Logs:Complete And Utter Ass
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| RL Date: 18 June, 2014 |
| Who: Quinlys, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys and Telavi hug a tree... even before the wine. |
| Where: By the river, Southern Continent |
| When: Day 10, Month 1, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: It's not winter! Hurray! |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Why yes, this did take forever! |
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| With Hraedhyth's clutch still at least a few sevens off, Quinlys is apparently determined to make the most of what freedom she has left... not to mention escaping winter while she can. Today's venture has led her to the southern continent, where a placid river weaves through the trees, lapping against a sandy shore upon which two canoes have been drawn up. Lounging, now, upon the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, the bluerider turns her attention back to Telavi, companion of the day. She's been disinclined to talk of anything but trivialities thus far, but now, with a bottle of sweet wine cooling in the shallows below, she says, "So." It's a weighted 'so,' the kind that carries meaning. Upside-down Telavi turns towards Quinlys, her milkmaid's braids swaying; it's one of the smooth-barked tree-next-door's branches from which she's hanging, and the redness to her face owes more to gravity than sunburn or-- well, other things, for now. "So-o..." lifts upward just a fraction at the end, less avoiding-- though perhaps delaying-- and more inviting the bluerider to choose a more specific approach. Carefully, so as not to disturb her balance, Quinlys draws one knee up towards her chest, wrapping her arm around it (the other is gripping a higher branch). "Your boyfriend... he's..." But she stops, perhaps thinking better of that approach. "Is everything okay?" Is everything okay? Telavi hangs there a couple moments more, twisting her lips to one side and then the other as though that would help her think, but in the end she swings her feet over her head and drops down. Her bare feet swish in the grass as she leaves her tree in order to walk over to Quinlys and hers, to lean against the latter's trunk. "It's better," she says, her voice tired; of course, 'better' is a wide range. "We worked some things out. I'm really sorry about how it went down with you." Quinlys gives a shrug of fine-boned shoulders, apparently dismissing Telavi's sorriness, if not the rest of what she's said. She's - unusually, for conversations that involve matters not related to work - serious, quiet for several seconds before she says, "I'm more interested in if he apologised to you, Tela. If he's an ass to me, well, it's not like I much care. But you..." "Care." Yes. "He did," Telavi is able to say; if he'd spoken of apologizing to Quinlys as well, that's not for her to relate. "And-- not grudgingly either," not like some people they both could name. It's not that Quinlys doesn't believe her friend, honestly. It's more... well, she delivers her now a somewhat dubious glance, only partially tempered by a nod of confirmation. Relationships... they're still mostly foreign to the bluerider; they're baffling, like a foreign language. Hieroglyphics, even. "Better, though. All the way better?" "Kind of sort of? I mean, we figured out some things, so that made all that much better-- but not all of it, and it's complicated, and... " Telavi gives in and pulls herself up onto a branch across from Quinlys', so she can hug the trunk with one arm and lean out to look at the redhead. "You know how you can figure out some things with someone-- about practically anything that's at all complicated-- but if you try and do everything, or talk about all the factors and what-ifs and things, people start getting emotional?" "Ye-esss," says Quinlys, although she draws the word out in a way that suggests she's not wholly sure, but she's trying. "I mean, sure, okay. And that's what happened?" She's turned, now, all the better to look at Telavi in her new position, teeth chewing at the skin of her lower lip. Telavi has a question in reply. "Do you ever get jealous? I mean, of people being with other people?" The question makes Quinlys frown. "No," she says, after a moment's consideration. "I mean, not really. It sucks, when someone decides to go off and be exclusive, so I don't get to see them anymore, but I don't tend to get attached, really. There's no point." A beat's pause. "For me, that is." "Why is there no point?" Telavi asks, her temple resting against the bark. "For you?" "Because," and Quinlys outstretches her arm as