Logs:It's About Time!
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| RL Date: 2 June, 2015 |
| Who: Itsy, Laine |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Itsy and Laine finally catch up. Things go... well. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| Post-dinner rush, but just barely, the living caverns is brimming with the lively bustle of dish-clattering, utensil-clinking, voice-raising riders and residents (and holders, and crafters, and riff raff, etc). The long table usually reserved for weyrlings, in all their tired-eyed and sorry states, is only sparsely populated tonight. Taking advantage of a stretch of empty seats, Laine has positioned herself as far as possible from the loudest of the group--a gaggle of greenriders, their voices carrying all the lastest and greatest gossip. Clearly not feeling equipped to comment on so-and-so's newest leathers, Laine crams her mouth full and hunches over her plate, looking sullen (or maybe just exhausted). Itsy's been back at the weyr for a while, now (where 'a while' equals more than a sevenday, but fewer than two), though she's been difficult to come by: hiding from the new headwoman is serious business for sailors. Even sailors-in-hiding need to eat, though, and that, presumably, is what brings her to the caverns. Laine-- noticed from across the room-- draws a pause in the red-haired girl; she's more than a little awkward in the way she finally crosses towards her, place held close like a security blanket. "Hi?" Long time no see? While Itsy's been gone, Laine's been working on perfecting her anti-social body language. There's something in the way she's set her shoulders that suggests she's gotten very good at it, too. But something catches her attention out of the corner of one eye (that hair? that hat?) and she looks up, sharply, cheeks still full as she chews, chews. There's something expectant in the way she eyes up Itsy. She swallows. And grins, all lopsided and pleased. "Hi." The weyrling glances kicks out the chair next to her with one foot and pats it. "Saved you a seat." Itsy may not have expected that response-- may have been expecting something worse-- and is thus visibly surprised and pleased, her own mouth widening into a grin to match Laine's as she sets down her plate and accepts the seat. "Been saving it five months?" she wonders. "Or longer?" Beat. "Didn't mean to--" Disappear? Never make good on anything? "Heard you got a brown, though. I got my ship." The roughness of her voice is tempered by obvious, if quiet, pleasure, eyes seeking out from beneath the brim of her hat to stare, outright, at the weyrling. "Five months? Shells, no," Laine laughs outright. "Hardly kept my own head screwed on for a while there, much less manage to save a seat. A little bird told me you were back in town." That grin hikes, something puckish dimpling her cheeks before she steals another bite. She quick to clear it, though, a gulp accompanied by a short, dismissive toss of her head. "Don't worry about it. Didn't miss-- OK, I missed, like--" (is she blushing?) "Well, I mean, you just left, but--" (she buries her nose in her cup, takes a deep drink, but doesn't break that stare) "Ah, hmm, yeah. I got a brown. Lifreyth." Laine clears her throat. "Tell me about your boat. And your five months." She doesn't say it, but there's some eager entreaty there: please. Itsy echoes Laine's laugh, though hers may not be for the same reasons; it's difficult to tell. She's silent, then, listening (and staring and, yes, also blushing), and seems almost at a loss when prompted to speak. "Lifreyth," is how she begins, repeating the brown's name cautiously. And: "Good name. It's a ship, not a boat, though. She's the Pirate Queen II, and she's mine." Itsy is posessive and proud, defiant in her obvious affection for the vessel. "We had some trouble with people not wanting a woman for a captain, but I sorted 'em. She's beautiful. You can meet her, next winter, when we're at Ista." Beat. Blush. "Well, before then too, if you want but we'll definitely go to Ista then." Laine's blush gives way to a flash of gratification at Itsy's careful pronounciation. The weyrling's pride is somewhat more subtle, but one hand lifts to curl possessively around the silver-laced knot on her shoulder. "Ha!" That hand falls back to her lap, twitches for something to do, then finally claims her cup again. "I'll bet you sorted them. Good for you. Did you get to push anyone off a plank?" Since that's what you do on ships, obviously. "Pirate Queen II." It's Laine's turn, now, to repeat, though it's quiet. Then she laughs, again. "Badass. Are you the pirate queen?" Teasing, eyebrows lifting sharply. "Yes," declares Itsy, seriously, though it isn't immediately obvious which part she's responding to: that she pushed someone off a plank? That she is the pirate queen in question? Whichever it is, she seems smugly pleased about it. "Ain't nobody gets away with pulling that kind of shit on my ship," she declares, voice raised ever so slightly, just in case the rest of the caverns wanted to know just how badass this particular pirate is. "We only got in a short trip, though. Just to the islands and back. Next turn'll be better. Real profit. But there's nothing like being at sea, wind in your hair'n'all. You know?" Laine observes that smugness with a bright appreciation, dimples deepening, but she's forced to admit, "Never been on a ship. Like, my brothers and I had a wood dinghy when I was a kid, and there was a pond we rowed around in, but. That doesn't count." She falls silent a moment. "But--we're flying, now. Real flying. Together, Lifreyth and me. So." Laine shrugs, almost self-deprecatingly, and scrubs a hand through her hair. She flushes again, this time looking sheepish, but with grey eyes still fixed on Itsy. "Maybe it's something like that?" Itsy is plainly horrified, pushing away the plate she's not even started on so that she can press one elbow into the table's surface and stare at Laine. "Never? We got to fix that, right? Soon as spring's here." Of flying, she's plainly less certain, awkwardness dropping her gaze for the first time. "Dunno. Only flew the once, and that was-- don't remember much, 'cept it was awful." Storms will do that too you. Going between while dripping wet, too. "It's good, though? You like the flying?" Laine puffs her cheeks full of air, then exhales all at once, leaning back in her chair, visibly daunted. "What