Logs:The Cutest Couple
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| RL Date: 18 May, 2009 |
| Who: Betegal, Gr'kaif, Isziyo, Madilla, Whitchek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla meets Gr'kaif, who overwhelms her. But it's not until Isziyo, Betegal, and then, Whitchek arrive, that she can't cope anymore and has to run away. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 10, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed. It's still a little bit early for dinner, so the caverns aren't terribly busy, but between a group of children on an afternoon-snack excursion from the nurseries, and a couple of candidates skulking in the corner by way of escaping afternoon chores, they're not precisely quiet, either. At a table not far from the klah pot, and belonging to neither of these groups is Madilla, nursing a mug of something, with a book resting in front of her, though her eyes are fairly unashamedly focused upon the group of children, wide and fond. With wintertime nearly upon the Reaches, the infirmary gets its share of real colds--and fake ones to get out of work. One guess which category Gr'kaif falls into. He comes out of the infirmary with a dirty look over his shoulder, but he seems to know where he's going after that, pausing to look over the caverns a moment. He gets a little bit of dinner for an excuse to sit down, and then takes a roundabout route over to Madilla's table to seat himself. "Hey. This seat taken?" he wonders, glancing from her to those children and back. Madilla is too entranced to particularly notice Gr'kaif's approach, resting her chin in her palms as she watches; that she takes pleasure from the activity is hardly a secret. Despite this reverie, the greenrider's question doesn't shock her too much into action. Her head turns, lifts from the resting place her hands have provided, and then the smile, if a little more rueful, gets aimed in his direction instead. "No, it's quite free, please, sit down." Thus interrupted, she reaches to reclaim her mug instead, drawing that back towards her mouth. "Okay, if you're sure." Like Gr'kaif really needs the convincing. He slides into the chair alongside Madilla, plate arranged in front of him like he's actually going to eat dinner. "I'm Gr'kaif," he instead introduces himself, before nodding over toward the playing kids. "One of them yours? No, couldn't be--you're not old enough for that, are you? Littlet brother, maybe?" "Madilla," says the girl, warmly, tilting her head into a nod for the greenrider. Her smile curves about the rim of her mug at his question, gaze instantly sliding back towards the congregation of children. "Oh, no," she responds, shaking her head so that her braid dances over her shoulder. "No, nothing like that. I just like children. It's - refreshing, seeing them having so much fun over something so simple, don't you think?" "Oh, you do? Me too!" says Gr'kaif, and he flashes his biggest, brightest smile at the kids running around. "I just love the rowdy little buggers to death." It's said lovingly, of course. That same toothy grin's aimed at Madilla, too. "Nice to meet you, Madi--did you say Madilla? Oh, you /are/. Now this is a real coincidence." No. Really. It is. "Met a friend of yours just the other day, guy by the name of Whitchek?" The use of 'rowdy little buggers' causes Madilla some visible consternation, but she otherwise takes it as genuine, warming up all the more for having someone agree with her. "They're adorable," she agrees, turning her mug within her hands, then setting it down again. The rest of what he has to say, however, draws distinct confusion - and then, (and then!) a brilliantly pink flush. "Whitchek! Oh. Yes. Was he talking about me?" If anything, that idea makes her blush /more/. "Only good things," Gr'kaif confirms, which perhaps sounds a little suspicious that he'd have to specify. "You know, about how cute and adorable you are--he was right about that," he leans in to confide to the girl. "And how he's madly in love with you. Going to marry you, let you have all sorts of babies for him... You know, all the mushy romantic stuff guys in love say. I tell you, there's nothing quite like kids in love." And his face goes all fond and nostalgic just talking about it, complete with a sappy sort of sigh. It's impossible for Madilla's flush to get any darker at this point, though the way she lowers her eyes in response to Gr'kaif's words suggests the embarrassment has definitely grown quite a bit. "Did he?" The uncertainty in her voice must, surely, be a result of how overwhelming it all is. "Oh - he's very sweet, isn't he? Of course, we can't get married until I'm a Journeyman, but my Journeywoman thinks a long engagement is a good idea, and anyway, if he Impresses..." Eyes on the table, check. Brilliant flush, check. Gr'kaif watches Madilla closely, and when she answers, he reaches