Logs:Everything's Fine
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| RL Date: 28 August, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Seriously, everything between Faryn and T'mic (and Jorrth) is perfectly fine. |
| Where: Bosom Buddies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Jo/Mentions |
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| There is perhaps nothing abnormal about mornings that find Faryn waking not in the resident's dorms but in T'mic's weyr - T'mic's bed, notably. Even so, and even given the minute up-tick in frequency since the most recent wave of changes that included wing-tapping and Faryn truly taking on her duties to Farideh, these sorts of mornings are not exactly common either. But with those aforementioned duties to attend, there's no time to waste, truly. Which is why when the morning light finally creeps to a point where it infiltrates the weyr, Faryn twists a fist in the blankets, draws them up, and covers her eyes against it. Jorrth has been up watching the sunrise, which, surely, means T'mic has been, at best, in a dozing state. There was a stretch of his legs before, until his feet were hanging off the edge of that stone ledge that he calls a bed. There was a sniff and some sort of a low grunt. And now that there's motion beside him, there's a moaning sort of yawn that preceeds a roll and streeeeeetch of his arm... which in turn comes down fully around the blanket-covered Faryn. And maybe even try roll her in closer to him. At least he's not laughing yet. And at least Jorrth hasn't shown up yet, although his tail twitches its awareness of movement behind him. "Noooooo," Faryn protests, not for his arm or for being pulled closer, but for the existance of consciousness as a whole. "Noooo, more minutes. More minutes." She's awake; there's no avoiding it now, but that doesn't stop her taking her fist and sticking it under her chin, like that might be enough to make it tomorrow. Or later in the night. Hell, if she waits long enough, it will. Jorrth starts turning, and T'mic laughs first, before he's willing to share, "No more minutes!" He pushes his chin right back into that fist. And tries to tug some of those covers away, now he's got her more or less where he must've wanted her. That blue, he doesn't stay staring. He looks back, and then heads toward his ledge again, shaking his head and wings as he goes. When Faryn does stay... his days do not always start at the time they otherwise would. The figure that is Faryn-cocoon inhales, and so her entire slender form raises up with the expansion of her lungs, and then she sighs so hard the wayward tip of the blanket flutters. Her grip doesn't loosen, but his tugging will pull it down: enough that her narrowed eyes will meet his, not without mirth, and she repeats, "No, I reject your reality and substitute my own. It is a day to stay in bed." And those narrowed eyes will meet a grinning, silly T'mic-face. That gets brought in good and close as he looks back at her. "Don't know if I can even try argue with that." Except for the sweeps he's already admitted to having around noon. Which isn't to stop him from trying to plant a purposefully sloppy kiss somewhere toward her forehead. 'Cause he can see that part. "Gross," Faryn laughs, scrubbing her forehead with the blankets at the sloppiness of it all. "So we accept my reality?" she asks, flopping back into the pillow. "No sweeps, no paperwork, no...what's today...meetings with the headwoman? Just more minutes until night-time, and maybe a lunch." This is, by any estimation, a Really Good Plan. "Hmm," says T'mic, dropping off a bit more to his own side of the bed, though that arm re-secures around the semi-cocooned Faryn. "Except maybe you're gonna need to the time we're flying sweeps to rest up. Besides. How else is there gonna be lunch, huh?" Faryn is tickled by that. "If I were allowed, I would sleep all the time. But, given givens..." Faryn reaches her arms up to stretch, long and with little pops down her spine before, "Delivery, obviously. Have the elevator rider do it." "Sleeping," says T'mic, "is boring." And his plan was to be suave, and twine a leg with hers while tugging at a bit at her waist or something, but it turns out the cocoon is problematic him, and there's just a bit of prodding and pushing and finally a laugh, and a flustered attempt to cover it up with, "I like when you're here anyway," as he drops back to the bed, foiled. "And what exactly is it you think I'd be doing while you were at drills?" asks Faryn archly, then, "What on Pern are you doing?" She dissolves into laughter, putting her face into the pillow an shaking her head in mock-sympathy for his plight. "And I like visiting. It's better than the barracks, for sure. It's the closest thing to privacy I get