Logs:Do You Think I'm Disgusting? (Part 1)
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| RL Date: 12 July, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Riorde and Iolene get the chance to truly talk for probably the first time since the incident. It probably helps Rhaelyn isn't sharing in their latrine duties for the day. Iolene comes to a possible decision, though even after all this, she naively thinks love still will win the day. |
| Where: Latrines, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 3, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Rhaelyn/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Giorda is evil. This whole punishment is evil and how can Weyrfolk be so disgusting sometimes? Looking distinctly ill, Iolene's claimed a corner of the latrines to start her scutwork at. On her knees and scrubbing with, what is now, a pristine white cloth, a bucket of sudsy water is near by. There's a sign put up out front, informing people to go do their business elsewhere, or at least hold it for the next half hour. "This is disgusting." Riorde says what they're thinking; it probably hasn't been the first such statement. She breathes through her mouth as she comes in lugging two more full buckets. The suds slosh over the sides and onto the floor, making it slippery underfoot. Fortunately for Riorde, she doesn't end up on her ass. A flicker of sympathy shoots across the way to Riorde when her epitaph echoes towards Iolene's vicinity. "Well," pragmatically, the blonde girl begins, "I guess we did something wrong." Her thin face contorts. "But I think I even miss Grams' punishments. I never thought anything could be worse than the evils should could come up with. The punishment must fit the crime." The last takes on an uncanny and quite deliberate mimic, which then leads to a moment of forgetfully bright laughter: forgetting where they are, what they're doing, what got them there. It's brief, and the resultant silence from Io is uncertain. Is this a situation that can be laughed at? "/You/ didn't," insists Riorde without the least pause, excusing Iolene from blame. She grabs the cloth that she'd thrown over her shoulder and picks another area to start with. "Then I guess we did the evillest of evils." She can't laugh at the situation the same way Io can, though hearing Grams come out of her granddaughter draws a quick, almost startled glance. "Sorry I got you into this." It hasn't been the first apology. Aware that it probably won't be the last, Iolene just waves a tired little hand, evincing a smile for Riorde's benefit. "Told ya, it's ok. I didn't have to stick around. Always sticking my nose in other people's business. That's me, right?" There's another pause, awkward on her part, though that sentiment might not carry well the distance between them. But then, after all this time, she finally can't help herself. "Are you... do you... I mean-, do you like her?" Keeping the subject vague other than the pronoun, Iolene's scrubbing falls lax and she peeks upward to see how Riorde takes her question. Riorde sets to work with a determined expression. If it's got to be cleaned, these will be the cleanest darn loos this side of Pern, if only so Riorde doesn't have to come clean them again anytime soon. "Still," she says, a stubborn little continuation. There's been too much life shared at close quarters for Riorde not to sense Iolene's awkwardness, and she glances up even before the question haltingly comes out. Rather than pause, Riorde scrubs harder than before as if the action will work the answer out of her. "I think so. I mean, she's nice. She took me to see the /sea./" She starts off almost diffident but by the end sounds not quite believing. Ri falls into her own awkward pause thereafter, rinsing out her rag. Looking anywhere but the other girl, she eventually gets out her own unwieldy question. "Do you think I'm -- it's disgusting?" The skinny blonde's frame goes limp at the mention of the sea and a wistful yearning colors her features. It's the sniff that brings the wonderful scents of the latrines with it that jars her out of a memory or hope of some sort, and with a blink she looks back up at Riorde. Open-faced, big-eyed, "But you like her, right?" is asked a second time, as if needing the confirmation, or at least an affirmation that's less ambivalent. "Yeah," Riorde admits, an uncomfortable sort of declaration when Iolene fails to reassure her that no, no, there's nothing disgusting about her or It--the big taboo L of Liking Girls--at all. She scrubs harder, scowling. Silent, there are indications that the cogs in Iolene's pretty little head are working overtime: brows furrowed, eyes blank in a glazed, thoughtful state. It's not a particularly long silence, but the end result is a slightly confused, but quite simple: "Isn't that all that matters?" Now Riorde does pause, sitting back on bent knees. "Oh, Io," goes with a sigh. "If it were all that easy." She drops her cloth in the bucket to let it soak for a minute. "It's fine for now, but what happens later? Riders aren't like us." She doesn't say how, but perhaps the next statement clarifies the meaning she tries to leave vague. "My father's on about how I have to get married." Marriage. Iolene's cheeks turn pink and suddenly she's the one scrubbing the floor furiously, though without Riorde's scowl mirrored on her own face. As Iolene goes back to work with vigour, Riorde looks at her closely, her own continuing dissatisfaction expanding to a thinning of her downturned lips, the introduction of jealousy that she quickly hides by dropping back to hands and knees again and scuffling sideways to attack another area, half-turned away. "Shimana been trying to set you up too?" she asks casual as can be, with admirable sympathy, letting herself indicate that she's seen that flush. Iolene moves, her knees dragging along the floor as she selects a new spot to clean up after. On her hands and knees, she makes big circles with her rag, dunking it into the bucket every now and again to spill more cleaner onto the pee-stained floor. "No. But I turned seventeen yesterday," as if the one older year would make all the difference in her impending nuptials. "Dragonriders don't marry," she begins aloud to the floor, even if the words are meant for Riorde. That rich voice, usually so bright and cheered, is thick with an indescribable emotion just simmering beneath the surface of the forced neutrality of what she continues with, "I'm thinking I might become one. Maybe you should too." "Happy seventeen." Riorde decides the way forward is to slosh out a healthy amount of the water in her bucket onto the floor directly - enough with this dunking business - and then start scrubbing from there. As Iolene begins, Riorde releases a little clenched sigh, understanding the aim of the words to be her until Io brings up the possibility of trying to join the elite non-marrying league. "I thought you would want to marry," she says without saying anything of herself, shooting across a look of quick, uncomprehending surprise. Iolene's, "No," is quick, abrupt, and closed. There's nothing further she wishes to say on the subject of marrying, except that her eyes betray her with the welling up of tears along the bottom rim. Swallowing hard, though again, to the floor and not to Riorde, Iolene shifts not so subtly to turn and clean another spot so her body's not positioned towards Riorde and instead the other girl gets a nice view of Io's bottom. "I don't know if I'd be good at getting a dragon," and the dubious way she says it makes it sound as easy (?) or simple as chasing cats, "But could try. It'd be easier I guess." Than? "Oh, Io," Riorde breathes out again, misunderstanding the cause of the distress but not the emotion itself. She allows Iolene her privacy and doesn't press with questions, turning away herself to keep hidden the mild surge of guilt and, worse, faint gratification. "Yeah, could try," she gives as her indefinite answer. Then, to alleviate that guilt, she adds on, "I don't know if I'd be any good at marriage." It's sulking for Iolene, the silence, and it's mollified only a little at Riorde's last and by the unspoken privacy she's been allowed. There's an audibly exhaled breath. "Don't think I would be either." The attempt at a smile makes her voice sound sadder in its faux cheer. "Can you see me being a wife to anyone? Really? I'm too... I dunno. Me. To grow up like that. Not that anyone would want to marry me anyway." Self-pity overwhelms the miniscule effort at being happier. The self-pity sits badly with Riorde, who pauses in her scrubbing to look over her shoulder. Impulsively, she says, "I'd come over and give you a hug if I didn't smell like pee. Soon as we're out of here." Which is more or less what she does. And yet another day in the latrines has come to an end. This one punctuated with a hug rather than the awkward silences of the days prior. Fini~! |
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