Difference between revisions of "Logs:Consumes"

Caves, Western Island

The yawning mouth of these caves leads into an increasingly low passage, one that doesn't open out again until it's turned a corner and lost most of the light. Were it not for the occasional, scattered glows, these caverns would be very dark indeed; as it is, there's light enough mostly to keep a person from stubbing a toe, certainly not enough to be able to perform many practical tasks.

The main cavern is a big one, with a high, echoing ceiling and walls that are naturally smooth and dry, and a floor that might be uneven, but is also kept clean of dust and debris. It must have been used extensively once, for there are still scattered furnishings, crudely made but serviceable, but none of them appear to be in current usage.

Passages lead off from the main cavern, though, and some of these lead into smaller caverns that /are/ in use, most of them providing storage for harvested food and other supplies.

It's the middle of a cool, wet afternoon in late autumn, and though mere wet weather (particularly at this time of the turn) can't shut down normal daily activities, those who /can/ have moved up into the caves. Now that most people are living in the huts further down the path, there isn't all that much up here, but this afternoon, there's a seaweed-fueled fire and clusters of exiles, at least. Tomaeran sits off to one side, rather quieter and more sullen since the storm that killed his sister a few sevens ago. Theoretically, from the looks of it, he's supposed to be tearing seaweed into strips for fuel; his eyes wander, though, and his hands are mostly still.

Elgin is walking up the path from the huts, presumably from the beach, indicated from the line of fish in tow. He jerks his head slightly in greeting to Tomaeran and grunts, "Eh." as an audible hello, before settling himself on a large rock near by and pulling out a sharp knife to skin the previously mentioned fish.

A group of girls are making their way from the deeper bowels of the cave system. A trio is ooing and aahing over a central figure, a girl in her early twenties with a buck-toothed smile, a nose too big for her face and buggy-eyes. Rhaelyn takes up the tail end so she can send daggers of jealousy at the group of them, her arms full of a glossy red fabric. "Oh, Rhae-Rhae, do have the dress ready for me first thing tomorrow morning." Buck-tooth calls back haughtily to the younger girl awhile the set of them hurry off to places unknown. Oh, there's muttering and tongue-biting as h tosses the dress onto one of the rocks nearby.

Tomaeran, not /especially/ good company, angles an eyebrow-raised glance at Elgin as the younger boy settles so close. His verbal response is inclined towards the imperious, though anything further than his emphasised, "/Hello/," is cut off short as he catches sight of Rhaelyn and the group of girls out of the corner of his eye. Head turning, he regards the procession, then focuses his attention rather more firmly upon Rhaelyn himself. Lazily, though with a hint of scorn; "She'll never be pretty, at least." It's his turn not to say hello, apparently.

The knife is used skillfully to de-scale the fish. Elgin glances up at Tomaeran's start of a 'hello' and his eyes follow to the gaggle of girls. His only response is a roll of his eyes and a grumble. "...There's work to be done." He says to their backs as they pass by. They don't acknowledge him. "Dress?" He raises an eyebrow at Rhaelyn, though whether it is in consolation or scolding is hidden.

Rhaelyn settles on a chair by the dress-shrowded rock and crosses her arms over her chest. "Perhaps so." She allows to Tomaeran, though from her tone, even knowing that doesn't make her little heart happy. "She'll also always be a know-it-all. Her poor, poor future husband..." There's no work being done by her at the moment, she has to settle down a bit first. From under her arm she whips out a small sewing kit. "It's for her wedding. I have to let out almost all of the seams and hem it up a few inches." Kept in the depths of the caves it, like the sewing kit, are the rare items from days-gone-by. The remark to the departing girls is met with a laugh for Elgin, "Good luck getting their attention for anything until after the wedding."

"Girls and their weddings," sneers Tom, though it's not as though he's hard at work at this moment. Or has a reputation for ever being hard at work. Still, he /does/ pick up a piece of seaweed again, tearing it into rough pieces as he adds, "Her husband will get used to her. Or stay out late and leave early; one or the other. He's got to know what he's getting himself into." This, too, is rich coming from Tom, so recently un-married as he is.

