Logs:Like
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| RL Date: 22 December, 2015 |
| Who: Lys, P'tras, Evyth, Riennath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lys comes to hang out with her friend, Pip. ... who likes her. |
| Where: P'tras' Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jocelyn/Mentions, V'ret/Mentions |
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| Evyth's request is polite to Riennath: her rider would like to come up and see P'tras. May she? Only once permission is granted does the younger green pair take flight from their ledge, the sunset catching the pretty color of the rotund green's wings, and make a neat landing. Lys is fairly quick to dismount though it takes her some moments to remove a sewing basket from where it was trapped in a mesh bag on the straps. Riennath is on a far side of her ledge when Evyth arrives. She warbles a kind greeting to the pair of them, and it's only a few moments later that P'tras appears from the wallow to meet the other greenrider. "Hey, Lys," will do for his greeting. "Is... everything okay?" He glances at her boots, whether they're the ones he gave her or not, just to make sure they haven't exploded or anything. "Yeah," Lys answers the curly haired man almost immediately, no need to worry him. She's looking at her sewing basket, checking that nothing's come loose in the journey. Then she's turning toward him with a smile, a real smile, a friendly smile. "Do you have time tonight to just hang out? I'm not wingleader anymore. And I thought offering to do some mending for you might be more useful than making you a sachet, so..." She holds up her sewing basket. Here she is. P'tras draws his lower lip between his teeth, looking at Lys, glancing back into the wallow, and then nodding. "Yeah, sure. I've got plenty of time." He returns a smile, a little uncertain as he eyes her sewing basket, then starts to turn to lead the way into his weyr. "You really don't have to do anything like that, you know." But it's not like he's going to tell her to go away or anything. "I never did have to do anything, but I've wanted to, and you just don't listen when I say that," Lys replies with a pointed look that's half teasing. "Listen, I'm-- sorry." Apologies are awkward. "I didn't mean to snap at you the way I did at the bar. I just-- was surprised and then afraid and then defensive and then angry and then--- Anyway. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you when you were just being a good friend." Sort of. Go with it, Pip, it's probably for the best. "You don't need to apologize. It's fine. I shouldn't have said anything, maybe. At least not that way. But I was... surprised, I guess." P'tras doesn't seem entirely sure why he was surprised, granted, but he probably wouldn't tell her even if he was. "Make yourself at home," he offers once they're properly inside, but he doesn't take his own advice, standing near the Msofa. "Do you want a drink or anything?" "Yes, I do," is firm and simple. "Just because it was the first I heard about him wanting-- well, more than-" she blushes prettily but doesn't finish that thought adding, "and hearing it not from him, it's no reason to maim the messenger, particularly since you've only ever been nice to me." This is Nice Lys retuning the favor. "A drink would be nice, thanks, Pip," comes with another of her softer, real smiles and she settles on his couch, setting her basket at her feet. He won't argue. In fact, he looks like he might be doing his best to ignore any blushing and anything else that has to do with bronzerider, no matter how futile that might be. That he chooses one of his better liquors to offer her almost certainly means he's trying to be vaguely impressive. Or that he's just a nice person. That's probably it. He hands off a drink to her, then settles in further down the couch. Whether he wants to actually know or not, he asks, "So did you work everything out?" She accepts the drink and sniffs then sips, giving him an appreciative smile (it's working!). Lys leans back against the couch mulling over the question. "Not exactly," she admits. "Things seem to get more complicated, not less." There's a little sigh for that. "But I guess since I'm not wingleader anymore, I'll have time to figure it out, if I can." She looks down at her glass a moment before saying quietly, "I wasn't prepared for anyone to want me." That's paired with, "Do you keep a basket for your mending or should I raid your closet and look for holes?" which doubtlessly means she's not certain how much she should be saying. "Hopefully." There's P'tras with a smile, trying to be supportive. "Don't know why anyone wouldn't want you," he says, taking a drink from his own glass before setting it aside and glancing toward his bedroom cavern. "I haven't been very good at separating anything. But I can probably find something that could use some work." It's resigned, if still appreciative of the thought. "Evy would agree with you," is given wryly even as Lys stands. "But I just wasn't. It's not something that makes much sense to me." She doesn't presently elaborate on why that is, but rather gestures toward his bedroom, "Let's find something." Apparently she and her drink are coming too. And P'tras won't make her talk about it. He stands up, grabbing his glass before heading toward his bedroom. It's fairly nice as bedrooms go, a decent-sized bed, a wardrobe and dresser along with a nightstand. He moves to the wardrobe to open it, but ends up basically standing there staring at