View source for Logs:Two-Headed Dimglows and Worse

{{Log
|type=Log
| who = Lycinea, V'ros
| where = Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = There's an "accident."
| when = Day 28, Month 5, Turn 35
|day=28
|month=5
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| gamedate = 2014.08.01
| quote = "That wasn't mean, but I can show you mean."
| weather = 
| categories = <!-- You can ignore this and select from the options under the edit box. The 'RP Logs' category is added automatically. -->
| mentions = Oliwer
| ooc = 
| icons = lycinea injured.jpg, v'ros oh shit.png
| log = 

'''Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

''Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.

''Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.

''An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

''A layer of patchy clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.
----


Late spring is a nice time in reaches. The days are still cool, but not offensively so. It means still long sleeves for a place like the patio ledge, but that's hardly anything new after so many months of colder weather. Lycinea's sweater is surprisingly inoffensively colored - a deep hunter green, though not of any special design, simple knits across the front with knit-purl ribbing around the edges, though it does reach to her thighs and is a little bit baggy. Her skirt makes up for it though, one that comes to her knees, patched like the rest and layered for warmth only, it looks like a mash up of skirts never meant to go together. At least she chose black leggings to go underneath? Far be it for Lycinea to do something normal like sitting at a table or in a booth. She's settled with her legs hanging over the lip of ledge next to one of the blue flower pots, a basket of hot wings in her lap and, yes, of course, sauce all over her cheeks.

There, walking up to the garden patio ledge, is V'ros. He's walking slowly with his head down, watching his feet even as he climbs the stairs. His focus only shifts up - up, up some more - when he has his feet planted firmly on the landing. It's a cursory sweep, taking in the who's and what's. Something, or rather someone, stops the fullness of the gesture, and she happens to be covered in wing sauce. Brows come together and his mouth frowns, all annoyance and little pleasure. He stomps the rest of the way to the blonde, standing slightly behind her in maybe-creepy way. "You're making a mess," he says abruptly.

Cue Lycinea, who was ''for once'' minding her own business, to twist her torso around so she can look up at the speaker, eyes already widened with a mixture of disbelief and 'oh, no you did not...' The threat there might be mitigated by the fact that there's a chicken bone sticking out of her mouth, pinched between forefinger and thumb as she rakes the last of the meat from the tip. It's only after she pulls it from her lips with a lip smack that she answers, "It's my face, I'll do with it what I want." At least she does have a napkin in her lap and she wipes her hands there instead of elsewhere. "Why do you care what ''the help'' does anyway?"

In the time it takes for her to clean the chicken bone, the weyrling's eyes narrow suspiciously. "I think your face needs a little less sunlight and more time in the kitchens. I have seen you in there 'once'." V'ros crosses his arms over his chest, turning to face the bowl, to watch the weyrfolk milling about. "I don't care." Because clearly someone who makes a point of provoking someone else doesn't care. Can't she see the 'I don't care' written all over his pale, lean face!?

"Oh yeah? Well, ''I've'' seen ''you'' there more often than that. Maybe if you weren't ''so busy'' sticking your nose into other peoples' business, you'd've seen me too. Or is it just that you're too busy keeping your nose in the air to deign to notice us little people?" Lya wants to know now, setting the basket aside and getting to her feet to face him. Notably, she ''does'' swipe the napkin across her face, even if she doesn't get all the bits that there are to get.

A delightful little sneer rears its head. "I don't make it a point to go to the kitchens, or bother myself with 'little people'. But everywhere I go, you go." There's a point to be made here, a flare of anger that ignites as he takes a threatening step towards the blonde. "I'm going to be a dragonrider soon and you? You're just some stupid girl with a grudge that will probably end up as fodder for some bronzerider one day." V'ros spits the last bit out, his usually neutral or anxious eyes holding fair share of unrest.

As it turns out, Lya is not the kind of dog that is all bark. Quick as a whip her hand flies to slap him hard across the face. "You may be becoming a dragonrider, V'ros, but that doesn't make you any closer to being a man and not a meany." Woof!

