Logs:Different People
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| RL Date: 7 September, 2012 |
| Who: Serah, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia plays taxi then runs into Serah, who keeps her from running into someone else! Awkward conversation ensues. |
| Where: Meadow, Fort Hold |
| When: Day 22, Month 9, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A strong wind blows, whipping around clouds of stray leaves and tossing cloaks and scarves around. |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions |
| Meadow, Fort Hold Set apart from the main hold, this meadow offers an inviting respite from the bustle of Hold life. Lush and verdant grasses and grains grow rampant and abundant in this peaceful and tranquil meadow. Shaded by a copse of softwood and evergreen trees, the light is dappled and freckled where it warms the ground. At certain hours of the day, small woodland creatures emerge from the small forest and may be seen frolicking about in the grasses. Paths lead back toward the hold, winding their way along near the inner edge of the orchards before returning to the white stone so familiar to the Hold's courtyard and main halls. The peace and tranquility have been shattered as the meadow has been taken over by the Travelling Show. Lush grasses have been trampled flat or cropped short by grazing runners. Those wagons not converted into stages for various shows have been pulled in amongst the trees at the meadow's edge, a private camp for the show's populace. The show area itself takes up the majority of open space, performance tents and wagons set up in a horse-shoe shape about the edge. The central area is dotted with smaller stands and stalls that house the various games available. Only two are devoted to food and beverage, one selling small cups of cheap liquor and juice, the other frying up strips of meat and tuber slices to be smothered in salt and sauce. An 'entryway' is marked with a simple, multi-coloured banner and ribbons attached to two tall poles, with a small platform set up to one side for a crier to announce shows about to begin and welcome patrons. With the afternoon at its peak, so is the attending crowd -- though it's lessened some from the opening days, the lunch hour is as good an excuse as any to jog down and have a sight or two. Whipping winds that have blown up since then are changing a few minds. Though, for those who stay, watching a successful juggle during a strong breeze has become an added treat. With the fire tricks inside a tent, it's somewhat spared. Not so for the knife-throwing area, which is far exposed to the elements, except for the overhang of the game booths blocking a single direction. While Nolan is not yet in attendance, his assistant perches nearby to assure everyone that a show will go on -- even if it isn't the advertised one, necessarily. It's not Serah; she strolls between the various games, playing back-up runner for those needing a mid-lunch break, or a quick reprieve. In the spirit of things, she's matted her hair back in a vague braid, but her outfit is still not one of the flashy, cheerful worker variety. Against the wind she wears a light, somewhat abused, brown jacket that ends short around her torso. She's picking bits out of the pockets absently as she moves from the hook game towards the ring toss. A distant single bark is the anthem of a nearby, but currently unseen, canine. The Traveling Show has had many patrons, quite a few of them dragonriders. Goldriders, even. Some may have been courteous winged creatures, respectful. Others might have buzzed the grounds for a closer look. Hraedhyth does both. Upon arriving the queen gives a deep roar of greeting from way on high, her descent made up of unhurried circling. When she lands, it's on the very edge of what can be considered improper or polite. Depends who's being asked. The details of her carriage remains sharp from as far as the entryway, speaking of the lack of distance between the two. Her rider, already lost within shrinking audience, walks hand in hand with a boy who can't be more than 10 turns old. The winds are such that Azaylia is able to stay in her leathers, profession made obvious though her rank might not be. She walks with purpose in her strides, head down to avoid looking at tempting games and shows, pulling the blond, fair skinned lad alongside her. He isn't making things easy, feet dragging every time something catches his short attention. It has Azaylia turning often, trying to coax with too-soft words instead of watching where she's going. After the rush of the much less natural wind the dragon creates, an aura remains. Roar's certainly done its job; everyone has noticed the gold's approach -- including the rabid barking from afar that draws Serah's head up and tilted across one shoulder. The crowd, naturally, makes sighting the miserable creature impossible, but her mouth thins and curls down nonetheless. Neither does the bustle make things any easier for Azaylia on approach: every colorfully dressed performer and keen-eyed barker who catches him looking that way gestures and coos as to the general amazement and wonder he could see if he just stepped that way. Treats may seem less indulgent in the weather, but hot drinks are no less on display; slightly more than the cheap liquor of usual. Maybe there was a donation. Raising her head has put Serah on to Azaylia's fair-unfriendly gait. And the tall brute with the juice too busy chatting with his friend as he walks the opposite path. Though she resolves, with a narrowed eye on that jacket, to move along, she finds herself abruptly reaching out for the same offensive leathers, attempting a short tug to yank the pair out of the way. Azaylia isn't quite begging him, but there's a lot of energy put into trying to reason with the mystified child. "Rory, please..." The usual mistake of someone who has no offspring of her own. If her attention wasn't so viciously claimed, the junior may have shown some embarrassment at her dragon's