his relatively unimpressive array of clothes. "I think I have a shirt that had a few buttons pulled off and a weird tear. Just have to find it. Don't wear your favorite clothes when you expect your dragon to rise." Friendly advice from one greenrider to another. "What's that like?" Lys asks the friendly advice giving greenrider after a moment's pause, her expression turning vulnerable. "Flights. We haven't had our lectures yet, but... I mean, everyone knows they're coming and that they'll encourage us to talk to people. Would you mind? Talking to me, that is." It's actually a pretty sweet asking, given that this is Lys. "What's it like." He repeats the question like he's not sure how to answer it. He looks at Lys as if that might help him decide how to proceed, then P'tras turns back to the wardrobe, setting his glass down on the bottom so he can start going through the shirts to find the one in question. "I don't mind. It depends on your dragon, I think. Ri gets kind of uncomfortable with the attention when she starts going proddy. But how I feel is kind of unpredictable. The flight itself is kind of nice. People want you, even if it's not real." "That-- sounds uncomfortable," Lys frowns a little as she leans on the doorway, not actually trespassing into the bedroom itself. "It would be nice if only one person wanted you and you wanted to be wanted by that person." She might be speaking in general, but it could as easily apply to flights. Her arms fold under her chest, the hand holding her drink on top. "It's true that you get all types? Men, women, rough, gentle, whatever?" P'tras pulls a shirt out of the wardrobe and holds it up to make sure it's the one he thought it was. "Here we go." He throws it over his shoulder and picks up his glass to make his way back out as he continues, "I don't mind being wanted by anyone. Or I wouldn't, I guess, if anyone wanted me." He tries a smile that turns out mostly wry, just a hint of self-deprecation. "All sorts, yeah. Think there's more decent than not, I think. And your bits are more durable than mine, in any case." He goes back to the couch to sit after draping the shirt over the end where closer to where Lys had been. "No one does?" This idea seems to perplex Lys. She lifts her brows at the other greenrider, genuinely curious. She follows him back and sits, drinking her drink before setting it aside so she can take up the shirt and examine it. "I don't suppose you happen to have found the buttons?" "No one does?" This idea seems to perplex Lys. She lifts her brows at the other greenrider, genuinely curious. She follows him back and sits, drinking her drink before setting it aside so she can take up the shirt and examine it. "I don't suppose you happen to have found the buttons?" He makes a noncommittal sound but doesn't offer an answer, perhaps assuming it's rhetorical. "Shit. Yes. Sorry, I'll get them." P'tras sets his glass back down and pops back up to open a drawer in the other room and start searching for wherever it is he has the buttons. Some buttons, anyway. He returns with a small pouch with a small assortment of various buttons. "They don't need to match perfectly," he says as he sits back down sideways on the couch, dumping buttons onto the cushion between them so he can start looking through them. Lys looks after him puzzledly as he goes. When he comes back, she waits for him to sit down before she asks, "You don't have a boyfriend?" P'tras seems just as puzzled by the question. He looks up from the buttons with a furrow in his brows. "No? Why... would you think that?" "I don't know. You're cute and nice, and a little weird, but not in a bad way," Lys is still looking at him, puzzled. "I'd have thought it would be easy for you. To find someone." She sounds earnest, really. Lest she make him (more) uncomfortable with her continued gaze, she looks down to the buttons and reaches out with a hand to help pick through them. "Oh." Oh. That's all. P'tras has to think about that for a couple of moments, moments where his green eyes are on the buttons, watching her hand sort through them more than helping her with the task. Then he glances back up at her. "You think I'm cute?" Lys looks back up from the buttons, her lips pursed just slightly and eyes a little narrowed as if she's trying to tell if perplexed. Maybe the question is a trap? After a moment she tilts her head a little, and says, "Yeah?" but uncertainly, not because she's uncertain about if she thinks that, but rather-- didn't she just say that? The reassurance makes the greenrider smile. There might even be a hint of color in his cheeks, but they're drinking, so that probably doesn't mean anything. "That's nice to hear. Thanks. I think you're cute, too." P'tras picks out a button to set aside, and starts putting away ones that would looks weird with the ones still attached to the shirt. Sighing is probably not the right reaction. "I could do with-- no, I guess I couldn't do with less of that, but it would be nice if I knew what I wanted in the face of that, you know?" Lys is probably not talking about Pip's opinion specifically, since that's pretty straight-forward. "I could do alternating buttons, instead of just a couple that are different," she suggests, "if we can find enough of the same kinds that look good together." Between the sigh and what she says, P'tras is looking a little more uncertain again. His focus drops more intensely to the buttons. "Right. Sorry." He pauses before continuing, "Whatever you think would look good. Just be happy to wear it again without the rip, honestly. This one might work." He says the last as he picks out another button to add to the first. