Logs:Who Do You Want to Be?
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| RL Date: 28 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, G'vri |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two Southerners try to find one of them a good sweater. |
| Where: Stores, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Gavrik/Mentions, S'dellan/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated (started on game, finally finished on gdocs!) |
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>---< Stores, Fort Weyr >----------------------------------------------------<
Fort's Stores are made up of a series of caverns of differing sizes that
hold the vast majority of the Weyr's perishable and non-perishable
supplies. Accessible from both the Kitchen and the Tunnel to the outside
of the Weyr, these Stores are split into two levels, with the lower levels
dug down deep along a sloping passageway where it's always chilly for
perishables and the upper level containing mostly dry goods.
Second-hand clothing and linens as well as cleaning supplies are kept in
open storerooms. Several 'junk' rooms are also left unlocked with a 'free
to take' policy on items that are not in good enough condition to
requisition but not broken enough to throw out. The rest of the caverns
are usually kept locked and require permission from the Headwoman or the
storeskeeper on duty for access. Dee haunts the stores. She's on the roster of candidates slated to be working the stores, stacking and reorganizing, all the more needed since the flurry of activity that took riders to the rescue at Lux' Ledge. Predictably, the brunette is helpful, but her hazel gaze is particularly keen. It's not on the people, and in fact, more than one person has commented to her on her distraction. Then again, some simply choose to assume it's the death of one of the candidates in the landslide that has a handful of the likely out of sorts. Dee's attention is given over to the stores. Now in this aisle, where she stands alone, her eyes wandering over the blankets returned but not yet inventoried, requiring a set of hands to check against the last inventory, she murmurs numbers to herself, though none seem to be from the sheet on the clipboard she abandoned on the floor, but rather from the stock on the shelves themselves. G'vri passes the aisle where Dee is sort of working, glancing down like he probably has with each one he's passed. Recognition comes a few seconds too late, though, and he has to back up to look down the aisle again. The bronzerider turns and heads down toward the candidate, offering a smile that's not quite as wide as usual, but still friendly. "Dee," he greets, "I need a woman's opinion. Do you have a moment?" This probably has something to do with the handful of sweaters he has draped over his arm. Today, Dee is wearing sensible work trousers and only two sweaters. Her clothes are functional not fashionable and she must be somewhat aware of that fact given that she glances at herself and then back to G'vri as she finishes mumbling numbers. Raising her voice, she addresses the rider, "Okay." This is Dee after all; there was almost no chance he was going to get any other answer. "What am I opining?" "I need to know which of these looks better on me," he says like this ought to have been pretty obvious as he lifts up the arm draped with sweaters just slightly. "Do you mind?" G'vri is kind enough to ask (again) before he starts taking anything off or putting anything on. "I think I like this one," he offers, though, lifting up one that's mostly blue with some off-white accents. Dee blinks at him and unconsciously mimics his tone as she returns, "I think most people would be inclined to agree you could wear my clothes and still look better than most of the rest of us do daily." It can't be lost on G'vri that he's a good looking man. His younger brother's friend's sister has just the slightest edge of teasing to the otherwise matter-of-fact tone. "I'm no expert, but I don't mind if you don't." She looks at the sweaters in his arms and she says, "The blue one," without having seen any examples whatsoever. It's possible she thinks this is really how this sort of interaction would normally go (and probable that she's never been asked for fashion advice before). G'vri glances at Dee from the sweaters with a look that more or less says what he's not. Except then he does, "You know you're a perfectly attractive girl, right?" Of course, he does say girl and not woman, and there doesn't seem to be anything deeper to it than that. He moves on with a slight shake of his head, "Let me try it on for you. The blue one fits a bit differently than the brown one and the green one." So he sets aside the sweaters so he can remove what needs removing and then put the blue sweater on over his undershirt. No bare chests for Dee, fortunately. "Attractive, yes," Dee will accept that word, "but I'm not perfectly anything." Not that he had really been trying to say she was, but it's the principle of the matter. "And not like you. You should have heard the things the girls my age said about you. It was as though Faranth herself had birthed you whole and perfect and shiny," she tells him whether he wanted to know or not, her amused snort as she moves to occupy her eyes with blankets. "Like none of them remembered those awkward turns there in the middle when Rik called you stone face because you had so many zits that he pretended you looked like a piece of firestone." Dee had plenty of awkward when the time came to it too, even now she has dimensions that have their own sort of beauty but aren't the petite and fragile that so many prefer. G'vri rolls his eyes at the musings of teenage girls. "Everyone has awkward turns." Sort of like his brother right now. But the bronzerider is an adult and mature so he only teases Gavrik in public on occasion and not all of the time. He smoothes the sweater over his abdomen and looks at Dee. "Are you looking? You need to remember when I try the other one on." Dee's look is briefly one of faux vexation. She turns her eyes away from the blankets to look at him, her arms folding neatly across her chest as she considers. "Turn around?" It will be followed by a, "One more time?" And, "And again?" Until he catches on that she's playing some sort