View source for Logs:Side-stepping

{{Log
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|type=Log
| who = Jo, Mave
| where = Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Jo and Mave catch up after another 'girls' time' session. They talk about shows, boys, and family.
| when = Day 5, Month 6, Turn 31
|day=5
|month=6
|turn=31
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| gamedate = 2013.04.04
| quote = "The boys in my life, if you could call it that, don't need any more attention."
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = Barnabas, K'zin
| ooc = 
| icons = jo clean.jpg, mave hat.png
| log = Another afternoon session – ‘girl time’, as is coined between Jo and Mave – has the bluerider finishing off teaching the young woman the finer points of trying to block a hit when punches are thrown her way. Jo had the hanging bags of sand out for Mave to punch on the lake shore, and have been working on her footwork so that Mave could improve her balance. Now, the two were lounging on a bench in the inner caverns after the session, catching their breath and cooling off as the evening gathers. The bluerider has a bag opened up beside her, and she tosses a white towel Mave’s way just as she grabs one for herself. The customary black leathers she usually dons are missing, the tall woman only in a snug white tank top and burnished gray pants more fit to be worn by a miner, hanging a bit off her hips. “Gettin’ better out there,” she now comments to her as she runs the towel over scarred-up arms. “Startin’ to see improvement in ya already.”

Covered in a sheen of sweat over her forehead, down her arms, in patches along her legs, Mave's grateful for the towel, swiping it not-shyly to relieve the clinging dampness. Her hair's been whipped into a sturdy bun at the back of her head, not that it's all stayed that way. Pieces have latched onto her forehead and been fused there by beads of moisture. It's been a slow build, but constant movement, so she's in a half-pant, plenty of breath but just sped up enough to seem worked. "Y'think?" Void of ego, the question carries with it curiosity, and its fragile passenger: desire; maybe the birth of ego, then. But taking from herself, that questioning jumps ship as her eyes, following now nearly familiar paths from a previous session, watch the scars on Jo's arm. She never asks, except in stares. "'Cause I ''kind'' of feel like I'm being broken slowly in half." Accounting for the slow, reluctant way her arm stretches to pull her shirt away from her chest to flap it for air.

Draping the towel in front of herself, “That’s when ya know it’s workin’,” Jo states on being broken in half, giving her a quite confident and sagely nod. “I definitely see improvements, darlin’. I think a few more sessions with the bag on that jab of yers, and ya might be able to try it out on one of those bookies yer were havin’ trouble with around hatchin’ time.” She remembers. She dips into her bag for a canteen-looking thing and pops off the lid to tip the thing back to her lips before she offers it over to Mave. It’s water, surprisingly for her. “Bones told me he’s helpin’ ya out, too?” she brings up this time, glancing her way. “Big guy like him, he outta have useful moves for ya, too. I sparred with him once, so, I would know.”

Several enthused nods cover the subject of Bones, Mave's lips itching to open when she keeps them focused and closed, refraining from revealing much. As cover, she grips on the canteen and tips it back without question as to its contents. Sighing-- but only with physical need-- and bringing the water down, she dribbles a bit on her hand and wipes down her nose with the wetted hand. A shake of the head, "Bookies can have theirs." Glancing sideways as she leans over her knees, she squints at Jo, fingers rapping on the canteen, "I've got this other thing going. That, actually, I've been meaning to ask you about."

With Mave taking the canteen, Jo returns her focus to drying the sweat off of her arms and chest. She doesn’t press on her sessions with Bones, even though she could probably see that she’s interested in hearing about them. On the bookies, though, “Let them go free by the wayside, didja,” she says, lightly elbowing the young woman beside her. “We never did talk about how much profit ya made over the hatchin’. Ya were busy tryin’ to use my sweet moves back on me that first time.” Yes, it’s an open-faced tease. When Mave mentions she has another venture going, she raises a brow with unveiled interest. Rolling and stretching her shoulders and arms, “What’cha got in mind?” she asks, staring sidelong at her.

