Logs:Simple Comfort
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| RL Date: 18 December, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, T'gar |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dahlia runs into T'gar having an off night after C'ris has given him the bad news. |
| Where: Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Guzman/Mentions, L'rok/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------< The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light. The sky's deepening in the evening as the Weyr's residents conclude their duties for the day and prepare for the night. The lake shore is emptying out save for one bronze weyrling dragon lolling in the water, his grotesque head and part of his wings the only indication that he's there in the growing dark. His rider being nearby, T'gar is at one of the benches with a light dinner on hand as he watches Asaroth from his vantage. Since her as-inconspicuous-as-it-gets-for-a-foreign-gold drop off of her rider before lunch, Taeliyth's been occupying space up as high as she can be on the rim of the bowl. Her rider on the other hand has been everywhere, but day's end finds her walking alone toward the benches at this far end of the lake, fingers curled into the skirt of her mauve peasant dress. She's quite without a knot and equally quite without a purpose, it seems, from the way she's meandering, taking in the sight of the willows stooped branches. She slows to a stop not far from the bench T'gar occupies, looking out across the lake. Perhaps at first she doesn't even notice him there. One can be sure that T'gar notices her arrival, the man eating his way through a redfruit in his contemplative silence over the lake. That Asaroth is there is evident, along with the young bronze's riding straps left in a heap right beside the bench he's on. He doesn't break the silence, merely looking from her towards the lake with a skin of some drink in between. Dahlia's attention gradually shifts away from the natural beauty of the lake, to the trees, and then finally T'gar enters her notice. "Oh," is quiet admission that she hadn't noticed him sooner. "Not disturbing you, am I?" There's concern in her tone, but if she's stood here this long and he's not spoken, the need to worry seems minimal. Swallowing a piece of redfruit, "Hardly," Rat answers her with a nod. "I like to get away from the noise of the bowl, or the Weyr, too. You don't hear all that much of it from out here." He eyes her dress (well, her body), before he asks, "Special night out?" "It's nice," Dahlia says of the place, "peaceful," she adds giving a glance to the lake again for a moment before looking back to the man with a smile and shrug, "Just having my first day off in a while. Dresses don't make for good work clothes, most of the time, so I figured I might as well. Mind if I join you?" She gestures to the bench. A keen eye might be able to tell at this distance (and surely if she comes closer) that pretty though the dress is, it's not new. There are small spots where it's been mended or places that haven't come quite entirely clean of dirt. The hem, surely, has seen better days, but it's serviceable all the same. "If you want," Rat says on her joining, shifting aside to give her more space to sit. "First day off, huh? Sounds as bad as weyrlinghood," he notes with an amused snort. "How long has it been since you've gotten some time off? You work in the kitchens?" His eyes fall to where he doesn't see a shoulderknot, right along with the state he could see of the dress. Dahlia settles easily onto the bench, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged, shifting her skirt to allow for it. This sort of behavior might also explain why dresses aren't necessarily daily wear for the brunette. "I'm sure it could be worse," holds a little bit of wry optimism. "I'm just glad I can take the time today." She's grateful for what she has, it would seem. "Not the kitchens, no. I'm just visiting today, actually. You're a weyrling?" Her eyes seek out Asaroth, "About half way though?" She guesses, but with the long experience of exposure to dragons. "Visiting," T'gar picks that out, his interest piqued as he finishes off his meal. "Visiting from where?" He nods to confirm his rank, gesturing towards the wading bronze in the lake. "Asaroth," he gives his dragon's name first before pressing a large hand to his chest to indicate himself with, "Rat." Beat. "About half-way, maybe," he agrees with a shrug. "Not sure. Asaroth hasn't been one of those in the class that develops quite on time. Unless he's just testing my patience." "From Fort," the brunette answers, her eyes moving from man to dragon again. "Nice to meet you, Rat. And Asaroth." Dahlia tips her head in greeting to the farther away of the too. "Oh? Concerns about his growth or--?" Her interest is polite, as is, "Are you from here originally?" "That explains it," Rat says with a nod. "Fort. Long way from home. What about you?" Her name, he prompts before he answers on his dragon. "More--" he taps the side of his head, "--than anything physical. Behaves differently is all. I'm from Bitra," he says then on his origins. "Holdbred. Still getting used to living here. From a Hold yourself?" Taking in her clothes. "Long enough," Dahlia answers with a smile, perhaps pleased to be able to say, "I like to get away from the noise of the Weyr," in nearly a quote. "It's good, every now and again, to get distance. "What does it explain?" She's curious, her head tilting a little, hazel eyes searching his face. "From Southern Weyr, originally. It's a little-- well, the northern Weyrs seem to have a little bit more structure than Southern." Can T'gar even imagine a place that would be harder to adjust to? "I'm told it's a big transition for those from Holds. Anything in particular bothering you about it or just-- the whole?" Did she forget her name? Oops. "It explains why I haven't heard something snotty come out of your mouth in this time," T'gar