Logs:Honest Conversation
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| RL Date: 17 April, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tomic sits on the diving cliff. Irianke comes upon him and they chat. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow
clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn,
graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a
reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl
are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to
the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting
some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the
thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy
the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the
bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the
careful to get the job done.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly
warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the
air.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Irianke F 37 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 0s
Tomic M 20 6'4" broad, black hair, brown eyes 1s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Lake Shore
>------------------------------------------< 22D 7M 37T I10, summer dusk >---< Diving wouldn't be recommended, at this time of day. The light is failing, now, Rukbat having dipped behind the Weyr's rim, and the water below is hard to see, as any obstacles in it might also well be. It's okay for Tomic, though, who's simply sitting on the edge of the ledge, his (bare) feet dangling off into the abyss (kicking slightly), his hands in his lap, and his eyes, for the moment at least, up to watch the changing colour of the sky. It's peaceful, despite some dragons and people in or around the lake below. Irianke's upward trek to the cliff is marked by a folk song of the desert, melodic and eerie at the same time. It's in a dialect that's undecipherable, or else it's just that heavily accented. The goldrider's sandals slap lightly against her side and each other, her bare feet padding easily against the ground until she comes up just short of where Tomic sits and looks out, out, out. Out into that sun-descending dusk sky and then lets her song lapse. "Beautiful," she finally utters. Well, she doesn't surprise him, anyway. By the time Irianke's up there, Tomic has turned around, one leg coming for balance, and whatever it is he's got in his hands lifting up a bit closer to his chest. "Yeah, guess so," he greets in return, squinting for recognition, which must come around fairly soon for the tacked on, "ma'am." "Quiet too." Until she arrived, and the self-deprecating smile Irianke fashions, visible in the night's rose-tinted light might hold an apology for breaking that peaceful, nominal, silence. She should ask him if he minds company, she should, and yet she doesn't, instead tossing her sandals on the ground and picking a patch of cliff to dangle her own legs off the edge of not too far from the young man. "You're a candidate for the clutch." Tomic nods a little for the first comment. "Mostly, ma'am. The Weyr's never really all quiet though." It's said almost as an attempt to comfort, needed or not. "Is it," is only a bit of an afterthought. He wrings his hands a little, around that braided bit of string he's holding. "Yes, ma'am." A beat. "Do you know all of us?" "I know all your faces." Irianke leans back against her hands facing in an opposite direction from Tomic, though she speaks to him. "I sketch quick portraits when I can and try to make sure I can put names to faces easily. It was something I was trained to do because I am," the woman confesses through a smile that's heard in the amusement of her voice, "Absolutely horrible with names most of the time." In the light of the setting sun, her eyes close and a deep breath precedes, "Tomic, is it?" "Yes ma'am," acknowledges his name. Tomic tilts his head a little bit to one side. "Never heard of doing sketches to remember people," has something earthily amused in it. He looks down to that braid he's got. And then, back out over the cliff, letting his one foot join the other and resume its kicking, more at ease. "Are you good at the sketches?" Irianke can laugh at that, an easy sound that seems relieved to be released again. "It might give you an indication of what a hopeless case my Weyrwoman thought I was. She expected me to be able to know which dignitary she was about to speak to, which rider from which Weyr, without having her dragon ask, because that would be beneath her." The once Igen woman exhales again. Good times. Good times. "I've a decent hand. There's not much else to do when you're traveling from trading post to trading post when you're not driving the caravan other than sing, find something useful to do with your hands, or make love." It might be hard to see Tomic's eyes widen a bit. It should be easier to see him shake his head, and lift those big shoulders of his for a shrug. "I, um. I guess. Ma'am." His feet had paused toward the end of her... story... but now they resume their motion. "Are you going to