"Enough not to get my ass sweetly kicked." Mave's retort purposefully, very purposefully as part of the joke, side-steps Jo's tease -- though there's a relieved truth to her practical words. "Think K'zin made off the best. On-- himself, too? Was it?" Lips pull humorously back then pause in a grimace as her arms protest the light stretching she employs. Fingers lace together then branch out in front of her as she cracks her neck. "I'm kind of... overseeing hiring on a theater show. For the Weyr at large, and, well, the show I picked, it has some fight scenes. Swashbuckling and the like." Her grin widens at the thought, eyes sparkling to fit her age before she bobs her chin at Jo importantly. "I'd like to ask you to do, what do you call it..." Somewhat ruined importance. "Design out the fight scene steps." She shuffles her feet as emphasis.

“Ya never gave me any real reason to kick yer ass,” Jo notes on that retort, flashing a grin Mave’s way. She could add more, but when the bronze weyrling’s name comes up, there’s recognition in her dark gaze. “That’s….Rasavyth’s, right? Think we met not too long ago. He was cocky enough to bet on himself?” That earns some flicker of humor from the convict rider. Leaning back now, when she hears about a show, “What’s it about? Pirates?” she asks now, musing. Fingers reach for the canteen now, for a drink, seeming to be mulling over what’s being asked of her since she doesn’t answer on it right away. Eyes drop toward those shuffling feet. “Might be able to,” she says slowly with a slight nod, meeting her gaze. “I ain’ around all that much, though, so I dunno how much help I’ll be on my own. How much longer till this show is ready?”

"Oh, shoot," relays Mave at overhearing how it sounds having given K'zin away, "I probably shouldn't have said that." But it's out, and as has been said before: she's trusting Jo. It's suggested when she raises a somewhat affirming eyebrow at the rider then lets it go. "Kind of a comedy of errors," she explains, "That gets a guy stuck between being on the renegades' side and being on the holders'. There's plenty of time. I've all sorts of people to recruit first, so please, just think about it if you've got the inclination." The hopeful gleam in her eye's not as bright as might best accompany her best diplomatic grin; she's not sure of ''something'', that's what's for sure. "Though," her hand gets to task picking pieces of hair off her forehead, tucking them away, "You certainly don't owe me anything. If at all, the opposite."

There’s easy laughter on it, Jo waving flapping a hand at her as she slouches and takes a leisurely drink from the canteen. “Why not? It’s the truth, right?” she notes on K’zin. “And, who would I tell, anyway? ''Why'' would I tell?” Listening to what the show’s about, “So is this guy a renegade or a holder?” she asks, dropping her towel into the bag. “Or is it about these renegade stealin’ from the holders, and he’s in the middle?” She fall silent through the last, and when she speaks of owing anything, there’s a light snort and a shake of her head. “Owe me for what? The lessons? Ain’ nothin’ to those, Mave,” she states with simple ease, her smile sure. “I get to practice some, and ya get to learn. Most girls wouldn’ be considerin’ that to be ‘girl time’, though. We aren’ exactly brushin’ each other’s hair and talkin’ about boys. Not that I ''couldn'' do that, mind.” There’s a brief pause and then with a firm nod, “I’ll think about it, alright? Likely will help ya out, but ya know how often ya catch me around here. Got duties’n things I can’ let go of. But,” there’s a shrug. “Maybe put down what kind of fight yer lookin’ for and I might be able to scare somethin’ up.”

Mave snorts loudly and unabashedly at the notion of brushing hair-- except she hesitates in-between, eyebrows dropping; wait. Her life's since changed, but, with a swing of her feet, she chooses to shrug. "The boys in my life, if you could call it that, don't need any more attention." Fairly teasing, with a touch of ''more'' that she blows out with a next breath. "And, okay. And thanks! I'll get you an idea of what the fight scenes would be for, and I bet you'll be just fantastic." Note the subtle switch to Jo's definite involvement; paired with a fleetingly cheeky smile as her eyebrows raise warily against her own 'tactic'. "You know," it comes as a revelation, slowly rolling off of her tongue, "If there's something I can help you with, with your duties and things, I could." Beat. "Oh, dumb. Dumb, me. Rider's duties. I'm just-- nyah." A blatant noise of: eww, ignore me.

