Logs:You're Such a Havi
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| RL Date: 6 August, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'vier is a dirty old man and a pervert. Lycinea is a liar and a nobody kid. They agree and disagree on several points. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 6, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, Tahvra/Mentions, Tayte/Mentions, V'ros/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Crude language. Back-dated. |
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| Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup. The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
H'vier couldn't just drop Tahvra off and go home. First he had to get a few drinks, not too many, and now he's here to try washing all the self-inflicted crap in his life off. The bronzerider doesn't make a priority of paying much attention to any present teenagers, more focused on getting out of his own clothes and finding the heated relief of water. He gives an audible, groaning sigh and settles back for a few minutes of just sitting there. But at some point he has to say in the girl's general direction, "You know, I wait this late to avoid having to share with kids." "Yeah?" Lycinea had been content to ignore him, but then he had to go start something. "Imagine my surprise, since I come here this late to avoid having to share with pruney old men like you. So shut it, rude-y intrude-y." She says with the bossy authority that would come if someone had died and left the Weyr to her charge. "Pruney?" H'vier sounds more like he has no idea how that adjective applies to him than actually offended by the idea. Surely it will apply better if he spends too much time in the water, but not to him by default. "I guess I won't ask how you fucked up your arm. It was clearly the result of your sparkling personality." "Pruney." Lycinea helpfully confirms. Then one leg pulls out of the water and she watches it drip a moment. There's a decision to be made. Not if to tell the truth or not to, but just how outrageous to make the lie. "My ex-boyfriend shoved me down some stairs when I wouldn't blow him." She looks at H'vier, no trace that it's a lie anywhere in her tone. "But don't worry, I had worse from my foster father when he wanted the same." She shrugs, because obviously she's been through shit and knows. If H'vier is shocked or otherwise overly affected by the teenager's response, it doesn't show in his face. His only real reaction is to glance at her arm and then at her face again. Then he rises from where he was sitting so nicely at an appropriate distance away so he can move a less appropriate distance into her proximity, one hand leaning against the edge of the pool. If Lycinea is surprised by H'vier's lack of reaction, it doesn't show in her face. Her nose does wrinkle when she looks back to him and sees he's closer. Both legs are drawn out of the water and swung to the side, but she's not leaving, oh no. "This is the opposite of avoiding kids, you know." In case he didn't. Her tone is still bluster and 'tude, but she's watching him with suspicion. The bronzerider lifts a hand up, the one he's not leaning on, and reaches toward one of her legs like he's totally going to feel her up. Just like that. H'vier is watching her face, though, not her legs or her arm or any other parts of her body. "Oh, ew!" Lycinea exclaims, trying all at once to pull her leg out of reach and use it to fend him off. Her expression is appropriately disgusted. "Get away, you creep." She would assume, wouldn't she? This reaction, as though it's exactly what he'd expected, makes H'vier grin. But he also doesn't press to try forcing contact. "That's what I thought. I call bullshit." On her lovely little story. "How'd you fuck up your arm? Slip and fall in the kitchen? Get run over in the feeding pens?" "What, because I don't want your wrinkled up hands on my young, supple skin, you think I'm lying about the rest? What girl my age would want a creeper like you touching her? It's not like talking about blow jobs is an invitation." Lya isn't as outraged as she should be; she never is, which probably gives away the lie more than anything else. "I got shoved off a ledge." She finally answers with a haughty sort of sniff, shiftings a little bit further away from him with a small slide. "What is it with you and calling me wrinkled?" It's offensive. Even if H'vier doesn't actually seem that offended. Still baffled. He's a stud, dammit! "For Faranth's sake, I wasn't trying to actually touch you. What are you? Like fourteen? Why would I be interested in that? No kid could give a decent blowjob." Hopefully he doesn't have experience. "And being tight doesn't make up for being awful in bed." Really, really hope. "Did you deserve it?" "Aren't you like... fifty or something?" Lya squints at him as she guesses. Maybe she's estimating high on purpose. "I'm sixteen, but don't get any funny ideas. I've never given a blow job, so I'm probably awful." She might be lying again, but if she is, this is one lie he'll hopefully let fly. "You're pretty disgusting." She observes without reservation. Then a noncommittal shrug. "I was minding my own business until he came along and stuck his nose into mine." "Seventy six," corrects H'vier as though it's the most natural thing in the world. Look, he can lie like a professional, too. "Thanks." Evidently being called disgusting is a compliment. He does, at least, offer some explanation, which means he's well aware most people don't intend it to be complimentary. "You can't be great at sex without being at least a little disgusting. And I'm