Logs:Uniquely Talented
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| RL Date: 8 July, 2014 |
| Who: Evanthe, Jayzin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two candidates and go rule-breaking. |
| Where: Candidate Quarters |
| When: Day 13, Month 3, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
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| Chores, chores, chores - they fill the day, and Evanthe rarely comes through it entirely unscathed, so a bath was called for before returning home. Her clothes are clinging damply to her skin, and she's distractedly towelling dry her hair as she enters the quarters, paying only a modicum of attention as she weaves her way through the bunks and occupants thereof towards her own humble, decidedly rumpled, bed. Jayzin is a recent addition to the Candidates for Hraedryth's clutch, and though he hasn't quite kept to himself, he certainly has been just as busy as the rest of the Candidates between chores and work in the kitchen. At the moment, he sits with legs stretched out on his own well-made cot, knife in hand as he whittles idly at a piece of wood that seem to look like... a slightly smaller piece of wood, at the moment. "Trunk," he warns, in case Evanthe is not paying attention to notice the shifted, half-opened piece of furniture some younger Candidate has left in her path. Evanthe is not paying attention - her luck would simply have it that way - and it's only a moment after Jayzin helpfully utters that warning that she swings a shin into the corner of the trunk full force. It's almost graceful, the resultant sprawl, ricochet, and eventual falling and catching herself, inevitably, on the edge of Jayzin's own cot. Graceful save for the colorful, creative expletives that explode from her mouth, seemingly effortlessly, and completely at odds with her youthful and generally innocent appearance. Jayzin, meet Evanthe. "I tried to warn you," Jayzin offers, though not without the hint of a smile tugging at his lips which soon turns to concern as he sits up. The block of wood is abandoned in his lap (not the knife). "Are you alright?" He doesn't seem to mind expletives, nor do they take him by surprise even when they come out of the mouth of someone so young or female. That, at least, he is used to. Evanthe just grunts in response to the man's ill-timed I-told-you-so, shooting him a vaguely dirty look as she picks herself up off the floor - completely undeserved though it may be. She does, however, help herself to the edge of his bed to perch on to assess the damage, plunking herself down damply and hauling up a leg to peer at her shin. Pants ripped, skin too, some blood but the sort of injury that smarts and is annoying. She just rubs a sleeve over it then clamps a hand down to keep it from oozing. "Fuck." She shoots Jayzin a sidelong, narrow-eyed look. "You're new." Or, she just hasn't noticed him, but either way. Jayzin doesn't seem to mind blame or dirty looks anymore than a dirty mouth, that crooked smirk reappearing subtly at the corners of his lips as Evanthe seems to be ok. He replies easily, "I don't normally object to a 'fuck' followed by an observation of my newness, but I think we should find some place more private, in that case." He adds, though, "Jayzin. Just got in a few days ago." Evanthe gives the introduction due consideration, giving her fellow candidate a thorough looking at. A very thorough looking at. Whether out of suspicion or the fact that she is only just now really /noticing/ his looks, who's to say? It can be said though that she shifts, just a little uncomfortably, and there's some new pinkishness in her face. Followed by another muttered, "/Fuck/." Her left hand, the one not holding her shin together, is wiped hastily on her pants and then she holds it out awkwardly to shake. "Evanthe. I'm a candidate." Pause. "Obviously. Uh... welcome, I guess? Who searched you?" The knife in his hand is tucked away before Jayzin reaches out to take Evanthe's, even his fingertips warm in a way that suggests that the young man probably runs hot. His grip is slightly rough and lingers as he answers dismissively, "I wasn't searched, really. I agreed to Stand." Isn't that what search is? Oh well. He moves to stand, his fingers still capturing hers to leverage her up. "Here, I know where to find some ice and a drink, if you need it." Oh, and just like that, Evanthe's wide-eyed gaze is fixed on his hand and if anything the red in her fair skin is burning a little hotter - and her expression, if anything, is growing darker in reaction to it. Belligerence. Though... uh... it isn't as though she's pulling her hand away. She swallows, then squints back at his face. "What?" Right, she asked a question. "Oh! Yeah, I wasn't searched either," she says, allowing herself to be hauled to her feet, which she performs with just about as much grace as before, and a wrinkle of her nose as she steps on the battered leg. "A drink? Shit, yes. Bloody bartender won't serve me." "Don't worry. We won't bother with bartenders," Jayzin promises with wry humor, those fingers in hers twining to clasp around hers before he moves back in the