Logs:Breasts are Girlie
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| RL Date: 6 November, 2008 |
| Who: P'ax, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: P'ax is disrespectful one too many times, Satiet demotes him from being a weyrling. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 2, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
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| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs) Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. Obvious exits: Sands Bowl It is a winter morning, 11:09 of day 19, month 2, turn 18 of Interval 10. With the biting winter air without, it's somehow surprising the galleries don't end up a favorite haunt of many with its heated sands radiating warmth from ground to the high-arcing ceilings. Granted, there's very little way to accomplish work unless you're of the pushing papers variety, which, lucky for Satiet, she is. There the slender woman sits at the bottom, her bare feet lifted so her bare heel can rest on the railing between galleries and sands, and so her bare toes can wiggle in the warmth. There she sits, with a basket by her side looking suspiciously more like knitting than work itself. And there she sits, waiting patiently as Teonath conveys to Yyth in the tersest of phrases in the quietest rasp of sand grain against grain, Satiet's desire to finally meet with her mentee. « The galleries for your rider, if you please. » P'ax isn't long, though probably not as fast as he could have managed. At length, he and Yyth come trotting out of the gloom, though Yyth takes one look at the warm interior of the hatching cavern and turns the other way to play in the snow. P'ax sheds his hat and climbs up into the galleries. Satiet gets a suspicious look and a carefuly, "Weyrwoman.." by way of greeting. The Weyrwoman has a long memory and the reminder of her title in lieu of greeting from P'ax darts a flare of bright, mocking amusement in those ever-pale eyes. Upon her knees balances two needles and the smoothed spread of what might be the beginnings of a fine-knit winter tunic, but she isn't touching them, those needles. In silence, she watches the greenrider's approach, her glossy dark hair shifting with the uptilt of her head as she looks up to the suspicion-filled face. And then finally, just before more silence might bring with it discomfort or indicate rudeness, she inquires drolly, "Does the Weyr part or the woman part bother you more, weyrling?" P'ax gives the small woman an appraising look down the bridge of his nose, twisting his hat between his fingers. "Definitely the woman bit," he announces after an equally long pause. His lips thin even further, thick eyebrows drawing downward. "But mostly the two together." "And," begins Satiet, though she fails to conclude her thought in any timely manner. Instead, the slender fingers play about the needles, reaching up along their length to where knits and purls line up to the rubber-topped off points, then fall to smooth out her work that much more precisely. The pale eyes drift from P'ax to the seat by her then travel to her own wriggling toes and the sands beyond. "And," a repetition brings with it the rest of her thoughts, "How does Yyth feel about your antipathy towards such words, weyrling? Or," the slightest hook draws up a corner of her mouth, superciliously and amusedly crooked, "Are dragons exempt from such bothers?" P'ax glances at her knitting, possibly more interested in it than Satiet. "Yyth's not much of a girl. Well, I mean... she's pretty girlie, but she doesn't turn it on me. If she wants to play games with the other weyrlings that's fine, so long as she doesn't try to manipulate me." Fine brows arc high, the beginnings of the tiny crooked smirk deepening for P'ax's words. "Please. Enlighten me as to what about me you find so- girly?" Satiet's hands fall over her knitting, drawing it up and putting it off to the side so her lifted legs can fall, bare feet and all, to the floor of the galleries. P'ax is, aparently, not one to mince words. "You have breasts. Those are pretty girlie." His nose wrinkles. "Yyth doesn't have breasts. It's a good thing, she'd look silly with those dangling off her." A small crease forms between his eyebrows and then smooths away. "Anyways, you're just as crazy, I'm sure." A beat passes. Perhaps a nerve hit, though Satiet's crooked smirk merely deepens as her pointed chin lifts, "Is this how you speak to women in general or merely how you feel it's appropriate to speak to someone who will outrank you for the rest of your life?" If P'ax feels threat in her words, he doesn't show it. He shrugs calmly and replies, "If you didn't want to hear it, you wouldn't ask." He nods to the bench, "May I sit?" He'll wait until she gives permission, hands folded in front of him as he adds, "Anywyas, I don't think your glaring femininity bothers you much. I don't think you'd be a goldrider if you hadn't made peace with being a woman. And everyone outranks me, why should I talk to you any differently than anyone else?" In the second drop of her chin and fan of her dark lashes against pale cheeks lies the sentiments of 'so be it' and when Satiet lifts her gaze again, this time it's followed by the rise of her knitting from the basket and the slow cadence of needles clacking against each other. He garners no further look. "No. You may not. Perhaps next time." This meeting is over and certainly not one to mince words herself when pressed to, she notes with a thin veil of pleasantry wrapped around her cold, faintly distracted intonation, "I've heard of your disciplinary issues and your lack of respect for the hierarchy of the Weyr. Until the time comes where you recognize and respect this chain of command, you are exempt from weyrling lessons and will progress no further in yours and Yyth's training. Instead, you may report to the lower caverns for kitchen and latrine duty as well as remedial harper lessons in etiquette when you have finished tending to the needs of your dragon every day. You are dismissed." |
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