Logs:Quickfire
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| RL Date: 27 August, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo hunts T'mic down and fires questions at him. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Faryn/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language. Jo~ |
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Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods
characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths
gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost
always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its
denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample
space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry
and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a
day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating:
swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner
caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food
service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and
benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. It's late enough after supper that the kitchens have fallen into something of a lull - as much as they ever do before late night, anyway. The pots are mostly scrubbed, the food wanting storage is in transit, the food left over laid out and ready so that space is better used, in preparation for those late-comers who will be in and out of the caverns in the evening. Late-comers like T'mic, who had been headed for a snack until one of the kitchen workers spotted him. Here, he towers over most of those on shift today. Which is why he's being tasked with hanging up pots and pans, and it seems, will soon also be moving the Really Big Soup Pot. It's mostly altruistic, but there might also be seen a younger woman prepping a special plate. Just for him. Trade-off. It's during the lulls in the day (and night) that one would find some of the Weyr's more colorful hanging around. In walks Jo amid the busyness, managing to step to the side from the large bulk of T'mic before she would have ran smack into him. The lone table gets her attention along with collecting up a bowl and quickly dumping some food she sees laid out in it with such efficiency to suggest that this dine-and-dash is something she does on the regular. A booted foot hooks around a stool as she moves to the table, settling right down on it as she starts to shovel some food into her mouth. All while doing so, it might be noticed that T'mic is getting her study. That T'mic is generally eager to please and generally biddable is obvious. Because he keeps being asked to do just one or two more things. And he keeps on doing them, even while that big, heavy soup pot sits ominously, waiting for attention. That he's known, that he might even have been missed, and missed some of the people here? That too. Because there are hands to shoulders, and big, broad grins, and talking, and catching up, and how's your daughter, good how's your dragon, and all this. It goes on long enough that Jo can shovel a bit more. Then the big pot is grabbed. Then his special plate is handed off. Then... his table is occupied. And its occupant just gets a flash of smile to excuse the awkward pause that had preceded it. Jo is listening. She's not the type to hide the fact that she is. She's all up in the conversation, eating and saying nothing at all. When T'mic looks her way, though, with that big smile of his, a brow gets lifted and she pauses in her food shoveling. "Ya always do that?" she's nosy in asking, nodding towards the kitchen workers in indication of his helping them. "Go out yer way?" She's at the table, sure, but she doesn't look like she's hogging it either. "Um?" is T'mic's first answer, that smile not really dying, even when he casts a look over his shoulder and back toward the workers. From there, a shrug. Also, a big thumb and forefinger brought up to pinch hold of a cut vegetable. "Not that far out of my way. Gets it done in half the time." 'Crunch,' says the vegetable, when he bites it. Perhaps also 'ow.' T'mic chews, and looks back once more, and then shrugs again, expression one of satisfaction in the good sense that guides his actions or something like that. "Interestin'," Jo muses on his answer, on him, going much slower now on her bowl of stew. "T'mic, right? Think I've seen ya around. We have a mutual friend. Don' wanna sit?" A stool suddenly gets pushed out towards him. She's totally not intimidating. Nope. She just sits there in her black garb, watching and assessing him like a hawk as she chews. T'mic nods his head to his identification. "And Jorrth." There's something softer, as he looks down to the stool, a murmured, "Jorrth and T'mic," that makes him smile even sappier. Honeymoon: still not over. The plate goes to the table first. T'mic goes to the stool next, and scootches it in. He tilts his head, and reaches for more of those crunchable vegetables. "You're one of Glacier's riders, right?" Sappy indeed. Jo looks a little fascinated, even, missing very little. "Jorrth," she echoes his dragon's name. "Hmm. Hear y'all all graduated by now. What wing tapped ya? Where're ya even from?" It's not meant as an insult, really - the