Logs:Digging Holes With Hairbrushes
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| RL Date: 26 January, 2016 |
| Who: Telavi, C'ris |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'ris returns Telavi her hairbrush after Solith's flight. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions |
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All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a
large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the
bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the
furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed
chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone
tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the
tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the
room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a
detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden
door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance
is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the
barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also
home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old
and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable. Rain, it's so boring. With the now-senior weyrlings off shadowing wings for the afternoon, Telavi's still ostensibly on duty, and sitting in Quinlys' chair. She has charts and lists set out before her, but there's also the ceiling above her tipped-back self, and right now that seems to be fascinating. C'ris hasn't exactly been happy in the days following Solith's flight, not since Quinlys' visit after and the news she had to share. (Mivength, meanwhile, has been a bundle of joy, at least compared to his usual self. He's been attentive to call on Solith often, sharing thoughts and food alike.) That, however, isn't allowed to bleed into the other, not when he has a duty to be seen to and a woman that he might feel as if he owes. That is why there's a quick smile on his lips for the picture Telavi presents in Quinlys' chair, for her focus on the ceiling that he interrupts with, "You're going to hurt your neck that way, you know." He tips a look upwards as well, to check the spot. Thump! as Telavi levels the chair, her head going up, her hand wrapping about said neck from behind; her hair's mostly braided today, in multiple loops of gold unlike the free fall of that night. "It's better than wrinkles!" she says, her tone pert but green-today eyes... curious. "She's not here, you know." As though he should. "Right. I know. Well-- I saw her leave," C'ris admits with a quiet flicker in his own warm, brown eyes. He doesn't linger at that point, though, before he moves on easily with a smile for the greenrider. "I think you're probably a little too young to worry about wrinkles. You're still like, a teenager aren't you?" His tone is teasingly light, but something about it is careful, too, as if ready to draw away that teasing at the first sign of offense. Her brows go up, but they don't freeze that way; Telavi does not, however, test the truth of the aunties' sayings on a frown. If there's something difficult to interpret in her expression, it doesn't seem to be offense; equally lightly, "I should hope not! We have enough teenagers around here already. So many! Everywhere." Though not, unless there was a hidden door, the ceiling. C'ris exhales a laugh even as his smile grows into a proper grin, glancing quickly around as if he might catch sight of those teenagers before he returns his gaze to Telavi with a nod. "Well, ok, fine. But you are still young enough not to worry about wrinkles for a long time." Having conceded that point, he lifts the hairbrush that he brought with him, extending it to the greenrider as he adds, "I found this in, uh, the weyr. I wanted to get it back to you. And to say-- Sorry, again." Telavi smiles at him, and brightly, though there's no dimple anywhere in sight. At his offering, though, her eyes widen, and she's only just careful enough to not snatch it from his hand; "I wondered where that went!" she says even more quickly. "It's okay, though; I told you it was. You don't have to apologize. It's not like Q minds." So that's good, right? The bluerider has never been good at hiding his feelings or at disassembling; C'ris' smile falls from his lips at the statement about Quinlys, followed by a soft mumble of, "No, and why would she?" He shakes his head in a simple gesture, though, his lips twitching into an apologetic almost-smile for Telavi as he tucks his hands into his pockets. "I know. I'm--. It's just everything, right? I don't think we're going to be hanging out, just the four of us, for a long time." If that might have been a teensy bit on purpose, one wouldn't know it by Telavi's slightly pursed lips and concerned gaze; perhaps she's even a touch repentant at his reaction. Enough to say, "It's too bad, isn't it?" and then she's out of her chair and around the table, closer to him but keeping the hairbrush between them like a low-lying and particularly fuzzy sword... if not quite as fuzzy as it was when she left it. "I mean, we could, but you boys would be awkward, wouldn't you? It would take a while, and maybe a lot of alcohol, except.... No-o, maybe that wouldn't be a good idea," the greenrider says quickly, her teeth pressing into her lower lip for just a moment thereafter. "I guess K'zin told you too, then, didn't he," isn't so much of a question in the way C'ris says it, a low exhale of words that is followed with the