Logs:Crafter Chatter
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| RL Date: 11 April, 2015 |
| Who: Rafevan, Laine |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rafevan and Laine talk crafts, bullshit, and putting sheets on a bed. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny! |
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>---< Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#634RJ) >------------------------<
Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the
weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just
plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have
let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:
two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in
particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the
most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being
trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of
flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall
off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former
weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly
warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the
air.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Laine F 17 5'4" trim, dark hair, grey eyes 0s
Rafevan M 24 6'1" average, blond hair, blue eyes 8s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Snowasis Bowl
>----------------------------------------< 4D 7M 37T I10, summer morning >---< With a pensive expression, Rafe sits at a nearly empty bar, his beer nearly untouched. His fingers drum idly on the bartop. The bartender's ignoring him for the time being; they seem content with that arrangement. When the options on this sunny summer day are inside or outside, Laine chooses outside. She drinks as she saunters out into the sun, and unerringly her path takes her to that empty bar and those empty seats on either side of Rafevan. Whether or not he's looking for a companion, she sits. Lucky him: for the moment, she says nothing. A look's slanted over at Laine when she comes to join him; Rafe just lifts his brows slightly, an unspoken question in the gesture. He takes a sip of his beer. Then, "Well?" he asks dryly. "How tired are you of people, like, congratulating you?" Laine asks, after a drink that leaves a white foam moustache smeared across her lip. "Or are we over it?" We--she lifts her beer and gestures at the bowl, the weyr. Rafevan snorts. "Pretty damn tired," he tells her. "Fortunately, you've had more tragedies in the meantime to distract people from me." A beat. "Is that terrible of me to say?" He sounds more curious than ashamed, in truth. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and shrugs. "I dunno. Not really. Life goes on." Laine stares into her beer. "Something else tragic'll go down. Or someone'll be a hero. Save a kitten in a tree. And we'll all move on to the next exciting thing." She slants a look over at Rafe. To that, Rafevan nods, bemused. "True, that," he agrees. "I'm ready for that day now." Apparently it's very tiring to have drinks bought for you, thanks given, every other expression of gratitude for his part in the rescue attempt. "How are you?" "Sick of all the bullshit," Laine says, frankly and without rancor. There's even a crooked kind of smile when she says it. "But good, otherwise. I'm so ready to go a week without someone getting stuck in a well or something. But, hatching coming up, so. Little-to-no chance of that. How are you?" Rafevan's lips twitch with a smirk. "I'm well enough," he concedes to that part of the question. "Lots of bullshit? The hatching... it is soon, isn't it? Do they have any idea how much longer now?" "Bullshit cave-ins, bullshit fires, bullshit people-dying." But Laine (the buzzkill) shakes her head, and waylays anything further on that subject with a wave of her hand. The hatching is a safer subject: "Soon. They just say soon. I think they just like to mess with us." Rafevan's smirk transforms, a truer smile while he regards Laine. "I imagine so," he agrees, nodding to that as he lifts his beer for another drink. Fingers tap again on the table top. "Do you mind indulging my curiosity?" he asks after a moment. "Why would you accept?" The candidate folds her hands together on the bartop and rests her chin on those laced fingers. Laine's answer comes slow and deliberate: "You know how putting your sheets on your bed is, like, annoying and menial but necessary?" She tips her head, so she's looking at Rafe. "That's how I feel about tanning." "I see." At least a little, he does, though Rafe doesn't look especially like he understands. Instead, "And you think a chance at dragonriding isn't that?" Laine turns her gaze back to those rising bubbles in her beer. "I owe it to--" She pauses, hesitates. "-- To myself, I guess, and some others, to try. The opportunity presented itself. I'd be an idiot not to take it. I don't impress? That's fine. I'm good at putting sheets on beds." "I suppose that's fair," agrees Rafevan, nodding again slowly. "I was just curious. I... wouldn't consider my craft the equivalent of putting sheets on beds, personally." "No," and Laine laughs outright at that, "No, you wouldn't. But that's because you enjoy what you do." It's a statement, not a question, though her lifted brows and askance look leaves room for objection. "I tolerate what I do." Rafevan tilts his head to consider her then, brows lifted slightly. "You realize, of course," he notes then, over his beer, "that this begs the question of--why would you apprentice to something you only tolerate? What would you do instead?" He pauses. "If you weren't betting the long shot of a dragon, of course." "I was ten when I started with the local journeyman. Informally, of course. I had no real concept of what it even meant. Just liked working with my hands. Doing something tangible." Laine shrugs. "Habit, I guess. There's parts of it I like--love, even. But. Few and far between." Mouth pulled to one side, she sits up, reaches for her beer, and drinks. "It was either that or grow apples." Rafevan, wryly, "Seems to work for my family." But he's finishing off his beer then, and rising from his seat. "I should get back. My lunch break is at an end, unfortunately. Have a good one, Laine." |
Comments
Roz (17:11, 11 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
A MISSED OPPORTUNITY.
Go grow apples, Laine! Make us cider! Rah rah~
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