Logs:Yay Hay!
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| RL Date: 15 June, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Faryn's back at HRW, and helps T'mic and Jorrth set up their weyr. With hay. |
| Where: Bosom Buddies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Jorrth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Much worn, this ledge dips like a wallow itself, forming a shallow bowl cupping the entry to the weyr. Water likes to pool there, despite the groove carved to lead it out and over the edge of the ledge. One spot to the side features a bench carved out of the stone wall; sitting there reveals a charming view of the Weyr's lake, far below and just beyond the curve of the ledge. Beside the chair is the weyr's entry. Inside, the weyr opens into a single kidney-shaped chamber, not fully separated into dragon and human areas. It lacks, too, a distinct wallow, instead having two or three shallow depressions worn out by different dragons over the turns.
Nearly three months away on 'vacation', the details of which she has yet to properly disclose, has had no effect on Faryn's nimbleness, or, apparently, on her sneakiness, which trumps numbleness when you're alone on a ledge. The moment T'mic and Jorrth swooped off to grab the pre-placed bale of hay, the herder was moving off into the weyr proper, her hands in her pockets and a tuneless whistle on her lips. She's inside, poking and prodding at the few things arranged within. She looks through the storage closet, pokes her head into the fireplace, and has picked up the rock on the mantle when she hears the beat of wings (not odd) and the thump of the hay (definitely not exactly normal). The petite woman heads back to the entrance to poke her head out -- forgets to put the rock back -- and gives a perfunctory sort of evaluation for the bale of hay, which miraculously didn't split in the landing. "Maybe," she says, rolling the rock through her fingertips while she looks at it compared to the wallow. "You're not putting it in the wallow out here, are you?" Since she's not under Jorrth-foot, and hasn't been beaned in the head with a bale, she's free to wander to the depression on the ledge and frown into the shallow depths of melted, gathered water within. "It'll get soaked and ferment. You don't want it." "Um," says T'mic, while dropping down from his dragon. "Oh," says T'mic, when he and Jorrth look to one another, and then back to Faryn, and the wallow. "Well most of it'll be inside, anyway. So it doesn't get all blown away or snowed on or anything. Even if it's probably going to get everywhere. There's not really rooms in there." He hasn't seen the rock yet; when he looks over to Faryn, he's just looking straight at her, often with that grin on his face, and so far, with little to nothing of substance to say. It's been a while. "Just a big ol'..." and T'mic approximates a kidney shape with his hands. He starts reaching for Jorrth's straps; stops; instead goes to the hay bale and tests at the twine on it with a finger. Jorrth peeks over it to the herder. "Good," Faryn says, matter-of-fact. "If you steal all the hay because it keeps getting ruined, I'm culpable. I could get fired." She doesn't sound too terribly concerned, though, as she rocks back and rounds on the pair, still smoothing that rock between her fingers before she realizes it. Great. She's been there less than ten minutes and has pilfered from him. She tucks her hands into the small of her back. Sneak sneak. She instead meets his smile with a quick and easy one of her own, something lighter than the mood in which she left, incongruous with how she felt about cold weather this time last turn. She should be stomping and grumpy. Instead? She's indulgent, reaching up and over the bale of hay for Jorrth's nose, which she'll pat if he'll let her. T'mic's testing is met with, "Well, let's just get it in, yeah? We'll spread it everywhere, then if you need another he won't have to suffer." "Good thing someone's looking out for you," T'mic offers to Jorrth with a little toss of his head. Jorrth does indeed allow his nose to be patted, and even huffs some air back at Faryn. And then cranes his neck to see behind her back. Oh, he knows what's there. He saw it. T'mic, meanwhile, beckons Faryn his way with a wave of his hand. "Jorrth can push it in. He's been showing off a little, these last few months." The rider looks toward the weyr. "It's not much, inside. It's not big... there were bigger ones, and ones with different rooms and stuff..." "Mmm," Faryn says, not knowingly, no. Just an acknowledgement, and with a little passing scowl up at Jorrth that says, expressively through the eyes and mouth, don't you rat me out. "Oh, I bet he has. He's not all...gangly and weird anymore." That's right, weird. Anyhow, Faryn follows T'mic after that, admitting, "I peeked in, while you were down. I couldn't resist. I like it. A lot, actually. You got a fireplace, even. It could use some fixing up...more furniture..." She trails off, though, considering. Jorrth keeps on looking at that stone for a moment. But T'mic doesn't. So far, her secret is safe. So far. "Faranth," comes with a heated exhalation. "He's been blowing through the straps I've been making for him, changing shape like that. Could barely keep up with everything else..." The blue's big, broad head goes down, and he starts to manoeuvre the bale into position. T'mic stays out of the way. And it might be that leaning his shoulder into Faryn's is meant to keep her out of the way too. Except he'll keep leaning so long as she lets him. "We'll get some more stuff in there soon. I just needed a place to work, and the hay, and then