Logs:Special Igen, Special Gather
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 3 March, 2015 |
| Who: V'ros, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros and Lycinea go to Igen's gather. It is not a date. |
| Where: Igen Hold |
| When: Day 26, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Hot as heck. |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Wulfan/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
  |
| It turned out that their schedules overlapped in the late afternoon, so that's when Lycinea appeared at the nighthearth, wrapped in a long travelling cloak, hood up. Only the lightest brush of cosmetics visible on her face - a touch of color to her lips and lines around her eyes that make their blue-green color all the more bold. Once they're landing in Igen and Lycinea steps away to 'cough' (as is habitually her need after a ride adragonback). "Shells, you weren't kidding, hot," even though the sun is already drooping in Igen and as if V'ros were prone to kidding to begin with. Lya's fingers close on the clasp of her cloak and draw it off, revealing a-- not over the top dress. It's a solid color and drapes appropriately low around her angles. The cut, too, is simple, but it hugs her frame nicely and is nicer than most of her other clothes. Perhaps this was her compromise for V'ros insisting he wouldn't be dressing up, or maybe she's been spending too much time looking at Irianke's clothes. The whole ordeal must be tedious for V'ros, or he just really doesn't like gathers; given his track record with them. He shows up at the appointed time, wearing the typical rider fare, and hurriedly sweeps Lycinea outside to the bowl, where Zmeyth stands sentinel. It's a swift departure and arrival, and the brown is more than happy to wing away, out of sight (and reach) of Lycinea's coughing, once they've deposited their outerwear. "It's a.. desert," the brownrider returns, his heavyset brows lowering in befuddlement. "Supposedly gets cold at night sometimes." He shrugs and steps towards the sounds of merrymaking, towards where the banners sporting Igen colors and insignia flap in the wind. "You hungry?" is his first question, perhaps prompted by the rumbling of his own stomach as his fingers haphazardly shove his gloves in his pocket. Looking forward - to the tents and brightly-garbed Igenites - V'ros jerks his head. "Or.. do you want.. to look around?" "I've never been to a desert," Lya answers his befuddlement with a slight purse of her lips. "Not everyone is as well-traveled as dragonmen, you know," she adds for good measure as she falls into step beside him. "I could eat. Probably should." Now, that they've arrived and while it's still a while before they're heading back. Her gaze sweeps as they walk. "It looks like just another gather to me," is mumbled more to herself than to the brownrider. All of those snide comments fall by the wayside while they walk, with V'ros content to let her talk and sort-of-listen. "I never said it was.. different." He is leading them through the aisles between tents, past the gaudily dressed locals, obviously with a certain direction in mind; though, he does stare into all openings they pass. "Igen's.. odd, is all. You won't see.. other people wearing what they wear.. and they're.." He frowns as he glances at the blonde, then shrugs carelessly. "You'll see. The longer we're here." Lycinea's eyes are following the people more than her companion, though they dart back now and again to make sure she doesn't lose him. As they move to where the crowd becomes more dense, she reaches out an arm with the intent to slip it around his nearer one. "Do you like Igen? Like it, I mean. Everyone seems to just like it so much, and I'm not sure why. It doesn't seem so much better than High Reaches. They both have gossip-worthy ex-Lords and gossip-worthy Lords and Ladies, only the High Reaches one is dead." She frowns briefly and then sighs. "Is the Weyr like the Hold or different like at home?" The arm Lycinea's links through his earns a widened stare. "Uh." V'ros comes to a halt and stares, looking pained, towards a tent on the far side of the bustling gather square. "Over there?" He throws his weight into the steps he takes - anticipating her letting go? - and keeps his head ducked low to avoid any unwanted attention. "Igen's fine. It's.. warm.. and.. sandy," does sound convincing; or not. "Not a lot of people like the cold.. some like the heat.. and they're.. uh." Frowning, again, he moves into the shade afforded by the large, red tent he's chosen, which happens to serve from both casks and warmed trenchers. She doesn't intend to let go of him. Congratulations, V'ros, you are Lya's anchor in the sea of humanity around you. She will speed her step to try to keep up with him. "Odd?" Lya suggest as an end to his trailing sentence. "I don't see what's wrong with the cold. That's what clothes are for, isn't it?" Practical, see? "Yeah, odd." V'ros rubs the tip of his nose with his knuckle and casts around for an empty table; they fall, instead, on the customary pillows Igen favors. "Never heard of the Igen life?" He moves towards the drink