she says this, as if to encompass the whole world, "I get bored. There are so many people out there! So many possibilities. Or, anyway, they get attached, and start wanting something more permanent, and that's weird for me." Tela listens, doesn't just leap on her friend's reply; she sighs, and admits, "That used to be me." Pause. "And it is weird." For this, now, Quinlys is silent, those blue eyes studying Tela's expression. It's not in her nature to ask probing questions-- just gossipy ones, frothy and superficial. But now, slowly: "And that's half the problem, I'm guessing? The weirdness?" "It's-- " Tela pushes out a breath, this close to a huff. "Well, I don't want to turn into a holder, you know?" The way she says it, it sounds so dire. "Or feel like I should? But..." A holder! That makes Quinlys grimace, turning her nose up in a way that might be adorable, given the cuteness of her features, if she weren't otherwise so fierce. "But you're being put in an awkward position," she supposes, not really asking. Maybe it's the adorableness combined with the fierceness that brings out Tela's dimples for a moment, despite the surrounding stress. But, "Do you mean yesterday particularly, because it was! or the whole..." Holding onto the tree means she can only gesture with one hand, so limiting. Yesterday, certainly, but Quinlys' expression seems to indicate the latter more than that: she sucks in a breath, exhales it, and then presses her lips together. "Well, maybe. I don't know? I mean, I don't really know the details of your relationship - and I don't want to! - but it seems like there's some kind of difficulty there, in, I don't know, working out how stuff works. Like you have different ideas?" She swings her leg, the one that's hanging down loosely. "Relationships! So complicated." And such a waste of time, obviously. Now the dimples come out in earnest, thanks to that interjection. "Yes." Followed by Tela's, "Yes yes yes. So anyway, hopefully he won't be crazy jealous anymore-- a little is hot, but not like that-- and feels special, and doesn't expect me to twiddle my thumbs when he's off visiting his friend." "Double standards," says Quinlys, wrinkling her nose again, "Suck. So... I guess I hope you're right." Even if she doesn't sound all that certain. More thoughtfully: "Is jealousy hot? I mean - I'm glad it is, for you. I just don't get it." Beat. "You don't need to answer that. We can just conclude that your boyfriend is an ass, but he's your ass, so, you know, whatever. As long as you're happy." "They are. But not double anymore," Telavi tries to sound certain about that last part; it's surely more fun to tease, "You don't have to get it. And... yes." This time, her blush isn't from mere gravity; it's as though it adds another facet to hear it from someone beyond the two of them, from Quinlys, given the way she smiles. "Yes, I think he is. Now, if we could find a better word than 'boyfriend,' I'd be even happier..." If Telavi can smile, well, so too can Quinlys. "Lover? Main squeeze? No - both of those are awful, aren't they?" Truly awful. "I mean, you could just keep calling him your ass, but I guess that might get confusing." Her grin is more wicked, this time, and perhaps just a little cheeky. Telavi: not just a little cheeky the way she all but giggles, her lips pursed together so she can't quite. Even when she speaks, humor-- and relief?-- dances bright in her eyes; really, it's a wonder she doesn't fall out of the tree. "You think? I suppose. And I was just about to use it, too," she claims. "Or... what do you think of," here she waves her free hand midair, in a way that would be oh so elegant if it weren't for the wiggling fingers, "paramour. Or..." then she's eyeing Quinlys. "Quinlys, I dare you to say 'sweetheart' with a straight face. I dare you so much." Quinlys is about to say something, and probably something approving of 'paramour,' however ridiculous it might seem, but she clearly can't resist that dare. Eyes gleaming, she straightens, shoulders back, and attempts to smooth her expression into seriousness (it's more difficult than it should be). "Telavi," she begins, so far so good, "Your sweet--" Nope. It's no good. The corners of her mouth twitch, though she valiantly continues on. "Your sweetheart is an ass." Tela outright beams at her, maybe for the sentence, maybe for those brave straight shoulders, maybe for the attempt. Maybe for the sentiment. "My ass." No straight face there; she doesn't even try. Now, amusement goes beyond twitching lips and into full-blown laughter, the kind that requires Quinlys to grab the tree to make sure she doesn't fall out (which would be hilarious, no doubt, but also possibly painful and embarrassing). "All yours," she agrees. "I sure as shit don't want him." "Well, almost. Or overlapping, I don't know," Tela says with a moue; then she waves a hand, "Close enough. So! Now that that's settled... well, except a really good name, though I like yours more and more, because it adds that little extra fillip to 'I love my ass' or 'I am very fond of my ass,' don't you think?" Quinlys has to bite her lip to keep from laughing again; it takes effort to keep herself composed enough to suggest, "'My ass says I'm pretty'. Or-- hm, I'm sure there are better ones. 