the rest of it... well, we weren't really thinking of company, till we saw you." "Maybe I should have extended my vacation, again," teases the herder, leaning back, possibly because if she doesn't they won't leverage right and she might tip right over. She watches Jorrth, careful not to get in his way, and laughs, "I take he suddenly...sprouted?" She tilts her head, "I can imagine. It's always the smallest, lankiest ones that suddenly become the workers. At least the runners are one size fits all. I can't imagine having to ...ugh." Though he is moving, she tries to take in Jorrth's straps, saying, "Couldn't you just make them larger, and use buckles to adjust them down while he grows into them? He seems almost done, now, it just seems a waste restarting all the time. Here." She holds out her hand then, for him to take the stone. See. She was going to give it back. "It's pretty. Was it here already?" "Don't." Go on vacation again. "Not yet." It's serious, and he looks right at her. And then is proudly gesticulating at Jorrth's straps as the blue works. "Well, that's pretty much what these ones are. I've had to add some more padding here and there, 'cause when they're that adjustable, they don't like... lie right. But the other ones, they didn't lie right either, after a few days, so." T'mic shrugs. "But yeah. Growing bigger," a hand goes up, "and bigger," both hands out. And then there's the stone, and he cups those hands together to receive it. Jorrth is a dragon with a plan. It doesn't take him long to get fully within the shelter of the weyr; T'mic gives a little roll of the shoulder against Faryn's as warning, before he starts in that way, too. "Yeah, just up on the fireplace where it was. Only things we've really added is the furniture," such as it is, "and our stuff."
A final, firm nudge, and it is in place. Jorrth steps back, to admire his handiwork, to stay out of the way of the feisty woman with the knife. Wings twitch in anticipation. He watches, those eyes not seeming as big in comparison to the rest of him now, but still decidedly interested. "Yeah, I guess we could... Those things that take your bad dreams away, right? Supposed to. Worked for me, when we made some when we were little..." He tilts his head as he looks down to the stone in his hands, considering. "You ever make those?" Called louder, seeing as she's all busy, and he's standing there playing with rock. "If I ever leave though, might have to take the stone back out." Now, he walks toward the fireplace. "Well, that's easy. Don't leave. But really, it's a rock. It's pretty, and it matches that," she gestures towards the fireplace, "but I don't think the next resident is going to demand a different weyr because there's a rock missing from the mantle. What kind of asshole --" a pause here, followed by a grunt as she leans down to slip her knife beneath the twine and yank it through-- "would do that?" Though maybe the real question is what kind of asshole would take a rock from a weyr? Meh. She grabs the twine and yanks a bit to pull it free from the majority of the hay, and uses a booted foot to shake it looser. "I had one," she confesses. "Not sure it worked, but it was pretty. We never made them. They can't be that hard, right?" "Well, the ones we did when we were kids, they were simple. But we could do a nice one, I bet." That rock is set gently back in its place. He steps back, considers, shifts it a bit to one side, and then carries on. Jorrth, he's waited while Faryn cuts, and even waits while she loosens. But then there's a foot-stomp of warning, and he's all over that haybale. Some things just never get old. T'mic has made his way in closer, too, with some sappy smile on his face that's, this time, directed to his dragon. "Thanks," to her. "For the hay. And... giving my rock back." A sidelong look. "Impatient little...." Faryn mutters darkly at the blue, but she's smiling even as he dives at the bale to scatter it, a huge blue toddler forever. She slips her knife back in its sheath at her belt, and it's her turn to lean against him. "Welcome," is tendered easily enough, with a wry smile for the last. She attests, "I'm a lot of things, but not a thief. It was just curiosity. Then you were back and..." She shrugs, and it leverages a little more weight against him. "You've got your own weyr, I got excited. And impatient. Sorry for snooping." It's not just hay-tossing with reckless abandon. Okay, it is at first, but soon Jorrth is sorting and organising and getting it just the way he likes it. Or, thinks he'll like it, in this new space. "I don't really mind," T'mic admits. That shrug, that change in pressure, brings the arm nearest her out a bit. Where it is likely going to be ineffective, due to Angles, but still, he at least presses the back of his hand at her arm. There. "We wanted you to see it, you know?" A glance back toward the little storage area. "Sorry if there was some underwear lying around." Faryn snorts a laugh, waving off his apology as easily as he did her own. More importantly, though, is that she adjusts slightly, just enough so that angles aren't such a barrier, and damned if she doesn't fit neatly when they're not a problem. "Pssh. Don't worry about it. Not that there are any, but I have brothers. I'm not scandalized by that anymore." And for the weyr? "It suits you, this weyr. It's funny, how they always seem to fit, but...I don't know, this one works well. Why'd you pick it?" T'mic is well pleased. Jorrth too, who has stopped and is inspecting his handiwork. "I don't know really... everyone was so excited about them, but it just seemed like one more thing. And there was this one we saw that some guy just got old