over to pat her on the back. "Oh, honey, you poor thing. How long until you make it? That has to suck, y'know. The way he was talking, he's got that whole thing about how he can't defile you with fornication before marriage or something like that." He certainly looks and sounds sympathetic, making a face at the very idea of no fornicating. He tacks on, apologetically, "My words, not his. He just called me a vile degenerate and I kind of... extrapolated." The physical contact, even in such a mild form as a pat on the back, stiffens the young healer. Madilla lifts her gaze again, suddenly awkward in tone, as well as expression. "Three turns," is her answer, relatively prompt; despite the awkwardness, it still sounds as though this is a lifetime away, at least in her mind. But the fornication? Her lips tighten. "We're holders. We were raised to... strict moral guidelines. We don't... do that kind of thing." Beat. "Until marriage." "We were technically holders," muses the greenrider. "But my mama was never very good at it." And Gr'kaif grins again at Madilla, as though heedless of the ongoing embarrassment he's causing her. "The strict moral guidelines and all. But! Hey, at least you can start trying to make up for lost time in a few turns, right?" Beat. "Providing he doesn't impress, of course. I mean, he'd be out of weyrlinghood by then, but..." Madilla's gaze flicks, just mildly, back towards the children. The nice, safe, non-threatening children. Politeness, however, doesn't let it linger long there, so, with a tentative smile, she turns it back towards Gr'kaif. "Oh?" She doesn't really want to know, that much is evident from her expression. "I-- suppose? I hadn't really thought of it in... those terms." More thin lips. "Why the but?" Gr'kaif, though, doesn't seem to have much conception of what's asked out of curiosity and what's just politeness. "Yeah. She ran off when she was... Faranth, probably your age; came crawling home a couple turns later with me and my oldest sister." He half-frowns, just for an instant, to be thoughtful. "Gosh, must of been a dozen of us by the time she died, and I don't think two of us had the same daddy. Except maybe the twins. Maybe." His shoulders lift an absent shrug, and he picks up a fork to take a couple of bites of food. Because that's totally why he's here. "Well, it's just complicated, with the dragons and all. Flights, and everything's so much... free-er when you can't actually get married." Madilla keeps her expression polite, in so much as she can given the content of Gr'kaif's story, smiling blandly. "Oh," she says. "That's a shame. It's nice for a family to have the cohesion of blood relationships." She gathers her mug up again, buries her face in it in so much as one can. It thus takes her a little bit of time before she can respond to the last of what the greenrider says. "There's still weyrmating," she says, then, firmly. "And flights are-- well, you can't avoid them, can you? So. That's okay, if it has to be." "Oh, sure. I mean, you can't if you're a greenrider, to be sure," Gr'kaif says, with a wave of his hand. He forgets his dinner pretense again, fork waved around in the process. "The maleriders... Well, they'll win some, they'll lose some. And you never know what'll happen if they lose. It can get... well. I'm embarrassing you, aren't you." He's awfully perceptive. Madilla's cheeks certainly haven't lost any of their pinkness, that's for certain. "I-- er. I'm sorry, I'm not used to people talking so-- frankly." Her hands cross in front of her, almost like a protective charm between herself and the greenrider, whose face earns no further scrutiny: oh look, a mug! a table, a book. "I prefer not to think about such things." Gr'kaif, firmly, declares, "And you shouldn't have to, either. I'm so sorry, Madilla; I didn't even think. I mean, I should have guessed any girl that'd be involved with my buddy Whits wouldn't be That Kind of Girl." And he nods sagely, and, at least shuts up on that front. "So how /did/ you two meet, anyway? I'm afraid I didn't get that story out of him the other day." /That/, at least, endears the greenrider a little more to the healer: Madilla manages a little smile, head ducking, and promises, "It's all right, truly it is. I've been at the weyr two turns, now; I have some idea of... things." So her hands go back to her mug, resting more comfortably, and she explains, "Oh, well it was right here. Well, not /exactly/, but... We were both eating a late dinner, and ended up talking. It was... refreshing to talk to someone who had the same kind of beliefs as me, you know? He hasn't mentioned you. If you're his... buddy." "Well," admits Gr'kaif, "we only met a couple of days ago. But we hung out for a while. I think we really hit it off, too." Big grin. "So that's probably just it. Can't imagine meeting anybody more different for myself, but really, he's