'My ass is good in bed' has to come close." That has Telavi giggling again, braids swinging. "'I like to kiss my ass,'" she offers helpfully. Cheekily: "I like to fuck my ass." This time, Quinlys gives in, dissolving into giggles of her own, still holding on tight to the tree lest she fall out. "Quinlys." Telavi, scandalized-- and still giggling, at least until it turns into hiccups. Hiccup-punctuated giggles. Quinlys is utterly unrepentant, though perhaps that's difficult to tell given how intensely she's giggling, her cheeks turning red purely out of lack of oxygen rather than embarrassment. It takes some seconds of chest-heaving and heavy breathing before she can do much more than hug the tree, holding on for dear life. But does the tree appreciate it?! Hic. After a while, Telavi gets to the point where she can at least attempt to eye Quinlys as best she can. "Look what you made me," hic! "do." It should! Who wouldn't appreciate being hugged by Quinlys? (Don't answer that). "You started it," she points out, around the hand she's pressed towards her mouth. "It was obvious. At least you didn't fall out of the tree." "Yet," Telavi says with a sniff; this would naturally be the perfect point for her to fall, but no, no such luck. The branch beneath her remains strong. Which doesn't mean she doesn't peer at the ground, just in case. "That would hurt." Quinlys, too, casts a glance down towards the ground. "I'd hate to bring you back with a broken," ass, "leg or something. That'd be embarrassing. I'll try not to make you laugh again, I promise." Her expression, however, is utterly insouciant. "Liar," Telavi says fondly. And hiccups. "What's new with you?" Give her something good. Mournfully, "It's a pity the wine is all the way down there," in the river. Quinlys is so not climbing down to fetch it. Anyway: "Me? Did I tell you about that sheep farmer girl, out Nabol way? I was almost tempted to have Olly pick her up once the eggs are on the sands - Nabol, so it's totally allowed - but I worry she'd get too attached. Pity. Nice... ass." Telavi looks down towards the wine just as soon as it's mentioned, wistfully. But she doesn't climb down either. "You didn't--" and then Quinlys has her giggling again. And hiccuping And attempting to stare balefully... doesn't really work. Oops. Not that Quin looks repentant for this, either, if we're being honest. "My mouth is beginning to hurt," she laments. "From smiling too much. This is terrible!" "Poor, poor Quinlys," Telavi coos. In an entirely different voice, "Serves you ri-ight..." hic. And in lieu of what she might have said in earlier sevens, "Did I ever tell you? I've learned to ride a runner better," with Savannnah. "But I've learned what's even better on narrow trails is an," wait for it, "ass." Poor, poor, poor Quinlys. Surely she could see that one coming, but-- no, she's lost it, dissolved utterly into giggles, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her face half-buried into the obliging wood of the tree. Telavi looks at Quinlys. Telavi looks at Quinlys. And, because Tela knows certain things, she leeeans over and wiggles her fingers just shy of the bluerider's ribs. "I could tickle you right now," singsong again. "Tickle-ti-ckle..." "No! No! Noooooo!" squeals Quinlys, trying to pull back and away from those wiggling fingers just in case. Only: that's a little destabilising, and has her grabbing back at the tree trunk just in time. Tree-climbing with Telavi? A dangerous business! It is. Telavi almost looks disappointed. "You know, if you'd fallen," she observes teasingly, "you'd have been closer to the wine." "Which I would then drink," Quinlys tells her friend, smirking smugly. "All by myself. Because I'd have bruises to soothe, and it would be all your fault." What? By herself?! "Traitor," accuses Telavi, though the effect is hampered by the hiccup that invades the last syllable, and starts shimmying down the tree's trunk. So Quinlys can't get to it first, clearly. What? What? Oh - that is so not fair. The trouble, of course, with being both in the same tree is that Quin can't try and beat the greenrider: she has to content herself with hurrying down after her. "Bruises!" she reminds. "Bruises, Telavi. I'd be well within my rights!" As it is, she'll just rain bark down on her assistant. There's a squeal from Tela this time-- "My hair!"