amazing." It's not even suggestive. Just a fact. He turns, though he doesn't move back to his previous spot, to settle into the water again. "He? Figured you just pissed off some other girl. You're all crazy. You need someone to kick his ass?" "Even grosser," Lycinea says as though she finds that completely believable. "I bet you're rubbish. Only people who are rubbish feel the need to tell random kids how good they are in bed. And it qualifies you as a pervert even if you didn't want me to blow you." She carefully turn so she can slip her legs back into the water. "Nah. He's so scrawny anyone who tried would just hurt themselves on bone. Besides, it got me out of the kitchen for the duration. Not that counting things in the stores doesn't make me wish he'd poked my eyes out too, but..." She makes a gesture in the air that probably means she'll take what she can get. "Only one way to really find out, doll. And there's no way that's happening." H'vier will glance over at her legs, though, just to make sure he's completely set on that decision. "I'll let you in on a little secret. All men are perverts. Even the sweet, nice ones. Most women are, too. And I happen to prefer those women." Since he doesn't need to beat anyone up, the bronzerider's attention drifts from the guy that hurt her. "You're probably the sort that thinks counting shit in the stores is better than warming cold beds for old men, too, hmm?" "Yeah, I don't do men that might be my father." Lycinea answers with appropriate distaste. "It's not that I like the stores better, mind, but if I start warming the beds of old men now, I'll be all used up before my boobs finish growing." Just to class it up, the teen grabs them through the towel to illustrate the point. Then she's letting her hands fall back to either side of her towel-hidden thighs and slowly kicks her legs in the water, one then the other. "Plus, it really is unnerving to think of calling somebody Daddy in bed when that person really could be your daddy, you know?" She looks to the big bronzerider, but immediately waves a dismissive hand. Of course he doesn't. H'vier totally seems to miss the point here. "You call the men you fuck Daddy? That's kind of hot. The chance of you being my daughter is practically non-existent, though. I'm from Ista." Which clearly makes the whole idea not creepy at all and totally normal. Never mind that he already said it wasn't going to happen. "Oh, ew. No it's not." Lycinea scrunches her whole face up. "Is there a degree worse than pervert? Because you're totally it. What's your name? I can name it after you." Then, acting as if she's speaking to an invisible someone on her other side, "Oh, what's that? You like defiling the baths of innocent, virginal teenage girls with your smutty ideas? You're such a---" She swings her head back around to look at the big man, brows raised to prompt him to fill in the blank. "I feel like you're trying to insult me." Except he sounds too amused to be insulted. "H'vier. Though Havi might work better for what you're going for." He looks at her a little more carefully, not exactly lewd, but certainly with none of the innocence she'd mentioned. "If you're an innocent, virginal teenager, I'm the Lord Holder of Benden." "Yeah, you're right. It doesn't have the same ring to it." Lycinea sighs. All that work to make a new name for something and even 'You're such a Havi' doesn't really carry the disgusting ring she'd hoped for. For his last remark, she very maturely sticks her tongue out at him and then resumes her little kicks in the water. "I don't know where I'm from. So you could be my dad. Since you're so old. Unless you've kept track of all the women you've ever slept with," she gives him a more than dubious look. "I bet you're a bronzerider. Bronzeriders always think they can do whatever they want and get away with it just because their dragons are sooo shiny." Clearly, she's not impressed. "We don't think it, darling. We know it. Bronze Reisoth's. The one that caught Iesaryth." Which means H'vier will totally be connected to the next eggs on the Sands. Isn't that comforting? "I supposed I'd have been twenty one when you were born. So I could, theoretically, be your father. But there are a lot of people on Pern. So it's more likely that I'm not. Besides, you don't look anything like me. I always have liked blondes, though." This time he's clearly talking about her theoretical blonde mother. Really. Lycinea looks distinctly unimpressed. "Is your dragon a pervert too? I wouldn't want to Stand for those eggs if so. Maybe someone should put up a sign in the candidate quarters. I could consider it my good deed for the turn." She seems to be considering it seriously. "I don't know what color hair my mother had." Because he's talking about her mother. "Do you have kids that you know about?" As an addendum to that question she has to shudder. Because... H'vier with kids. That question actually earns a few moments of serious thought. "Reisoth doesn't give much thought to procreation, honestly. Not until something's rising, anyway. The only thought he sort of gives it is knowing he wants to catch Hraedhyth so we become Weyrleader." Also very comforting! "But that's a ways off at this point. But, no. I wouldn't say that he's much of a pervert." H'vier still seems a little thoughtful over having had to consider that when he responds to the rest. "One. My gorgeous daughter, Tahvra. And another on the way as we speak." "If you ever become Weyrleader, I'll have to post more signs than just the one." Lya replies deadpan. She might even be serious. "Does your daughter have blonde hair? Or look like me?" She's