Chuckling, “Havin’ trouble jugglin’ them, is it?” Jo teases on the boys in Mave’s life, seeming to approve of there being more than one. She also doesn’t correct her on her involvement with the show, though, to something said there’s a wry, “I’m not ''in'' the show, though, right? Just puttin’ together the fight scene? Right?” There’s a pointed look to that prompt, eyeing that cheeky smile of hers. The pointed look fades at the next though – there’s a slight furrow of her brows as if she was trying to detect any duplicity in Mave’s tone on the offer, before it clears and she answers her. “What sort of duties do ya think I mean?” she asks now, her tone seeming to be deliberately easy now. “Yeah, got the sweepridin’ and the drills to do,” which of course the young woman couldn’t help her with. But, there’s a ‘but’ hanging there in the air. Her question stands.

"It's more I feel ''they'' should be juggling something ''else''," approval to Mave has translated into a willingness to talk, for which she offers this bit of plainly spoken information, too factual to be expressly humble; not taken personally. Her reassuring grin is less so, considering it shares property with the cheeky one. But a nod of understanding helps clears things, while she sits up, rolling her shoulders out, working the kinks wanting to begin to settle. "I wouldn't presume." A tidy answer. "But you're out of the Weyr a lot, so that means you've got business with someone, and that's none of mine."

“Ya don’ like either of them?” Jo asks now, absently nodding to one of cavern workers walking by and catching her eye. “Or is it that ya had yer way with them and now yer bored?” She takes another drink from the canteen before offering it to Mave then, the last getting more of her amusement in the slight smirk and the deadpan, “Business that ya just offered if ya can be of service in,” in counter, her tone brisk. There’s a pause as she studies the other openly, seeming to come to some sort of decision since she adds, “Besides putting a show together, what sort of things they have ya doin’ around here?” She jerks her head towards the corridor.

"That's why I took it back. I mean-- not that I want to take back an offer of help. But that I could fulfill it..." All this hurried out ahead of her ponderous look over her own duties, "Here? Oh, I'm lower caverns. So, the laundry and the mending and general chores. Those are mine." And she seems none too bothered by the menial sound of it, either, in fact, comforted, except of the gleam in her eye over the mention of the show. Taking the canteen to drink, she does less now, any lingering sweat or discomfort beginning to meld into less than discomfort. Skin's sticky, and her clothes hanging with a bit of stink, but nothing horrendous. "As for the boys, it's not that. One's very-- " she pauses, nose wrinkling with confusion, "Complimentary. And the other's proven a good friend, even when I dribbled selfishness all over him. It's just, see. They've dragons now. And duties. And, come on, it's me. They say they like me, but they'll be over it." Like a fad. She sniggers a little, in fact, at the absurdity of it all. "And, really, I plan on kissing around."

Jo studies Mave closely when she hurries through an answer, not interrupting her or countering. No, for now, there’s nothing forthcoming from the convict rider, Instead, she answers on what the young woman does during the day, nodding and seeming to be mentally filing that information away as she prompts, “And is it just ''you'' here? Got family in this Weyr?” On the topic of boys, there’s only the dawning of interest when she mentions that they’re weyrlings. “Weyrlin’s,” she even puts out there, nodding. “Yeah, I see it. They’ll be locked up for awhile. Ya say one of them’s complimentary. As in, ya like him and he likes ''you''?” Something else said has the woman nudging Mave with her shoulder before she states, “Yeah. It’s ''you'', and yer the shit. Why ‘’would’’ they be over ya, huh? They’ll end up bein’ a bunch of pansies if they are. But, anyway,” and she sets the canteen down, “I’m probably the worse one to go to when it comes to boy-talkin’, cuz well…I fuck around a lot,” and she obviously has not shame. “So of course I’d approve of ya kissin’ around. Ya look too young to be all shiny-eyed over just one, anyway. Been there, done that myself and got screwed for it. Don’ make my mistake.”

