Logs:Not a Joke
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| RL Date: 3 October, 2015 |
| Who: Ebeny, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov apologises to Ebeny. The conversation takes some darker turns. |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, Nala/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions |
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| With the weyrlings mostly in the care of the fighting wings, time that would have been spent teaching is now spent waiting for one issue or another to surface instead, and what time might have been spent relaxing after classes is now when there are worries to be had about even more roaming weyrlings. So, right when one might assume Ebeny to look more refreshed than over the past few months, she actually seems more on edge than she has in a while. She's stepped away from the open ground of the bowl and into the tree line, to lean there against one of the taller examples, her eyes closed, leaving Laurienth to lurk and watch in her stead. The latest issue isn't hiding from Laurienth; whether the green warns her rider or not, however he'd found her, the wingsecond's headed her way with his jacket collar turned up but no hat against the cool, clammy weather. Eventually there will be a more deliberate sound of boots against earth, from several strides away if she still hasn't opened her eyes by then. Laurienth watches, certainly, and makes a savage little noise in the back of her throat, the sound completely at odds with her otherwise seemingly calm repose, yet evidently she doesn't share, for Ebeny does not move even to open her eyes until footsteps sound nearer. She's unguarded in the moment it takes her to focus, then her features settle into sterner lines, hands that were flat against the tree now curled into fists. "It's me." Drawled, as ever. N'rov's not going to make her look his way, stopping a couple trees off with not having spotted other people nearby, leaving a tree between his and hers. "What do you want." It's not a question, it's an assumption, the greenrider's tone flat. He doesn't make her look and Ebeny doesn't, her focus gone almost as soon it arrives, a glassy distance there as she stares across at nothing particularly interesting. There are only more trees ahead, light breaking through here and there. To report about those weyrlings practicing with Hematite. It's hovering there, nearly said. Only E'dre could pass that along, and what N'rov has to say is, "The fuss in the Fountain. It shouldn't have gone down there." Ebeny shrugs. "What does it matter? I'm used to your wing deciding that it's okay to humiliate me in one way or another." Sarcasm isn't her strong suit, which is perhaps why her response doesn't sound so in the least. "I'm sure there're more interesting targets that you could get a better reaction from, but hey. I trained enough of you, though waiting turns to get your own back for whatever you took so badly is a bit much." "Look. Ebeny." N'rov's schooled his voice; not sounding sardonic isn't his strong suit. Not arguing, some days, is worse. "I'm sorry that happened." One. "There was some snickering, yeah, about us acting like dumbasses. Us men. Not you." Two. "Maybe that's what's wrong with you." Whether she means him or the wing in general, Ebeny leaves it unclear for a moment or more. "You think it's funny that people will laugh at you for behaving like silly little boys, and that they'll just dismiss it because it's just boys being boys." Muddy-green eyes narrow slightly as she insists, "Not men. None of you act like men when you're with each other. Everything's a joke." Her hands curl tighter. "I'm not a joke." "You aren't a joke." N'rov's patience tightens though his hands don't; he looks skyward rather than let it get into his voice. "Why do you think we think it's funny? Serious question here, Ebeny. I'm not so keen on it. I'd bet E'dre isn't either." "I'm really beyond caring whether either of you are keen on anything or not." If it had temper behind it, the statement might be snapped, but, as it is, it's delivered with the same apathy as the rest. "And I'm not sure you can ask a serious question, let alone deal with a serious answer." Now she does look at him, though she doesn't focus. "Have you said your piece?" "You just said you," N'rov clears his throat, hard. He settles for, "Just tell yourself that they're poking at us, not you. You're fine. It is not your fault. Next seven, something else will come along and that won't be you either. It will be even less you. Even now, you get to hold your head high." He is looking at her by now, focused where she hadn't been. "Flights happen all the time." "Thank you for the advice. I'll be sure to tell myself all