anymore." Now she starts unwrapping the blankets, her efforts to stay in bed futile. That stupid, half-aroused smile on his face, that should be answer enough to what he'd at least like to think she'd be doing while he's away. There's a little hint of trouble in that expression next, though, and T'mic brings an arm up to prop his head on. "Yeah, sure. Was thinking more like... you with me, though." Faryn's alright once she starts moving; it's that initial push of motivation that she needs, but now she's drawing herself upright with a yawn and swinging her legs off the bed, taking most of the bedding with her, courteous bedmate that she is. There is a silence for his confession, a flicker of anxiety in her expression, but in the interest of not reading into it: "That's nice too. I mean, we don't get much time now. You not setting a schedule as wingleader, me with Farideh. You know, I thought she was being dramatic about how much work she has to do, but her schedule can be insane." Her moving, and stealing of most of the covers, makes it super easy for T'mic to swing his legs down to the floor, too. There is some less-than-polite scratching of armpits and groinal area, but he's sort of counting on her not staring too much at him as he starts wandering around and looking to dress. "Well, we see each other, though, right?" Jorrth has come back in, because finally, things are moving. He is very good at standing and waiting, keen eyes on the pair of them. "I mean, it's good, right?" Oh, pants. Women, by nature, are better at this. There is not much unattractive or unappealing about Faryn's own movements, and her own clothes are just there anyways, in a conveniently neat stack for any quick escapes - not that it's become necessary thus far. "Yeah," she says, sounding a little wary, but still brightening as consciousness wins. Her pants and shirt are tugged on in short order, and then it's a quick grin as she catches all that loose hair of hers and starts braiding it up with practiced fingers. "Well, yeah. Do you think it isn't?" Not thus far. But Tom's workin' on it. "No, I..." have to focus for a moment to make sure this belt gets done up, 'cause it's evading my fingers. Once T'mic has mastered it, he looks up, and makes his barefoot and barechest and bedheaded way toward the braiding Faryn, not at all bothered by Jorrth's watching. "I think it's good. But you'd like... you'd tell me if you didn't, right?" Which borders on a request, with something a bit more heartfelt in the gaze that's settled on her. The braid is practical and efficient, and Faryn twists a tie to secure it at the tips just as adroitly. "Sure," she says, unmistakably wary by this point, and not assuaged by the look in his eyes when he gets closer. "We'd have to, right? Both of us, if we weren't? It's...cruel, otherwise." Which is only practical, certainly. It surely can't be indicative that she's thought about this at any great length. T'mic can't have not noticed that wariness. The word 'cruel' brings a bit of a reaction out of him, surprise in the shift in his demeanour, the slight lift of his eyebrows. But he mulls it over in his own time, which is not quite as fast as maybe some others' might be, and then nods. "Just... thought maybe I should make sure. You know? Just..." There's a pause, before he commits, perhaps because of how she's watching him, "'cause I got asked some weird questions, other day, so I wanted to be sure you're happy." Faryn is silent for a few minutes, finger moving to scratch the side of her nose, expression troubled. The question is there - waiting, weighted plainly as she opens her mouth - but she seems to be picking her words carefully when she speaks. "What kind of questions?" which for some reason takes precedence over, "By who?" That wait period - that lack of a re-confirmation of 'happy' - makes T'mic shift his weight to his other foot. "All kinds of questions. Favourite colour. How much we do it. Where I'm from. What I want." There are more, but they don't seem immediately reachable, so T'mic just shrugs, and moves on. "Jo. You didn't know?" Almost relief. "No, I didn't know. She's not some mole I sent to ask you questions I don't want to ask you myself. She'd joked about checking you out, I didn't think she would." Faryn's forehead furrows, her expression distracted before makes a psh sound. "What'd you tell her?" She doesn't specify the answer she's looking for. "Well I didn't think you would, but... I dunno. It's not like you say much about this stuff." And he shrugs, and tries to look easy, pushing a hand through his hair. He squints a little, when he tries remembering. "Blue or yellow. And I didn't answer that one. And Benden, obviously. And... I dunno. That was sort of it. I think I told her that things are good. 