Logs:Funny Lady
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| RL Date: 23 May, 2013 |
| Who: Alida, Wheatley |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Wheatley tries to have lunch with Alida. Key word here is tries. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 11, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Thanks to Alida for letting me wipe Wheatley's newness on her! |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr 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. Even not terribly social people need to eat, and since Alida's weyr isn't connected to the kitchens, she can be found in the vast cavern, stepping away from the chow line with her plates upon tray loaded up with yummy autumnal food fare. A tall mug of cider and a small one of klah bracketing her noms, the weyrling makes her way through the small throng, giving a person here and there a polite nod...the bluie searching for a more quiet spot in the din. Surely, Alida will manage to find herself that quiet spot. If not quiet, a freshly emptied table might hold some allure for the bluerider. Whatever peace she's managed to find will be shattered, a heavy tray dropped in front of the seat directly next to hers. "Hey!" Wheatley greets with a wide smile that speaks of all sorts of familiarity-- nonexistent as it is between them. "Good spread today, huh?" He would know, as it looks as though he's heaped a bit of everything onto his two plates. Just when she was relaxing. Great. Alida was just *about* to lift her gaze to take in the sights before chowing down - the young woman having finished laying out her spread before her, and buttering her nice chunk of freshly-baked bread - and now she's jerking her intense greens up to the whirlwind who's suddenly spun into being at her table. The bluie's glare is accompanied by a near-instant hand-move towards one of her belt-knives, the pull of it thankfully aborted as she takes in the aspect of the interloper for a moment...then looks down at her food again with a stiff headshake. That grin stays, if not widens with surprise at Alida's reaction. Wheatley's brows climb to dramatic heights when faced with her glare, "What?" Deep voice rasps with surprise, a humorous crack proving it's newness, "No good? Why'd you get so much, then? I thought girls cared about getting fat. You've got a long way to go, so I guess you're not worried?" He drops into the seat next to her, grabbing his own chunk of bread and piling some food onto it. Vegetables, mashed tubers and a hunk of meat... it's all going in the same place anyway. "Yer loud..." Alida notes with little left-over politeness, her hard, and fast way of speaking leaving her alto even more clipped as she deigns to respond to Wheatley at all. Grumble, nom. After a moment, her eyes still not meeting his, the weyrling - still working on her social skills - lips off a low, "Shallow *girls* do." She neither the first nor the second. Unlike the youth, the bluerider feeds neatly, but with similar enthusiasm, her stomach growling to let everyone know how hungry she is. So Wheatley gets quiet. He finishes his food-pile, smile opening even wider to take off a clean chunk, thankfully not as noisy when he's eating. There are some manners, but if he messes his cheek it's wiped away with the back of his hand before knuckles hit a napkin. Is Alida still there? He seems surprised, chewing once or twice before speaking around a mouthful, "Pretty sure you're not a boy." He's made sure from afar, but if Alida's willing to argue he'll ease to the side for an unsubtle second look. Blessed silence! Well, it's relative, given all the talking and sounds of food being served about them, but at least Alida's own private space is mellow. Until Wheatley breaks said silence once again. His comment has the weyrling now glaring a pair of green daggers into his dark eyes, her alto noting with an almost casual insolence, "Pretty sure *yer* a git." If his second 'look' comes to make certain of her gender, the bluie will take her fork, and suddenly jam it brutally into the wood - tines down - between them with a lightning-fast reaction. "Well--" He drawls, making it all the more obvious when her display of forkery cuts him off at the pass. Thick brows higher than before he stares at Alida with horror that borders on the obnoxious, the occasional twitch of his lips perhaps telling. "Well," Wheatly begins again, delivery wavering as he holds back his laughter, "I may be a git, but I know tables aren't for eating." Not clever, not meant to be, he finally allows himself a laugh at no one's expense in particular. He'll recover, reminded to use his own fork by her display and shoves in a mouthful of steamed vegetables, "I'm Lee." "And forks aren't usually fer shovin' up people's asses, either," Alida clips off, her greens staring cold promises into Wheatley's browns, the woman then deftly prying her utensil out of the wood, and then giving it a suggestive shove upward in the air between them before stabbing it into her food again. His offered name isn't replied to in any fashion. Swallowing quickly, her threat met with a sudden bark of a laugh, "Good one!" Wheatley can appreciate the inventive comeback, never mind that he's the victim implied in such a thing. Her visual aid has him choking back a snort, forkful dropped onto the plate, "C'mon, don't. I've gotta eat before I get back to the laundry." Or whatever it is they'll have him doing today in the caverns. "So, what's your name Funny Lady?" He clearly does *not* get it, and Wheatley's continued humor shows this. After a moment to rein in her growing irritation, Alida lifts one finger in the perennial sign of 'a moment, please' to the youth, and then resettles all of her dinner onto her tray, then standing in a scrape of wooden chair legs upon stone. "I'm 'Yer Worst Nightmare'...if you don't leave me the fuck alone..." is growled with intent, the weyrling then turning and striding away through the crowd. Wheatley is happy to oblige, giving Alida as many moments as she needs while he busies himself with eating. He almost doesn't notice her plate returning to that tray, slowing him down until he's aiming a confused tilt to his head at the weyrling. This time he doesn't get a chance to ask, sitting back in his seat as Alida makes her displeasure obvious, even to the likes of him. "But I was just..." He tries, but the woman's already got her back to him by the time he finds his voice. A moment longer of that hurt confusion, and then back to the meal at hand. Oh food, is there no situation you can't salvage? And Alida? She's going out to the Bowl to settle within the span of Ilicaeth's forearms, and be 'soothed' back to her former state by the blue...who also gives her kudos on *not* backhading Wheately. |
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