still on this. "She does. But her mother does, too. I don't know if she looks like you, though. She's only a turn and a half or so." H'vier studies the girl's face but doesn't seem to find any hint of his daughter there. "I think you look more like her mother." "Is she as ancient as you are?" Lya asks. "Maybe she's my mother." Not that she seems to care one lick one way or the other. She reaches up her good hand to try to collect her hair all to one side, only it takes more time than if she had two. "Twenty nine. She's definitely not your mother. Thank, Faranth." H'vier considers the girl for another few moments, then starts to move to actually, you know, bathe himself. "What's your name, kid?" "Lycinea," answers Lycinea with another wrinkle of her nose. "Lya is better. But still not pretty." Like it matters. She sighs. "I suppose thirteen is generally too young to have children. But I've heard some pretty crazy stories about Holders. And they think weyrfolk are crazy." She notes with a derisive snort. "Some day I might find my parents just to slap them for naming me as they did. Although, I suppose that could've been my first foster set as easily as the blood ones that didn't want me." At least she doesn't sound like she's whining about it. "The opinion of an ancient, wrinkly pervert probably doesn't mean much to you. But I like it. Lycinea. Lya, too." And H'vier doesn't even sound like he's coming onto her. He's not even looking at her now, what with trying to bathe. "Knowing who your parents are can be overrated. My mother was a whore. She would tell me stories about how my father was a bronzerider. They were nice stories when I was young and dreamed about being a bronzerider one day. But then I got older and realized he'd paid to fuck my mother, knocked her up and didn't care at all what happened to her, or me, after that. I'm not sure he was a rider at all, admittedly." It's a good thing H'vier isn't looking at her now, because Lycinea would have to come up with something really snide to say to make up for the smile that briefly makes an appearance. "I don't really care," she claims. Once again, there's no indication if this is a lie or not. "It doesn't really matter here, anyway. And it's not like I'm anybody, so no one ever asks me. Except, you know, to say things like, 'Lycinea, what would your mother think of that?'" She imitates a shrill scolding tone of-- well, someone certainly. "And then it's better not to know because they usually feel terrible about bringing it up. Especially if I say she died in childbirth or in a horrible accident or if I just make myself start crying. Only that last can be misleading. I've had people wrongly assume I feel bad for whatever it is they're asking about." As she talks she's slowly been able to gather that hair and then reached for the brush that has lain unobtrusively against her far side to start dragging it through. "Bullshit," says the bronzerider when Lycinea says she's not anyone. But it might be too quiet for her to hear. So when she's done, he says again, "First of all, fuck other people. They don't usually have any idea what they're talking about. Second, you're definitely someone, kid. You're a beautiful young woman with a no nonsense attitude that probably would have intimidated the shit out of me when I was your age." Now? Not so much. "If only you were sixty turns younger," Lya says wistfully, "I could be rid of you already." It lacks the bite of some of her earlier jibes. Could it be that the girl is actually enjoying the pervert's company? "I generally do. More satisfying than fucking oneself," answers she who was just claiming virginal innocence, because Faranth forbid things get serious. She might also not be entirely convinced this isn't a long con to get her to not say "ew" when he comes into proximity. "Faranth. I'm not looking forward to getting that old. Probably won't even be able to get it up." And that would basically be the worst thing ever, according to H'vier. Fortunately for Lycinea, he's more focused on his bathing than getting near her again. "And I don't miss having to sneak out a rub. You ever need a quiet place to fuck yourself, my weyr's always open. Won't even stay to watch." Maybe he's just messing with her now. "A dear happiness for womankind, I'm sure." Lycinea answers the idea of him not being able to get it up. But then he has to go and say the rest. Her face wrinkles up again, and she pulls her legs out of the pool and gets up, one hand on the top of her towel as she does for added security. She crouches to collect her hairbrush in her free hand. "Well, I'm off to wake the Harpers to beg them to teach me more words for 'gross' as you've exhausted my supply, and who knows what other perverts I might meet on the way to my bed." Even so, she waves her hairbrush at him in parting before heading for the cubbies where she drops her towel just as heedlessly as any other woman of the Weyr to change into her horrendously mismatched clothes full of patches and looking to have been extended at the arm cuffs and in need of it again. Then she's off, moving more silently than someone with such a big mouth ought to have any right to be capable of doing. H'vier, of course, doesn't seem particularly bothered by the claim that he's gross. Or perverted. He's probably kind of proud of the latter, in fact. "Don't keep them up too late," he says after her, sounding amused. Possibly pleased with himself. He watches her as she goes and he doesn't look away when her towel drops. It's not until she's dressed and moving off that the bronzerider returns to his bath. |
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