Logs:Never That Easy
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Jadzia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer comes to return a portrait to ex-guard Jadzia. Easy, right? (Hahahahaha.) |
| Where: Stables, Crom Hold |
| When: Day 22, Month 11, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Daxson/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions |
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| For a man who doesn't get nervous, G'laer spent too much time pacing outside the stables silently rehearsing just what he was going to say when he finally went inside. His eyes fall to the framed portrait he holds in one hand, and lets them linger a moment before he squares his shoulders and strides inside. He knows exactly where to look and exactly whom he's looking for, so it doesn't take long before the man is approaching the blonde from behind. "Jadzia," he addresses her before he's too close; never surprise a guard, even a failed out guard. There's just enough familiarity with that voice that the young runner standing next to Jadzia shies away, just a step, from her sudden tension. She touches a hand to the animal's shoulder, offering a gentle rub of apology before she's turning to face the voice. "Gallagher. To what could I possibly owe this pleasure?" That's sarcasm. If he was expecting a 'sir' or something after all these turns, he's come to the wrong place, judging by her expression. The riding leathers he wears are not for runners, but for something bigger, with pointier teeth. The knot isn't that of a guard, and chances are even if it was, he wouldn't be expecting much, given their complicated history. It must be the lighting, though, that makes G'laer seem a touch paler than usual. "I was cleaning out my room here, and I thought you should have this back." He extends the sketch in its pretty frame. The frame it didn't have when she presented it to him those few turns back. After a precursory once over, her blue eyes settle for a few moments on his knot. A brow arches as her gaze shifts to his face but whatever Jadzia might have said about that, she's distracted by the proffered frame. She looks at it for a long few, expressionless moments before she says anything, the runner behind her shifting its weight restlessly. "Why would I want that? Why do you have it?" The 'still' is only implied by her tone as she crosses her arms, notably not taking the frame from him. G'laer's brow furrows just slightly. This is not how this was supposed to go. He was going to go in, hand her the frame, say so long, and move on. That's what this whole gesture was about after all. But she's not taking it. Stupidly, he extends his arm a little more as if she's not taking it because she'd have to make some sort of negligible effort to reach it. "Because it's yours." Another dumb moment. "I thought maybe there'd be -- I don't know, someone who'd want it in your life now. A husband? Boyfriend? Family?" He doesn't care, does he? "So. You're telling me that you've held onto that for four turns." What, who's counting? "And now, all of a sudden, you don't want it anymore. But you think I want it, instead?" Does she have that right? Because she doesn't sound like that should be right. Jadzia glances at it again but she still, stubbornly, doesn't take it away from him. "Shells, you framed it. Why?" Surely, she noticed that before now. Maybe the actual realization hadn't had time to sink in yet. The man flinches, just a tiny little bit, but for G'laer, that's a lot. "I framed it to protect it." Half true. "I found it in a trunk I haven't been in for ages. I've not exactly been living in my room for the past two turns or so, have I?" He reaches up to flick his knot. Not that that really explains the two turns before that. "It's a portrait of you. Shouldn't you want it? Surely you don't want me to keep it." He lets the weight of his gaze settle on her; that works with most people. Jadzia can't be blamed too much if she almost smiles, just a tiny little bit, when G'laer flinches. "It's not like I've had any reason to notice you've been gone." Except that she kind of just admitted that she'd noticed. "I haven't come knocking on your door to see if you'll turn me away again." There's another glance to his knot and she adds, "Greenrider. That makes sense." Whatever that means. Jadzia meets his gaze with her own, not unaffected, but possibly not affected in the intended manner. "I don't care what you do with it. Burn it. Toss it between. Give it to someone who looks like he needs a good jerk. I don't want it." At least she doesn't, in so many words, tell him where to shove it. "I never said you did!" With most people, G'laer's cool never becomes warm, let alone hot. But Jadzia has never been most people to him and the cool is rapidly rising toward a boil. The tone that delivers these first words is a touch indignant. He's been a greenrider long enough to know what that means and he scoffs