exactly kept his voice down, either. Those shushes come with some disapproving looks and a few rolling eyes. A pair of rolling eyes might belong to the bronzerider if he bothered to pay them any mind at all, which he doesn't. He just shakes his head at Sabella's attempt to cover her mouth, like that's a pointless thing she's doing and she should know better. "I hope there was an exclamation mark on 'emphatic'. With a final bristling of his hair, his hand drops to his knee again, a quick full-body flex sinking his weight further into the chair as the topic of conversation changes. "So he's the dutiful one, huh? And you're one who would rather sit around reading smut and getting yelled at by uptight record keepers." So he did notice, even if he didn't react. She doesn't make an apologies for covering her mouth like that. Sabs just takes that moment between conversation changes to gain some composure and smooth out any remaining ripples of laughter that might be in her system. "Unfortunately no. I think it was smack in the middle of another sentence. Though at that point he probably could have done whatever he wanted with his exclamation points." As for the comparison, she purses her lips together and draws them to the side. Is that the truth of it? "E'sren's a good guy. He does what he's supposed to do and more." But in regards to herself, "I'm the mostly good one. Sometimes we sit around and make fun of this stuff together or other things. Maybe I'm a bad influence." She shrugs her shoulders, could be. Maybe. Who knows I'zech lifts a hand for his finger to draw a line from his temple toward her. Dirty exclamation points, exactly what he was thinking. "Yeah," he says of her uncertain little assessment. "That's what I said. Of course, you know, I'm sure he's got reasons." He eases a bit of something from under one fingernail with another, and flicks her a look like she should understand. Or maybe not, since he drolls on with, "Always a good egg and a bad egg." You want emphasis? He punctuates that sentence with a sharp, knowing smile. "He's got reasons for what? I think that's just how he is." Sabella doesn't seem to understand the implication to what he's saying, if there is an implication to get that is. Seeming to suddenly remember something she leans forward and scoops her canvas bag up from where it sits on the floor. She's not making a move to leave she's just, digging through her personal belongings now. "I guess? Sometimes there a couple of good eggs and then one bad. Or a whole group of bad eggs that get thrown out altogether." The weyrling drags a notebook out from the abyss and flips through the pages until she finds a loose sheet, tucked amidst the others. I'zech doesn't seem inclined to give her an expalantion; he just glances over at her, watching for signs of confusion. And then she's suddenly reaching for her bag. Maybe he assumes she's leaving, or that she's just about to dive into her oh-so-thrilling weyrling studies, which he really doesn't feel any impulse to stike around for. But either way, the bronzerider pries himself from the back of the chair with a shift of shoulder, a twist that makes him freshly aware of the damp shirt and has him scratching broad strokes across his chest. "Is that how it goes?" All the talk about eggs. "Or is it apples?" But his brow is drawing low again as she watches her with that book that doesn't quite look like it's a text to be studied. "What have you got? Don't say book or I'll sock you." As quickly as it's brought up and not explained, she seems to have forgotten it. Or perhaps it's just a remark that she mentally files away to worry on at a later time. She unfolds the sheet of paper and allows her eyes to graze over it, momentarily not so interested in I'zech. "What? Apples? Or maybe it's oranges. So hard to tell these days." At his question she raises her gaze to meet his, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "You'll sock me? With the damp smelly things you have on your feet or with your fist? I think I'd rather you hit me." She glances over his damp, apparently itchy? body. Her fingers twitch with the need to do some unknown thing but instead she just sighs and hands it over to him. It's a drawing, older than the others that she keeps in her current book. The paper is bent, dark and not fresh. The lines aren't quite so well done, the shading isn't as naturally put in. It's simple and the beginnings of the caricatures that she draws now. The setting is a dirty, slopping looking pub. Smoky. A group of older teens surrounding a table, playing cards, drinking. One of them is clearly the focus, while the others are just sort of there. One of the just sort of there ones has I'zech's face. It's either him or someone that looks startlingly like him. "You can keep it." She tells him without the dry, biting humor that seems to be becoming common between them. Her new sketchbook is slipped back into her bag and she collects her things to stand. It's confusing enough that she's handing him a drawing -- and not even a recent doodle, but some old image from something like seven or eight turns ago, an all but forgotten memory drawn by a young hand. It takes another moment of I'zech staring down at the page before the impossibility of the familiar is finally accepted. "Is this... Gordo?" The guy who was the focus. "At The Shaft?" One of the dive bars around Crom proper that, at least at the time, drew a pretty young crowd. He hasn't even realized that one of the peripheral faces is his own, though his hair was a good bit longer then and that on his jaw was lighter and patchier and he over all looked like he could use a bit more meat in his diet. Now, I'zech looks up at Sabella as she gathers her things to stand, a deep crease etched in his brow and a daft bit of suspicious confusion on his face, though that wariness is growing tighter by the second. Hiw words come out a little measured. "Where did you get this?" "Yeah. He was kind of cute, you know. In that funny clown sort of way." Sabella responds, almost without thinking as she flips the flap back over her bag and buckles it into place. "Sad how he ended up. That's what happens when you're not careful." Securing all of the other things back inside again. She leans over to pick up the few other books she brought with her. "It could have been the Shaft." But she doesn't appear as if she's entirely certain, her eyes narrowing a bit as she tries to recall the exact memory but loses it. His wariness and suspicion can grow and grow, but the weyrling is scooping the rest of her things up under her arm. The pencil left on the table gets tucked behind her ear. "I drew it." Her smile is an enigma, some little secret she's keeping to herself at least for now. I'zech might not really be listening to the regrets about Gordo and how he turned out, not when he's staring down at that page again, finally realizing that the other guy looks like someone he used to know. There's a twitch at his mouth, not a happy thing, and when Sabella admits she drew this picture, he lifts his gaze to her again, hard enough to be a glare, no matter how enigmatic her little smile is. He doesn't ask after her proudly held secret, but his own grin snaps into place, an empty thing. "Quite a hand you've got. Or quite a memory." "Both." She knows likely, that the reaction he's having to the drawing he received is largely negative. But the glare, then the empty smile it doesn't do anything to shake the smile from her own face. Whether it's a true one or not, it remains right where it is. "See you around, dinner maybe. Drilling in the morning. Sometime." Her fingers lift just a bit and she wiggles them at him, a casual farewell. Sabs doesn't expect there to be any protest at her leaving him there amongst the shelves. So she just goes, disappearing into the stacks and probably taking a convoluted path back to the barracks. Drilling in the morning. For that he gives her a scrunch of his features, a snotty look for her snotty comment. But I'zech does let her wander off. And the folds the drawing in quarters so he can slide it in his back pocket. "Fucking Weyrlings," is muttered only after the fucking weyrling is well out of ear shot. |
Comments
Eliv (Eliv (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 20 Apr 2013 02:02:31 GMT.
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I loved this.
Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 21 Apr 2013 05:22:33 GMT.
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- giggle-snickers like a 12 year old* ^^
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 21 Apr 2013 22:05:06 GMT.
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Man, those bits of novel were freakin' hilarious. Kind of interesting what note the log ended on, too. Didn't see it coming. *laughs* "Fucking Weyrlings" is right.
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