return of the caught frown in the corners of his lips. "No, it wouldn't be a good idea. I know it's-- It's no big deal to you or to Quin or to K'zin, but--." He shakes his head, almost apologetic again when he adds, "It matters to me, you know?" "Told me that they," Telavi does the universal gesture with brows up in inquiry; was there something else he should have told her? "Which part matters? Or matters the most, anyway? At least... at least Solith and Mivength are getting along," and then some, Solith welcoming the blue's attentions right back, "so that's almost the same thing." Tongue, very much in cheek. "What do you mean? Which part matters? It-- It all matters," C'ris replies with a hint of confusion, brows drawn together in a brief moment as his brown eyes rake over Telavi. He doesn't seem to appreciate the gesture, but then, it isn't likely he'd appreciate words, either, given his reaction. But the joke does dispel his unhappiness somewhat, enough so that he can add with a dragged out groan, "As long as they don't get along too well. None of us want to relive this in a couple months, I bet." Telavi, in her pretty coral wrap blouse that's nothing like a sheet, could clarify; she presses her lips together a moment instead, all 'if you say so.' As for those months... "Would you rather Olveraeth?" she inquires, with sympathy. "No," admits C'ris simply, his gaze dropping to the hairbrush held between them, frowning again for its presence or perhaps the question itself. "No, because it wouldn't be the same, would it? As what happened between us. It wouldn't be--." He shrugs up a shoulder, almost dismissive, before he exhales a breath. "Sorry, this isn't your problem. It's not-- your fault, or anything like that." Telavi gets a faint line between her brows. "Of course it's not my fault." Why would he even say that?! Whatever she might have said leads to, once she too has looked down and then given it a second look, "...You cleaned my brush." He cleaned her brush. Her tone might be tentatively positive, at least. "I know it's not, Tela; that's what I said." C'ris seems honestly confused, for a brief moment, by Telavi's reaction to his words. But then before he can explain further, attempt to repair the conversation, she's already moved on. He flushes only slightly, tipping his chin in a nod. "Yeah, I-- Well, I just got the hair out. I wasn't sure if you usually used soapsand on these things or not, so," he says. "No!" and Telavi's clutching the brush to her chest, only to moderate, "No, this was good. This was perfect. No sweetsand; I just comb it out, really," plus a few other arcane activities involving a tiny bit of special cleanser that would be too complicated to make him privy to. "Have you ever had long hair? Or longish hair? Longer than that, anyway," she wonders. The question lifts C'ris' hand to his hair, fluffing and rumpling it with the start of a soft grin as he shakes his head. "Not since I was, you know, very little. My mom said she liked the feel of it, so she kept it long," he tells her with easy warmth in sharing his childhood memories. "Why? Should I grow it out?" Telavi looks at him, consideringly, perhaps truly distracted for the very first time this conversation; "I don't know... maybe on just one side," she says, and dimples. The look that C'ris aims at Telavi in return is dubious, uncertain whether she's teasing again as he questions, "What? Just on one side? I think that'd, uh, look a bit weird, wouldn't it?" "Not if you only held your head so they only saw one side at a time," Telavi says, letting her smile show; it's C'ris, after all. "Or! Perhaps a dramatic angle from one side to another, to look edgy and fierce--" can he tell by now? Just in case, "No, no, it's nice this way. If anything, a teensy bit shorter. Why did you wind up cutting it? Were you sad?" "Whatever you think would look nice, I'll do," agrees C'ris with a carelessness that might be a hint that he has finally caught on to Telavi's teasing, his own smile warming in mirror to the greenrider's. "No, I was like, seven turns. I grabbed my mom's sewing scissors one day and cut it, because no one took the little boy who looked like a girl serious. Never grew it out again, I guess." "I'll hold you to that," Telavi says, but so lightly she can't possibly be serious-- can she? She listens to the story with her eyes rounding, with a quick-breathed, "Her poor scissors!" and then-- once she's recovered from the trauma those poor blades had suffered-- a truly sympathetic look. "Well, good for you. You took control of your own destiny and everything." C'ris' smile twitches wider as he throws out in light consideration, "And what? If I hadn't cut my hair, my life would be totally different and I would never have found Mivength and I'd be like-- a weaver now or something?" He fluffs his fingers through that soft brown hair again, a habitual gesture as he aims a look over Telavi. "Now that you mention it..." Tela leans her hips against the table, giving him an appraising look of her own. "You might have done something else individual, but you had to do something. Imagine if you had completely shaved your head," she can say without a twinge when it's somebody else, "you might have wound up a woodcrafter. Or a miner." There's that dimple again. "Did you ever want to be a weaver, really?" There is that laugh again, the boyish grin lingering where C'ris counters before she can get any ideas about his earlier promise, "Don't you dare suggest that. I