like she's simple (because that'll help; atta boy, G'laer). "Just because my dragon is green and I wouldn't sleep with you when you were seventeen and under my command," if not directly, "-means I must be gay?" Then, in the most mature of acts, he takes her at her word and drops the portrait, which will have the glass shattering between them. If he were more level headed in the moment, neither of them would be in danger of taking a piece of glass to the boot. The only one that reacts visibly to the glass shattering as the frame hits the ground is the poor runner who startles, jerking back against its lead rope before snorting in their general direction. Jadzia apparently trusts it enough not to spook into her because she doesn't even glance back at it. She's too busy glaring at G'laer, jaw tight in a way that he might still recognize as a barely controlled desire to hit something. "Aren't you? You don't want to sleep with me now, do you? I'm sure no one would mind if we borrowed the tack room for a quick fuck." It's clearly challenging more than a serious offer. "That's not really an option now, is it." It's not a question, though G'laer does take care to mimic the woman's emphasis on the word now. Blue eyes dart briefly down to the portrait. "Waste." It probably comes out of his mouth without his permission judging from how it only seems to fuel the building fire. "I don't know why I'm even having this argument with you." With that he turns. Since he doesn't know why, perhaps he just won't anymore. Some part of her probably wants to snap back the question of why it isn't an option now that he's turned her down, but Jadzia manages to keep that to herself. "That's right. Fuck everything up and leave me to pick up the pieces. You're good at that, Gallagher," she growls as he turns away, grabbing the nearest throwable thing, a brush, to chuck in his direction. Given the speed it flies at him, that's going to hurt. "Ow! Faranth, woman!" G'laer pivots after the brush hits him squarely in his shoulder. The sound the flat side made on impact almost promises a welt, were it not for the thick leather if his riding jacket. "Is that what I'm good at? What does that make you good at?" As if one has anything to do with the other. "Getting pissed off and going off the rails with the wrong people?" Like authority figures for example. Or "Like people just trying to do something nice for you?" A finger points at the shattered glass and portrait that he tried to give her before dropping it. "It makes me good at dealing with assholes like you!" Her voice is raised in a way it probably shouldn't be given the runner tied in the aisle. But she doesn't care about that right now and fortunately the runner doesn't seem particularly disturbed. Jadzia walks over the glass that G'laer points at, avoiding the actual sketch by what might just be coincidence. "You think this is being nice? Reminding me how you single-handedly ruined my life." Exaggeration. "For a stupid picture that I don't, for the record, have anyone else to give it to. Yeah. Thanks so much for that." While she talks, she's advancing on him and, on the off chance he gives her the chance, she'll shove at him toward the door. She can try, but G'laer is a whole lot of muscle and training that acts as a wall against her shove. His hands make contact with her wrists before her hands make contact with his chest. They're only there long enough to make the shove ineffective. "I didn't ruin your life," Because what else does a guy say to that kind of accusation. "You're happy here, right? You always liked runners, right? And the canines?" He paid attention, see. Did he miss that she says she has no one? Since it's G'laer, definitely not, but at least he's smart enough to not go there, even if he's not smart enough to just leave. Stupid bigger, stronger men. They've always been a sore spot for her even without the added training. Even though he doesn't hold onto her wrists, Jadzia still jerks them away with a frustrated sound. "What do you care about where I'm happy, huh?" she snaps at the greenrider. "Just go away." She meets his gaze for a moment and the anger there is starting to turn into tears. But before she can get more angry about that, Jadzia is turning away to return to the mess made by G'laer. "I have work to do." Crap. Tears. G'laer glances toward the exit. Is there still time? Yep! There's his window. And there's a step in that direction. Only, « Don't you dare. » He always knew having a woman living in his head would bring him trouble. His face briefly screws up when Jadzia's back is turned. "Jad, wait." He steps after her, reaching to touch her arm briefly to try to get her attention. "Are you really unhappy here?" Touching her arm certainly does get her attention. Jadzia rounds back like she might try to slap him, but something stops her before she actually manages to follow through. And not just that he could probably stop her anyway. Maybe it's the