Logs:Chopsticks
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| RL Date: 1 June, 2013 |
| Who: Telavi, N'hax |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'hax surprises Telavi. It doesn't go as planned. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, HRW |
| When: Day 7, Month 12, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Windy |
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| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space. High winds whip through the bowl and whistle up the walls around the spires. Contents: Cailluneth Obvious exits: Guest Weyr Dragon Infirmary Weyrling Area Feeding Grounds Craft Area Lake Shore West Bowl Evening in High Reaches, and N'hax is striding across the bowl with purpose -- a singular one, perhaps linked with the sketchbook he's forever linked with. Perhaps he's off to put down more blueprints for improvements that will never happen. Damn Smiths and pointless project. His only concession for the cold and the winds is his three-quarter-length coat, buttoned up with the ruff-collar pulled up against his neck; his breath would frost if the air would stop moving. Telavi's not striding anywhere. Her back to the other weyrling's progress, she's standing several brownlengths out from the wall of the Bowl, facing inward towards the dragon infirmary where Solith's now emerging. The green's all flappy wings and pleased-with-herself bright eyes, and of course those wings of hers can't help the wind any. Or rather, it helps the wind, if not the frost, moving and moving while Tela keeps looking and looking. The girl might have her usual cap on, but on top of that there's a striped tam and matching scarf that wraps all the way past her nose. Rather than hollering over the winds, N'hax changes his direction just slightly, stepping careful through the bowl until he's looming just behind Telavi. There's a moment where he deliberates, then he drops his head to comment in the vague AREA of her ear (who can tell with that cap-and-scarf?), "She's looking good. Is she feeling better?" For all of his asshattery, he does sound genuine. Eight months' rumor may be true: Solith may really not talk to Telavi much or vice versa, that or Solith's sixteen-foot-long self isn't bothering with anything merely human-sized... or she's just that enthusiastic upon her release. Even if they aren't talking, Telavi's so intent on the green and the winds are blowing so much and maybe N'hax is just that careful that she misses his nearness until he's right there... and she's swinging around with all that momentum going into her fist on the heels of her outcry. It might be too bad for her that that still-unrecognized man's got the heavy coat on, but then again, it's not as though she's been taking lessons from Jo or Alida yet, either. Teach N'hax a lesson of the consequences of asshattery. Unfortunately, that hit CONNECTS, even though he's belatedly dodging -- it clips him along the mouth, knuckles catching lip against teeth in a bloody scrape. The bronzerider stumbles back a step or two, belatedly, eyes abnormally wide in the gloaming, his free hand lifting to push hard against his lower lip. His, "Shit, sorry," is a little muffled. He takes another step back. Jhorinth drops in abruptly from above, though he's less worried about N'hax and more cheerful about Solith's progress. Traitor. What? That actually worked?! Telavi hadn't gotten to putting on her gloves yet, so she's clutching her fist to her own mouth, and is that smear across her knuckles her blood or his? Either way, that stings. Probably she should be going for the follow-through, but that extra couple of seconds means she's recognized N'hax by now, and the unusual-for-her, "Fuck!" is at once surprised and delighted. Maybe a little horrified too, but don't count on it. "Are you all right?" She advances those steps right after him, while Solith detours off her path enough to warble greetings to Jhorinth because isn't this exciting? So very exciting! A few more steps backward: N'hax doesn't want to get hit again (by a girl), kthx! "Whoa, whoa," he wards her off with hands lifted, then a grimace because one is sticky with blood - facial wounds bleed like bitches - and he goes back to pressing down. "No, I'm fine, I'm sorry, Faranth that hurts worse than I remember it." By now his tone has descended from alarmed to sorta-amused, more wry than anything else. Jhorinth strikes forge-fired harmony, trio-ting of hammers against anvils quite amused. "Remind me not to sneak up on you again." Laughter's there rather than accusation, thankfully: "Is your hand okay?" Several more steps forward, though at