"Gladly not," Mave agrees very matter-of-factly, "If I'm just starting to kiss people, it'd be foolish of me to stop at the first one who looked at me nicely. That's like grabbing the first pair of boots in the stores. What if they're not your size? You're an ass then, aren't you." Pausing, rolling words back through her head, Mave's lips curl-- considering-- test passed; mouth tips up, content, and she brushes at her hair, redoing the bun with a couple of swift twists and tugs. "He likes me, alright. He keeps calling me 'special' and, at the time, I blush and like it. But when I stop to think, it's like... eww. Special? Being special to someone... feels like pressure. I get nervous. I'd much rather be-- me. I'd rather be me to him. Naw," frowning, she shakes her head; one good turn of phrase was enough, "I'm not saying it right. Umm." Her frown deepens, forehead creasing with painful concentration, "Did you ask me something?"

“There’ll be a whole shitload of them lookin’ at ya nicely,” Jo agrees, laughing at the analogy. “Not ''all'' of them are bad, though. Some of’em, ya can string along and they’ll always be there. Givin’ ya all those lines about how yer the only one for them and that yer the redfruit of their eye.” There’s a snort to that. She listens on the boy in question though, lips quirking up sardonically. “Yeah, don’ much like pressure, myself,” she admits in quiet laughter. “Not after I’d fallen for one of ''those'' long time ago. He said the same things, too. Ya tried tellin’ him that, though? That he didn’ need to wait up for ya since he’s a weyrlin’ and all. It’s not like there’s in obligation, right?” On the last, there’s a brisk, “Just asked if ya got any family here. Yer origins and all that.”

"Don't want to string anyone along." Said just as plainly as she'd rather not be 'special'. Rather, or-- is certain she isn't; Mave's settled on either, both. She wraps an arm around herself, capturing it along the upper portion with her opposite wrist to keep stretching the muscles. Feet, on the other hand, are lazily strewn on the floor. "I did I told him that. Uh, nah, it's me and my mum. We moved here when I was a bit of a thing." She holds up a hand to demonstrate when she was shorter than short. Coolness flashes over her eyes, a long ago pain, worn by the travel of distance. It's just a thing now. "No origins," her tone drifts lighter with lofty jest, giving it away where she'd otherwise be flat and the exaggeration hard to detect, "Just sprung out of the sea one day and said 'here I am, give me work'!"

“And he didn’t get it?” Jo asks on the mystery boy in question as she stuffs both her towel and her canteen into the bag. She turns to the topic of Mave’s family, nodding when she hears she has someone at the Weyr. Her reason for asking, she doesn’t give, but she does say in return, “Bet she’s good to have around, tellin’ ya all sorts of stuff, right?” There’s maybe a faintest detection of wistfulness, but if so, it’s not something that lingers. The last does have her laughing though, landing Mave a light little jab to the shoulder as she states back, “Smart-ass.” Eyes dart down from where they are to find a pair of dragonriders approaching – one burly-looking in brown riding leathers and a buzz cut. The other female and curly blonde and wearing something just as non-descript. Both try to catch her eye and once they do, “I better get goin’, darlin’,” the bluerider states, slinging the bag’s strap over one shoulder as she gets to her feet and looks to her over one shoulder. “Next time I’ll let ya learn some more throws, and we’ll get somethin’ good to eat. That good with ya?”

"Right now she's getting over being ill, so it's better not to keep her up with things." Mave's cheerful smile bullies past any of the possible negativity of the sentiment. Too tired to dodge the jab, and too store to not shriek, "Ow!" Which leaves a wildly good impression on the approaching riders, certainly. Blinking over at Jo, she nods promptly: business. Not that she seems quite aware that it's with those two riders who just happen to be hanging around. They're so casual, and all. "Yeah, that's good. And I'll have show papers to give to you." Her mouth thins, closing over further words to let the rider leave as she will. It'll take only a few seconds more for Mave to rally strength into tired limbs.

There’s a slight frown upon hearing that Mave’ mother has been sick, so Jo clears her throat and comments a brief, “Likely best.” That’s her ‘Sorry to hear that’, in those words and in that tone. She looks towards the riders already heading off from whence they came, not seeming to wait for her since she lingers by Mave. “Have those show papers for me,” she agrees to that with a single nod, and once that’s settled, there’s a brief genuine smile for Mave with a “See ya around, smart-ass.” Then she’s heading off in the direction the riders’ took – which looks likely to be towards the Weyr bowl. 






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