states without apology, but at least there's a smile. "That seems to be a trait of Reachian women. Southern. You prefer Fort to Southern? Not talking weatherwise," he adds. "Never been to Southern myself. It's one of the places I'm looking forward to checking out as soon as Asaroth learns how to Between. I hear the women are practically walking around naked down there." It must be a tease, right? As for Weyr living as a whole, "Everything, really," he admits. "I pick up most things, though. I'm used to being around those with hidebound mentalities, so, you can imagine....not that I was hidebound much myself, thanks to my father keeping me on the road most of the time. We bred runners, see." Dahlia laughs. She can't help it and her hands fly to clap over her mouth and stop that inappropriate laugh at T'gar's explanation. She's still grinning when he speaks of southern, and there's a near silent snicker. "Oh, yeah, that sounds about right. Brazen women, Southerners." The amusement brightens her expression and eyes. "And when you frame it like that, how could I not say Southern? Fort is home, though, and I love it there. It wasn't love at first encounter, though." She admits that with a shrug. "An adjustment, and one I didn't really plan well for. "Sounds like your fortunate, being able to pick things up. Some can't. Breeding runners sounds interesting. I used to be a farmcraft apprentice. Tromped through the jungles collecting plants and playing in the dirt." She sounds like she misses it, but she doesn't linger long on it. "Did you like your life then? Or are you glad of this new one?" Her laughter draws a short one of his own. "I promise you," Rat's saying to Dahlia. "Grow a dick and Impress a bronze and see what I mean! I think I would like Southern women though," he admits idly. "They sound like they know how treat someone right. Drinks on the beach, bare skin, the sun in your face....I have a friend here - L'rok - who goes down there anytime he can. I suspect he's lying about the naked women, but really, I don't care." When she reveals her origins, "Farmcraft, huh? Would you have traded Weyr life for it, though? I think....this life is getting better than my old one," he considers after a pause in answering on the last. "Asaroth's an ass, but, I tend to be, too. I can't fault him on being one himself. Likely why he chose me in the first place. I like having my own place now. Like the freedom. The women could be nicer, but other than that..." "Good that you don't let them get to you, then," of the women of High Reaches, Dahlia's smile amused. "Southern does have that much going for them. The bonfires were always my favorite. Booze, drums when there were drummers, dancing and the ocean right there." Her look is nostalgic. "No, I never traded Weyr for craft. I had an eccentric master there, at Southern Weyr. He sent me to the Hall for what classes he couldn't teach early on, but I preferred to stay home, despite the books at the Hall that we didn't have access too." There's a wistfulness there; Dahlia's definitely a bookworm. "I hope this life keeps on getting better for you, Rat." Particularly since there aren't any other avenues open to him any longer. "Are you really?" She has to wonder at last, "An ass? If so, you've been exceptionally well-behaved toward me, or did I just catch you on an off night?" A bit soberly on the first, "A few of them do," is all Rat says on Reachian women, a touch of his disquiet leaking through. Talk of Southern seems to melt that away though, the weyrling whistling at the picture painted by Dahlia before he says, "If I get down there and only see some old aunties shuffling around on a beach and banging on kitchen pots before a fiery log, I'm coming after you for lying to me." Laughing on him being an ass though, he angles a look at her face before he looks towards the lake and states, "When I want to be. Could be an off-night, too. Just been told by a far too-nice guy that the girl we apparently both liked had chose him - and for me to back off." Beat. "It helps that you're not snotty," he adds besides. "Kind of needed that tonight. So, thanks, whoever-you-are from Fort." Dahlia's reach for Rat's arm is reflexive, intended for a light touch and squeeze of sympathy for those few Reachian women before her hand withdraws as quickly and easily as it came. "If you get down there and need a guide, I'll make sure you see the right things," she makes the offer so casually that it can't possibly be something more than simple human kindness. "Dee," she offers with some mild resignation, not that everyone would know her by that; it's not so uncommon a nickname, even for someone from Fort, but she's prepared for him to know her if that's what must be now. Blue eyes falls on that hand before hte offer has Rat laughing and answering, "If L'rok bails on me, I'll take you up on your offer." Beat. "Dee." Beat. "Well met." Well, there is no recognition from the weyrling, so it looks like she's safe. He gets up though, dropping a brief hand to her shoulder as he says, "Hope you stop by sometime. I'll even try to keep the asshole in me at bay next time, too." He makes it sound like a feat. "I should get back to studying." There's some small expression of relief when there's no obvious recognition, no sudden change in behavior. Dahlia smiles, nodding, "Good luck. If you get to Fort before I get another day off and end up back here, look me up, Rat." Only once he's moving away does she raise her voice a bit to call, "For what it's worth, Rat, I'm sure you've got this." This weyrlinghood thing, or perhaps this keeping of his inner asshole at bay. Either way, Dee believes in him, there's a warm smile to prove it. "Provided Asaroth doesn't drop-kick me Between," Rat says pleasantly enough with a smile. Then, more genuine, "Have a nice trip back," for he's out of there, giving her a nod and a smile before he and his bronze are off from the lake shore together. |
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