Logs:Cold and Grey
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2011 |
| Who: Iolene, Riorde |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene brings in her catch; Riorde goes out to get hers. |
| Where: Beach, Western Island |
| When: Day 6, Month 11, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
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| Summer's long turned to autumn and winter's coming is not far away making the beach, a not-so-hospitable place in good weather, downright unfriendly. There's a biting wind in the air today, coupling with that distinct crisp smell of snow to come that you don't need Shimana around to know what's what. In the midst of these grey skies and rolling waves, Iolene tugs at the ropes of her little raft, half-wading, half-swimming, as she tries to pull it back to shore. Riorde's shawl hardly looks thick enough to keep her warm, long since worn thin from use and re-use. She walks briskly to make up for the lack of truly warm clothing, following the river down past the point used for laundry and all the way to where it meets the sea. The basket between her hands is empty but not for long, as she aims for the tide-pools. Between tasks, she pauses to call out to Iolene. "Have you got it? Need a hand?" Just as Riorde passes by and extends her offer, a spray of seawater flicks up from another set of waves and catches Iolene not only in her exposed face but in her gaping mouth as well, and what might be laughter turns into a spluttering cough. Red-faced and still coughing, Iolene shakes her head and waves her hand, and moments later is able to spare a chagrined, "No need for both of us to get soaked, eh?" The blonde teenager's battle with the elements and her raft gains a moment of respite, the living sea regrouping for another attack, and in that brief spell, Io tugs the thick rope over her shoulders and hauls her soaked self and her bounty back to shore. Oh flop! "I swear," she says from her prone position on the beach, twisting her head to stare towards Riorde, "I can feel every single day of my sixteen years in my bones on days like this." There's heavy amusement in that velvet voice of hers. "Gettin' old." Riorde puts her basket to her hip, wrapping both hands around it and watching Iolene struggle in. "Wouldn't mind. Spend more time soaked than not," she points out, but doesn't move to dash into the rough surf. For now, at least, she is dry ankles-up. When the girl with the raft reaches the beach and falls in a flop, Riorde matches the younger girl's amusement. "Yes, you're ancient." She looks for a moment as if she'd dearly love to join Iolene sprawled out on the sand, but instead moves to crouch down near the raft and inspect the catch. The rope is still held fast in Iolene's hand, as if letting go might make the raft float back out at sea, despite the fact that it's lodged fairly firmly into the sands now. And tied to one of the hooks along the raft is a sack full of flopping blue-finned fish, one much larger than the rest. "Ancient, I know," Iolene agrees with this appraisal of her many turns with a breathless repetition that's soon followed up on with a big, age-despairing sigh. "I love days like this." The fingers about the rop tighten, the girl's knuckles whitening and for a moment, those dark blue eyes of hers disappears behind a clenched face. As an odd bookend to her previous last comment, she breathes out, "Gettin' colder." Counting the fish in her head, Riorde comes to the conclusion, "Not bad." She looks out at the water rather than at her counterpart, letting herself be lulled by the large waves rolling in. It leaves a large pause between Iolene's remarks and her own slow, mellow response. "Cold and grey. I like it, too. At least, I'll like it till winter comes, and then I won't anymore." "I don't mind winter so much. I thi-," It's then that her fingers finally release, and Iolene can no longer hold back the shiver that wracks her body. Almost sheepishly, a little apologetic given a prior glance has tuned the fisher to what Riorde was up to, if not the state of her basket, she lifts herself off the sands in order to ask, "Have a blanket I could borrow right quick?" "Oh!" Riorde reacts, frowning faint embarrassment frown her own lack of perception as she peels her shawl off her shoulders and holds it out for Iolene. Not the cleanest thing; bits of sand and grit dirty up the beige fabric. "Here, take this. Not much, but it'll keep you a bit warmer till you make it back." There is really only one place to go with the fish, but still Riorde waves her free hand in the direction of the settlement. Grateful for the shawl, but further sheepish for depriving Riorde, Io's ruddy cheeks take on a more distinct blush and regret