'Cause they are, right?" "They're fine," Faryn says, looking snappish. "Things are fine. Do you want to sit down and talk about it? We have things to do today." That's a whole 180 from Five-More-Minutes-Faryn who, five minutes ago, was totally available. "I mean, right now, we match up, don't we? We enjoy each other's company, and the sex is great because you were taught by the best," a joke that may fall flat, "and we make time for each other and until about four seconds ago neither of us was insecure. Fucking Jo." "No," is straight-up honesty. The joke... mostly missed, but for a little twitch of a smile that was soon overtaken. "And I'm not being insecure," is all the argumentative prowess of a five-turn-old. "All I want's to be with you, so I just... good, we're good." There's an undeniable edge of frustration in that, and T'mic waves a hand as if to cut off the whole conversation, and turns to go find a shirt. Some girls would squeal with delight and fly into the arms of their boyfriends to hear that. Faryn is not some girls, and she pales a little, noticable even in early morning sunlight because she's so pale already, under all that dark hair. Her hands fall to her sides, slide into her pockets, her eyes on his back as he navigates the weyr. "That's all you want?" she asks, not fighting yet, but apparently not done. "That's a lot, in the scheme of things. What exactly is that?" There are fresh shirts in the clothespress near that ledge bed. He pulls one out, shakes it out, looks at it. Jorrth looks at it, too, and then looks back to Faryn. T'mic gets the shirt on, first, before he turns back to Faryn. He's all calm and steady and T'mic again, at this point. And he shrugs. "Hasn't seemed like too much so far, has it? I mean, gotta work at it sometimes. Jo's right, you are prickly around the edges, but not in the middle." He can't help a little smile, there, though he's certainly not unaware of Faryn's changed body language either. "And we had to wait, but. That's over. It's good." "Don't slander me," Faryn says, the most prickly. Then: "Good," and she's not repeating him but affirming his first statement that really, no, they haven't made it much. She draws a lip into her teeth at the clarifier; 'so far' means, eventually, this will probably happen again. "Let's just...enjoy it, while we can." T'mic still doesn't have socks. But he steps away from that clothespress, and heads directly toward the lip-chewing, prickly woman standing in his weyr. (His and Jorrth's.) It's pretty obvious, in the reach of a hand, in the bending down, that he's going to try kiss her. Which gives her lots of time to escape if she needs it. He should have tried this when she was receptive to staying in bed, curling up and not doing anything, but now his reception is cool. At least Faryn doesn't just dodge him, or worse turn her head to the side in that passive-aggressive way that would mean a kiss at the side of her mouth, and just barely. But she makes it brief, and notes, "We have to go," once she's disengaged. "Jorrth's going to have a coronary." Appeal to dragons, that will work. All this, for T'mic's inability to get past that sheet cocoon. Jorrth blinks, and does not have a coronary, though there is nothing in the dragon's demeanour to suggest he's going to argue with them (finally) leaving the weyr. "Just let me get my socks," says T'mic. Because what will make this less awkward is that extra little delay before he and his blue can drop Faryn off and go on their riderly way. It doesn't, at least, get more awkward. Faryn uses the time he needs for his socks to fetch her boots and tug them on, and locate the satchel she's begun carrying around for all manner of things people are likely to absently pass to her, and when she's ready - which may or may not be faster than T'mic - she ends up waiting near Jorrth, who she gives a warning look to like he might start in too. All until they're on their way. Jorrth will just slowly, ever so slowly, lean, until his side is against Faryn. And keep it that way until T'mic joins them, gets the straps set up, and they leave. |
Contents
Comments
Jo (15:41, 28 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Bwahahahahaha, this was great! I loved the "Fucking Jo." It really sums up the scene nicely. At least T'mic didn't tell her what ALL Jo was asking him. XD
Squishy (22:02, 28 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I don't know how I feel about this. EXCELLENT READ THOUGH!
Alida (01:16, 29 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
- Alida shakes her fist from her ledge* "Damned kids! Dump each other or stay together, but DO something!" ;D
Faryn (04:40, 29 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Hush, Alida, this requires /delicacy/.
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