-- and so she jumps the rest of the way, landing in a crouch before scampering toward the stream. Of course, actually retrieving the bottle must slow her down... Quinlys is slower, but no less determined... and also, she's apparently not inclined to play fair, given the way she reaches into the water to send a wave of it sideways towards the greenrider. At least this is a southern summer, and not a northern winter! This time, it's more like a squawk, and Telavi-- now wet from hands to past her shoulders-- takes Quinlys' name in vain. But she's also clutching the bottle. As she starts to back up, she warns, "Be good or I'll drop this." Quinlys, triumphant, merely looks smug. "You wouldn't," she counters. "That's good wine. So I'm told, anyway. And you don't want to go without any more than I do, I'm quite sure." Now-wet hands move to her hips; she eyes the greenrider speculatively. Smugly speculatively, even. Telavi looks at her. Wide-eyed. "Quinlys. You doubt me." No doubt it wounds her to her very soul! ...though there is that part where it's true. In answer, Quinlys has nothing more than a set of red-hued raised eyebrows. Well. With that, Telavi's only recourse is... to start breaking off the wax and working out the cork. On the plus side, at least Quinlys wipes her hands off, now, and doesn't make any more moves towards the water: she's content, it seems, to wait for the wine. Pop! goes the cork. Hic! goes the Telavi, and sighs. "I thought they were over," she mourns, and drowns her sorrows with a long swallow. That's what Quinlys gets for waiting. "Drink more wine," advises Quinlys, though she's also reaching out her arm to try and take the bottle, so clearly the real message is 'drink more wine... after I've had some.' So of course Tela tries to intercept the buerider's arm with her elbow, and give her a look of reproach. "You said for me to drink." What real message? "My wine," insists the bluerider, attempting to maneuver around that elbow and grab for the bottle, reproach or no reproach. "My turn." Telavi turns along with the bottle, keeping it close to her.... which of course means that she can't drink. "Say please," the greenrider says sweetly. Obligingly, Quinlys sing-songs a reply: "Pretty please with sugar on top?" And, "Don't make me beg. I'll end up offering things you'll be duty-bound not to accept, for the sake of your ass." Telavi's just about to hand the bottle over, pleased-- when all of a sudden she blushes rosily, and gives Quinlys another reproachful look. If there's anything she could clarify, there's nothing that she does; instead, she just gives Quinlys her prize before she has a chance to spill it. "Did I mention that I have a really fine ass?" Quinlys is plainly too pleased with herself to be reproached, and takes the wine bottle, smug as smug can be. She tilts her head back to take a long draw from it, saying, only after she's swallowed, "Never been an ass girl myself. I'll have to take your word for it." "Give me that," Telavi attempts to hiss through her teeth, but alas, no sibilants; she puts out her hand imperiously, as though she'd use wine to drown that even deeper blush. Blushes! Today is a good day: Quinlys is triumphant in her quest for blushes, and not giving the wine up just yet, thank you very much. Around the bottle's mouth, she says, "Now, now. Wait your turn." If her demand won't be met, yet, Telavi will stalk around the bluerider. "You know I hate to wait." Quinlys must therefore, surprise surprise, be doing that on purpose. "It is my turn." Is so. If Quinlys is in any way perturbed by Telavi's stalkery, she manages to keep it from her expression, which is largely benign... except for the twitches of humour that keep showing themselves about her mouth and eyes. She makes an exaggerated show of taking another drink from the bottle - and then, finally, of offering it to the greenrider, magnanimous to the end. "Good things come to those who wait," she tells her, instructively. "'To waiting'?" Telavi inquires, lifting their bottle high as though in toast-- and then shakes her head, braids swinging, with a cheeky smile. "Never. Better-than-good things, much much much better, though..." that she can and does salute with a swallow. "You bet your ass," answers Quinlys, as smug as smug can be. |
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