direction Evanthe came. It seems he expects her to follow, leading with that connection of their fingers. And once they are out of the barracks, he makes his way through tunnels confidently towards the kitchens. Though they aren't empty, he doesn't stop there, moving still in the direction of the storerooms without saying another word, yet. "We..." Evanthe repeats, uncertainly. "Won't." She allows herself to be led, far more pliantly than she normally is, though there is still a certain suspicious narrowing at the back of the man's head. It doesn't stop her following though, or her hand from tightening on his as she dodges around some other obstacle left in the path on the way out of the candidate quarters - just so she doesn't go sprawling again, mind. Through the tunnels, towards the storerooms, and finally she asks. "Where...?" Jayzin glances back even as he releases her hand when they come to the storerooms, a quick, reassuring smile on his lips. "We're going right to the source," he explains. Apparently, he needs that hand that he recovered, since he pulls picks from his pocket to start on the lock of a certain door. It is late enough, at least, that there is no one in the tunnels here to come upon them. "Unless you're afraid of getting in trouble?" Evanthe stares at the picks expressionlessly. There's a little rock on her feet, a few moments of uncertainty... and then she moves to where she can watch, curiosity written plainly across her features. "Not afraid of much." Bold words. "So... you're a /scoundrel/." This is added with an appraising look - already she's learning so much about this new, improbable friend. "Scoundrel?" Jayzin repeats, mock-offense on his tone as he lifts his rich, brown eyes to slide upwards over Evanthe as she moves closer. "I prefer to say uniquely talented." It takes a few moments longer when he drops his attention back, but eventually there is a satisfying click and he pushes the door open. He gallantly waves her in first. "What are you afraid of, then?" Evanthe nods, eyebrows raised with implied sincerity in response to his mock-offense, standing by the word she chose. "A uniquely talented scoundrel." Let's be accurate, here. She leans in to watch, lips pursed thoughtfully as the picks do whatever they do to make that click happen, and she moves into the room at his gesture - so trusting. At his question, she just gives a perfectly ladylike snort. "We haven't even /had/ a drink yet and you're already breaking out the big questions. What are /you/ afraid of?" It is almost easy, unsecretive and light in the way Jayzin offers in answer, "Impressing. Returning home. Not returning home." He steps inside after her, pulling the door firmly shut behind him to cut the room into almost complete darkness. And yet, he moves with confidence towards the dim glowbasket left inside to uncover its light. He fetches a full flagon of wine and offers it to Evanthe before he questions again, "You?" More information to be filed away, and it's with particular interest that Evanthe observes how /easily/ Jayzin finds his way around. She doesn't comment, not right away, but there's that lingering contemplation in her face as she reaches out automatically to accept the wine. "Fine," she says, shortly. It's only fair. "Nothing changing. Never belonging." She pauses to wiggle on the cork, freeing that precious liquid within, which she'll take a swig of - and immediately make a face afterwards, doing little to make her seem more worldly and wise. Then she finishes with the big one, "Failure." "Failure is easy. You just fail. Dealing with the rest..." Jayzin shrugs his shoulder upwards casually, that smile lingering on his lips. And at her expression, a laugh catches in his throat before he reaches for the wine. "At least if you Impress, you do not have to worry about change." "Yeah, it's when it happens over and over... and over..." Evanthe mutters darkly as she extends the wine out for her companion. "That's when it starts to weigh." She, perhaps fortunately misses that little laugh at her expression, just shrugging at his last comment. "I guess that was sort of the idea. I asked to Stand." The wine is accepted back and lifted to his lips for an easy chug than Evanthe's before Jayzin's gaze slides over Evanthe again. "The rest is, at least, out of your control," he offers as if it is reassuring, even as he offers the wine back again. "Thank fucking Faranth," Evanthe says readily. Those are words that she can drink to, and does, and though she still makes a face it's not nearly as scrunched as the first time. She shakes her head, and gives him that contemplative look as she offers the wine back. "So, what's your story? Are you from here?" "I'm Vijay," Jayzin answers simply to the question, dismissive almost in the way he approaches that single explanation. He takes the wine back, but this time he merely corks it rather than drinking from it. "Does you leg still hurt? I did promise ice, too." Evanthe waits expectantly, as though sure there is going to be more to follow. Apparently... not. She runs her fingers back through her hair, now drying in clumps and tangles, a gesture of