Logs:Sarcastic and Sensitive Hearts
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| RL Date: 26 September, 2015 |
| Who: Lycinea, Rategar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea and Rategar want the same things. Too bad neither of them is in a giving mood. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Giorda/Mentions |
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>---< Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow
clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn,
graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a
reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl
are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to
the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting
some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the
thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy
the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the
bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the
careful to get the job done.
Rumbles and flashes of lightning intersperse between the periodic fall of
snow throughout the day. There is humidity in the otherwise cold air.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Lycinea F 19 5'5" slender, blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s
Rategar M 21 6'3" brawny, dark brown hair, blue eyes 5m It's not often that the people of the Weyr will see Rategar away from the stables. It's a thunder-snowy early evening with few people about as they finish up their daytime duties before the evening meal inside. The large stable hand is at the very top of the cliff right in it - flakes of snow covering his hair and his worn coat - with a few redfruits on hand, sitting cross-legged and whistling a jaunty tune while he bites into one of them. The rest of the redfruits are in his lap, but easily visible if one were to stand right behind him. The thunder rumbles all around him up there, but that doesn't seem to scare the stablehand at all. Trudging up the carved stone steps comes a slender figure in a grey wool coat, a knitted amethyst hood (which must surely continue to a sweater below) pulled up over the spill of loose blonde hair and tiny braids. Lya places her feet carefully as she comes, but her hands are tucked into pockets and she stops short at the top when her blue-green gaze falls to the other figure. "Didn't think anyone would be up here," is her observation that isn't really a greeting but nevertheless sounds disenchanted by the stablehand's presence. As she moves toward the stones with their turns of graffiti, she casts Rategar a glance askance, "Do you have to stay?" It might sound an awful lot like an invitation that he could surrender the space to her, if he wanted. "And yet..." comes from Rat with a crunch and a heavy Bitran accent. It's his greeting in return, the man busy looking out over the lake as if he's in search for something or of someone. He tosses and catches his bitten fruit on his question, this time looking at Lycinea and taking her stance in before he answers with, "Of course I have to, since I was here first. I'll let you stick around for being pretty, though. Crunch. There's another bite. "Aw, thanks," is heavy sarcasm. "You're a pearl," Lya goes on in like kind as she starts to bend to squint at the grafitti, pausing to glance back toward him through the snow (just as much of a squint), "A foreign pearl?" is questioning of the accent. The way she says it suggests a lack of familiarity with it. "But one who must like the cold," which limits her guesses. "Telgar?" "Sure thing," Rategar is either oblivious to the sarcasm or he's just being facetious. "A foreign pearl," he agrees, meeting her gaze. "Bitran, born and bred. I haven't been in Telgar yet, though. You must like the cold." His eyes cut towards her chest briefly as he takes another bite of his fruit meal. Patting the ground beside him as he scoots over to make more room, "Is it me or is the women in this Weyr all flinty?" he's asking casually like they're suddenly fast friends. "Oh, I don't know, probably it's the weather that hardens them up. Me, for example, I just don't like people. Works out as people don't tend to like me, pretty or not." The smile Lya flashes to Rat as she's leaning from bend to crouch to brush gloved fingers across the graffiti is practically flirtatious, only surely she can't mean it, so it must be facetiously given. "I've had a lot of these winters to harden me up," answers her like of the cold and the puff of air she sends out to become visible before her however briefly might be punctuation to that effect. "I've not been to Telgar for more than a gather either. Nor Bitra. A gather once, I think, maybe twice, but most gathers look much the same, so when that's all you see, what does it really matter where you are." She reasons this aloud as she sinks from half crouch into a full one, continuing her brushing across the snow-stained face of the rock. "Sounds to me like you just haven't met the right people that you'd like," Rat points out as he eats. "Though, if everyone is flinty here, that would explain the dislike. I'm used to sweet ladies and a comaraderie among men. That's how things are back home." Looking at the graffiti, the thunder rumbling, "Were you born here?" he suddenly asks, looking at her as he tosses the fruit into the air and catches it again. "Holdbred? Traderstock?" "You make it sound like one person is much different from the next," Lya tosses back. "Perhaps we are all flinty. You could go on back where you came from, probably. The first step of that, by the by, would be getting up from here," a gesture encompasses the space the pair of them occupy, "and going elsewhere." Evidently, she hasn't just let that idea die despite his apparent aversion. This time it even gets one of those fake smiles. As it fades, she considers the man doing the asking. A simple shrug of her shoulders might be all the answer he'd get until she looks back to the grafitti, clearing more bits of snow away so she can see it clearly. "Couldn't say, as it happens. Even if I wanted to. Don't know. Foster parents left me here when I was six, to be with my own kind. Can't even say if that means dragonriders or just bastards." At least she doesn't seem much bitter about it, the whole thing being delivered very matter-of-fact. There's a raised brow and laughter in his voice for the first. "Just want to know where I stand," Rat says, hands going wide to encompass himself. "I can deal with flinty. I'm learning to." Leaning back, "You're awfully