least Tela isn't demanding to see the wound any closer than narrowed eyes will let her. "It's fine," she says, not that she's looked at it yet beyond that first moment. "Why did you go and do that for, anyway?" she demands. "Hasn't anyone ever hit you before? What did you even say?" Because hitting, it's more important than listening. Solith takes a few more steps after her rider, imitating Telavi's even if that means they have to be small enough that she minces, herself a bright breeze that could carry those hammer-clangs far. It's almost as though all this were set up for their own draconic entertainment. In a flight of fancy, Jhorinth joins Solith in her mincing, his steps even tinier than her own when considering disparity in size. "I said," N'hax returns, "She looks good. And I was wondering if she was feeling better, now." He lowers his hand tentatively, working his jaw gingerly. "But now I see that she must be. Do you always hit people who walk up behind you?" He can't help but ask. "It was loud!" the //wind//. That's his defense, and he's sticking to it. Even though Jhorinth is entirely laughing at him at this point. Telavi glances back over her shoulder at Solith, which means then it's hard to miss Jhorinth, and by then she's looking disturbed. Solith, not so much. Solith might be laughing, too. "Always," Tela tells N'hax, quite mendaciously. "So don't try it again." She's actually looking at her bloodied knuckles now. "Do you have a handkerchief? Because I think this is yours," or mostly his, "and snow is never handy when a girl actually wants some. She is feeling better. Do you have all your teeth? Still in your jaw?" to be precise. "I'll be sure to remember that," N'hax replies, tone wry. "I-- do not have a hankerchief." He doesn't even make a joke about when a girl wants some! Because hello, if that isn't PREMIUM joke turf, he doesn't know what is. "I-- yes. I think they are all still there." He even wiggles his tongue up at his front teeth to demonstrate. See? No shifting! "But if your dragon succeeds in teaching mine how to dance, I may have to file charges against you." Because that is just BIZARRE. "In that case," Tela's got an eye for his clothing, but she's a seamstress, this isn't enough to commit sacrilege. Yet. Instead she reaches up, not to hit N'hax this time, but to wipe her knuckles on his cheek: his blood and possibly hers, slowly. It's not that he can't dodge, but if he does it might smear elsewhere, and she can't be responsible for the consequences. He might have spoken of dragons dancing, but for all that she's paying attention, he might as well have talked about them learning to use chopsticks... or play "Chopsticks." N'hax can't help but give a-- something of an exasperated exhale. He's begun to grow a beard, for whatever reason, and the hair is likely bristly against her knuckles. "Well, at least now I match." Blood around his lips, blood on a cheek. It's all good. He shakes his head. Jhorinth snorts bemused. "Oh, Tela." He's forgotten his errand. "I think I'd better go - wash up." He gestures to his FACE. "Are you okay? Really?" He's the one who was hit but yet. "I could always do the other side," Telavi offers when finally she gets around to speakings again, brighter-eyed now as she notes her artwork with satisfaction. She blows on her knuckles as though they were singed, drying them off like she's cooling them off, if they weren't dry by now already. Of course, once she starts talking, "Come on, let's go." Wash, apparently. While she's at it, "Are you forgetting to shave, or is that on purpose? Because I would have thought that us giving you fewer calisthenics would give you more time for personal maintenance, not less." This from the girl with long hair, even if it is shorter than Alida's. "I'm fine, she's fine, they say it won't scar, and fire going after your dragon even if it's hers, don't do it. Not that it wouldn't be 'his,' then, but you get the idea." Also, "I will not admit to nightmares," and that's when Solith's warble finally interrupts, low and plangent. "You could," N'hax starts. "But that would be mean." And he would have to SADFACE. So he doesn't. Instead, "Are you going to soap down my beard for me? It's the least you could do." He would smile but that hurts right now, right? So instead he just quirks his face in this weird expression instead. "Nightmares." THAT must yield some kind of awesome dialogue, but it's lost to cleaning and explaining a ton of excuses for his recent growth of scruff. They are all LIES. But she just punched him in the mouth, so it all works out? Maybe. |
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