sketches deep into her usually merry features. "I'm so sorry. Do you want to head back now? You're probably cold too," frets the girl, though she's apparently not all that worried for the older woman as she quickly buries herself into the age-worn wool. "Oh," is her happier sigh, those thin shoulders of her sinking down as however dirty or worn it is, it takes the edge of the damp chill. "Here, let me unhook that," crawling on all fours towards the raft, an easy lift brings her not-as-wriggly-now satchel off. The other girl shrugs off the apology and checks the impulse to rub her arms back into further warmth. It lasts a minute before Riorde tucks her arms in close and does exactly that, trying to stall the heat escaping her. "I'll be okay. Not going in, just seeing what I can find in the pools," Riorde says in the quick, brisk tones of a reassurance. "And then cook 'em for dinner. The fire'll warm me up anyway. You keep it." But not forever. Riorde, like most, has precious little spare clothing. It's tacitly understood with a drop of her chin and eyes that agree in their dark depths: the unspoken 'not forever' part, perhaps a motto the islanders have come to live by. Iolene eases herself up from the sands, flinching just a touch as she straightens her back and then eases herself torso up and down a little as she re-stretches strained muscles. "I've never known a raft that likes coming home. If it were up to them, I imagine they'd just like to be let loose into the oceans without a master's hand to guide them." A bemused beat passes, before Io mumbles to herself, "And I probably should find a new hut to live in. Rilka's rubbing off on me all too much." Now that she's standing, catch in hand, the girl turns to Riorde, "Oh, so you weren't coming back from the laundries?" "And float away." Riorde, a little dreamy herself, finishes Iolene's thought then looses an unladylike snort of laughter. "Could always get married," she proposes, but that's a tease and a rather surly one at that. Riorde isn't in the business of finding herself or anyone else a husband. "No, well I was - but someone else took my laundry up for me so I could come out here before the tide comes in." It is still a ways out, but creeping steadily closer, hungrily sucking up the drier portions of beach. Iolene's gaze turns to the battle between the water and the land as Riorde speaks, and then lifts her chin to target her eyes further along the horizon. "It'll snow soon," she notes, as if that distinct smell on the wind weren't enough indication. Wistfully, she notes, "If there were a way to enjoy the snow without the cold, that would be incredible. And," a quick shake of her head and a turn of her body towards the settlement changes her mood and subject from morose wishful thinking back to good-naturedness, "What use do I have for a husband? Too many girls are so fixated on finding a husband and most of them end up unhappy anyway. If it happens, it happens." Riorde's shiver is for the anticipation of the cold brought by snow rather than a reflection of how cold she feels now. "I hope my laundry dries first," she says, her comment a return to practicalities. "I washed my warmest things today." Hence, the shabby shawl. Riorde looks back at Iolene and attempts to get in quick agreement on the propensities of most girls, other girls, lest she be thought one of them. "Oh, I know. Just, what you said about wanting a different hut. You should build yourself a new one come summer." She shifts, starting to anxious to be after shellfish before the tide washes in. "I should -" Riorde thinks the rest of her sentence unnecessary and trails off, instead giving her empty basket a wave towards the tidepools. "Maybe we could be each other's husbands instead," teases Iolene with a little laugh that does nothing to mitigate the chill that claims her shoulders. What Riorde leaves unspoken in regards to the shellfish and the tides coming in, Io puts into words, but from her perspective, "I should head back to a fire and something dry. Getting sick now-," and it's her turn to trail off into a shrug. "Thanks, Rio," says the younger woman, favoring a long-spent child's nickname for Riorde paired with a quick, silvered smile. "See you at dinner." "Maybe." A grin cuts across Riorde's expression as she goes through the motions of considering the merits of Iolene's proposal. "I never wanted babies, anyway." She then shoos Iolene off with a gesture to accompany it. "Go on, get warm. Don't thank me, I'll make you pay for it - make you take me out on your raft sometime before the sea's too rough." She turns a request into a threat, gives another quick grin, and goes her separate way. "See you then." } |
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