attached to this here spot," he notes now with Lycinea bringing it up again, showing a rather lofty grin. "Was this the spot you met the love of your life, perhaps?" Her answer on her origins though seem to be of interest to the stablehand, for he turns a bit to look at her more through the snowfall before saying, "You don't seem angry about it. Being abandoned. Never bothered to find them since?" "No, it's where I wrote a love letter that I need to find. Not the sort of thing you do with company if you can avoid it." Lycinea answers with a roll of her eyes, as if perhaps he should somehow just know her purpose and wish for privacy; the latter she's arguably made clear. "Thought to, once. Was going to have a-- well, I guess he was sort of a friend, take me down to the Hold, but seemed like a lot of fuss and probably if they were going to leave any knowledge of where I came from for me, they'd have done so with the Headwoman. That much I checked. Nothing in my records. So why find the knife for someone to hurt me with? I figure, if the past wants to find me and hurt me, let whoever it is work for it. Certainly wouldn't be hard to hurt me once it was here, I expect." Clearly, she's done some thinking on this. "For someone not from here, you seem awfully attached to this here spot. Was it the spot you met the love of your life?" Lya asks then, with lifted brows and judging look. "Or do you just denying people what they want most at that moment?" "A love letter to whom?" Since Lycinea's said it, Rategar's nosy as he starts to look around himself. "Who leaves love letters up on a cliff? Why not someplace under a cot or at the bottom of a plant pot?" Her explanation must be sound with him since he nods on it and finishes off his current fruit. "Seems rough. Looks like you were better off staying here, pretty lady." He tosses the remaining core and picks up a new redfruit, hefting it in his hand and wiping the snow from it as he grins while she borrows his words. "Wouldn't you like to know," he teases on the love of his life as he rubs the fruit against his coat. "Mostly, it's the denial. Yeah. If I were to give in so easily, you wouldn't be here, talking to me. You're probably all getting boiled up right now because you can't reach this love letter you wrote to fuck-knows-who, out in a thunder snowstorm of all times." As if him sitting on a cliff eating fruit during one is perfectly normal. "Not to mention," he adds now, "that I'm eating right now. Would you deny a foreigner his peaceful meal? Is this love letter really worth the pain of a man's stomach after a hard day's work?" "Because here's the place it would last the longest whether I was gone for a few months or turns or the rest of my life. It probably would still be here," Lycinea answers the why of here if not the rest. "I would deny a local a peaceful meal if I had a purpose to, sometimes even when I don't have a purpose," sounds entirely candid and perhaps lends to why she isn't some people's favorite person. "Denying it to you would probably have more meaning if I'd any notion of who you are, but I can't say as I really have much care to know, so." She wobbles her head back and forth in a way that suggests the two things cancel one another out. It probably explains why she doesn't pursue the matter of the love of his life or anything else. "It's not going to get easier to find once the snow settles in properly for the season. It'll be spring before I can see it properly, if I can't find it one of these days," which might mean this isn't her first attempt. "I still find it strange," Rat notes on locations to hide love letters, looking around all the more. "Don't most girls just keep such things close to themselves? If it's a love letter detailing all of their innermost thoughts and feelings about another person. Not that I'd bother with such stuff." Pause. "You're very contrary, too." He bites into his redfruit then before he's getting up, grabbing the remaining couple of redfruits as he moves. "Well," he says then to her words, especially the latter, "far be it for me to be continuously denied Weyr hospitality," he says with a shake of his head as he steps aside - in case for her to check there. "I won't let you sour the rest of my meal. The runners are better company, at this point." "Can't say as I give a damn," Lya flashes Rat another smile. It's just after that fake smile that a real, truly fond one takes its place. If he's looking, he might see the way her brushing turns to single-finger tracing on the rock face and the satisfaction that seems to bring her. "Perhaps if you bothered with such stuff, you'd know not everyone needs flowery words to prove their love." She shifts onto her feet. "Besides, you're making the terrible assumption that I know how such things are normally done or would go about it the usual way even if I did. Shows what you know about girls, flinty or no," comes with a derisive noise that seems to mean 'nothing at all.' "You needn't go now. Too little, too late, Bitran." It's a chiding to be sure as she steps toward the stairs to make the careful climb to safer ground below. Trust that he's looking. Rategar watches her as he slowly demolishes his next redfruit before stating on love, "I don't let myself get caught up like that to even need to know." On girls and his knowledge thereof as he's on his feet, "I know little about Reachian girls, in any case," he concedes in his counter. "Other than what I've been learning since being here. So far, the report isn't good. Thanks for deciding to leave the moment I get up, though." The sarcasm can be detected, and the stablehand drops back down with his meager meal to find the exact position he was in before getting up. It's totally her fault. "Pleasure," Lya tosses back with equal sarcasm, a little wave given up over her shoulder, though she doesn't look back. "You have a nice day now, y'hear?" The number of words in that brightly chirped departure that she actually means don't even need fingers to count. |
Contents
Comments
Tela (10:39, 27 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
They are so mean. So mean! I like it! (When they do it to each other I mean, it's fitting!)
(P.S. Lya, love your hair! <3 )
Rategar (10:46, 27 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
I thought I was being NICE! She ruined my meal! REACHIAN WOMEN. D:
Rategar (10:46, 27 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
I thought I was being NICE! She ruined my meal! REACHIAN WOMEN. D:
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