knot. "Don't touch me. I don't need your pity, Gallagher. I don't need you pretending to care about things that aren't any of your sharding business, anyway. And I don't need your stupid picture. What I need is for you to get. Out." Sorry, she's oblivious to the dragon. Jadzia glares at G'laer despite the wet streaks on her face now, practically challenging him to do anything but leave so she can hit him. Or at least feel more justified about trying to. Alright. He tried. Sort of. Can he leave now? « I'll sit on you. » The man grits his teeth. "Sorry." For the touching. He holds his hands up between them to show he's not grabbing anywhere else. "I don't pity you." Should he? "I haven't been Gallagher in a long time now. It's G'laer." His hands drop to his sides. "It's your picture. It's always been your picture. I just kept it a while." Like a heart. Or something. "I care about all the people that've been under my command," Sure, there's those he'd still like to give a swift kick in the ass, but he always cared. But caring doesn't necessarily indicate wanting to do anything about it. None of that really makes her want to hit him, which is a little annoying in its own right because it would probably make her feel better. Jadzia eyes him like she doesn't think the new name suits him very well, but when she comments, it's not about his name. "Fine. Thank you for returning the picture that I don't want to me." She waits for just a moment before adding, "Is that what you wanted? Are you happy now?" Will you leave yet? She doesn't wait for an answer before she's turning away again, though. She stops to crouch down by the broken frame and starts picking up the biggest pieces of glass to set on top of it. "No." This was supposed to be easy. In, out, done. Closure procured, moving on, learning to trust his heart again. The guffaw in his head tells him Teisyth appreciates how silly he's been to think any matter of the heart could ever be so easy. G'laer moves then, around her and crouches by the portrait, picking carefully through the glass and picking it up with a certain amount of care that's incongruous with the idea that it was just something he found in an old trunk. She doesn't comment on his answer. Maybe she already expected as much. When G'laer crouches down to pick it up, though, Jadzia glances at him, then at the portrait. "It doesn't even look like me anymore." Granted, it probably looks more like her than she lets herself see, but at least her tone doesn't sound bitter. "Leave it. I'll take care of it," she adds, assuming he's still planning on giving it back to her. He doesn't. Instead of leaving it, it comes with him when he rises. At least she didn't kick him into a pile of manure while he was vulnerable; that has to mean something, right? G'laer turns, looking from the portrait to the woman. His eyes travel her face, really looking in a way that might unnerve some. "You do look different." He acknowledges, touching the finger of his opposite hand to the portrait, "Girl," then the finger is directed at her, "Woman." In the next moment he's asking, "What makes you unhappy about-- all this?" A slight flick of his fingers indicates the stables at large. "What would make you happy?" Kind of deep for the first conversation he's had with her in over three turns. Jadzia rolls her eyes as he studies her because the urge is too strong for her to resist. But once she's gathered up enough of the bigger pieces of glass, she rises and moves to throw them in a garbage bin. She brings a broom back with her to sweep up what remains. "I'm not really sure I trust you not to go telling them I'm not fit for this job, either," she says, giving him a stern look. "And I'm definitely not drunk enough for this." To have a vaguely meaningful conversation with this particular man? Jadzia shakes her head as she sweeps the smaller shards of glass into a pan and turns to dump those into the bin, too. "I just... wanted to do more. I wanted to help people. Instead I smell like runner shit at the end of every day." "Do you want to get a drink?" Nevermind that it's the middle of the day. That she's at work. That they're not really the kind of people to get a drink together. "I'll buy." To the ignorant, that's not a particularly special offer, but from G'laer? It's something special, even if she doesn't know it. That simple question earns a note of suspicion in Jadzia's expression, and she might take a little too long to actually respond in any meaningful way. That he'll buy, whether she understands the significance or not, seems to help rather than hinder her decision. "Sure, I guess." That's not entirely convincing, but she adds with more sass, "So long as you don't mind the smell. Just let me put Dag away." She gestures at the runner who's started to fall asleep now that no one's yelling or throwing things, then turns to untie the runner and lead him to his stall. Once he's put away, she still doesn't look like she's