Difference between revisions of "Logs:Plants and Apologies"

Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis.

The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.

Hailstorm has already done drills this morning: /early/ morning drills, at that, and long ones, leaving a surfeit of wingriders clambering for food in that awkward mid-afternoon lull between lunch proper and dinner. Ainslee, recently from the baths, rides the tail-end of the rush, sliding into the kitchen itself to beg fresher options than what are displayed outside. She's currently composing herself a rather ridiculously large sandwich, hovering over a end-table obviously set out for kitchen-staff to pluck at: it looks pretty good, too, fresh bread and thin-sliced roast, slathered with a goodly bit of horseradish. She seems to be debating adding yet more roast beef to it. A girl can never have enough meat, right?

"There you are, red!" Voice booms from the exit to the inner cavern in sudden and thankful recognition, the time it took to search for her evident in his tone. If it's not clear on it's own, he'll go ahead and confess it with a voice loud enough to reach her from across the kitchens. "Been lookin' everywhere for you!" He glides his way across the room with big strides afforded to him by his long legs. He's carrying a burlap sack over his shoulder. That can't be good.

Entirely too used to the nickname - it's almost an alias, seriously - the greenrider looks up, mid-press of hearty rye bread on top of the sandwich. Pale eyebrows lift when the owner of the voice turns out to be Barnabas, though. "Oh, have you now?" She picks up the rather large deli-knife situated close to the station, and makes a show of cutting the sandwich in half, because she's witchery like that. With a display of toothy smile, she asks, "What can I do for you, good sir?"

With one hand tightly gripping at the sack, the other reaches forward to try and offer a handshake. It's only as he looks down at his own outstretched palm that he notices her knife, and his hand recoils. Best to get to business before trying that physical contact angle again. "You're more friendly than I was expectin', on account of how we me last. I was the watch-wher at the party?" There's a hint of question at the end there, in case she didn't remember.'

Ainslee doesn't relinquish her grasp on that giant weapon of shining malice, garnished with the faint sheen of roast-beef juices and a faint smear of horseradish sauce, but lifts her hand to tap her index finger, freed from the knife itself, against her chin. It's only frightening because of the complete and utter thoughtful mien she displays, as if she's not really aware of the ten-inch weapon brandished right before her nose. "Brown watch-wher... brown watch-wher... Oh!" At least at this point she drops the hand brandishing the knife. "Oh yes, I remember that. How pleasant it is to see you again!" Her smile seems scarily real: friendly and outgoing. (But dude, she still has that knife... for no visible purpose WHATSOEVER.)

Eyes follow the knife for it's entire journey, wearing the concern for it on his face with parted lips and widened eyes. "How pleasant...?" he begins, but trails off. There's no way she wasn't doing this on purpose, right? "Yeah, well uhh, I been looking for you all day. Askin' people around y'know? I start with your name, but if people don't recognize it, I just tell em I'm tryin' to find me a stacked redhead. Half the people pointed me in your direction, and the other half just sorta shrugged and said who isn't, ha!"

"I am rather new here," Ainslee is quick to reassure. "Not many do know my name. Or even my face." Her face goes a bit stoic at his... compliment?... before she wags her head in sympathy. Or apparent sympathy? "I'm so sorry it's taken you so long to find me! Maybe if I'd been wearing a low-cut shirt it would have been easier." SO sympathetic. "You could have stumbled around like a blind man, hands out--" Knife still held, she models the behavior, "--until you stumbled into me!" Is her point made? She evidently considers her words sharp enough, because she stabs the knife point-down in the carving board - earning her a murmur of disapproval from the nearest kitchen staff - and picks up her sandwich halves to plate them, neat as can be. A smile upwards, still so sweet and innocent: "What can I do for you, sir...?" A prompt for a name, perhaps.

Ainslee's mannerisms strike Bones oddly, as he makes clear with his arched eyebrow and half-step back at her mimicry of a blind man. Bones isn't good with subtle, but this display is enough to trigger the search in his mind for potential subtext. "You're still mad 'bout me snatching that mark from your tits." He's a genius. "But that's okay! That's totally why I was hunting you down like I was. I wanted to make good for my crimes, eh?" Smile beams as he takes another half-step back, so that he can open up his burlap sack and reveal what he had inside. Clay pot was about the size of one made for cooking stew for one, in it a healthy level of earth and a thick brown stem that trails up into a miniature tree, the whole package all together maybe a foot and a half tall. "It's a miniature Kindletree. See.." one hand supports the pot underneath, while his free finger points to the line on one of the wide flat leaves where the deep green suddenly transitions to firey red. "They call it that because they start off green, but as they get older the leaves roll over red. Then in like it's last week or two it gets these little white flowers. Normally they're huge but y'can get these little ones if y'breed em that way. I thought it might do as way of apology, eh?"

