Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Secret Non-Admirer"

Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr

'The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.

A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.

Snowflakes falling from the grey sky land lightly on the beach surrounding the lake, glistening where they settle atop what's already a foot's depth of snow in the areas that were so recently cleared. There are pathways that have been trodden by the early morning goers-about, and more are currently being cleared by a group of candidates. Amongst them, working on the edge with his long, past-the-knees scarve bundled around his neck and hanging down his back, is Nicky. With his shovel in hand, he scoops up snow, tossing it to the side in a motion that's easily repeated.

Bundled to the point of obscuring any defining features, Mave could nearly be anyone: hair tucked into a thick ribbed hat, scarf muting her, and a worn olive jacket squaring out a figure already light on femininity. Weaving amongst the working candidates lends her a strange, twisted, path as she attempts to avoid getting in anyone's way too long or too directly. Her boots pack down the freshly cleared route. When she reaches a certain point, she slows, glancing between Nicky and two other candidates working the nearby area. She mumbles a question to the closest body and he shakes his head solemnly, either answer or straight-up refusal to listen; it's indistinguishable. But, either way, Mave moves on, scampering a couple more steps to ask Nicky and the next one, her voice's features just as muffled, "'Ave," mumble scratch, "'en a r," mumble mumble, "ten?"

The approaching girl is reason enough for Nicky to pause in his work; he nudges the brim of his home-knitted hat up and pulls his scarf down to give her a crooked grin. Her question, though, has the grin fading a little as he looks at her in confusion. "S-sorry?" Canting his head to one side, he leans forward a little, closing the distance their height difference imposes. "I'm sorry, um... I d-didn't hear what you said." With every word, his breath crystallises into a fine mist in front of him. Nicky leans on the handle of his shovel, gloved fingers curled around the wooden shaft.

A stare, then, "Mmh!" Noise of revelation, plucking her eyebrows up; not as though the hat lets that be known. Unconsciously, she leans in, too, and up, her toes sinking into some of the looser snow that's been moved around. Bringing a gloved hand to her mouth, she wrestles the scarf down until it coils bulkily around her neck, revealing the flushed freckled cheeks of her face and a half-grinning mouth, "Hey," is nearly just a breath, expelled visibly between them, where it meets his, in their little lake-side huddle. Apology touches the syllable, recognizing her fault briefly, before she plows on very practically, "Have you seen a red mitten?" She unwraps an arm to curl it in the direction of the dunes the candidates work at, "Shoveling just now?"

"Hi," Nicky replies to the hey, with a little wiggle of his fingers to Mave. When she poses her question again he frowns thoughtfully, standing up straight to look over in the direction she's indicating. "Oh. Um... m-mitten? I'm, um, not sure. Hang on?" He raises his hand to his mouth, tugs at his glove with his teeth to pull it off, then puts his fingers to his mouth to whistle at the nearest candidate. "Cl-Claris? Um, didja see a mitten?" Even with his voice raised enough to travel the distance needed, Nicky seems somewhat... awkward, shouting. When the Claris in question shakes his head and gets back to work, Nicky shrugs apologetically at the younger teen. "N-no mitten. Did you lose it, near here? I-I can lend you mind, if you need one?" The one he's just taken off is flapped at her.

Mave's lips draw back in surprise, but an appreciative surprise, at the crisp whistling, her head turning to regard this Claris, eyebrows low at his failing prospects. "Well-- wherrybutt," she groans to herself, eyes low. Queried, she lifts her chin, too high, to accommodate a long sigh, a swift cloud of disappointment fabricated between them. Having a mitten flapped in her face causes her to lean her head back, blinking, snowflakes jumping off of her exposed lashes. "Oh! No, no... no." Tone dipping from grateful to forlorn. Raising her hands, she wiggles fingers at him -- all ten, all safely tucked inside gray knit. "It's not mine, it's a friend's." Wiggles stop and, twisting her palms in, she demonstrates a size. "Stupid big." Hands drop, running straight to her legs for sanctuary then, up her hips, and duck into her armpits for momentary warmth recovery. "Fell off me while playing out here with the brats the other day. But," a squint, and she's regarding Nicky; smile in her eyes eventually, "Thanks. You know, that's more than I was getting off some of your fellows. You'd think the snow was my fault or something."

Nicky pops the glove back onto his own hand when his offer is declined, and leans back on his shovel to look curiously at Mave. "I've lost a mitten before," he admits, nodding his head in what he hopes is an encouraging way. "M-my grandma had knitted it. She was so angry, but I d-didn't do it on purpose... just like you, right?" His fingers curl around the shaft of his shovel, and he tilts his head for Mave to follow him as he starts scooping up snow again. "I can help you, um, look? If you'd like? Maybe it'll turn up while we're w-working." Looking back over his shoulder at her, he grins. "I'm Nicky, by the way."

