Logs:Misplaced Cats And Names
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 October, 2015 |
| Who: Telavi, Rategar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi is in search of someone with a cat in a bag. Rat's a little helpful. |
| Where: Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions |
  |
| It's a good evening in the common room that one would find Rategar. The candidate must be shirking something, for all that he's lounging about, listening in on one of the nannies in the room. She's surrounded by seated kids, telling a story, and the man watches her closely as she goes through the ending of it- "...and girl and her family was saved by the dragonriders of High Reaches Weyr," she concludes to the glassy-eyed boys and girls, rapt with attention on her. "That girl made a promise that one day, she was going to be like H'gir and Impress herself a dragon, too." A girl who has Impressed a dragon, albeit a girl who who has never, ever, ever wanted to be like H'-doesn't-matter, stalks into the common room with her long braids dripping down her back and right onto the sweater that used to be dry. Even her slim-fitting trous show a horizontal demarcation across the hips from dry to wet to not as wet, where a jacket must have been removed and a dragon sat upon. She ignores the nanny after a swift, green-eyed look, and her children too, so long as they don't get in her way. She's also holding a small sack away from her body. It's the taller of the men in the large room that she looks at, though not in a nice pick-me-up way; rather, "Thars?" she interrogates the first and second, lips drawing back in a not-quite-smile when each denies it. "Tharsson?" Rategar's next. Rat snorts at the story, seeming to find some fault in it before Telavi's entrance steals away his attention. The candidate watches her while the nanny seems to be entering the question-and-answer part of the meet. When she gets to him with that name, "Who's Tharsson?" he asks her in his Bitran accent, looking at that small sack with interest. "Someone I should know?" Her eyes sharpen down at him-- Bitran-- and she leans for a better look; if one of those sodden braids should swing over his knee, well, she doesn't attend to it at all. "He," Telavi declaims, "Owns this." She swings the sack, slightly. It moves. It mews. "Beyond that, I don't know. He might go by Thars. He might, for all I know, be Thar's son." "Do you have a cat in that bag?" Rat makes sure to keep his voice low in case it attracts the kids. "What's wrong with owning a cat? How do you even know the cat belongs to this Thars person?" because, he can seem like he's defending a person he doesn't even know, looking dubiously at her. "You are a smart man." Not that her tone, Benden as it is, sells that proposition in the slightest; quite to the contrary. Her braid drips. She shakes it back over her shoulders. "Let's just say he... inherited it," and here Tela's smile emerges, wide and brilliant. Poor Thars. "What's your name?" "About time someone around here notices," Rat is open in saying that piece without any humbleness. "Inherited," he echoes. "How do you inherit a cat? Is that a Weyr thing?" Pause. "Rat," he answers her now with a nod, his study seeming to be taken her in. "You are?" "Ugh." Apparently it's an ugh thing. "You are a candidate, aren't you. Rat. I'm sure you don't get teased about that at all. I'm Tela." Telavi, who is presently ignoring the next hapless mew, quieter this time as though the poor beast is resigned to whatever she plans to do with it. Telavi, whose dimples come only momentarily out of hiding. "If you Impress, you'll get to call me 'ma'am.'" "It's Rategar, actually," Rat states, rather proud of his name. "I just like being called Rat. Rats aren't really bad creatures. Tela. You don't seem mean. Well met." He looks down at the hastily-planted white knot sitting on his shoulder when she says the last, and when he looks at her, "Do I. How's that so, Tela?" "If only you lived at Hold 'Gar,'" Telavi muses, amused. "Why should I seem mean? Just because I'm Quinlys'," not his, "assistant when I take R'hin's knot off." She sways the sack forward, over but well above his lap, waiting for recognition to spark for weyrlingmaster or wingleader, before letting it return toward her; poor feline. "But I should get this back." "Most women here seem to be," Rat notes on meaness, though he doesn't really seem affronted at the moment. He's curious. "I've met your Quinlys. She's one of the mean ones. Told me to leave the galleries just because I was watching the eggs. I suppose next time, I'll sing to them." R'hin gets no recognition, but his curiosity is piqued as he asks, "If only. What's in Gar?" Her Quinlys. Telavi doesn't preen, exactly, but there goes that dimple. "She's amazing, isn't she?" the greenrider says without any argument whatsoever. As for Gar, teasingly, "The last part of your name." But the bag has begun to squirm; she rolls her eyes at it and speaks faster. "And, I'll have to ask you about your singing next time, before it pees on you. Good night, Rategar." She has others to interrogate-- and she will get there in time. "I do find a bossy woman attractive," Rat is willing to admit cheekily. He understands the reference since he laughs good-naturedly with a nod. "You best get on, then," he sends her on her way with a nod, his demeanor a neutral one. "See you around, Tela. Maybe I will sing you a song next time." He remains where he's at, at least for a little while longer. |
Leave A Comment