vendor, who is leaning with both swarthy forearms on the counter, regaling his customers with old war stories. "Ale? Wine? Juice?" His eyes flick to Lycinea, but his discomfiture with the touching hasn't lessened any. "I suppose I must've heard of it, but I don't know that I ever paid it much mind. Juice," Lycinea answers, slipping her fingers into her pocket to produce marks to offer up for the drink. In so doing, she lets go of his arm. Lucky V'ros! It's once drinks are in hand that she asks with a small amount of melancholy, "When you were little, did you ever want a life that was different than the one you had?" The smell of charred meats fills the tent as a fresh selection is brought out, and it's titillating enough to drive V'ros to toss down marks enough for his own tankard and double servings of meat-on-a-stick, one for each of them. He accepts his purchases, looking too relieved to be free of Lycinea's cumbersome arm, and hands her her share. "Huh? Uh. Yeah. I guess. Always thought.. I don't know.. being a crafter would've been.. fulfilling? You?" His earnest eyes fall on Lycinea while he steps away from the vendor, farther into the tent. Lycinea has to blink at V'ros when the meat-on-a-stick is handed to her. She must not have been expecting that particular gesture. "Thanks." She looks at him a moment with a puzzled sort of expression and then quickly away. "I had a lot of different fantasies. Crafting. A hold. A loving family." She rolls her shoulders as if it doesn't matter and then nods to where there's a pocket of unoccupied space in the crowd, stepping toward it. "Was there a particular craft that interested you? Or was it just the idea of a craft in general?" The blonde's confusion causes V'ros to frown. "Not all the crafts have.. er.. strict rules. You could be one of those.." He starts walking towards the plush rugs, sumptuous pillows, and short tables spread around the venue for rest and respite. "Bakers." Though, the idea of Lycinea baking must be amusing, because for a short second, he smirks, before stopping in front of a cascade of dusty pillows, that he frowns down at. "A Hold? You want to.. move to a Hold? Not a Weyr?" He sounds surprised, glancing up at the younger girl, now. "Still got time to have a family.. too." "I was going-" Lycinea starts and stops abruptly when she catches his brief smirk. "Nevermind," and nevermind the blush on her cheeks. "When I was young, I wanted a lot of different things. I don't think I'd be happy in a Hold now. They'd probably just kick me out anyway for being mouthy. I think Weyrs probably have a higher tolerance for that kind of thing, from girls especially. At least in a Weyr girls are given a pretty fair shake. In some crafts, too, I expect." She looks uneasily at V'ros, "I don't want kids. That's not the kind of family want. I wanted loving parents. People that wanted me. I'm happy having friends now." An awkward moment ensues, where V'ros kind of starts to squat down, but then stands up, takes a step to the side, and glances at Lycinea. "Holders aren't guaranteed.. a, uh, family.. either." He finally does deign to sit down, using the allotted pillows to cushion his back, though it's definitely an awkward movement, not even remotely fluid. "You don't see my happy, loving parents around.. do you?" His tankard is lifted in a silent toast, and then he's taking a long, satisfying drink. "You'll.. find something.. eventually. How's, um, Irianke?" "No? I thought most of them were more... real families. Not like in a Weyr where the nannies raise the kids most of the time or foster them out to the Holds." Lya lifts her juice to her mouth. "I always thought it was weird, you know, that my fosterers sent me to a Weyr when so many kids are fostered out from a Weyr. Why not just send me to some other Hold?" She stares at nothing a moment and then bites into her meat. "This is good. So's Weyrwoman Irianke. I mean, I like working for her." "I'm.. no.. expert on, uh, families, but.. any of them can have.. problems. Look at Igen Hold," this, muttered a little lower, into his mug. Obviously, he's referencing the fallout between Wulfan and Joremy, and their lack of loving family ties. "How.. do you know? That you aren't.. weren't.. born here? Are there records?" V'ros frowns and takes a bite of his food, ignoring the shuffle of people as they pass by on their way to other sport. "What.. do you do? For her?" "Did yours?" It's not exactly idle curiosity, but neither is Lycinea seeming to be actively trying to dig into potentially hazardous emotional territory. "Do you think power and money makes family harder like people say?" She must be thinking of Igen now. It might seem she's not going to answer about the records, "The records at the Weyr aren't explicit. That's why I wanted to go to Balen," she chews her lower lip. She'd asked him to take her once. "It doesn't really matter, though. They didn't want me then, and they weren't even my actual parents, so why would it be any different now?" It's easier, for sure, to talk about the goldrider. "Mostly I just help her. I get things she needs, make sure her meals are brought where she needs them, help