overly enthusiastic greeting. That's not the case, obviously. It leaves her in such a state that Serah's yank comes as an utter shock. The rider goes stiff, stumbles, there may be a quiet, fearful squeak during it all. Wide eyes find the dark haired girl once she rights herself, pulling Rory close against her leg. The brute and his juice go on undisturbed, but not unnoticed. "Oh. Ohmy. Oh." Whispered utterings, overly protective grip on the boy threatening to turn his face colors. "O-Oh I almost. Oh." Finally, "Thankyou." Releasing her hand the second the tug -- wow, actually -- works, Serah brings it down to her own jacket to rub below her chest self-consciously. There's an in vain twitching at the corners of her mouth for all the stuttered 'ohs', never quite cresting enough to form something definitively positive or negative. Her shoulders float up and down, dismissing the event. Eyes moving from their pinpoint on the jacket to the boy's reddened face, then up to Azaylia, she bites her lip somewhat awkwardly. "I've-- seen it happen before." Her intonation is lost somewhere between trying to downplay her own involvement, and reassuring the rider that her stumbling is no less than usual. Another uncomfortable beat goes by then the nearest stall operator leans forward over his booth and hisses: "//Pssht//, Serah." Startling -- more with that flash of annoyance in her rolling eye than fright -- the girl tucks at hair behind her ear, then gestures with vague luster towards the roulette wheel. "Game?" Rory lets loose a gurgle against Azaylia's hip which has her gasping and nearly throwing the boy in an attempt at a speedy release. "Are you alright?" Concern sprinkled with too-sweet, and to make matters worse, sincere sugar. "I can imagine." She means to be heard by Serah, gentle tone brought up to something that's almost not a whisper. Another squeak, wide eyes going to the vendor who has only given her another little fright. "Oh." More of those. "I couldn't. I'm here for R-" Name is completed by another, "Rory!" A young woman who shares the youngster's complexion rushes over with a bright smile. "Thank you so much, ma'am. He had his heart set on comin' today. Say thank you." She commands of him, only to be yanked away towards games he was so ruthlessly denied by the goldrider. Azaylia wiggles fingers at the pair, her own smile remaining as she turns back to Serah. And the game. "Ah... I shouldn't." Couldn't, shouldn't. "I'm not supposed to." Even less clear. Having done her part, Serah moves to leave-- only for the concern for the boy to pause her-- then again-- only to have the abruptly appearing woman startle her into place. Eyebrows match lips in minor twitches as she settles back on her heels, staring more intently at the -- mother? -- woman and child more intently than necessary. The third time, she's interrupted by Azaylia's returning attention, so that she slips back into her weighted pose with a huff on her face telling of impatience. Only for it to be writhed gently off by a near bemusement, befuddled and doubting, over the reason. Lips are nearly pulled entirely into her mouth as she considers. Curiosity shines clear enough in her staring, dark eyes so that even though her bluntly voiced, "Why," seems to lack a question mark, it's eventually readable. Also, it's 'why'. Azaylia doesn't miss the look of impatience on the teen's face. Her head ducks in quiet apology, as if trying to shrink in front of the shorter girl. Before she can say her apologies and goodbyes, curiosity takes revenge on Serah's behalf, keeping the rider rooted. "I wouldn't have come today," Something everyone working on the grounds wants to hear, surely. "But Rory was bawling his little eyes out." More of that sugary sweetness, "His father had to do sweeps-" She stops abruptly, voice apologetic as she explains. "Dragonriding duties. So I was just going to drop him off..." Soft tones dissolve easily in the air, needing a moment to actually remember what the question is. It certainly didn't deserve such a nervous spill of words. Ah, right. "I told my friend, Brieli, that I wouldn't come here without her. I- I'm not really looking at anything..?" So she's not quite going back on her word. Right? For all that she might have been rolling them earlier, Serah's eyes remain planted on Azaylia with an out of place patience. Maybe amusement has leaked in, planting her contrarily to the spot. Whims threatened by the mention of dragonriders, dismissed fairly enough, then outright blasted away at the sound of the familiarly unfamiliar name. "Brieli," she echoes, like it's been pulled right out of her. With the element of subtlety ruined by her complete lack of instinct, she wavers, unable to deny the hint of knowing in the syllables. Trying to ignore the continued 'psst, psst'ing of her fellow carnie, she sidles off to the side a step, hoping to gently guide the, albeit already soft-spoken, Azaylia to a spot less travelled just a couple of steps away -- at least it will angle her off from the busybody worker. "I've heard the-- name before. So, you're a friend?" Azaylia's smile returns, "Mmhm." Just a confirmation of the name she's just uttered, apparently the source of her happiness. All too eager to accommodate, she moves as Serah does, gloved hands folded in front of her. As proper and stiff as her leathers try to make her seem, careful steps and good mood soften to reveal her gentle nature. "You have?" Though she doesn't sound terribly surprised, other than, "I don't know how much your troupe knows about us riders." Suggesting unfamiliarity rather than ignorance. "My best friend, though I'm just happy to be a normal one to her." A subject she's rather fond of, her fellow junior, has Azaylia stuttering less. It's almost as if she's unaware that she's carrying on a conversation with a stranger. "My Hraedhyth and her Iesaryth are really close. Like sisters, even though they're not from the same clutch. That's probably how you know her, maybe?" Just a suggestion. There's plenty of other