and lonely in and died," it's treated with a lesser version of the shudder that goes along with memories of dragons keening, "and one that was all blue, but- and then one that was like, a little kid lived there? And I felt like I should take it, except now it's different? But this one? I like the fireplace. And I like being around him, too." That blue over there, who's flopping down. Hay. "And I didn't want to have it hanging over our head either, so we just went with it." "Fair enough," Faryn acknowledges softly, with a little nod. "They all have their stories, like everything. Moreso, in weyrs, yeah? They don't get to build out or up, just inside. Reuse and recycle. This one though, it seems...homey?" She bumps him a little. "You're almost done. Not much over your head soon. And you know where to get hay, if that's what makes it feel a little better." T'mic nods, a sage agreement to the weyrs and their stories. "I do like it now. We both do. The first couple nights were weird, but now." Another nod, this one, affirming. "It's ours. And it will be, even after this. It's like real now. Realer," seems to be a clarifier aimed at Jorrth. And all that is clearly, clearly related to the turn to look back to the herder, and scoop at her hand with his, and say flat-out, "I'm really glad you're back. Even if it means your vacation's done." "I'm glad to be back, now. I was supposed to come back sooner, then...well. Change of plans, I guess. Sometimes it's kind of odd what people here can work out, you know? Riders, without Threadfall, and they still can pull a few strings here and there." Faryn doesn't seem too keen on elaborating, and doesn't just then. "It did me some good, to be away. To regroup, without evidence I'd somehow failed, always right there." A shrug and brisk shake of the head. "It feels good to be here again. Even if it's snowing now." "Yeah. Riders without Thread." It's thoughtful. Inevitably, it has T'mic looking back to Jorrth. He's partway to Faryn again when she says 'failed', and it makes him go a little pale in the face, shift a little nervously. "Glad you're happy to be back, too, then." The necessary question bubbles beneath the surface for only a short moment. This is T'mic. A short moment, and then, "Does he make you feel like- like that?" Jorrth hasn't lifted his head from his hay pillow, but he's watching. Always. A rueful smile. "Not anymore, no. It wasn't just him, you know." Faryn looks at Jorrth, directly now, watching him back. She's earnest and there's not really a hint of anything beyond what might be a little regret in her tone. "It was him, because you wanted me to be there and he has to be there, and I knew that the moment you walked away on the Sands with him. But it was all of them, Roszadyth and Akluseth and Neianth, every single one of them." A huff. "It was stupid and immature and in retrospect, I don't know why I was so angry, except it made me feel like a spinning compass all the time." T'mic has a whole lot of quiet to answer that, at first. A whole lot of quiet, sandwiched around a soft, "M'sorry," that comes with a shake of his head. Jorrth kicks at some of his hay, and breathes in, in a loud way, then out, to scatter more of his fresh bedding. And finally his rider gets his head on straight enough to almost-whisper, "He picked me 'cause of you, you know. You and everyone else." T'mic licks at his lips, quickly. "I could like... feel all of you for a second there. 'Cause of him. 'Cause he was listening to you." Faryn's quiet but vehement when she says, "No," almost more an exhale than a vocalization. "No, don't. I really shouldn't have..." She's frowning now, a not-so-abrupt change from her smile. "It's not my place to - ugh." She pivots to pace away a few steps, cutting a glance between the pair that is devoid of much at all, if all truth is told. "I'm sorry, for being so difficult and miserable. Quinlys told me that she was so mad when she didn't Impress the first time that she pushed everyone she'd Stood with away. I didn't want to do that, so I tried to just...be happy for you. And I was, really, I wanted you to be so happy, even if I wasn't." If she moves to him quickly, stands very close, it's all the better to repeat, "I'm sorry." Her leaving his side, that makes T'mic's brow furrow and gives him a little frown. Jorrth lifts his big head now, though shows no real intent to rise up from his haybed. T'mic's confusion isn't much abated when she comes back; but she's back, and it takes some of the edge off the frown. "Faryn," sounds like it's going somewhere, except it's not; it doesn't. He blinks at her. And then all at once hugs her into him, those big arms and big chest. Faryn goes rigid at first, surprised by the abruptness of it, but she doesn't resist. In fact, once she's enveloped, she relaxes at once, sinking easily into his chest and breathing. She'll stay like that a long while, if allowed, or at least long enough to think and eventually say, muffled, directly to the source, "Sorry, Jorrth." Because he's a victim, too, right? And shortly after that? "I'll tell you the highlights of my vacation, if we can stop being sorry." T'mic isn't looking to un-hug her anytime soon. He's even a bit loath to ease up enough that he can tuck his chin in against his own collarbone, 'cause yes he's that much taller, to try and make out those words when Faryn starts to speak. "Yeah," comes nodded after, and those arms loosen up. A bit. "Yeah, you gotta tell me everything." And Jorrth, too. |
Comments
Alida (20:14, 18 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
Awwwww. Such kindness in the middle of this chilly Weyr!
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