sorts of things." If only Ebeny didn't sound so genuinely earnest about it. There's no chance of her words being cutting, especially not with her looking more through than at N'rov. "You're the ones making a fuss over it all. I've not said anything. I just have the great honour," now that does finally sound like sarcasm, "of being the one you're going on about." "It was Nala half the time, if that makes you feel better," N'rov points out. "Oh, fantastic. Another woman the boys can laugh at." Ebeny lifts her gaze away from him and resumes staring at the trees across the way. "What do you want me to say? Sorry that I've made things in the wing awkward? Think it's eliminated your chances of promotion?" She shrugs again. "He didn't have to chase." Leaving it there is an option, but no. "And you didn't have to stick around." N'rov's reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Just wanted you to be all right," he says, frustration in his voice. "I can handle myself. The wing's no problem." Not for him. "He wanted to chase. You think he couldn't want her?" "I think you've been around for enough turns to know that it would've been better for him and for you for him not to," Ebeny replies all too clearly. "I think you know that it would've been better for you for you to leave the minute you knew your own name again." Shaking her head, she sets her jaw and insists, "I'm fine." "And you've been around enough Turns to realize I always do what's better for me," N'rov says, far more dryly now. "Just like E'ten. Did he leave too?" "I left," Ebeny immediately states. "He was worried about the woman he was seeing being angry." Distance isn't really working so well for her any more, and though she keeps watching the trees, her shoulders slump against their support. "Just go," she murmurs. "I don't know what you want from me. Never do. You've got all the ammunition you want to make fun or needle at me now, so you win. Just go." "Convenient." N'rov doesn't elaborate, doesn't interrupt her further. He also doesn't go. "I told you already. I still don't know why you think I'd make fun of you. Not about this." "It's an opportunity." And it could be that simple. "I've never been quite anything that you or your wingmates can respect or understand. Even E--" She doesn't let herself get any further than that, and instead Ebeny looks down at the floor. "Someone marks you up and you get to see them be everything they hate about themselves... I figure that's the best weapon you're ever going to get." She shoves away from the tree. N'rov's brow is already furrowed, and he's stepping out from his own, reaching for her wrist. Both of them if he can, cross-wise. "Hang on. Ebeny. Hate?" There's a pull as he captures her wrists, something fierce there before it's checked and Ebeny submits, letting her arms go limp. "You got your answer," she says calmly. "I don't need your pity. Let me go." But she doesn't try to tug herself free. "N'rov." He doesn't let her go. "Ebeny." N'rov lifts her hands up with his and lets all four free-fall drop as one, up and down again, like he'd recapture that fierceness if he could. "Fuck if there's something wrong with wanting. Or getting." Then, if she's still passive, she can go. "There is if you're like her." Ebeny tilts her head the slightest bit towards where the still-watching Laurienth lies beyond the trees, though it's the only indication of who she means. But then she summons the courage to admit, "Like me," a breath later. "Because you hurt people." It's a half-step forward that she takes into N'rov's space, focus suddenly there and too sharp, before she makes to turn away. He slants a look at her dragon, then to her. "That wasn't," anything N'rov's finishing, not when she's stepping in, his gray eyes sharpening on hers. Not when he can say, altogether differently, "That's more like it." His hands tighten, purposefully, before an equally deliberate release. "Don't," Ebeny says all too softly, retreating back into her own space. "You have no idea what you're doing." Her warning is low and steady, even as she visibly suppresses what he's already seen up close. "Next time, take him away." A step back. "Next time," a different one, it seems, "get out of bed and go when your mind is your own." "I'll think about it," N'rov tells her, low and intent. He's already released her. He doesn't take any of that back. "Regards to Laurienth." "I wasn't asking." For all the good it'll do her, she tries anyway. It's as much of an answer as Ebeny has for N'rov, as she turns and makes her way through the trees to seek out the green who will no doubt be all too pleased with her in one moment, and scorn her for her trembling hands in the next. |
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