discontent. "Okay, but... I mean, you seem like you know your way around." She gestures around herself, ending with a point at the wine. "Guess you learn quick?" She squints down at her leg, only dimly illuminated in the romantic glow of glowlights, and shrugs. Only minor gore. "Hurts, but I'll live. I'd take the ice, though. Third time I've ripped these damn pants." The curve of his lips only quirks more crooked as Jayzin replies, "I've always had to learn my way around fast. And, it helps being assigned to the kitchens." The wine is stashed back where he found it, even if it is minus some of its contents and has been contaminated with lips. He then moves back to the door, listening quietly for a moment before he opens it. "They keep ice on hand, there. We can grab some on our way back." "You seem like a useful scoundrel to know," Evanthe comments wryly, falling in line behind the man as he makes for the door. She'll wait for his signal that the way is clear, and then out into the hall with that faint, unconscious smile of someone who has gotten away with being /bad/ - an experience she has had all too rarely, at least intentionally. "Right. Excellent. Lead the way, sir." Jayzin locks the door behind him, not one to overlook details that could give him away in the long run. Or at least, those that he can help. "Talented," he replies, stressing the word, before his hand falls to the small of Evanthe's back to lead her back the way they came to the kitchens. Evanthe stiffens a little at the touch, but goodness knows she doesn't object. She again allows herself to be guided, with a breath of a laugh for the correction. "Right. A useful /talent/ to know," she rephrases, shooting him a look. "But pretty sure that's a euphemism for what I said." "I am never a scoundrel." But this is murmured in Evanthe's ear as Jayzin leans in to quietly tell her, easily eating up that personal space despite the way she has already stiffened at just his hand. At least the kitchen is still staffed when they intrude on it's warmth, and he moves away to get some ice from one of the staff for her. Breath on her ear and Evanthe's face instantly colors. "Fucking liar," is offered in a mutter, amused even as she attempts to... you know... be cool. It isn't in her nature, though, and she nearly manages to dump over a pot of tubers that were freshly peeled, earning a dirty look from one of the late night workers. Leaning against things, apparently not a good plan, and she ends up just waiting, hands clasped in front of her, face still pink. So cool. "Thanks, by the way." "Sorry, love," Jayzin apologizes easily to the kitchen worker, who is likely a known quality, and at least eases some of that displeasure with those two simple words as he returns with ice. He dismisses Evanthe's thanks just as easily as he says, "I should have tried harder to warn you." The ice is offered to the young woman, wrapped as it is in cloth. "True," Evanthe agrees promptly, brow arched at him... but humor in the words. She accepts the ice with a nod, cupping the bundle between her hands. "In your defense, this is probably the most pleasant outcome I've had from getting banged up, so. Guess you're off the hook." The perfect soul of generosity, she. On more sure grounds now, she'll lead the way out with a murmur of thanks for the helpful kitchen workers, providing ice and tolerating her presence, and - with a glance back to see if he's with her - lead the way back to home. A laugh escapes warmly at Evanthe's agreement, but Jayzin only accepts it and the words that follow with an easy smile, still. And despite leading her there, he seems to accept allowing her to lead the way back, following just as easily as he led. Back in the candidate quarters, Evanthe starts back through the bunks - taking /great/ pains to avoid that trunk that still sticks out into the aisle - and then... stops. By Jayzin's bed. She's uncertain now, evident in her posture, as to what to do next as the hour grows late and many of their compatriots are already tucked in for the night. Her own rumpled cot is a few rows away, and she eyes it for a moment before turning about face. Icing can wait a moment. She's going to linger, if only briefly. "It was good to meet you. I'm glad you were... Not Searched." "Thank you?" Jayzin questions with wry humor, brows lifting slightly at the other candidate's response. And, perhaps, at her stopping at his bed. He reaches over to grab the abandoned block of wood from the neatly made bed before dropping himself neatly onto it. As she hesitates, he adds, "You're welcome to crawl in with me. If that's what you're thinking about." Evanthe's rendered speechless. Literally, entirely speechless, lips parted as she stares at him. If she's /considering/ it, she makes no motion to actually do it, and with heat in her cheeks once more just quietly mutters the epithet "Scoundrel," with dry amusement. "Good night." She goes, then, to crawl into her very own bed and hold that ice to her shin, and surely not doodle his name in her diary surrounded by hearts or anything perfectly ridiculous like that. |
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