Logs:Pink Cupcakes
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| RL Date: 26 June, 2015 |
| Who: W'leri, Dee, Kaelige |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: W'leri has cupcakes, and no one else wants one! |
| Where: Sanctuary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Well, Fort has a break from the gross rain as it shifts over to nearly pleasant snow drifting from the grey clouds above. Despite the break, outdoors is not inviting but the Sanctuary is. It's all the things the outdoors is not, warmly lit and smelling of delectable baked goods. Dee sits on a plush couch in one of the clusters of seats, a pastry plate beside her and a mug of something hot between her hands. Her brunette hair shows signs of having been out in the snow, but drying in the cozy cavern. Her eyes follow the workers and pastry-eaters passing through, an idle curiosity. Everything points to comfort, and yet there's a strange tension in her frame, a touch of worry to her eyes that belies it as merely illusion. "Cupcake for your thoughts?" A broad man, W'leri is out of place in the sanctuary; more so when he drops heavily onto the arm of the overstuffed little couch, near Dee. He slouches with the ease of a man accustomed to his weight, holding a small plate, topped by a pink-frosted cupcake, aloft by the pads of his fingers. "You look worried, sweetheart," he gibes, effecting an unconcerned air, and scrutinizes her with frosty blue eyes and a scheming smirk. "Depends on the kind of icing," Dee directs to the man as he joins her, adding a, "sir," as an afterthought. She peers at it with quizzically raised brows, as if weighing the pink a moment before reaching out to take one. "There are eggs on the Sands," as if this might be news to him, though her tone is a little wry. "They can't stay that way forever." It's a plausible worry at this point, anyway, and yet with that white knot, perhaps she shouldn't be so worried. Aren't baby dragons a good thing? "Berry? Floral?" W'leri waggles his eyebrows enticingly, waving the plate around to further cajole Dee into grabbing one of the dainty delicacies. "On the contrary," he points out, licking a smudge of frosting off his thumb, "they can." He is not being purposefully morose this time. "But will they?" Amusement shines in the depths of his pale eyes and breaks when he moves his focus to a couple at a table over yonder. "What's your name?" The floating plate makes the icing lick Dee's finger as she plucks up the cupcake, mimicking his movement with a smile after transferring the cupcake from one hand to another. "Dee, sir." The frosting must be sampled further so she dips a finger into it and curls a dollop up into her mouth. "Any sensible dragon wouldn't," the girl decides and then gives him a more sober look than the smile of moments before as she adds, "It feels like Fort needs a good clutch to hatch," as if she weren't a part of Fort. "Does it? I hadn't noticed," W'leri drawls lazily, in a disconcertingly apathetic voice. He balances the plate on his hand, slipping the arm so he's sitting next to Dee on the couch, his booted feet - there's no getting around it, they're dirty as fuck, caked in mud and grime - set on the coffee table on their heels, crossed. "Dee? Dee." He mimics her way of saying it first, then adds his own, deep, comical spin to the second. "You a candidate?" he wants to know, slinging his other arm across the back of the couch; his heavy-lidded eyes drop to the top of the candidate's head. Dee's cheeks color prettily - though not so pink as the icing on her finger - in answer to his unnerving apathy. She dips her chin a touch as she asks, "You don't think so?" Her hazel gaze slides briefly to the boots on the table, though they don't linger long; her worn work boots aren't much better, the only difference being that hers remain politely on the floor. "So they tell me," and so her knot says. "But not for much longer if the dragonhealers are predicting right." After licking the icing from her finger again, she asks, "What's your name?" A figure, teenage, slim, and cloaked in faded dark clothing from head to toe, arrives in the once-weyr turned cozy chamber. With hooded head tipped just enough to entreat his personal shadows to cover the most of his face and expression, he takes his time lingering just beyond the entranceway. His stride and demeanor is lazy, apathetic, unhurried as gaze flows across the room as if memorizing the groupings, the familiar and the unfamiliar. It's when his visual trek makes it to Dee and the rider she's seated with