not such a bad chap at all, once you get him to stop calling you a degenerate and all that. I bet you two just make the /cutest/ couple, too, don't you." Does it compute? The combination of 'hitting it off', and 'degenerate'? But Madilla's smile is bland, edging towards friendly, and she nods. "He's a very nice boy," she agrees, affection audible in her tone. "He'll be very good to me. I-- suppose?" That would be for being a cute couple. "I'm not really sure what makes a couple cute." "Young love," Gr'kaif answers sagely. "You know, where you're all giggly and blushing and awkward. Holding hands, that's cute. Sweet little kisses and pet names. You do all that?" He cants his head to look at her. "I bet he treats you like a real lady, huh. All romantic and stuff." If Madilla turns pink (pinker, anyway) again at mention of kisses, she still does manage to nod, albeit slowly, along to the rest. "He wanted to know if he could buy me something. Wants to-- treat me properly. Make sure I don't go without, just because our situation is less than ideal." Her little sigh is sweet: very innocent, very fond. "But he is very good to me. Even without that." "Make sure you don't go--" Something about that amuses Gr'kaif, makes his mouth twitch just a little at the corners. He pushes his barely-touched plate away so he can put an elbow the table, chin in hand. "So what does he want to get you? Or better yet, what do you want from him? I could always put in a little hint for you, you know. I bet he's got no clue at all what a girl likes." Madilla, her mug halfway to her lips again, hesitates, and leaves it hanging. Her lips draw in, more thoughtful than offended, this time, matched by knitted eyebrows. "He didn't know. Neither did I. We didn't really have much extra, to spend on gifts, when I was a little girl. I'm not sure that /I/ know what a girl likes, either, so how could he? I suggested he asked another girl, and surprised me, but I don't think he thinks any of the girls like being... spoiled like that." "Hmm," says Gr'kaif. He taps a finger against his lips, thoughtfully. "Well. I have a few girl friends, so I think I know what they like pretty well." Minds out of the gutter, everyone: he's being helpful. Really. "How do you feel about clothes? Jewelry? Fancy underw--oh, no, you two wouldn't go for that one. That does make it harder, doesn't it." Isziyo heads in from the bowl. Betegal heads in from the inner caverns. Madilla, utterly confused: "What good would fancy under-- /oh/." Her hands tighten about the mug, and then she sets it down again. Flaming red, she hastily adds, "Truly, I don't need anything. Just his affection. Really, I don't think /I/ need gifts from him, when I have that." She and Gr'kaif are sitting at a table not far from the klah pot, the greenrider with a plate of food in front of him, the healer with nothing more than a mug. Okay, so when Isziyo comes walking in, whistling jauntily to himself, it is a fair indicator that someone may be tipsy. But hush. He doesn't, uh, really mean it. It was all that bluerider's fault! Yeah. That one. The over-tall, over-large, overly-muscular, overly-good looking candidate rambles over towards the klahpot, a smirk twitching his full lips up in amusement. He pours himself a mug, black, and flops down next to Gr'kaif without so much as a by-your-leave. Whitchek heads in from the inner caverns. Gr'kaif winks at Madilla in exaggerated fashion, grinning all the while. "I'll get you some for a wedding present in a few turns. Him, too; he'd love that, I'm sure." And he just snickers, shares a conspiratorial look with the girl. But there's Isziyo now, and Gr'kaif's brows go up when he looks at him. And scoots his chair a little choser. "Hello there--" a pause while he racks his brains for the name, comes up with "--cutie." Poor Madilla. Still spluttering over this idea of a wedding present, and now there's Isziyo, as well, and the 'cutie' remark. Her eyes duck desperately towards the table again, resting there where, safely, the might not stumble across anything else likely to upset her. Her hands tighten about her mug, then lift it towards her lips without her eyes glancing at it. She's /scarlet/. Betegal stabbed himself today. But you might not know it by looking at him. Especially since it was with a needle while he was trying to mend a... well, he's not really sure what it was, but it hurt and now there's a bandage around his middle finger. He's shoving the last of a roll into his mouth while he wanders around the living cavern looking for something interesting. He finds the trio, though his focus settles mostly on the man that Searched him, and he starts heading that way because that's where he's looking. Isziyo sprawls back, a happy-go-lucky well-hello-there-stranger look encompassing his striking features. An arm sprawls along Gr'kaif's chairback, and he broadly smiles at