The slap is loud and snaps his head sideways. Muscles in his jaw work, but his eyes tell the story - of confusion, regret, then a swift change to smoldering anger. V'ros's hand snakes out and reaches to grab Lycinea's arm, his voice a mere growl through his teeth, "That wasn't mean, but I can show you mean."

For all her bravado and balls, Lycinea is still only a sixteen turn old girl. "Ouch! V'ros, that hurts!" The slender blonde's words are close to a hiss, even though the ouch was louder. It can't be the first time she's been hurt from the way she reacts, and she's pulling away, or trying to. "Let me go!"

Pleas fall on unkind ears, the grip getting tighter the more she struggles. "Fine, have it your way," V'ros growls and lets go with some force, flinging her arm away - some might even call it a push. His eyes are dark and hard, unmoving in both empathy and emotion.

But do those eyes stay hard and unmoving when it becomes apparent in the next moment that Lycinea won't get her balance back before she's tripping ''over the edge of the ledge''. There's a scream, but it's a short drop... even if it's one that ends in ''crack''. At least a moment later there's a wail that leads into a sob, so she's not dead. Bright side(?)!

"Shit," V'ros says, already running towards the stairs, and then down them, rushing to the blonde's side. Not the reaction one would expect for someone who just pushed said injured woman. "Are you ok?" His face is pale, his face anxious as he looks her over; he's not got a healer's eyes. "What is it? What hurts?"

By the time V'ros arrives, Lycinea has rolled onto her rump and sat up. Trust Lya to be the sort that ''so'' wants to complain over crying that the sobs come secondary to her retort to V'ros, "My ''arm''! I was wrong. You're ''worse'' than a two-headed dimglow!" To which she compared him upon their first meeting. She sobs now for a moment, cradling her left arm in her right. Maybe she's faking. One could hope! "Help me to the sharding infirmary," she demands next. Maybe not faking it after all.

That sets V'ros back on 'his' rump. "It's just your arm," he mumbles, mostly to himself. "Come on, put your arm around his shoulders." He moves closer, giving her the opportunity to lean on him while they trek to the infirmary. His face is still pale, his eyes back to their usual anxiety mode, but his mouth is firm and set. No words of apology will be forthcoming.

"I think it's sharding broken," Lycinea moans as she wraps her right arm around V'ros' shoulders. She's leaning on him hard, though she's a slender young woman so perhaps her weight isn't so great compared to a growing dragonet. It's not the only time that she says it, either. As they trek, she has to say it at least three or four more times in between sniffles. At least she's not still sobbing, though if it's broken she must still be in pain.

"Broken? Really?" V'ros makes sure he walks slowly, bearing the brunt of the weight so she doesn't have to worry about it. He is silent for most of the journey, letting her moan and cry, or anything else she needs to do. Still no apology, even when he stops in the archway of the infirmary, looking hesitant. "I should probably get back to the barracks. It will.. it'll be ok." He is grateful to the healer who comes out to greet them, but doesn't look directly at Lycinea - probably shame.

Shame? Shame is good. Guilt is better. The girl's narrowed-eyed gaze is weighty as it follows his retreat, but Lya doesn't say anything, which is perhaps the most telling reaction of all. Not until the older healer journeyman with brownish hair has asked her for the second time if she's alright, to which she snaps, "No, you dimglow, I'm not alright or I wouldn't ''be'' here." But then there's the disappointed dad face turned on Lycinea with full force and a quiet rebuking word. "Sorry," she'll apologize to him, at least. "Sorry. It just ''hurts''." But with Oliwer's reassurance that they'll do what they can, she lets him lead her off to an alcove with one glance back over her shoulder at V'ros.

The retreat is a fast one, with not a single, regret-filled look backwards. V'ros keeps his head down, disappearing into the throng of people in the inner caverns.
}}

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