does he give pause. Consideration of choices gives way to a reluctant pursuit of curiosity and he crosses what space there may be to come upon their couch. Though he'd never make it quite that far, taking preference to touch the back of a chair in notion of claiming it should the inclination to stay become more prominent. "Been one long enough they shouldn't need to tell her." Spun as if not speaking directly to her, apparently. The heavy-lidded stare moves from the girl at his side and up, to mark the entrance of the cloaked figure, and he smirks, dropping his plate in his lap. "We're in an interval. I'd be shocked to see better clutches," W'leri says, taking his sweet time in answering, with the same brusque tone he's been speaking in. "Ask me, we're lucky we don't have as many mouths to feed." He sets a long forefinger against his battered nose and winks at Dee. "With everything that's been going 'round lately." Beat. "W'leri." Dee's frame, already with that too tense look that had just begun to fade in the distraction provided by the bluerider, becomes tenser as Kaelige joins the conversation. She looks at him a moment and there's the briefest flash of hurt before she forces a smile and shrug and says, "I'm alway forgetting the silliest little details." She tilts her head as she looks to her fellow candidate once more, "What was your name again? I feel sure I've seen you somewhere. The barracks maybe? The Sands? The laundry?" W'leri's words bring her eyes back to him with furrowed brow, "Lucky." She repeats the word a touch disbelieving. With only just that one dollop of icing taken from the cupcake, she leans forward and places it on her plate, the one still littered with baked goods she's probably not going to eat. She looks to the bluerider again in thoughtful silence. "I disagree," is polite but resolved. With the current closeness, what was shrouded by Kaelige's hood is better seen now. There's a slight narrowing of his bluegreen eyes, subtle in that he otherwise maintains a level expression. "I can't recall." Is probably too harsh a reply for the farmcrafter in regards to both portions of her question, and given the fact he does spin that chair on its legs to turn it around so he can fall into it, he must realize as much. That, and the bluerider's commentary shifts his gaze and attention, "Supplies are low?" A follow-up to W'leri's statement, with a curiously sarcastic touch to his tone that seems to come off whatever annoyed edge it had about it upon his entrance. He draws both forearms over the back of the chair, leaning forwards with his chest against it. A large, swaggering brute like W'leri shouldn't be sharp, but he's keen enough to notice the interaction between the two teenagers and leans in to Dee, his voice a mockery of a whisper. "You got a problem with this guy?" he asks, pointing a finger toward Kaelige. He isn't angry, but is openly curious; he'll even give the hooded boy a chance to answer, eyebrows elevated. "What?" His massive shoulders lift and fall, indifferent. "Do I fucking look like a storeskeeper?" "How could I?" Dee tells W'leri, her expression hardening from the returned needle in Kaelige's answer, "He doesn't know me." She doesn't look at the boy as she says it, starting to shift onto her feet. "It was nice to meet you, Rider W'leri," she offers with a measure of genuine meaning despite their disagreeing. "And thank you for the cupcake," which she ate almost none of. "I should get back," before she's sick. She is looking a little pale all of a sudden. There's a tick, a flash of something in the young man's eyes, and maybe just a hint of squeezed hide between grip and chairback, but it would be nothing more. Instead, a fiendish smirk draws slowly, progressively across Kaelige's expression, "How could she have a problem with this face?" Is answered for Dee, despite her own reply. As Dee rises, as does Kaelige shortly after, the chair rocked not all too loudly but obvious enough. "Anyone can be anything if they try." The boy responds to the second, the cocky demeanor getting worse despite the correction. The moment is pregnant with emotion, and it's in this moment that W'leri chooses to shove the whole pink-covered cupcake in his mouth, smearing his upper lip with frosting. His words are unashamedly guiltless, "Was it something I said?" big hands lifting in contrition, to the sky. |
Comments
Cass (16:32, 26 June 2015 (MDT)) said...
Poor cupcakes. :( I really felt for them in this scene. I hope they find someone right, soon.
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