go back to your Weyrwoman," seems a safe question to ask, "after?" Irianke's arms let go, causing her to fall backwards onto the ground and look directly up at the sky. "There are a lot of people who depend on me at Igen." Beat. "There are a lot of people who are depending on me here now. Honestly," and for whatever reason, the goldrider confesses this to Tomic, "I'm not sure how welcome I'd be back at Igen now after..." Well, after, after everything. "But whoever the next Weyrwoman is, perhaps she'll be kind and send me somewhere else I might be needed if she has no use for an aging junior." Tomic considers that for a moment, nodding, though more as an action of processing than instant understand. "Well," he prompts at last, looking over to the goldrider next to him, his feet stilling once more, if only for the purpose of stability, "do you want to stay here?" Silence. Just uneven breathing and the din of chatter below. "I... don't know," responds Irianke. "It's been too long since what I've wanted ever mattered that I stopped thinking about it." Silence again after she's spoken, while Tomic thinks through that. His fingers worry away at that little braid. Perhaps because she's confided in him, or simply because of his own nature, he offers (albeit carefully and slowly) to the goldrider, "Some of my friends, they think that dragons will let them do... anything. Almost." But he shakes his head. "I'm not sure if it's like that. I know I'm not the only one, but..." "Look," Irianke interjects after he's finished speaking, her hand lifting up to point out the night's first visible twinkle. Her arm slowly drops down, slipping under her neck. "Dragons free you from your prior life, it's true. They give you the freedom to blink between and be across the continent before you could think of what to do there. But..." There's always a but. "But?" asks Tomic. Far be it from him to interrupt a weyrwoman, especially now he's actually getting the hang of this whole rank structure thing. "But. But. I only know my experiences." Irianke starts, pushing herself up from the ground again, hands digging into the dirt. "There's always hierarchy, and there's always rank. If you lack rank and don't seek it, listen well, then it's likely no one will care what you do in your free time. If you attain rank or seek it. Life is just different when people seem to depend on what you wear, say, or do impacts whether they eat well for the season or not." Tomic shakes his head, and lets go of that braid with one hand, so that it can go back behind him, and help brace him in his sit. "I don't think I'm going to get that. Definitely not like you." A little laugh from him, and then, "I got to touch that one, though. The big one." And then, he's sitting up, aware again. "Hey, is it true we only get to wear the shoes and the robes on the sands, and that's it?" Oh right. "Ma'am?" "That was you?" Irianke burst into a head thrown back laughter, not unlike the one during an earlier meeting with the weyrharper. "Oh. Oh, Tomic." The goldrider pushes herself up even more and swings her legs back onto solid ground, turning to look squarely at the candidate. "You can wear underwear too, if that's what concerns you." He just looks earnest, in the face of that laugh. "I just wanted to see it. Didn't mean anything else." But then, he's shaking his head. "No, that's not what I'm worried about." Tomic is free and easy. Or, willing to be. He lifts up that little braid in his lap. "I don't even know if it'll go all the way around my wrist, but." More softly, "The kids made it for me." Something in his earnestness makes her need to explain, but then there's his comment. "Ask one of your friends to twine it in your hair. To the side, in the back. If it's too much trouble to get out, no one will ask you to." Irianke then adds, "I wasn't laughing at you. Well no, I did, but your actions were a welcome distraction to one of my earlier meetings today." "Oh. Well... Good, I guess." It's decided, in the end, with a rather definitive nod. Now that hand drops, braid and all, to the stone. Both hands there now, and Tomic pushes himself back from the ledge a bit. "I will, ma'am. Have them do that." The smile he gives her is calm, if not quite as easy as it so often otherwise tends to be. "Thank you." Irianke's, "You're welcome," is quickly followed by a more curious, "For what?" Tomic gets his feet up beneath him, more for the purpose of rolling forward onto his knees, where he remains for a moment. "Answering my question." And then, more importantly, "Letting me have it with me. You know, I'm not trying to get away from my life. That's now how come I'm... here." Now, he does stand up, slowly, a bit stiff from the cold stone. "Enjoy your night, Irianke." He hasn't forgotten, "Ma'am." "No," Irianke allows, her voice quieter for that, "Not everyone is getting away from their life. Good night, Tomic. Thank you for the honest conversation." |
Comments
Alida (04:27, 18 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Enjoyable honesty to read. :)
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