"Of course not," She's nearly too quick to agree, despite a perfectly amiable tone; yes, right. Fingers twist into her jacket. "Though, let's just..." nibbling on a lip, she skates a wide step after Nicky to make up for one she forgets at first, "Keep it between us that I called him a friend." Her mouth twists back and forth, wriggling her nose with it. A half-step and a measuring look out over the dunes of lake snow, before she's reeled in, uhhing softly to catch up, "Mave. Nice to meet you, at least, Nicky." Not that she'd stoop to naming any names. Just very distinctly side-eying the way she'd come, suspect candidates picked out by narrowed almond eyes and pursued lips. Freeing a hand tightly from its bundle, she quickly sweeps up to push at hair escaping her winter's hat, nestled along her wide ear, red with cold because it sticks out. "Is this also your first High Reaches winter?"

"Nice to meet you, too." Nicky offers his hand for her to shake if she will, as an afterthought for having forgotten to do so already. Then he shovels aside more snow, while shaking his head in response to her question. "O-oh, no. Well... um, my first /here/, but I'm 'Reaches-born. F-from a holding up in the mountains - Far Reach, if you've heard of it?" Another spadeful of snow is tossed aside, and he turns to look at Mave. "Wh-why did you borrow his mitten, if he's, um, not a friend? I-I mean, you don't have to s-say, but... um..." His shoulders are shrugged as his expression suggests there's something... off, about the scenario.

She seems unbothered that he forgot, resolving the handshake swiftly, so he can work again soonest. "I haven't," Mave admits, unashamed, stumbling confidently through, "But it sounds..." Pause, blink. Her tongue prods the inside of her cheek. "Far." Whatever she thinks of her answer, it's swallowed by distraction for his inquiry. Another huff of cold-painted air bursts and is gone. "It's-- complicated," she decides, after a breath, eying the snow with a scowl as though the snowy white patches were distinctly at fault. The flakes sit, complacent to her scolding; shamefully unrepentant. "I thought he was... something he wasn't for a long time, and now I know he's not, so why shouldn't we be friends. But it's just..." A little, uncomfortable shrug. She glances at Nicky, eyes regretful to not know. "Complicated." Emotion clears when it's easier to plainly describe, "He lost it. I was only holding on." For an undetermined amount of time. On her person.

Seemingly more confused by the explanation than he was by the circumstances, Nicky simply nods, trying to look sympathetic. "It sounds complicated," he agrees, sweeping more snow aside and moving along the freshly-cleared pathway. Suddenly he turns to squint at Mave, as if just hit by a thought, or an idea - and he looks at her with intense curiosity. "I-I know someone with r-red mittens... a-and a red hat, and a red sc-scarf..." There are cogs beneath his own bobble-topped hat, and he waggles an index finger at Mave while they work and turn to draw a conclusion. "A-are you talking about Waki?"

"No." Then a dive of her eyebrows, "Yes." Mave winces, shoulders writhing, "No-- yes. Dammit." Frustrated, she coils both hands up near her hair, nearly dislodging her hat before, remembering, pulling them down to her neck where they bury unhappily within her scarf. "Look, I'm not a gossiper," she's in a hurry to explain, chin low though she eyes him squarely from behind the soft frame of her lashes, "Please, I didn't mean anything by it." Those hands drop, restless, and she swings them once by her hips, losing track of Nicky to spy out over the snowy dunes; High Reaches' horizon offers no distinct comfort except a gathering of her thoughts, hurried and packed away, like the shovelers surrounding them. She tosses out, "It's just-- " and then loses words, too.

Mave's flustered response has Nicky grinning, though not unpleasantly - he's clearly surprised and amused by her indecision. "Y-you're not gossiping," he reassures, reaching out to gently - awkwardly - pat the girl's shoulder. It's a movement that comes across as being fuelled by being the 'right thing to do', rather than anything else. "I didn't know Waki had, um, an..." He takes a beat to find the right word, tapping his chin as he thinks. When he hits the verbal jackpot, he leans in and lowers his voice, so as to keep it between the two of them. "An a-admirer?"