entirely sure about this, but she says, "There. Let's go get a drink, Gallag-- G'laer?" G'laer might look the tiniest bit surprised when she accepts the offer; maybe he only offered because Teisyth might let him be, since he "tried." He nods, one short sharp nod; the kind guards routinely give, and then comments chivalrously, "I've smelled worse." That's helpful, right? And gentlemanly? Then he waits. By the time she's done, he's turned away and his brow is wrinkled, quite probably in silent conversation (or argument) with his dragon. "Let's." He agrees, and heads for the local watering hole. At least he didn't patronizingly say, "After you." Small blessings. It takes a moment for Jadzia to follow, but once she does, she catches up to walk alongside rather than behind the greenrider. "You don't really want to get a drink, do you," she guesses, sounding oddly amused by the idea. "You probably didn't want to come here at all." Instead of asking, in that case, why he is here, though, she leaves it at that, watching him more than the path she knows like the back of her hand. G'laer frowns slightly, but that's all the expression his face holds for her to observe. "I needed to come here whether I wanted to or not. Now that I'm here, let's get a drink, and you can tell me why you chose to stay in the stables instead of finding a new something that would help people." Since that's what she wanted. The man only has easy questions, right? "I agreed to a drink, not to some impromptu mindhealing session." If she were going to agree to something like that, it would at least be with someone she wanted something from. Give her some credit, man. Jadzia is content to lapse into silence until she actually needs to order a drink, however. And when she does that, it's something strong enough to deal with the prospect of having an actual conversation with G'laer. "Ha." It's not a real laugh, just an exhalation. "There are at least three people that would find that hilarious." Maybe he isn't one of them, though. That said, for whatever reason, he, too, is willing to make the rest of the trip in silence. Being the middle of the day, there are plenty of seat choices and G'laer picks a corner booth once they've each a drink in hand from the bar. As he slides into a seat, he chooses his question to be, "So how drunk do you need to be to answer me." He doesn't, as she probably recalls, give up so easily. In addition to the drink he's buying her, Jadzia added a shot that didn't make it past the counter. Just the one, though. For now. She's a little more conservative with the other drink. Once she's sitting across from G'laer in the booth, she studies him openly, her blue-green gaze intense and shameless. "Probably more drunk than you want me to be." And yes that is her foot that rubs against his leg. Call it a warning, whether he believes it or not. "What I don't understand is why you're asking at all." And that of course leads to her own questions, "You enjoying your little rider gig?" His expression turns stern at the touch to his leg. Like all those times she was sent to him for disciplinary action over one little rebellion or another. Only, with Jadzia, G'laer never managed (and still doesn't now) to look as stern as he'd probably like or as stern as he did with any other miscreant. "Because I want to know." This answer is only slightly more informative than it would have been if he'd simply left it after the first word. "Start drinking." Apparently, he thinks he can handle her at 'more drunk than he would want her to be.' "It has ups and downs like any job. They're miserable at organization and discipline." And G'laer has always loved a disciplined group. "Weyrlinghood sucked." That's added after he takes a long sip from his beer. His expression goes stern, hers goes amused. It's probably not the reaction he was hoping for, but she keeps her feet to herself. For now. Jadzia lifts her drink up but only takes what can be considered a sip. "That must be awful for you." She's probably talking about the lack of organization and discipline. "Why does weyrlinghood suck? It's hard to picture you as the lowest of the low in rank. That's what they are, aren't they? That would've been nice to see." She gives something like a wistful sigh before taking a more proper drink from her glass. "I survive." G'laer answers what he can't think is genuine sympathy blandly. "My weyrling class was almost all under the age of eighteen." While she may not know his exact age, certainly she's always known he's the older man. "They are the lowest rank, yes. That was fine, even with all the assholes who thought they had something to prove with the oldest weyrling. Way too much dick measuring and not enough learning if you ask me." And she did. "Don't act like people haven't always been trying to measure against you. There's just something about you that turns them into giant dicks." Jadzia takes another drink, letting her gaze wander toward the bar