woman leans back to take him in - his size, his words - and as unrelated as both questions seem, there's also something related to them in her tone. When T'mic mentions her wing, there's a firm now and a, "Curious we didn' get any of ya from yer class, this time around. Or maybe not so much. Yer Faryn's lover." It's blunt. "Yeah," T'mic nods, and there's something of pride in it, in the way he sits up a bit straighter and lifts his head a little higher. "We're in Snowdrift, now." This time, the smile is very much on purpose, and he answers, patiently, but watching more of Jo and less of his plate, "Benden. But here, now." The veggie most recently picked up sets back down for the last. He blinks. And then he nods. And even says, "Yeah." But now he's waiting. "Snowdrift's a good, wholesome wing," Jo comments, perhaps making it in relation to the man before her. "If the last five minutes is any indication, yer well matched. Where in Benden? A hold? Were ya Searched there or did'ja come here on yer own? Ya traderstock?" It's likely obvious that she's hunting for answers by now, keeping him in her sights as she eats. The casualness is neutral around her. And then, inevitably, perhaps: "Ya fuck a lot, T'mic?" "Seems to fit pretty well. We like it," T'mic confirms. That vegetable has yet to be lifted a second time, though his fingertips are still resting on it. "Benden hold. Came here with my uncle. Search was only after I'd been here a little." His answers are starting to have that same quickfire quality, except that, apart from the fact that he's sitting, the young bluerider seems very much to be back on his heels. And then, that. And then, his face is red, and he asks as politely as he can, "Excuse me?" "Have a friend in Snowdrift. Edyis. I think she's suited there, too," Jo relates with a brief incline of her head. She nods on each answer, chewing, seeming to be mentally filing each one away. "What does he do? This uncle?" She asks now. "Ya close with yer family?" And still, that T'mic is polite in the last has the bluerider waving a hand at him quickly as she says to his blushing face, "Ya heard me. Likely the answer, though." Nevermind the fact that she clearly doesn't think it rude to ask in the first place. "Baker." And, "Yeah," though at this point T'mic isn't offering much more in the way of detail. He even pulls his hand away from the plate, so that it can join with his other and rest on the edge of the table, clasped. "I'm with Faryn." Pointed. And then, his head tilts, and he squints a little. "How do you know her?" "Hence yer rapport with the kitchen," Jo observes aloud on baking with a shallow nod. Dark eyes drop to that retreating hand from his plate, and his declaration gets a long - and quite possibly an uncomfortable - silence from her. Then, "Faryn'n I go some ways back," she chooses to answer his last, tapping her eating utensil to the bowl edge idly. "She talks 'bout ya a lot. Thought I'd get a look-see for myself. I'm invested in her interests, see," she explains with a look. "Well, I guess," says T'mic of the kitchens. Whatever more there is to it, he doesn't offer. He does adjust his bum on the stool, and blink, and unclasp his hands, and rest his fingers on the table's edge, and even consider his plate a little bit. But when Jo does give an explanation of sorts, it at least seems to settle the bluerider a little bit. "Okay." He even reaches and brings his plate a bit closer to the edge, and prods around at some more of those veggie sticks. "So..." mused long and thoughtful, poking, prodding, and then he looks up to his tablemate, "there more questions or was that all you wanted to know?" Jo is quick to pick up on body cues, the woman grinning a bit as she watches him fidget before she says, "Relax. I ain' gonna stab ya or anythin'. Despite popular belief around here." She digs back into her food, making short work of it. To his question, "There's plenty more," she muses slowly, watching him more than her food. "I'm decidin' if ya can handle anymore of'em. Yer used to bein' around proper folks, aren'cha? I can tell, Blush Boy. That interests me. Faryn's rough around the edges'n yer not. Name's Jo," she finally gives him, chin dropping a little. "Blue Tacuseth's." T'mic is finally willing to crunch a few more veggie sticks. "I didn't," starts out thoughtful, but when he resettles on his stool an takes another bit of food, becomes a bit more decisive, "know what you were after before." The nod is the go-ahead. And he moves on to the bun, buttered already by some helpful member of the kitchen staff. "Hi Jo," is almost trained response, though there's something amused in it. "Can't just random folks show up'n be up in yer business?" Jo dryly teases, the snicker soft. "Those were valid questions I asked ya. Need to see what she's goin' on about. I can see the holdbred tendencies," she notes too casually as she licks her spoon. "Jorrth start chasin' yet? He oughta. How serious ya want it with Faryn? What's yer favorite color? I bet it's blue, like Jorrth." The spoon gets dumped back into her remaining stew. "Depends on how they ask?" T'mic offers back, but this one's with a bit of a laugh. Still not entirely certain about the woman