the greenrider, then across the table to Madilla. "Well, good evening," he rumbles to all and sundry, good-natured high-spirits evident in his deep rumbly bass. "Madilla, darling, whyfor the scarlet blush?" he drawls- and any takers on which is more surprising: the fact that he's actually speaking, or te fact that he's calling Madilla 'darling'? Here's Whitchek. Innocent guy. Well, not innocent, but he's not a bad person. He's really not. He's just finished a long day of work and all he's looking for is a nice dinner with a sweet girl, *his* sweet girl. He has it all worked out in his head. And then he steps into the living cavern, and he looks around, all eagerness. Then it hits. It's obvious. Eyes widen, mouth opens partway, brows creep up towards his hairline. That ambling pace suddenly gets very quick indeed. "Madilla! Fancy-seeing-you-here." A breath, but a short one. "How're-you?-Maybe-we-should-find-someplace-else-quieter-to-eat-I-saw-this-nice-little-table..." "Oh, Whit! How've you /been/, man? Have a seat!" That broad Reachian-accented question brought to you courtesy of one beaming Isz. Madilla can't quite bring herself to look at Isziyo, and only blushes more furiously than ever, which is just in time for Whitchek to arrive. He /does/ get looked at, her eyes wide and uncomfortable, expression a mask of - well, it's like she's completely lost. "I think," she says, in a very small voice, "that I have lost my appetite. I'll... leave you with your friends, Whitchek?" And Gr'kaif, object of consternation, just grins. "Good evening. I think it's my fault," he says, as he leans a little closer to Isziyo. Personal space invasions, here we come. He even invites more people over to watch the spectacle, with an enthusiastic wave at Betegal to come join them. And then--then there's Whitchek. "Whits, buddy!" hails Gr'kaif, just beaming. "Here, let me scoot over, we can fit you in here." Right in between himself and Madilla, in an itty-bitty opening he makes larger by sliding over toward Isziyo more. "I'll even give you my chair, Whits. You wouldn't mind if I share with you, do you?" He casts a hopeful look at the big guy on his other side. Since there's an actual invitation involved, Betegal's steps become less wandering and more purposeful. He casts a casual wave around, not looking like he's expecting much attention. Which works because when he sits, he mostly stares discreetly at Isziyo and Gr'kaif between glances to other people when they talk. "My friends?" Whitchek just stands there, and he certainly manages to pull this off as an authentic question, just because, well, there's Isziyo. And they are not friends. And he is really not even going to notice anybody in this room but Madilla, because that way lies danger. He doesn't take any offered space, just stands there, holds a hand out towards her. "Can I walk you back--wherever?" Asked quietly. He has never in his life looked so pale, so ashen. Isz's far wrist is now dangling over Gr'kaif's opposite shoulder, as he's leaning on the greenrider at this point. Hey. He invaded his space first! Isz will just give him affection, for his troubles, you know. Or something like that... he can't remember. He's tipsy! "Oh, Madilla, sweetling, not even a 'hi' for good ol' Isz?" Isziyo prompts, grinning past Gr'kaif to the girl. Bet gets a semi-fuzzy glance for the time being. Hey, wait, Isz knows this person... Wait! There's a Whit there! "Oh, Whit, I know you /can't stand me/, but you won't even have a seat? Fine, be a bastard," the young man states will full joviality, his arm tightening about Gr'kaif's shoulders in tandem with his growing smirk. Madilla can't be completely unaware of how pale Whitchek looks, how ashen. She does, however, seem suddenly very unaware - or very deliberately ignoring - of the other people, of Isziyo's remarks, not to mention Gr'kaif. Whitchek's hand she approaches with hers warily, but then, squeezes it, firmly, as she shakes her head. "You need to eat," she reminds him. "I know how hungry you get. Perhaps you could come see me, later this evening? I'll be in the common room, with my books." And she's standing, drawing her hand away again, still so deliberately /not looking at/ anyone else. But she doesn't seem upset with /Whitchek/. So that's... something. "Aw, come on, Whits," says Gr'kaif, while he cuddles up on Isziyo all the more. "Let her go study in peace; I already interrupted her enough. Although I think she was mostly staring longingly at some kids playing before, but." He shrugs, unflustered. "Anyway, have a seat, get a drink. We'll have us a boys' night, right, guys?" And he looks between Whitchek, Isziyo, and now Betegal, too, before asking the latter, "So hey, my candidate. How's that working out for you, anyway? Keep meaning to check in on you, but then I just get busy and forget." |
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