Logs:Tap-Tapping
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| RL Date: 24 July, 2013 |
| Who: C'wlin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: New Boreal sweepriders C'wlin and Telavi discuss the weather and a long-standing trade. |
| Where: Somewhere in Tillek |
| When: Day 2, Month 5, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: D'kan/Mentions |
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| "Look," one Boreal wingrider says wonderingly to another one, holding out her hand where the sun can shine upon it and even cast a shadow. "It's not raining here, C'wlin. Not raining!" "Thank Faranth," C'wlin mutters, presumably with some measure of relief to this neutral tones. He has been flying -- or existing -- under the radar as of late. Far under the radar. "Do you have anything growing between your toes yet?" Telavi is apparently compelled to ask, and sunnily at that. "I heard not long ago about a fellow who didn't change his socks enough when they got damp, and he wound up rotting. They had to take his foot." C'wlin turns to stare at Telavi. "Say what now?" Is that face the face of a man-child on the verge of exposing his severe amount of disgust? "I don't know who you talk about, but I take care of my feet. My craft and my cot holder family taught me better than that." Disdain drips from tenor tones that trill icy disbelief at such atrocities. "Harper Hall addresses socks? I am impressed. Did they teach you to get holes darned before they get huge, too? And," because Telavi's on a roll here, "did you know your voice sort of... wiggles... like that when you get in a mood?" C'wlin is left -- as tends to be the trend when it comes to Telavi -- a little dumbfounded by his fellow clutch mate and wing rider. "Harper Hall," stated primly, "Is very thorough in their education." Or maybe he got a different kind. But then she picks up too closely on his voice and that earns a stormy expression and a clamp of his teeth. Sileeeeeeence. He gets an even sunnier smile for it, too. "Did they discuss," Telavi questions, "that if you do the jaw thing too much, it can actually either give you muscle spasms, or wear down your teeth horribly? You don't want to wind up gnawing with stubs, do you? It would hurt, and then they would have to pull them, and then where would you be." Telavi is just horrible, and C'wlin's expression doesn't leave that thought to the imagination. "Mmmmph." That's the former-harper-boy's less than intelligently put together response. "At least it's not raining." Surely they can go back to that. And not his too-pretty voice. Tap tap. Tap-tap-tap. Telavi agrees, says the drum code of nail against metal buckle, and not even in a horrible dialect... but then, it is a simple reply. C'wlin shoots Telavi a suspicious look, his own hands kept neatly folded. However, the harper is not afraid of the silent game and he's good at the 'I'm not giving anything away' look; yet, an expectant air is set around his demeanor. 'You should answer me if you want your last few clothes back' gets translated by Telavi into a meaningful look that has nothing to do with drum code at all, followed by something like, shirt. Remember? Talk. C'wlin raises a brow, playing a little cat-and-mouse when his response is equally simple: "I didn't hear a question." Maybe she did it wrong or maybe he's being deliberately obtuse and wants her to spell it out verbally. Brow raises. A hint of humor lurks within. Hey, C'wlin //can// smile in a not-creepy, not-evil kind of way. Telavi might look a trifle dubious at that. "But I thought you were the expert," she says ingenuously. Tap tap: You hear? Q little man woman today maybe? Maybe he doesn't need his nicely fixed shirt. C'wlin's brows raise and he affects an innocent shrug in the face of her dubious question. His answer comes frustratingly in voice, tenor light and smooth like a fine brandy, "I'd heard only rumors of something starting." A pause is allowed, then: "Thank you," not even grudgingly either, "for all the alterations." Even though it was a pre-arranged arrangement, the Harper Hall has instilled manners he chooses to use this time. "They -- you have skill." So they must fit nicely! Not grudging. Her smile's radiant, just for that moment, before Telavi looks away so blithely. Thanks, she taps then. I like. More learning, or is it 'more knowing'? What now? When done. They better fit nicely; if he's gotten more height or otherwise disturbs the retailored cut of his clothes, he could be in trouble. Luckily for C'wlin -- or rather unluckily for him but luckily for her -- growth has not seemed to be in the cards for him at this late stage. His stature, for good or ill, seems to be set as it is. Fingers tap-tap-tap against the buckle, delving into the drum code, though more complicated than probably he's tossed at her as of yet. Done? Never done. You can always learn more, but the question is what more you want to learn. The teacher, now, watching the student parse through a curveball. He's seen her frowny face before, and here's a variation, not directed at him: more to do with focus, though that bush over there would be burning up if she could accomplish such things. Then again, Telavi isn't staring right at it either. What, she finally taps back at C'wlin, you do s-u-g-g-e-s-t?" Sharp blue eyes regard the greenrider, pale brows furrowing at C'wlin takes a split second to decide. Tapping out: You could learn to look for spy messages. Expression remains neutral, as subtly added: Coded messages. Tela blinks once. Tela blinks twice. It could be code, except... Where? Can tapping alone sound intrigued? Here it's paired with her expression, far more expressive than his just now. C'wlin shrugs, shooting a glance outward to the scenery they happen to be sweeping, then adds: Anyone, anytime can send coded messages. Is it a secret he gives away? Or tease? It's certainly nothing that surprises Telavi, given the roll of her eyes at her clutchmate. And I copy. And give you. For truth, she taps, or at least for a check. A faint smile graces C'wlin's features, somehow made a teeny bit softer for this strange, interesting clutch mate of his. His response is very, very simple, but its simplicity is its rarity: Thank you. Her fingertips hover over the buckle now, not quite touching, not quite a giveaway even to sight minus sound-- at least, of anything other than momentary, speculative indecision. But then Telavi forgoes drum talk to drop into a light, smiling curtsey, not looking away until she's risen and resettled her imaginary skirt with a tweak so much more eloquent than her tapping... and then she finally walks away, off to Solith and the rest of sweeps. Her hands, from here, are silent. |
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