Elgin buries himself deeper into his work. Scales drop about the bottom of the rock on which he is perched. "Stupid weddings? Lose a whole group of people who could be working to giggles and nonsense." He look at Rhaelyn and his eyes fall down to the dress. "Well the dress is 'bout as ugly as she is." He offers with half a smile. He nods at Tom, agreeing, at least, with the other male's general scorn of the passtime.

Rhaelyn regards Elgin and then Tomaeran as she open the sewing box and removes an instrument from within. The dress is pulled over her knees with a whisper of satin. "Oh, I am sure they will /throw/ themselves into the work again like good little islanders as soon as Mz. Hagfish is married off." Turning fabric in her hand she makes a few deft snips at the seams to let them out. "Is that what men do Tom? Stay out late and leave early? If they don't like their match?" Sounding very cheerful about this for some reason.

Tomaeran's smile is bland in the wake of Rhaelyn's remarks; the fact that he generally gets along with the girl probably stops him from making a truly snarky remark in response. "That's exactly what men do, Rhaelyn," he tells her, firmly. "What else should they do? Once a match is made..." Uh-huh. A few more strips of dry seaweed flake down towards his pile. "Elgin's right, though: that dress is /ugly/. I guess it doesn't matter. Her new husband only really cares about what she has underneath it."

Having finished one of the fish, and otherwise generally over the conversation Elgin puts his knife away. A dry grin is given to Tom with a flicker of a glance to Rhaelyn, and if only to soften the blow to the girl, "That's what they do when they don't like what's underneath." And with that he stands and starts back down the path.

Rhaelyn's wink at Tomaeran should be indication enough that she is playing along with 'learning' about the ways of men, "Maybe they should learn to wash their wives feet and dab her brow when she's come in from a hard day of....basket weaving." Since that is what the other girl's job is. "Oh, she had few choices, this is the only one in any shape that she can squeeze into..." after the few adjustments she's doing obviously. "She doesn't miss any meals."

"Massages, too," returns Tom, promptly, a smirk hinted at in the shallow curve of his mouth. He glances after the departing Elgin, amused, but his gaze doesn't linger in that direction. "That's a man's job, right? Make his woman happy. And full of babies, probably." With Elgin gone, he sets the seaweed down again, stretching out long legs and considering his companion thoughtfully. "She's a-- seamonster. Glad I'm not the one ending up shackled to her."

Rhaelyn gives a toss of her head and the vanity of her hair as she grins over at Tom, "That's exactly right. If not with babies, practicing making them. I hear /that/ part is worth the ball and chain." She too watches Elgin depart with some disapointment, she wanted to hear his opinion on the matter. In the wake of his leaving, she makes quick work of one side of seams. "Seamonster is a good term. Flush with tentacles too. Poor Eleo....he's going to be mooshed flat. Or..." A naughty laugh, "Pulled in."

Tomaeran's 'mmm' is enthusiastic: positive, but also inclined towards regret. "It /is/. Shells, I miss that. A person's--" He pauses, gives Rhaelyn an appraising glance, then, quickly, sweeps his gaze around to see who might be listening in. Apparently satisfied: "hand isn't much of a replacement, truthfully." There's something wicked in his grin, despite that. "Eleo made his bed. Maybe he /likes/ her that way." The poor man.

Rhaelyn's eyes widen slightly at the lewdness of Tomaeran's remark and quickly looks around as well. "Really?" She settles those cruel eyes on him after a slow up and down look of the man, "Is that what consumes you boys?" Curious now that the conversation has taken this interesting turn, she watches the boy intently, "Girls don't do such things." Or, they don't talk about it with Rhae and she is not in the know. "I wouldn't be shocked if the elders sweated poor Eleo and forced it on him. A good union and she is 'such a good girl'." She mimics the way the elders speak, rather high and mighty.

A certain amount of wickedness is visible in Tom's expression, now, particularly given the reaction he gets for his lewdness. "Maybe so," he remarks, vaguely, on the latter topic. Rather more interesting is the former, and it's this one that he answers with - again - genuine enthusiasm. "Sure it is. Man has his needs. If you don't have a woman, then you've pretty much /got/ to sort yourself out. It's perfectly normal." Beat. "Does that mean you've /never/--?" That /does/ surprise him: his expression is all appraising again.

