Logs:The Blanket
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 18 October, 2014 |
| Who: Olveraeth, Zmeyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Zmeyth's blanket is missing. Sadface. |
| When: Day 11, Month 1, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
  |
| Zmeyth is restless, prowling in the dark curve of the weyrbowl just after the sun disappears beneath the horizon. His rough baritone, with its unfathomable quality, is just as brusque and bold as it usually is. He's got a problem, maybe the blue has an answer. « Where is the redhead. » His one, that one - Quinlys. (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) It's a pity that there are clouds, tonight; Olveraeth enjoys the night, but enjoys it far more when there are stars to see. Still, he's stars of his own: a whole galaxy of them, laid out across his thoughts in unknowable constellations. Now, he glances down from his ruminations, as if to pick the brown from the bowl (he clearly can't); « Why do you seek her, young Zmeyth? » (To Zmeyth from Olveraeth) Putting to rest the suspicion: « I don't. » A sigh that isn't really a sigh. Zmeyth's hazy darkness meets the Olveraeth's constellations and layout of stars with unmovable intensity; stars are pretty and all. « Why does she do it? What does she get out it? » (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) In answer, Olveraeth's stars shine all the brighter; distant nebulae gleam, brilliantly colourful. « Out of teaching? » he answers, after a moment's consideration. « She enjoys it. Sharing knowledge; helping others. We're good at it. Why do you ask? » (To Zmeyth from Olveraeth) Zmeyth's show of humor is a dry, empty sound that tries to mimic human laughter and quite obviously, fails. « Could have fooled me, » he says glibly, sending his smoke to try and blanket the blue's stars, attempting obfuscation at a weak level. « Have you seen any good blankets lately? Soft? Silky? Mine? » (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) To Zmeyth, Olveraeth allows that smoke to obfuscate, but only in the vaguest sense; his light shines through, and the smoke dissipates, bit by bit, until the skies are clear once more. That glib remark goes by without comment; Olveraeth sees no need to sink to that level. « No. Have you misplaced your blanket? The barracks are empty, now.» Bait not taken - Zmeyth grouses, as appropriate, in the form of mild, unintelligent mumblings in the background. « Someone took it, and it is mine. » His words are severe, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation. « I won't stop until I find it. » At least, until he forgets; lucky he has V'ros to remind him of inconsequential topics. (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) « I hope you find it, then, » says Olveraeth in answer, genial enough, though his voice is, as always, just short of nasal. « I have not seen it, but perhaps someone else has. And there are, of course, always other blankets. » Perhaps even better ones. Perhaps. (To Zmeyth from Olveraeth) « Does she have it? » Back to the redhead again. Zmeyth's accusation comes with the sting of acrid smoke, heavier than before, almost-- threatening? He dismisses the idea of other blankets, even other better, superior blankets; there can only be one. « I want what is mine. Not a replacement. Don't act like good blankets are easy to find. » (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) « No. » Olveraeth's answer is patient; he does not acknowledge the threat. « If I see it, I will let you know. If we see it. » But that is all there is. (To Zmeyth from Olveraeth) « I hope I can trust you, » Zmeyth says with another of his not-sighs. « It would be a pity to find out otherwise. » And just like that, his smoke pulls back, and he's returned to prowling quietly in the weyrbowl. (To Olveraeth from Zmeyth) |
Leave A Comment