Logs:Distraction
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2015 |
| Who: Lycinea, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea avoids work and V'ros eats lunch. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 11, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions |
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>---< Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs) >----------------------------<
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier
or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them
instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large
enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the
cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters
down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open
space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet,
and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's
offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven --
only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they
add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the
centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling
and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end
of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an
array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows
are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Scene Set: Lovely outdoors, few people in LC, after lunch.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Lycinea F 17 5'5" Slender, Blonde hair, Blue-green eyes 0s
V'ros M 21 5'8 Slim, Brown hair, Brown eyes 2m
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
>------------------------------------< 10D 11M 36T I10, autumn afternoon >---< The beautiful autumn day has drawn many people outdoors to enjoy the warmest part of it, leaving the living cavern relatively forlorn looking by comparison to the crowded cavern that winter will soon bring. Lycinea is here, settled at one of the tables with a pile of silverware and a rag. She wears the light, stained work apron that show's she's on duty, technically, but the lackluster effort going into polishing the pile in front of her says she doesn't really care. Her blue-green eyes sweep the room boredly, in search of legitimate distraction that might mean she can stop swabbing the fork with her rag entirely. Not everyone is outdoors, and not everyone enjoys taking in the sights, the smells, of the trasitioning weather. Dressed in a loose gray sweater under his riding jacket and informal charcoal pants, and wearing a hapless, distracted expression, V'ros meanders from the infirmary entrance to the serving tables. He browses the assortment weyrfolk, nodding to anyone who waves at him, but committing to nothing; until he spots Lycinea polishing silverware on her lonesome. Hovering on the other side of the table is clearly the thing to do. "Can I sit?" he asks, his voice consistently clear. Lycinea's eyes had touched on him as he made progress through the cavern, so she isn't surprised surprised when he stops across the table, but she is surprised. Her brows lift a little, but she nods, shrugging. "Help yourself." Then the silverware is set aside, since V'ros must have something more pressing than the work she's supposed to be doing. "How are you?" She asks, in case that gets them rolling with whatever it is. His plate is dropped, unceremoniously, on the table before he swings a leg over the bench and sits down. He doesn't say a word until he's situated, his clean silverware set beside flatware, and he's staring down at a worthy helping of victuals. "Huh? Ah, uh, fine. Good." V'ros squares his shoulders and looks up, taking in the kitchen girl's situation. "How are.. you?" And it's back to his food, digging a fork into his greens with verve. The 'huh' gets Lya's brows to rise just a touch more and she tilts her head, perhaps trying to determine why the 'huh' existed at all. "Bored. I'm bored." She gives a fluttery sigh as she nudges the fork just a little further away, and the rag too. "They have me doing the stupidest jobs these days. Who cares if the forks get spots on them after the wash?" She'd like to know. "How's Zmeyth?" She's looking for something, anything to talk about that isn't silverware, probably. "They want clean forks? Dirty forks." Somehow, V'ros thinks that's funny, and snorts in amusement , hunching over his plate like an animal protecting its kill from scavengers. "Zmeyth? He's fine, same as always." He glances at her a bit sideways, chewing thoughtfully. "I wanted to.. ah, say.. thanks. About.." He swallows and looks elsewhere. "Trying to be friends and stuff. Again." "But spots from water drying on them doesn't make them dirty," Lya sighs again, more dramatically. "People are so dumb." This must be the root of the problem. Then she's shrugging a little. "I don't think you have to thank me. I'm kind of a weird friend, so it's sort of an equal trade, probably." She drums her fingers on the tabletop for a moment giving the fork a sidelong look like she might have to pick it up and clean again if she can't justify not. "So I think friends are supposed to know things about each other some." Maybe? "Where are you from again?" She says again because she probably can't remember if he actually said back when they first met and she suggested maybe everyone from his home was homosexual. Back when she lied about her own roots. Legumes are fun