as she leans back into the seat of the booth. "And I know all too well how hard it is to live up to your lofty expectations. So are you teaching them now? The weyrlings? That seems like something you'd do." Maybe she thinks she's getting away with mostly talking about him. "What can I say, that's my special charm at work." Maybe it's a joke, but G'laer's expression, as per usual is boringly serious. "No. There haven't been eggs since my class. Interval and all. Eggs don't come along every day." But that doesn't confirm or deny her supposition. "Are you ready to tell me yet?" The question is delivered as one waiting for the inevitable. "Oh," says Jadzia, sounding just a little disappointed. She likes being right, after all. Who doesn't? "I don't know what you expect me to tell you. I do what I do because it's there. And I'm good at it. Not because it's what I wanted to do for the rest of my life." She almost sounds like she could keep going but instead she polishes off the rest of her drink and closes her eyes to enjoy the warmth. G'laer listens, but then the way he says, "Yeah," makes it sound like maybe he wasn't or maybe just that she didn't tell him anything new. "But why?" That's the part he wants to know. "If you realized it wasn't going to be the 'doing more' and helping people that you wanted, why did you stay?" "I could use another one of these," says Jadzia, lifting her glass with a very unsubtle grin instead of answering his questions. Hint, hint. Wait, no hints, because she takes care of it herself. She waves a hand toward the bar and lifts her glass higher to point at it once she has the keep's attention. 'Nother one of those, please! Then she points at G'laer; it's on him! Now where was she. "What else was I supposed to do? What else am I supposed to do now? It's not like I was ever fit to apprentice. I would've made a lot worse healer than a guard. Did I ever tell you why I wanted to be a guard in the first place?" "Fine." G'laer doesn't bat an eye at the requirement of another drink. "Whatever you want. Wasn't that the point?" Did he ask that out loud? "I mean, not being in the guard, you could have taken up almost any profession. You'd be a late apprentice, but they'd've probably still taken you." What does he know about crafts? Not enough. "You could've married or taken up a trade or--" Anything. In his head, anyway. His subtle annoyance fades with a small sigh and he drinks, long and slow before setting the mug on the table with the quiet clap of wood on wood. "No. Why?" "Wasn't what what point?" Jadzia frowns at G'laer, but then her drink is being delivered and she moves on, rolling her eyes like the greenrider is being dense on purpose. "People like me don't join crafts late. People like me probably wouldn't have been able to apprentice properly in the first place and I never had any rich benefactors to ease the way." She sounds vaguely bitter about that, but the idea of getting married makes her snort something like a laugh. Good one. As for why? Jadzia considers it for a moment, then says anticlimactically, "I had a brother. He made me want to be a guard." She moves on and G'laer certainly lets her. He's going with the flow; it's not because he doesn't want to answer... Ha. "Well, there's lots of things you could do that would help people that don't require formal craft training. Look at Gran, she's an herbalist-" who trained at the Hall, shh, "-and that helps people." He's probably never mentioned his Gran before, because they didn't fraternize before. "Having a brother isn't the greatest reason for joining the guard," the former guard explains with a slight raise to his brows that invites further explanation. The look Jadzia gives G'laer is one that clearly says, 'You seriously expect me to do something like that?' "I think you're missing the point. That or you must think I'm crippled by my lack of dick." She's always been kind of a physical person. That's probably why she used to have a tendency to hit first and ask questions later (or never). She might still have that problem considering she's already tried throwing things at him. "He'd probably be around your age now." By which she must mean that he was older than her since she doesn't actually know how old the greenrider is. "I watched him get beaten to death for trying to protect our camp from some robbers." Obviously she got away since she's sitting here drinking with G'laer now, but she doesn't go into that and there isn't much emotion in her voice as she explains. Either she's had enough to drink or it was that long ago. There's silence a long moment, "And you're under the impression that if the guard had been there, he might not have died? That the guard is designed to protect the common man?" G'laer's question is delivered quietly. "If anyone but me had been there, he wouldn't have died." Jadzia looks away as she takes another drink, feigning interest in the rest of the bar to try hiding the brief waver in her