of game. Her smile grows every time he complies until it can't help but be a 'tell.' It's not going to take him that long to figure out what she's up to. G'vri might be worthy of teenage girl crushes, but he's not dumb. All the time. "Knock that off, Doll. I bet I could get you set up with chores that are even less fun than whatever you're doing here." It's probably not true, but he's a rider and that ought to count for something. G'vri pulls off the blue sweater to replace it with the brown one, pushing his hair back into place once he's done. "What about this one?" The brunette might look contrite if he were just some rider, but he's her brother's friend's older brother, and that somehow makes it okay for her to make an odd and stubborn face at him as she says. "You were the one who wanted me to remember once you put the others on. And don't tell me you're too old to recognize a little fun when you see it." Dee would probably be quite sad to hear it's so. At least this time when she asks him to turn, it's only twice and seems to be more genuine in purpose. "I like this one," she says of the brown, not versed well enough to get into cut or shape or weave or anything else that might be important to the assistance she's volunteered to give (badly). "Maybe I just have a different idea of fun now that I'm old, huh?" G'vri kind of sounds like he's teasing. Once Dee has gotten a good look at the brown sweater, he takes it off and tries on the last, green one. He'll even turn for her a couple of times without her having to ask him for it, but then he's looking at her expectantly. "So which of the three do you like best? Or should I just make a case for all of them?" "Maybe if you squint a little," Dee suggests with a flash of an impish smile. Still, she seems to give the sweater matter due consideration. "I think I don't have enough background to tell you. What kind of G'vri do you want to be here at Fort? A consummate professional? A charming socialite? A Southern spy?" Each suggested role gets a comically exaggerated expression with it, so there can be no doubt she's still being playful even if the last might seem like a slight or too true to the gossip mill. G'vri rolls his eyes at the last in particular. Maybe at Dee in general, too. "I just want to be myself." And that could mean a variety of things. "I'm making the best of the situation as I can manage. And I'll need to make some friends for that." There's a slight emphasis on the 'friends' that Dee may or may not recognize, that he may not even realize he's doing. "Anyway, thanks. Do you need a hand with any of... whatever you're doing?" The matter of sweaters must be decided now. "But I didn't give you an opinion!" Dee protests, blinking. She was set a task and she's darn well going to do it. "The brown one makes you look most approachable. It's not too perfect, and it's not the kind of thing that screams 'swoon at my feet.' The green one does that. I'd forget the blue one entirely," though she doesn't volunteer why. She shifts to cross her arms over her chest in poorly disguised defensiveness. "I'm making the best of the situation as I can manage," she must be repeating his words on purpose. "I'm not sure helping me would help you make friends, and I'm going back to Southern after all the eggs are done hatching." Even if she registered to him as someone to be friends with. G'vri looks from Dee to the sweaters. "What's wrong with the blue one? I like blue." It might be more rhetorical than demanding, however, because the bronzerider looks up at Dee again. "I wasn't trying to say you weren't. I think you're doing a fine job of it. But I'll miss seeing you around. With your arms crossed like that." He's grinning just so, but he seems sincere about it. Especially since he'll be staying right where he is for the foreseeable future. Dee's arms get thrown up in the air in answer. It's with a fluttery sigh that she crosses to him and seeks to wrest the blue sweater from him. "I suppose you say that to all the girls who used to be your little brother's friends when you're anticipating their permanent departures from your new home." She means to pull the blue one on over her head. "It sags on you, here." She points to a section that does not sag on her. It would have been a nice knit on a man were it not subtly knit, far less fashionably, for a woman. "Why did you come?" is asked quietly, but with sincere curiosity as she looks up at G'vri with her wide hazel eyes from this closer vantage. He doesn't try to keep her from taking the sweater, but he seems a bit confused about it while he watches her put it on. G'vri even looks at her chest when she points out where it sags on him, coughing politely and looking away when he realizes that's the case. "Okay. No blue," he says. The why of his coming is easier to talk about. "I came to keep an eye on Gavrik. And to help out where I could. S'dellan supported the idea. But then he put in for my transfer." And that might be about as much as G'vri knows about it. "He transferred you?" Dee's brows rise as she looks at the bigger man. "I thought you guys were... I mean, he made you his wingsecond, didn't he?" The brunette sounds confused, she looks confused, and she's (conveniently?) looking to G'vri for answers. "It's not my place to question his decisions, and it's not yours, either." G'vri's tone and demeanor on the matter are meant to shut the subject down. There's even a moment where he seems a little upset, but it's gone quickly and it doesn't seem to be with her specifically, anyway. "I'll let you get back to your work before I get you into trouble. Thanks for your help, Dee." Then the young bronzerider is turning to go back the way he came without giving her much of a chance to stop him. It might be for the best that G'vri moves off as quickly as he does, leaving a gawking girl behind him, one who definitely was going to question what is not her place to question in her next breath had she been given half a chance. Instead, she yanks the blue sweater off in a snap of frustration and throws it in a ball onto the ground in front of the shelves to throw herself back into her counting with a new sort of fervor, annoyance slowly ebbing away through the cleansing ritual of work for a good cause. |
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