to play with, especially when one is obviously trying to avoid a topic, like V'ros is. He skips directly to the part about himself, only after shoving a forkful of carrots in his mouth. "Me? From? Tillek. North of Tillek. Aren't you from.. here?" His eyes lift from his food, finally, and take in the blonde from across the table. "Have you always worked.. here?" "No." Lya answers, thinking. "Tillek. Where?" Then, ceasing her tapping, "The first place I remember is Balen. But I don't know that I'm from there." She shrugs her lack of care. "I'm from here now," and that's what matters, evidently. "I only started working when I was thirteen." She eyes the silverware still in want of polishing. Her use of the term 'working' might well be arguable. "Northern Tillek. It's a.. small Hold.. called Winter Ridge. Nothing special." Popping him shoulders up a couple of consecutive times, V'ros goes back to poking and prodding idly at his food, separating each foot item into its own section of the plate. "Balen?" he looks up, squinting slightly. "Who're your parents? Some riders?" Lycinea's shoulders lift and fall. "Maybe. I don't know. I was fostered in Balen. I remember them a little. They sent me here when I was six. To be with my own kind. Whatever..." that means. "I've always assumed it means a bastard. Or maybe an orphan, but there are orphans other places, and there are more bastards in a Weyr than anywhere else on Pern, probably." She reaches up a hand to flick a blonde lock over her ear. "Did you want to stay in Winter Ridge? Is that where they Searched you from?" "Plenty of.. bronzeriders' bastards and bastard bronzeriders too." V'ros sets down his fork and leans back, chewing the food in his cheek slowly while he contemplates Lycinea. "No. I was.. here. On an errand. Then permanently. I wouldn't go back." He lifts one shoulder in a shoulder, trying for carelessness a little too much. "Why haven't you asked to Stand? You could. You live here. It could be.. what you're made for. Bastards." "And other colors. You don't think bronzeriders are the only ones who knock people up during and not during flights, do you?" Lya asks him, but without judgment. She doesn't add specific reference to brownriders, but that's probably just because they're friends. She probably notices that he's trying too hard, but she lets it slide for the moment. See? Being friends is good. "I'm not sure I'd like to be a rider." She answers the question. "It seems like a lot of hard work to keep a dragon happy." There's a pause, "And it's not like there's Thread to fight, so they're not in need of people to fill out the barracks." She shrugs, her turn to try for a little too much carelessness. "I know." And he looks uncomfortable that he knows. "But I can't say goldrider bastards. That sounds.. wrong." V'ros scrubs a hand through the front portion of his hair, watching Lycinea with avid eyes. "People respect bronzeriders." He has another half-shrug for her words, and a slow exhale. "It's hard work. It's worth it. I wouldn't trade it. Not now. Not then. We do a lot. More than not fighting Thread. Sweeps, rescues, searches. That storm, remember?" How can she forget? "Why? There are those too," Lya asks him, curiously. "People respect brownriders too, when they're worth respecting. And blueriders, and greenriders." She shrugs though, not pressing the point beyond that just now. "Why do you like it?" She queries, leaning her chin onto her fist as her elbow finds the tabletop. "I mean, the storm..." Does she need to say how messed up he was after it? "They do." V'ros' eyesbrows knit. "Why do you question everything?" He shakes his head and retrieves his fork, all too eager to bunch potatoes in one corner and chicken in the other. "I like Zmeyth. Can't have a dragon without the job. I can.. be who I want to be. As long as I listen to Mielline. And K'del. I can work hard and see results. I have a family, now," he specifies, empathically. "Because I like to know things," Lya answers with a roll of her eyes, as if he's somehow missing the point. "Hm. But I can be who I want to be and I don't have to get out of bed every morning to deal with someone else's needs before my own," she counters, thoughtfully. "Not that I'm saying it's not worth it for you, but I'm not sure I'm ever going to have a family, so I'm not sure it would do the same things for me." Then, "Also, I'm exceptionally bad at listening to people. In the following instructions way." Willfully so, for sure. V'ros sighs and tosses down his utensil, pushing his plate away; he's lost his appetite. "It's not bad," he mutters, before covering his eyes with one hand. "I should.. I should go. Yeah." He gives her one more look, a befuddled one, and stands up to collect his plate. "Forks to clean, yeah?" But, this is him, and it would be weird if he was making fun of her, right? Lycinea affects a moue when V'ros suggests she needs to be cleaning forks. "Pft. Friends." Can't live with them, can't... well, stop them from leaving, apparently. She rolls her eyes at him, but then there's the flash of a smile as she reaches for the fork and her polishing rag to put her nose back to the grindstone. It might be a smile that teases up the corners of V'ros' mouth, or a silence belch. Whichever, he takes his plate and returns it to the serving line, before hurrying out into the bowl and the nice weather waiting for him outside. |
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