Grin is met by sheepish grin; Mave not beleaguered with a lot of cumbersome pride, "Thank you," she's gracious to accept her role as not-gossipy, a gestured hand demonstrating how right he is -- until that. Palm frozen, but not from the weather, she loses hold on her jaw and it slips down, unhinged. "Eh?" A spark of life; her hand retracts, showing that gray-gloved palm to him now, "Oh! No." A protest, but not a protest too much. Firmly, she shakes her head, and more red-brown begins to make the great escape by and behind her ears, even a note of laughter escaping, "If anything-- " But that's where it hits. As if late, like it'd been held up in line, the flush beyond cold jumps to her cheeks, enflaming her freckles and slightly alarming her eyes.

Completely and utterly confused now, Nicky leans against his shovel and simply looks at Mave, with his eyebrows low over his brown eyes and his head tilted slightly to one side. He wrinkles his nose as he thinks, then rubs a finger under it, snorting a soft, white breath as he scratches at his upper lip. "If anything...?" Hoping for a further explanation, he prompts Mave to continue - both with a question, and a small gesure with one of his gloved hands. "I-I've known Waki for turns. He can be... um..." The hand that was gesturing alters its course, to circle in the air as an unspoken end to the sentence.

"Nothing." Mave jumps in to cut off a need for explanation lightning fast, followed up by a very dismissive shake of her head, that slows as he fails to finish his own sentiment. Brown 'brows dig at her nose, a serious line of concentration, as she stares with this solemn anticipation at Nicky. She shifts in the snow, her footprints now a mess of starts and stops; half-feet describing cold or anxiety, both identical, and both as possible. The first candidate Mave queried, stubborn though he was to ignore her, has taken note now, elbowing his companion and jerking his chin towards Nicky quizzically as they share a muttered word. "He can be...?" She inquires, unsure, need to know.

With the tables turned as he's prompted to continue, the lanky candidate blushes a little. Nicky shrugs his shoulders, lips curving into a half-smile that's crooked, and that flashes, if only briefly, the gap between his big front teeth. "H-he can be Wakizian." He thinks it's the perfect, diplomatic answer; though the sheepish cast to his expression suggests he's pretty sure it's not something he'll get away with. So, he turns to start shovelling again. "We've been friends since, um... since I was at the Smith Hall."

Mouth chewing on that, eyes up to the sky, and her tongue sorting out her cheek before she shrugs, all the way through her eyebrows; Mave'll take that. She claps her gloved hands together, then stuffs them under her arms again. The sight of him shoveling seems to stir her, and she rocks back onto her heels. "Nice," she nods, meaning it, then softer, drifting, "Nice..." Hugging tighter, she glimpses around the candidate work group. Two who had been holding their heads conspiratorially together break apart innocently, digging at the snow. "I've-- well, I guess it's not right to say I've known him, really. But we grew up a bit together here." Pausing to hear her own word choice, her eyebrows hop bemusedly, but she remarks not on it. "Look, I should probably get back to my own work," her thumb describes an ambiguous way back where she came from, "And stop distracting yours. But you'll keep an eye out?"

Nicky hasn't noticed the two conspiring candidates... or perhaps he's choosing /not/ to notice them. Or maybe even not to acknowledge that he's seen them. His attention, it would seem, is entirely for Mave. When she mentions getting back to work - both her own, and his - he nods in agreement. "I'll be s-sure to keep a look out... red can't be t-too difficult to spot in all of this white, can it?" Speaking of the white stuff, he brushes a small build-up off each shoulder, then takes off his bobblehat to shake it out. His curls are crushed to his head when revealed; putting the hat back on doesn't do them any favours. "Want me to give it back to W-Waki, if I find it? I can tell him, um, that I found it, n-not that you dropped it."

If she saw them, it doesn't seem to occur to Mave that they would be conspiring. She looks back at Nicky with a little congested sniff. "You'd think, huh?" agrees for the red-on-white, though her eyes test this skeptically by sweeping over the snow-- and seeing nothing. Coming back in time for his hat-trick, those brown eyes gleam with an unnamed spark at the sight of curls. Friendliness that enflames her already smart smile as she shuffles in, reaching her glove to touch his upper arm, palm pressed, "Hey, thanks, Nicky. You're a gem." As to his suggestion, she shrugs, uncaring, and her head shakes softly, scattering snow trying to take root, "Fair's fair," she notes, "He dropped it first." No lies of omission necessary, as per her view. Backing up a step, she glimpses to be sure there isn't a dune straight behind her, then turns to flash Nicky a last smile. Finally twisting on a heel, she treks up the way she'd come, fixing her scarf back into place and slowing to kick at a few suspect dunes along the way. It isn't until she's been out of sight good long minutes, and Nicky's moved onto his next patch, that he tosses snow off of a large-sized red mitten sitting there innocently.