Rhaelyn's eyes drift away from Tomaeran but only to make sure they are still keeping this conversation to themselves, the attentive gaze is back on him soon enough. "That is very interesting indeed. I wonder very much what would happen to a man who couldn't...sort himself out." A widening grin, "Perhaps we can do an experiment. That is, you with-hold your....hand attention." She looks towards his lap rather than the hands with a rather impish and improper grin before the look focuses on his face again. "And we see the results." And as for her actions? She gives a shake of her head, "Really...that is /naughty/." Adding a small nervous laugh at the end, expecting him to pry more since she's suggesting such a vulgar demonstration from him.

Tomaeran's eyebrows raise in askance. "Sounds like a pretty unpleasant experiment for /me/," he points out. "What're you going to do to make it worth my while, mm?" There's something distinctly suggestive in his expression; in the way he raises his eyebrows at her. His smirk, too. Continuing, "There's nothing naughty about it. You seriously think I'm going to believe that you girls never, ever let your hands go for a wander?"

"Well," Rhaelyn begins quietly when he adds some pressure, "Father said that a decent women shouldn't enjoy /that/ act overly much as it leads to unfaithfulness. However, I -might- have tried it a time or two." Perhaps indicating that she doesn't intend on being all that faithful, depending on who they saddle her up with. "So, what would you want in this in-between time? I hardly have anything that you'd want. I don't even have a proper hair brush." With the condition of her hair, that seems highly unlikely. She leans forward slightly, putting elbows into the dress on her knees and peers at Tomaeran.

Drawling, "/I/ would have thought that it would lead to /less/ unfaithfulness. If you can please yourself..." But Tom breaks off. There are serious ideas to consider, and he's doing that with intensity: it's pretty obvious in his expression, though his gaze does slide up and down Rhaelyn's body thoughtfully. "Not in the in-between time," he tells her, finally, mouth curving smugly. "Afterwards."

Rhaelyn leans a little more forward, eager seeming as she smiles ever so sweetly, "Maybe my father isn't as forward thinking as you are." She catches her lower lip between her teeth for a second as she catches his look up and down her. This makes her draw back, if only to allow him to have a better look over her. "Afterwards hhmm?" Now it's her turn to think things over, "Would a kiss be enough?" She asks, knowing full well that it wouldn't be.

"Your father is old," says Tom, as if this explains everything. He seems pretty pleased by the way she /lets/ him look; his expression is definitely appreciative. "No, a kiss would /not/ be enough." Beat. His voice is lowered, quiet, but firm: "But I won't take any risks, either. I'm not going to marry you, Rhae; I don't think I want to marry /anyone/, maybe not ever. Had enough of that. But there's another way you could make it up to me... if you're willing. Otherwise. Well. Maybe some other dupe'll let you have your little experiment." It's surprisingly honest - and unpushy - coming from Tom: he seems genuine.

"You're crazy if you think that I want to give /that/ up to you. I certainly don't want to be married." Rhaelyn eyes narrow slightly, in thought rather than irritation right now. "I don't think my father is going to allow me to get married and the elders say they won't go against his wishes." So she's safe for a little while now. "So, perhaps you'll have to explain what 'else' it is a man and woman can do together that doesn't result in babies. Aside from kisses." Interesting that she's so curious, but perhaps not because islanders don't have as many hangups.

Despite himself, despite the way this conversation is going, Tom looks genuinely perplexed and shakes his head as he remarks, "Your father is /strange/." But he seems relieved, too: this is all much simpler if they're both on the same page. Rising, wiping bits of seaweed off his threadbare trousers, he explains, simply, "There are more ways to use mouths than just on /other/ mouths, Rhaelyn." He's smirking again, as he gathers up his things. "Give it some thought. And so will I. Haven't said I /will/ do it yet, after all. Later, Rhae."

Rhaelyn's eyebrows lift upward at the idea and she blinks a time or two. She's too proud to ask for more details but she's certainly mulling over just what sorts of things a mouth might do. Watching him get up there's a look of stark disapointment that passes over her face before she looks away. "I will give it some thought." Trying her best to sound haughty, but her interest is peaked so it's difficult. "Now, since you're leaving me to my horrible duty, I will have little else to think upon." As though it's his fault.

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