Logs:Bigger Explosives
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2015 |
| Who: Itsy, Rafevan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Itsy broods about her fight with Drex, and finally meets Rafe, to whom she gives the wrong idea. |
| Where: Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 1, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
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The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light. There's a kind of... heavy itch in the air, today, which may suggest there's more bad weather coming, or perhaps it's Niahvth, though no one seems to think she's due quite yet. This morning's fog has largely cleared, but it's still pretty cold and miserable out here, which is probably why Itsy sits, alone, huddled down on one of the benches, her hat shoved low over her eyes. Aside from her boot tracks, the snow's pretty pristine; no one else has been out here for a while. It makes it easy to track down a person--if that were what Rafevan were doing. As it is, he looks to be just out for a stroll, one that happens to carry him much the same path Itsy seems to have taken; and it concludes at the same bench hers has concluded at. Rafevan doesn't seat himself, approaching from behind with boots crunching in the snow. But he does offer, "Afternoon," to the one other person who's braved this spot on such a foreboding day. Not much of Itsy's face is visible, but what is is resolutely miserable-- a misery that she's quick to try and push away once there's someone else to see her. Instead, she adopts a mask of dubiousness. "The fuck do you want?" she asks, by way of answer to that greeting, her voice low and rough. If Rafevan guesses what Itsy hides, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he steps around the edge of the bench to sweep snow off the other end and seat himself opposite her. "Nothing. Should I?" he answers her, his tone mild in contrast. "Dunno," allows Itsy, paying Rafe just a little more attention, now, though it's in a way that seems both bashful and defensive, all at once. "Didn't expect anyone else out here, is all. Who're you?" And what, though it remains unspoken, are you doing here? "Rafevan, of the Smiths," answers the man, with a look slanted over at Itsy. The unspoken question isn't answered, unless the name means something to her. Or the fact that hers means something to him: "And you're Isty, yes?" Itsy's start seems to suggest that yes, that name does mean something to her. Of course, the fact that she scowls - if not directly at Rafe - may further confuse things. "That's me," she says, guardedly. "You're the one who blows things up. Drex," and my, doesn't she spit that name out, "talked about you." "'Blows things up' is really quite a strong word," Rafe says, though the corners of his mouth are twitching upward, amused at that description of himself. "Not an untrue one, but strong. I'm almost afraid to ask what else our mutual acquaintance might have said about me." But not that afraid, judging by his roundabout way now. Shrugging, it seems Itsy's not in a terribly descriptive mood-- or perhaps it's just because of Drex. "Just stuff," she says. "Doesn't matter now, anyway. No ship. Can't mount something on a ship that doesn't exist." And, "What's he said about me?" Point to Itsy, says Rafevan's head tip her way. "Precious little," he answers the latter question first, instead. "It's mostly everyone else who talks about you both. --Is your ship less a certainty than Drex implied?" "Everyone else?" Itsy's frowning rather than scowling, now, and leaning partway forward; she's interested in this. Also, "He seems to think it won't happen because Devaki's wife died. And because I'm actually, secretly a girl." Her brows raise, admittedly still half-obscured by her hat. Did he realise? "Secretly?" Rafevan's laughter is a snort, expression arch. "I see. I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your ship, though. It could have been very good for us both. I was looking forward to the experiment." Secretly. Itsy's scowl deepens, just for that. But for the rest? She laughs, wryly. "Well, when I get my ship, the one Drex doesn't believe I can have because maybe sometimes I like to look just a little bit pretty... maybe you and I can talk." But not Drex. He's out. And thus does the hinted-at fight begin to explain itself. Rafevan hides his curiosity as much as he can in favor of polite interest. "I'd be very interested in that discussion," he tells Itsy. "And if there's anything I can do to assist in the meantime... I admit, I may have had some ulterior motive in seeking you out today after all." Itsy's nod is short and sharp; a businesswomen's agreement. "We'll talk," she promises, though she's already giving Rafevan a more curious glance, her mouth set seriously. "What?" Shoulders lifting, Rafevan admits, "To meet the woman behind the curtain, so to speak. While Drex might not have spoken of you often, it's clear he holds a very high opinion of you." There's just the faintest hint of pink in Itsy's cheeks at that remark. Otherwise, however, her expression remains inclined towards the moody and broody. "Only when I fit in the little box he's decided for me," she says, darkly, though there's a faint nod, too. "We've been together a long time. Ten turns'n'more." Rafevan doesn't have to fake his surprise at that, fair brows lifting. "You've grown up together, then," he observes. "You see it often at the hall, with our apprentice classes; but." The idea that they might stay together like that voluntarily is something else. "What box is that?" "Gotta look after him," admits Itsy, even if she's currently pissed with Drex. "Someone needs to know. Useless on his own, you know?" She swallows, turning her gaze out towards the frozen lake. "The Itsy box. The one where I'm... fuck, I don't know. The same sexless kid I was, once upon a time." "I can imagine," says Rafevan, who certainly looks like he is right then. Oh, Drex. "So you... ah. I see." Or thinks he does, anyway. "I'm sorry. That's a very unfortunate box to be in." Itsy, blissfully ignorant to how that statement might come across, merely shrugs. "He'll figure it out eventually," she decides. Because that can only help, of course! "Have you always liked... things that explode? Doesn't seem like there's a lot of practical applications." "He's young," says Rafe, who's not too much older than either of them. But those are long years, in terms of growing up. "And boys are stupid." As to the latter? Now his expression shifts toward bemusement, and he leans back against the bench to consider the question. "Only to the unimaginative," he answers with a roll of his shoulders. "But yes. What's not to like about working your will, tearing the immovable apart so you can rebuild it how you like?" Itsy makes a noise like she understands this all too well; she's older than her turns, surely. "Never had much of an imagination," she continues, breezily - or as breezily as she ever gets, which is, granted, not very - but with a hint of a smile. "Like that, though. Sort of... powerful. Long as you're blowing shit up for me, and not... you know, my stuff." Rafevan's mouth has a small smile hovering at its edges, only a little at Itsy's expense. "And what is it that you need blown up, exactly?" "Drex." Beat. Then Itsy's smiling, that elongated mouth widening. But no, "Everyone who gets in my way. Maybe the weyr, if it means I can get back to the ocean. I miss it." At that, Rafevan tilts his head back, peering at the bowl walls around them. "I'm going to need bigger explosives," he observes, with that grin aimed sideways at his companion. Itsy matches that grin - it's grin for grin, her shoulders relaxing for the first time. "You work on that," she says, standing up. "Let me know." She dips her head towards the Smith, then turns to begin walking away. A nod to her, and Rafevan gets up too; but his path takes him another way, on casually around the lake. Nothing to see here. |
Comments
Edyis (12:14, 21 February 2015 (EST)) said...
I think... we may need to start fireproofing the Weyr.
Farideh (12:44, 21 February 2015 (EST)) said...
I am very afraid. Very, very afraid. And maybe I should invest in a hardhat or two.
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