DING DING, we have a winner! The greenrider seems a little dubious as Barnabas explains that he knows that she's still a little miffed over the whole inappropriate grabbiness. She can't help but be curious as he unearths the prize, though, leaning forwards - no low-cut shirt today! - to check out this miniature Kindletree. "You got me a tree to apologize?" Her voice is, actually, quite fascinated. "How do you know I won't go home and kill it?" Not out of revenge or anything. "What do I do with it? How often do I need to water it? I don't need to feed it anything, do I?" The barrage of question ends only when the woman takes a much-belated bite of her sandwich, half-frowning down at the tree in a mix of consternation and admiration. It's a fairly strange expression.

Bones bends down to pick up the burlap sack he had dropped to the floor moments before, careful to keep the tree vertical and still-presented at a height where Ainslee can see it well. "Hey don't worry none! I wouldn' give you homework, ha! Kindletrees are real pretty but got a real short lifespan, so just try and get it enough water so the top layer'a soil there is moist to the touch. And if you forget about it for a day or two? That's no problem either. Should last you a month or two, and look real pretty doin' it." He's back up to his feet, and stuffing as much of the sack into his pocket as he can, the rest left to hang out and dangle. "Y'seemed like you were into fashion and colors and stuff, so I thought the green and red would work for ya. Matches your eyes and your hair, right?" There's a pause as he looks down at the plant, then up to her face. "So if I promise not to touch you again, we good? Hehe."

Ainslee is possibly the most perverse woman ever to walk on Pern. That, and she's has the most extreme mood-swings - but then again, which women aren't, amirite? "Oh." She seems taken aback by Barnabas' thoughtfulness, and rather unlikely to hold a grudge, regardless of her hair color. "Well - thank you, nameless breast-grabber." It's a tease, now, and an honest one rather than the earlier sarcasm: she even goes as far as reaching up, unconcerned about the hair and the tats and the -- Bonesishness -- to pat him on the cheek, like you would an excellent grown-child, perhaps, or an old lover. Maybe it's just a token gesture to make up for the previous, rather /harder/ touch of hand against cheek. "It will look darling in Kalaith's couch, and she's so fond of colorful things. This will entertain her more than I could ever hope to." A mark well-spent, then, -- all things considered.

It isn't untill she coins his nickname that he notices her having fished for his real one, or at least his chosen alias. "Oh! Bones. Name's Bones." His hands go into his pockets, a favorite idle pose but now one with purpose. No risk of him putting them where they weren't supposed to be this way. "It's no problem. If you ever wanna see one of these all grown up? Like, taller'n me? Just stop by the greenhouse sometime. I work there." A shrug of his shoulders follows. "Or don't. It ain't the most glamorous job, diggin' in dirt. Suits me though." He entirely misses the potential for self-deprecating humor in his assessment.

"Well-met, Bones." /This/ time. "Maybe I will." Stop by and see big trees, that is. Something clicks, though-- Bones + greenhouse + dirt, and she cocks her hip, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you the one that tangled with H'vier, a bit ago? Was that before he and Z'ian tried to beat one-another bloody?" Her eyes narrow a bit, thoughtfully rather than annoyed, at his face, as if just staring at those dreadlocks will somehow manifest the answer to her query.

The look on Bones' face instantly tells story of a man who's entirely unused to his antics being points of conversation, or at the very least unused to hearing about it. "I tangled with him before and after, actually." There's a glance to the ground at his recollection of both scraps, one going his way and the other not. Albeit by design. "I don't even got a problem with the dude really, it just kinda worked out that way. Is he your friend or somethin'?"

Poor Bones. "Oh, really?" Ainslee seems entirely amused. "I'd probably have let you feel me up for free, if I'd known that," she breezily comments, taking another bite of her sandwich and wincing momentarily for the heat of her horseradish. Spicy! "He's kind of an asshole." Her tone is affectionate, though, for all that. "I guess it works. Thank you, though, Bones. I do appreciate the tree, and-- the sentiment."

"Hehe, yeah, kinda." About H'vier's temperament. "But so am I, so I try not to judge eh?" His eyes glance up and down her frame now, the comment about a free roam of his hands leading him to briefly fantasize about how much such an offer would afford him. Two seconds? Five? He catches himself. "Well, I best be getting back to work before I ruin all the good I done with plants an apologies. Only a matter'a time before I make an ass outta myself, just ask anyone who knows me." A grin spreads across his features. "Enjoy your meal eh?"

A cheeky grin for that obvious once-over; Ainslee isn't a prude, just weird about people touching her without her consent. Like any woman should have reason to be freaked out by /that/, right? Ahem. "Sounds fair enough to me, Bones." Her husky alto is amused. "I will, and please enjoy the rest of -your- day. Maybe not feel someone up, though, maybe?" She even tosses him a wink, the saucy wench, before juggling her plate to one hand and reaching down to purloin her latest (and only) plant, lifting it with little effort to swing perched on a hip. She has one last, quick smile, before turning to disappear further into the kitchen, no doubt heading for the storerooms to find something to put this plant /on/. Another mission for another day!