if I puke? Or fall into the water? I'm not a very good swimmer. I mean, obviously I'll try it. It sounds awesome," there's that crooked smile again, and Laine tips her body forward again so she can prop both arms on the table, sweeping her own plate out of the way with one forearm. "But only if you come flying with us. Only fair, really." She spreads her hands: a proposal! "Because flying, whoof. Yeah. It's great. Amazing, really. I didn't--I was terrified, first time on a dragon, but it's different when it's your own dragon, like. Something to do with the--" and she lifts one finger to tap at her temple. Then shrugs. "You know?" Itsy, sounding both sure and determined, "You won't." Her smile is broader, elongated in a way that again speaks of smugness, but also deep contentment, even if she's obviously less sure about this flying thing (obviously, Laine is wrong and she is right). "If it'll mean you'll come sailing..." Beat. "But you gotta hold on to me real tight, right?" That was definitely a wink. She reaches, now, to pick up the bread roll from her plate, though seems more interested in pulling it apart than eating it. "Not sure I get the-- head stuff. But sure. I guess?" "Yeah. I'm not sure I get the head stuff, sometimes." Laine chuckles. "But, promise. It's awesome. And we can, you know, take it slow at first. If you're afraid." That spark of teasing light returns, levity softening her words. Swivelling in her chair so she's properly facing Isty (and, hey, if her knees happen to bump into the other girl's, all the better?), Laine extends a hand. "It's a deal." Shake on it? Even if she's all pink again from that wink, she quips in reply to the holding on real tight: "Only if you do when we're on your boat. Ship." Itsy's shoulders straighten, defiant at the very possibility of being afraid (she's not, okay. Not afraid, not even a little!). Knees bumping, her gaze drop towards them, but only for a moment-- then, she reaches to claim Laine's hand, squeezing it within her own, sea-roughened one, and giving a sharp nod. "Deal." It's a promise. "Won't even make you walk the plank, not unless you want to." There, now, is a defiantly quirked grin, one that hints at an implication of something less than PG (somehow). Hand clasped, Laine catches her lower lip in her teeth and gives an gentle, experimental tug on Itsy's arm, turning her own body and pulling herself closer. Her voice drops and she muses, thoughtfully, absently, "I dunno, walking the plank... Sounds kinda fun." As she leans closer still, it's obvious, hopefully, that the weyrling is aiming to land a kiss somewhere, but depending on how quick Itsy's reflexes are there's a good chance it may just end up a chaste air peck to one side of Itsy's head (or somewhere inside all that red hair, maybe). Oh, and: blushing, hot and red, all the while? You bet. Chaste pecks are absolutely no fun at all... so there is no way, despite any lingering nervousness, that Itsy will let that stand. Instead, she uses her free arm to nudge Laine's face towards her own, and from there, to direct that kiss towards mouth-on-mouth, despite the radiating heat of blushing cheeks now coming from both sides. As she draws back-- though not far, her breath still warm upon the other woman's face unless Laine has immediately pulled away-- she adds, "Reckon maybe I can make that work." There's a little sigh when they break apart, and for a long moment, Laine doesn't do much at all, except bring her other hand up and brush away a stray braid of red-brown hair with a curious little half-smile. Then, finally, there's a quiet, self-satisfied: "Huh." Her shoulders drop as a realization comes, and with it, chagrin. And another sigh, this time plaintive. "Gonna have to wait until spring?" Itsy lets out a little sigh of her own as Laine brushes away that braid; that she's pleased, that this was good, is plainly obvious. Laine's plaintiveness draws a smile that's even broader, as the sailor reaches to squeeze the weyrling's knee. "You got me here until spring," she points out. "Reckon that makes it all worthwhile, don't it? We can fly, before then. Whatever you like, y'know?" There's a gleam in those eyes of hers, now, luminous beneath the rim of her hat-- which has slid backwards, now, as a result of that kiss. Laine's captured knee does a back-and-forth wobble and she drops her hand to cover Itsy's. "'Til spring. That's a ways away." If it seemed bothersome seconds ago, now Laine appears to be relishing the idea. Her expression turns coy, and she adds with the idleness of someone pointing out something definitely, totally, completely unrelated, "We get our own weyrs, soon. Out of the barracks, so." You know. That's a thing. Itsy's gaze drops towards their combined hands, that smile threatening to grow broader still; she doesn't do coy very well, at least, not at this moment, but she's definitely well pleased when she glances up again. "Do you. Never seen a proper one before. Only the flight one. Maybe you'll better give me a tour, mmm?" There is definitely something suggestive in that last remark, matched by the arch of her brows and the curve of her smile... not to mention the way her fingertips lightly stroke the other woman's knee. "Mmm," Laine agrees with a faint nod, her own eyes dropping to that hand on her knee, eyebrows ticking higher. "And doesn't hurt to have someone around to help, you know, move furniture." There's a poorly-suppressed grin curling her lips, just aching to break out, and it's probably pretty clear from her tone that Laine doesn't have redecorating in mind. Her eyes follow Itsy's down to their hands, Laine's knee--but when the weyrling looks up again, it's with a pained expression and a bitten-back curse. "I gotta... He needs me." She moves to half-stand, but not before she leans forward, seeking another kiss before she goes. "Reckon I can--" manage that, probably, suggests Itsy's smirk, but Laine is already moving on, and not in a happy fun way. The sailor's smile falters, disappointed, but it doesn't mean she can't lean in to that kiss-- got to make it a good one!-- or, afterwards, promise, "See you soon, right? Not months, this time. You... say hi for me?" But she won't keep the weyrling, withdrawing her hands and waving her away. |
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Roz (20:58, 3 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
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