don't know how I would feel without any hair." But his hand falls away to tuck back into a pocket as he shakes his head. "No. I wanted-- well, to be a dragonrider. You? Ever harbor a desire to be a weaver?" "Cold," Telavi promptly suggests, her smile so bright. But as he goes on, her nose crinkles; "Now and again," she says, dismissing it. "As young girls do. You know, 'the journeyman will see my genius and whisk me away to Impr... I mean, to stitch and stitch and stitch until my arm falls off, and then the other one.'" "Do you-- make things? Should I be commissioning you and your genius for some new clothes?" asks C'ris in his genuine way, his grin fading only into an encouraging half-smile as he considers the greenrider. "If, uh, you wanted to do that for me. I'd get you whatever you needed or--." He catches his tumble of words, pointing out more to himself than Telavi, "Though, I'm sure you are busy with, you know, two clutches and all." Telavi's eyes go wide. "O...nly what I stitch and stitch on when I have a chance," she says. "You might," only, is this an attempt to bribe her? More considering looks, though this might as well be assessing the fit of his clothes; certainly her gaze lingers at the usual suspects, elbows and knees, cuffs and hems. "You would, and some more on top of that for doing the work. Or trade; what do you trade in? I also do adjustments, and sometimes reinforcing where people tend to wear fast." "Manual labor? Pastries?" C'ris suggests with a self-deprecating humor, but he only shakes his head softly. The gesture is explained when he continues, quietly, "It is-- I mean, I am willing to pay whatever you want, if that's what you want. If you, uh, want to, you know? Because I want you to only do it if-- It makes you happy, I guess." He flushes a little for his so concise words, offering only a soft smile in apology for them. "Besides, I think Quin'd kill me if I distracted you from the weyrlings too much." Manual labor. Hm. Pastries... Tela's lips press together, but only for a moment, and she cocks her head with a fall of braids over one shoulder as he continues. "Of course I'd only do it if it's worth it," she assures him, even if that's not always the same as happy. "And no, of course no distracting from weyrlings, if I decide to. That's my job. It helps when they're senior weyrlings," though she doesn't mention afterwards, a little troubled line appearing and disappearing between her eyes before she smiles. "What's the most bothersome thing about your clothes as they are now?" she asks. "Other than... that they don't get clean by your wrinkling your nose at them," oh so exaggeratedly wistful. That troubled line is enough to draw C'ris' attention and then concern, his smile disappearing into the pull of a frown instead. It's likely what provokes the gesture that comes next, a hand lifted to tweak lightly at one of her braids as his smile reappears. "I know, I know. I'm sorry," he says lightly in response. "Nothing is really-- I like my clothes, you know? They're getting pretty old, though. I should get some new ones and more variety, I guess." Surprised, Telavi looks down and then back up, quickly, to his eyes. "You--" never mind! but she's smiling. "I tell you what: I'll go with you to visit our weavers and we'll find you something nice. Some things nice, and you can buy me a drink after. Is that all you," she doesn't quite touch his near cuff, "or have you let Beastly at it?" Where she won't touch it, he will; his fingers drop away from that braid to pick at a loose thread on his cuff as she draws his attention to it, C'ris' flushing slightly for the question. "No, it's-- I mean, the threads come loose, you know, and then they are just, uhm, there," he answers, worrying the thread only a little longer before he catches himself and stops. He shakes his head dismissively before confirming, "It's a date, then. A friend-date. Drinks and clothes. But, uh, just the two of us, right? Not that I want to be alone with you-- Or that I don't!" A pause. "You know what I mean." Telavi's taken in what he's doing to those poor threads, don't think she hasn't. Brightly, "What, you don't think Quinlys would adore giving you sartorial advice? Being consulted on every... little... detail?" Her smile is bright, too, impishly so in a way that's only accentuated as-- "You're good at digging holes, aren't you." She says it like praise. At least the weyrlings are returning, a few of them flashed in from between to the Bowl if not necessarily the barracks. "We all have to be good at something," agrees C'ris with a quick wrinkle of his features, that boyish grin flashing there in juxtaposition to her bright smile. "Besides, the holes aren't so bad until the other person starts throwing dirt down on top of me." But the topic of Quinlys, the arrival of the weyrlings-- All of that ease slides away again. He adds, "No, I don't think she would. She's not really that type, is she? But I should, you know, go. Before I get trapped here doing any fetching or chores." Tela mimes tossing if not dirt, at least something of that nature-- followed by agreeing much more solemnly, "That would never do. Go, C'ris. Escape. May Faranth be with you." She, it seems, will cover his retreat. Escape C'ris shall, slipping away with only a light, "See you soon, Tela," for the greenrider. The cover doesn't go unnoticed and is likely appreciated, and rewarded next time with a basket of pastries. |
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