voice. "I joined the guard because I wanted to hurt people like that. But I was kind of stupid back then, huh." She grins and her gaze is back on G'laer like it's all amusing now that time has passed. "My Gran? Just for argument's sake." Because challenging one of her obviously deeply held beliefs, especially on an emotional topic, is a great idea! G'laer's voice is practically scornful when he says, "No one ever has a good reason for joining the guard." How are twelve turn olds supposed to know what's a good reason for a major life decision? That earns G'laer an annoyed glare from Jadzia. "Maybe," she says. Probably to be stubborn more than any actual belief that his Gran would have been better prepared to help fend off violent robbers. Then again, people who have been mothers can be pretty scary. "Just good reasons for getting kicked out, right?" The greenrider's expression turns very neutral. "Maybe." He takes a few swallows from his drink. G'laer's mouth is busy, see? Can't possibly comment further just now. Once he's swallowed, he asks, "So are you just going to stay in a profession that makes you unhappy but you happen to be good at for the rest of your life?" "Maybe," she says again, even more stubborn. "At least I'm good at it. Most people suck at what they do and they're unhappy." Or that's just something she made up, since she doesn't know most people. "I could always turn to whoring. I'm sure lots of people would consider that a public service. From what I hear, I'd be pretty good at it, too. And some guys even like when you slap them around a little bit." Jadzia sounds completely serious. "You wouldn't," G'laer didn't gasp, but the words have the same sort of idea behind them. "Whoring, really?" His gaze is critical as it looks her over, "I suppose some could get over the smell..." It might be a joke. Jadzia grins at him like she doesn't give a shit what he thinks. Possibly because she doesn't. But that might defeat the purpose of baiting him for a reaction. "Fuck you. I bathe." Is that even the smell he was referring to? She probably doesn't want to think about any other smells. "Do you think making all those men happy would make me happy? I guess I'd have to try it to know for sure." She starts scanning the bar, looking over the lean pickings to see if there's any man she'd be willing to proposition. "How about that one? Ooh, no. I have a better idea." That's when she throws back the rest of her drink and stands up, which, for a moment, betrays a not entirely steady handle on standing. "Gentlemen! Is there anyone here that would like to pay to have sex with me?" Of the handful of hands that go up, which is a large percentage of the population of the bar, most go down when G'laer chimes in to ask, getting onto his feet, "And how many of you want to go through me to do that?" Because he has so much right to have a say in any of this, right? He levels a look on Jadzia then that clearly says 'sit down or I'm going to make you' without him having to say any of it out loud. "Don't listen to him. He's just jealous," she tells them, offering a too-friendly smile to the nearest man that raised a hand and kept it up, like she's touched by the gesture. The smile disappears when Jadzia returns her attention to G'laer. But she, graciously, obeys that look of his by making room for herself in the bit of booth right next to him, against him even, with a hand moving to slide over his thigh, down between his legs if he lets it go that far. Whether he stops her or not, though, she says, "I don't think you understand how this works, sweetie. You don't get to decide what I do or who I do it with. You don't get to give me orders. I don't belong to you anymore." Him. The guard. Whatever. G'laer's eyes follow her as she joins him. He watches her as moves against him. All the while his expression is impassive. His hand stops hers on his thigh. "You're right. I don't." Meeting her gaze evenly he utters three words, just three: "What a Waste."Does he mean it? Is he trying to make her angry? Who knows. Since she's not in a very good position to slap him, even if she could manage given the drinks she's had, Jadzia tries shoving at him instead. Which probably only serves to make her feel better for doing something. "Get lost between," she snaps back at him as she moves to rise so she can storm off. If he was trying to make her angry, he did a good job. « Ooo, G'laer if'n I could live without you...! » She might just lose him between! Teisyth fumes. The green Does Not Approve of tough love. It doesn't even matter to her that he doesn't like it any more than she does. He lets her shove him. Lets her storm off, the marks swiftly set on the table to cover the drinks before he's stealing after her. Not so close as to be obvious, but close enough to make sure she gets wherever she's going unmolested (especially after an offer like that to the tavern at large). |
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