talk about Brieli around Fort. Mainly at the weyr. Serah's face has gone progressively stiller, veering towards unnatural, but for the light eyebrow twitch she can't contain. A little 'uh' sound in her throat is a word that doesn't quite make it, leaving her cooling features to continue. The raised eyebrows of hearing of the friendship, frozen once, slip down. She struggles vividly with the mouth that keeps half-opening. It's blocked once by tugged lips, then by the tongue she thrusts into her cheek, creating an obvious bulge, but doing its purpose. Maybe, if she doesn't speak something it won't be true. What is true is that Azaylia's blissful eagerness helps to temper some of the worst -- so that it bottles up. "M-- maybe-- " she sputters out, trying to sound natural after it's been way too long. "Brieli?" Incredulous, tasting the difficult name. "Nevermind, it's-- " she raises a hand, as if to dismiss herself, or even push the rider away, but just awkwardly stops like that. A glance over her shoulder saves Azaylia from most of Serah's transformation, looking in the vague direction of her lifemate. Habit? It only makes the transition all the more startling when she ends up turning back. "Ssse- ah," Almost her name, overheard from the stall operator. She doesn't want to be so bold as to speak it, when it wasn't offered in the first place. Instead, "Oh my, are you alright? Do you nee-" The lifted hand cuts her off, straightening up and watching with concerned eyes. After an awkward moment of wind whipping past them, "...Miss?" "Umm." Yes, convincing. Knowing she's obliged to talk brings a staggered kind of diligence to Serah's affirmation, "I-- think we're... talking about. Different people." Desperately. A bit of neediness beside the polite tone she doesn't quite have the spirit for. "Y'said y'were-- " she cuts herself off, that clinging, fatalistic, curiosity and the hand flaps. "Enjoy yer-- " but, as she forces herself to meet Azaylia's eyes, there's a flash of bitterness there that she both fights to hold onto in the face of such a sincere one, and fights to hide. "Y'should play the game," she snaps, a bit more forcefully; not with malice towards Azaylia, but a sudden wry encouragement. "How will she ever know? An' if you win somethin' good, it'll make an apology she can't help but accept." "Are we?" Azaylia tries, sounding ever so cautious as she does. "Brieli? Uhm, of High Reaches?" Is 'weyr' really necessary, if she's claiming the woman in question has a dragon? That sharp spark isn't what the junior expects to find in those eyes, her own gaze darting to the side as if to unsee it. "A-ah..." This squeak is an attempt to find her voice at what could very well be a demand. The answer is surprisingly simple, apologetic as well as firm while she's still not looking at Serah. "I'd know." And that's enough for her. With a slow inhale, she's fortified enough to glance at the teen, "I'll play next time? When we come together." She offers. So simple that some of the fight falls away from Serah and she's left looking lesser for it. "Sure," she swallows, a little toss of her head loosening her hair, and that darker look in her eye. "Of course," still manages to sound almost like an accusation, though, even when it's tinged with a faint apology. It's the apology that's on her face, so the rest softens like an illusion. When her eyes flutter now, it's with less distinct emotions, and the bitter has become bittersweet. "You're a good friend." Because it's enough for her; because who would lie to someone who was like a sister. Because her hands have slid down in front of her, she curls them, purposeless. The worry hasn't dwindled from Azaylia's own evasive gaze, now fully aimed at the girl in front of her. There's confusion there, too. "I... thank you?" Genuine sentiment does little to stifle how befuddled the rider is, how she feels. "Serah?" Enough courage mustered for both name and a delicate touch to one of those curled fists. "Thank you." She echoes, this time with purpose. "For earlier. Rory could've gotten hurt." Never mind that she would have also been knocked over. Her fingers, if they're allowed to stay, will gently retreat. It's a motion that's carried to the rest of her body, taking a tiny step back. "I should go. Your games are awful tempting and all." A little curl to her lips, reluctant to leave until concerns are soothed. Serah's in too much turmoil to really appreciate that Azaylia is, too, causing inconsistent patches of awareness outside that biting admission. She may have even half-watched that touch come towards her, yet it does nothing to lessen her little quiver of surprise. Fingers stiffen there, under Azaylia's, then, after several allowed seconds, dart further to her sides, one even swinging behind her. "No," she mutters, a soft sullen blend. Her face returns to its more stony beginnings; the one never helped by her young features. "I've been stupid." It /could/ be to explain her increasingly awkward behavior towards the rider. She lets it lie as that, taking her own sidling step backwards. "This was-- " tongue lashes about in her mouth for the word, "A mistake." She gives an encouraging little head nod-- and the 'go, please go', in her head makes it quite sincere. It's a battle between empathy and manners. Clearly she's no longer wanted, if only by Serah, and it's enough to justify another step backward. "I don't see how..." Azaylia decides against saying more. The war wages on for another awkward moment, anxieties of overstaying her welcome finally winning. "Clear skies." Nervous, not realizing the utterly rider-based farewell she's offered the carnie. Careful to watch where she's going this time, the Reachian junior manages to escape the grounds without being lured to a stall. She reaches her lifemate, grateful that Hraedhyth doesn't feel the need to announce their departure. Darkly golden mass launches into the air, high enough to hover before the two wink out of existence.
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