across from him, but. "I guess kinda," comes next, on those holdbred tendencies she's mentioned, though there's a frown tugging at the edge of his lips. He takes another bite of his roll. "No. He's watched lots. What do you mean, serious? Yeah, blue. Or yellow." He shrugs. And then points at her stew. "That any good?" "They ask point-blank," is Jo's answer. "That's how a person should ask any sort of question. It's how my father taught me. I come from guardstock." In case there was any wondering. Nodding on Jorrth, "He watches, but isn' interested?" There's an obvious curiosity there, the bluerider studying T'mic anew before she answers on Faryn, "I dunno. Serious. Like, ya wanna write harper songs about her or somethin', or, give up ass for the rest of yer life- sort of serious." Beat. "It's good," she allows on the stew. "Good enough. Ya cook?" "Ah," says T'mic, as if it's all making at least a little more sense now. "I don't think so. It's not like he doesn't know what it's about..." There's a moment for a deeper worry to flash over his face, but he waves it off. "He's only like a year and a month old though. Jorrth's fine. He'll get there." Surely. From there, a laugh, and he shakes his head, and leans back a bit, and seems almost comfortable. "Oh, I'm no good at songs or poems or anything like that. I dunno. Things are good, right?" Those shoulders, up and down again. "I can stir stuff." "A late bloomer, maybe," Jo comments on Jorrth, seeming to consider it. "Shit. Wish Tac was like that. He started chasin' right from the moment he could. Tried everythin' to get him to stop those first few months. Guess ya drew the lucky stick, eh?" She gives T'mic a grin, but she does catch that flash of worry and adds with a slight shake of her head, "Oh, I don' think anythin' wrong with him. Some dragons just don' chase for awhile. Had a couple of those in my class. Some start early like mine. Some start late like yers." There's a snicker on songs as she eyes the man and says, "I dunno. Ya seem like the sort that would write poety 'bout someone's dirt-stained hair. Compared to me, yer practically innocent. Not a bad thing, darlin'," is her assessment as she put some stew in her mouth. "Things are good, for now. Yer young. She's young. Be good to figure out sooner than later what ya both're lookin' for. This bowl's enough for me," she briefly raises her own, the bowl almost empty. "I've got sweeps in a few." T'mic nods a little, more attentive to the talk about his dragon. "It's not like I want him to chase for me," he confirms. "But yeah. Only a year. Doesn't matter what the rest of the clutch does. He's fine." And then, another laugh, and a shake of his head. "Nah. Don't need to write stuff for it to be true." The word 'innocent' makes him blush a little again, and reach a big hand to scratch at the back of his head. "Faryn didn't like... no," decided then, after that bit of hesitation. "Nevermind. You have anything else you want to ask, before you go, then?" "Ya may not like him chasin' at all," Jo points out with quiet laughter. "The idea of fuckin' random strangers should they win doesn' appeal to most holdbred folks. Perhaps he holds out for you. If dragons are inclined to do such things." The blush draws a wider grin from her as she finishes up her stew, and when T'mic doesn't finish his line of thought, "Faryn didn' like what?" the convict rider latches onto it like a canine. "I thought of that," T'mic admits, "but I don't think so. If I can feel him get hungry, you'd think I'd be able to feel if he gets... you know." There's a vague gesture towards his groin. That. "Besides, I asked him." The last of that roll is finished. T'mic considers Jo's bowl briefly, and even looks back toward the kitchens proper. "No, it's... I don't think it's something I want to be asking you, that's all. Gonna see her." "Perhaps," Jo seems to concede, "'n yet...I still believe dragons are a mystery unto themselves, darlin'." She drains her bowl and gets up with it, using her foot to hook the stool away from herself as she addresses the last. "Mmm. Ya do that. Don' be a stranger if ya catch me around. If ya don' mind me keepin' ya on yer toes. Blow Faryn a kiss from me." She heads over to where she can deposit a dirty bowl, nodding to those still around before looking over her should at him and nodding her farewell. "Until then, T'mic." He's being commited to memory. "Yeah," nods T'mic. "I'll... see if I see you, I guess." There's that big smile, though, and he nods his farewell to the Glacier rider. "Good sweeps," is a final wish. And not long after she's gone, he's gonna go get himself some stew. |
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Comments
Faryn (14:07, 27 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I don't know what I expected their dynamic to be, but this was /perfect/. T'mic is so steady. <3
Squishy (16:00, 27 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I .... wow.
T'mic's just "Excuse me?"
This was a fun read, and had me in tears laughing.
Alida (23:11, 27 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Thaaaat's our JoJo! :D Poor 'mic...having her sicc herself on him. ;)
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