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault my-- ugh, that I even have a love life and that it's complicated." Lys gives up on the search for buttons so she can take another drink. "Have you ever had to choose between two people? Two people that said they want everything and wouldn't want less?" P'tras is quite capable of finding the last button. And since it's easier to look busy doing that instead of staring at Lys, that's what he does. "No." Simple as that. He picks out one last button to set aside, then starts putting the rest of them away kind of slowly, perhaps deliberately not looking at the other greenrider now. "Oh," is awkward. Lys is blushing. She sets her drink hastily aside and leans down to pick up her sewing basket drawing it into her lap to fiddle with it in silence. Awkward, awkward silence. "Sorry you're having trouble. You'll figure it out." P'tras, so very comforting. Once he's finished putting away the buttons, he sets the pouch aside and gets up to fetch the bottle. He... they might need it. "You make me kind of nervous," is more or less blurted when Pip pauses instead of sitting back down on the couch, holding the bottle of booze by the neck. "Yeah, I guess," Lys says it distractedly, and might not even be thinking about the next murmur, "Never been in love before. Not even sure if this is what that feels like." Given that he's going to fetch the bottle, it might be missed entirely, and that might be for the best. Her eyes do come up to look surprised at the other greenrider. "I do? Why?" He stares at her sewing stuff, glancing up briefly to her face, then he sits back down, putting the bottle on the side table. "I don't know. You're kind of... intimidating. I don't know how to explain it. I guess it's kind of weird to know how many people already have your attention, too." Because it leaves little chance for P'tras to earn it. "And love." He doesn't say it like it's a good thing. Lys blinks at him, "I don't think I understand. I thought-- we're friends? Isn't... don't friends talk about--?" She blinks some more, blush reappearing. "Sorry, I didn't-- don't mean to make you uncomfortable." Even if she's good at it. "We are. Yeah. Sorry." P'tras slouches down into the couch, turning slightly so he can look at her without too much issue, but not so much that he's staring at her because she's in that line of view. "I'm not uncomfortable. I'm fine. Really. I just... I like you. But that's my problem, not yours." Lys stills at P'tras' admission, but after a breath her fingers continue the delicate task of threading her needle. After another breath, she asks quietly, "When you say 'like me', what do you mean by that?" His expression says he's definitely thinking about how to answer the question, and that probably means he's considering not being totally honest. "Never mind. It's not important." P'tras looks toward the cold hearth. Time to change the subject. "Have you been sewing for a long time?" Lys' look is disbelieving. "If it wasn't important, you wouldn't have said it," like everything that comes out of Pip's mouth is. "How am I supposed to understand if you won't explain?" "I say things all the time that I shouldn't say," counters the young man, glancing back at Lys like she should know that about him even if they don't know each other all that well. But P'tras is familiar enough with her by now that he gives in sooner rather than later. "I just meant that I think you're pretty and interesting, and if you weren't neck deep in complicated people..." He pauses, frowns, then shrugs. "Like I said. It's not important." "You're not gay?" The question pops out before Lys thinks. "What?" P'tras sort of sounds like he doesn't know what the word means. And then he has an emphatic, but not defensive, "I'm not gay. I mean, I've been with guys. Outside of flights." Important distinction. "But... I like girls just as much. More, maybe, sometimes. Why would you think I was?" Lys is blushing again, though who could say why? "I don't know," is a defensive verbal flail, "you're a male greenrider and--" doesn't that explain it? It doesn't explain it at all, judging by his expression. "What?" Again. P'tras is confused. "What does being a male greenrider have to do with anything?" He can guess what she's getting at, of course. "You know there are bronzeriders who fuck guys more than girls, right?" This makes some sort of point. Lys' hands abandon her needle and thread in favor of pushing through her hair in a motion that can only indicate some measure of stress. "How would I know any of that? All I know is what people say. I don't have a dick to go around testing what people say for myself. And I would know least of all anyway because I was a virgin until like a seven ago!" Her hand clap over her mouth, comically, as soon as it's been said, her cheeks burning a deep crimson. P'tras looks at Lys with renewed uncertainty when that slips out. How's he supposed to react? Probably not with the question that he asks. "V'ret?" Defending his sexuality suddenly seems less important. Lys might prefer he didn't react at all. In the next moments, she's starting to put her things into sewing basket again, like she might be getting ready to run away. "Sorry, Pip. I shouldn't have said anything. I don't even know why I said it." She didn't say 'yes'... Or did she? Her blush is deeper her gaze flitting anywhere that isn't Pip himself. "Lys. I'm