her dress when it's complicated, do her hair. Little things like that." "Did my.. what? Family? Have problems? Uh, yeah." V'ros doesn't elaborate, but rotates between biting off chunks of meat and drinking from his frothy beverage. "I don't.. I don't know, Lycinea. It.. might? I guess sometimes.. people get greedy and.. make bad decisions." His shoulders rise and fall in an effortless shrug. "You shouldn't worry about.." He grunts, oddly. "Care about people who don't.. care about you. Don't think about it. You've got.. the Weyr now, and you can do.. whatever you want. Be the goldrider's assistant. Be.. a rider.. be.. anything, really." This might be the most he's ever talked, and he probably realizes, because after that diatribe, he buries his mouth in his drink, eyes lifting to the masses passing by. Lycinea listens, she must, mustn't she? She's silent while she chews for some moments after V'ros has finished speaking. "I like being Irianke's assistant. I'm not sure I would like being Azaylia's." She tilts her head to look at V'ros. "Do you think Zmeyth would Search me if that's what I wanted?" Because it's so much about what the person wants, right? V'ros almost chokes on his food and starts to cough, leaning to the side and away. "Shit," he mutters, and shakily takes a long draught of his ale. Surfacing, he frowns at Lycinea. "What's wrong with Azaylia? Why.. not her, but.. Irianke?" He doesn't understand her preference, obviously. "Huh? You can.. ask to Stand.. you don't need Zmeyth's approval. You're weyrfolk, and it.. it kind of defeats the purpose." Lycinea actually looks like she cares when he starts coughing. She leans a little bit his way, but doesn't reach out to help, though she might have if he'd kept on. "Sorry, I didn't realize it would be a weird thing to ask. If I wanted to ask, I'd have to ask someone with a big knot and I'm not sure if Irianke would want me to." She chews her lower lip a moment, "I'm not sure I would want to anyway, it's just nice to know you have options, you know?" She bites her own meat and chews thoughtfully before saying, "It's not that anything is wrong with Azaylia, it's just that I grabbed my boobs the first time I met her, and that's not really appropriate assistant behavior. And I don't know that she'd want the same kinds of things as Irianke. I think I fit with Irianke, which is sort of weird to say, where I don't feel like I would with Azaylia. They're just different people." "Uh. It's not weird.. it's just.. you can ask. Dragons don't need to search you, but.. they could.. if.." V'ros frowns, perhaps having an internal dialogue with his own brown about her searchability, but from his release of breath, there seems to be nothing eventful to relay. "You have.. a lot. Anything you want.. but, being a.. goldrider's assistant is pretty.." He shrugs. Big? Cool? Who knows. "I don't.. think.. you're the first to.. grab your.." But he doesn't continue, clearing his throat instead and going back to munching contently on his snack. "No, probably not," Lya admits of the last first, "But it was... just, the way we met was odd in not a good way. Maybe just not the right foot. I fell down too, so maybe no feet at all, really." Not that that's very interesting, which she seems to realize. "I have a lot now, but what happens when Irianke goes home? I don't think she'll take me. She must have someone who does the things I do for her at home, or maybe Nimae doesn't let her have someone. Either way, I don't know about all this sand." She casts her eyes about dubiously. "Although..." This is slow, "I do like some of their clothes, and they wouldn't be as good for home as they are for here." Is clothes a good reason to entirely uproot oneself? This whole turn of conversation is making V'ros uncomfortable, and he tries valiantly to look elsewhere, focus elsewhere, and have no opinions on their weyrwomen and clothes. His exhale is loud and gusty. "I don't.. I don't know.. honestly.. we should.." He points his nearly-finished skewer towards the tent opening and the sweltering heat without. "There's shops and dancing and a bunch of.. things.. to look at. You might.. like Igen better, then, and.. maybe you'll want to go with Irianke." It's a thought anyway, while he tries to leverage himself up, at the same time holding onto both tankard and stick. What Lycinea chooses to do with all that he's said is point her nearly finished skewer in his direction and ask, "Will you dance with me, V'ros?" V'ros gains his feet and is fully intent to whisking Lycinea out to view the myriad booths in the gather square, but her question stops him in his tracks. His face falls blank, and then flushes. "I don't.." He looks away, obviously uncomfortable. "Dance. Sorry.. there's.. other things to do." It's pained. Lycinea watches him flush with an even expression. She watches him another moment longer, and then says simply, "Okay. Just don't lose me in all the people, okay? I don't like crowds." But she likes gathers. They can talk about the weirdness of her, or just the weirdness of Igen while they do the other things there are to do at a gather before returning home. |
Leave A Comment