sorry. It's none of my business. You can say or not say whatever you want." P'tras doesn't ask her not to go in those explicit words, but he's leaning forward now and doesn't seem to like the fact that she's putting everything away even though he said she didn't have to use it in the first place. Lys' hands still and she casts a glance toward P'tras, expression vulnerable, upset, and not liking the inner reflection of those feelings one bit. "It's-- whatever. It's just sex, right? It shouldn't matter." Only it clearly does. "I kind of thought I had to provoke him into it. Because things got weird for us, after that day at the bar, so I dressed sexy and went to his place and--" She sighs, hands coming up to scrub over his face. "I didn't expect for him to want everything... or for me to want to give it to him. And maybe that wouldn't even be so complicated if--" She breaks off, and makes a frustrated sound. "And I shouldn't even be telling you this, because you just told me that you like me, and it's pretty much a really bitchy awful thing to be talking about another guy to you." That ends with a miserable, "I'm sorry, Pip." P'tras listens quietly, gaze on his hands more than looking at her so his expressive face doesn't convey exactly how her words affect him. This must be something he's used to doing when he's not drunk. "You don't have to apologize," is where he comes in. "It's fine. He seems okay, I guess. If he wants everything and you want to give him everything, that doesn't seem very complicated to me." "Oh, Pip," is soft, still apologetic. Lys sets her basket down and moves to sweep up the buttons and put them back where they're contained, save the painstakingly picked out once before she scoots down the couch toward him. "I do. I'm sorry. I'm not available, that way. If I were, I would ask you for a date." She sounds earnest and maybe that counts for something. "It's complicated. He's not the only one that wants everything and I don't know how to respond to that. I don't even really know how to respond to this," she makes a gesture between the two of them and then, trying for some humor she adds, "How'm I doing?" with this. He glances at her uncertainly when she starts actually moving down the couch, but it's not like he's going to shy away from her or anything, right? "You don't need to say that, either. Just... forget I said anything, okay? I always ruin things by saying stupid shit like that." Woe is P'tras. He seems more frustrated with himself than anything, though. "You're doing fine. Kind of sounds like you need to figure out you, though." "I'm not just saying it, Pip. I wouldn't say it if it weren't true. I'm-- I'm sorry." She really is. "I don't even know where to start figuring out me. I didn't ever expect to include-- I mean, I was just going to sleep with whoever would have me so that I knew what to expect for flights. I didn't expect to feel things." Ugh, feelings. Lys sighs. "Should I go? Do you want me to?" Now that things are complicated and stupid? Whether it's because he doesn't think she needs to say thing she doesn't mean or because he doesn't want her to say things she does, P'tras has little response to what she says this time. He doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know how to be useful to her right now. But the last makes him look up at her with uncertain concern. "Do you want to go?" Is his first question, but he quickly follows it with, "That might be best." Not that he wants that, but he can be practical. "If I'm making you uncomfortable," Lys seems to assume she is and isn't happy about it. She scoots back down the couch to finish collecting her things, and his shirt and the buttons. P'tras watches her as she works on collecting the rest of her things. He certainly doesn't look happy, but he doesn't say anything to stop her. The tell-tale sounds of a dragon outside draw his attention that way for a moment, and then he's not looking at Lys anymore. "You can leave the shirt in here when you're done," he says, giving her an excuse not to see him again anytime soon. "Or... we'll work something out." Because he could pick it up, too, not make her do anything. "You don't want to see me again?" Lys blinks at him, expression hurt. "Fine, okay," she hurriedly says, "whatever works. Sorry." Again. And then she's hurrying to the ledge. "Lys," murmurs P'tras as he rises from the couch as she heads for the ledge. But her name barely makes it out as a whisper, and he doesn't repeat himself. Riennath is in her wallow now, and turns her quickly whirling eyes on the weyrling greenrider when Lys appears from the inner weyr. There's a worried warble to go with it, but then her attention turns toward the hole in the wall where her rider doesn't appear. In the end, it's Evyth who reaches for Riennath, her mind perplexed and roiling with shared emotions and confusion. « She doesn't know how to not hurt him. She's so sorry. » Maybe saying as much, again, will help somehow. Rienneth seems concerned, but calmly so, not willing to let emotion get away from her. « There's nothing to be sorry for. He doesn't blame her for anything. And he doesn't want to complicate anything else for her. He's going to be okay. » There's a fondness in the last. Who would know better than his dragon? Evyth doesn't seem wholly satisfied with that, but she can't fix it, so she launches from the ledge once Lys has her things stowed and herself strapped in with only a little feeling of farewell for the other green. |
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