Difference between revisions of "Logs:Post Letter Awkwardness"

All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a
  large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the 
  bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the         
  furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed      
  chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone 
  tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the          
  tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the    
  room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.               
                                                                            
  What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a   
  detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden 
  door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance  
  is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the 
  barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also
  home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old 
  and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.

It's been... a few days. A few days within which Quinlys has been Very Busy, which is surely the reason she hasn't replied to C'ris' note, right? The plum scarf hasn't seen any wear, but nor has it been returned. Things could be worse. It's now late in the afternoon, classes having been dismissed for the day, and Quinlys is tidying up: putting away some oil paddles that were left out, and piling up personal belongings that have been forgotten here and there. Although there are weyrlings about, most of them have either headed back to their couches or wandered outside.

Beastly's barking is likely the announcement for C'ris' presence; having followed some weyrlings out, the pup now comes sprinting back into the caverns ahead of the bluerider. Whatever his intention, he stops short at seeing the Weyrlingmaster, watching her for a long moment in silence with his hands buried in the pockets of his riding jacket. Beastly doesn't seem to notice or care for the awkwardness of the moment, not where he continues to run noisily around the cavern, pouncing onto that pile of personal belongings.

Quinlys is now used to Beastly enough that she doesn't imediately turn at the sound of his bark-- although perhpas that's because of C'ris. In the end, it's when the puppy pounces on her pile that she straightens; "No," she says. "No, Beastly." And, because where one is, the other must: "C'ris, control your canine, please." At least she doesn't sound angry, just... very, very neutral.

The sound of his name on her lips is enough to startle C'ris out of whatever thoughtful reverie he'd fallen into. There's a quick nod, a mumble of words before C'ris is calling firmly, "Beastly, come here. Dinner time?" He bustles away quickly to set down food in the corner for the pup, something that will occupy him for the moment so that the bluerider can straighten away and look back towards the Weyrlingmaster. He adds, simply, "Sorry about that."

'Dinner' is, it seems, a word that will make Quinlys flinch, though as she turns to glance at C'ris, she's managed to smooth out most of her reaction. "No," she says. "It's fine. He's a puppy. It's what they do." There's a pause, as if she's struggling to fill a silence that doesn't actually exist, yet, and though she doesn't manage to fill it, it's obvious there's something she wants to say.

"Right, right." And that is all C'ris can think to say, offering only the hint of a smile to the Weyrlingmaster. As predicted, silence extends on the bluerider's part, the normally talkative man apparently lacking anything to say. Instead, he just walks towards Quinlys, but only to straighten the pile in Beastly's wake.

Quinlys does not flinch as C'ris approaches, though it's a near thing. Instead, she hesitates, standing there awkward in front of her pile, C'ris in front of her. She opens her mouth, then licks her lips, and then says: "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I'm bad at this."

"Right," agrees C'ris again in an exhale, warm brown eyes flicking over to Quinlys and settling there. And where she hesitates, it seems that the bluerider has more nerve than ever as he adds, "I think you just have to say something."

That nerve? That surprises Quinlys, and if anything, that's weirder than all of this put together, even after that note. She flushes, those blue eyes focusing on a wall opposite rather than on the bluerider in front of her. "I don't really do relationships," is what she finally blurts. "I never have. I don't even really date. But..."

C'ris nods, accepting even as he starts to shove his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket. "I'm not asking you to date me. I am asking you to go to dinner. To give me a chance, Quinlys," he says slowly, not waiting for her to finish that but. "One night."

This time, Quinlys manages to actually look at C'ris, which is an improvement! As always, most of her emotions are expressed on her face: uncertainty, a surprising lack of confidence, and some definite conflictedness. "One night," she repeats, carefully. "And after that?"

"Then, I guess, it depends on you," C'ris answers quietly, meeting blue eyes with his warm, steady gaze. There's no hesitation in his, though it's not without a buried awkwardness.

That steadiness does seem to ease something in Quinlys, who exhales. It's a good thing there are no weyrlings about; this is clearly not something she would want one of them to witness. Slowly, finally, she gives a little nod. "One night." A pause. "I can't promise anything more than that, but I'll give you one."

A slow smile pulls at the corners of C'ris' lips, not able to stay off for too long especially for Quinlys' answer. "Right. Soon, please," he replies firmly, that smile only lingering. "You tell me when and I'll take care of the rest."

This, all of this, has set Quinlys' cheeks to flaming. "Telavi is going to laugh at me," she mutters, just barely audible beneath her breath. It's probably that Telavi already has. Again, she exhales. "Ok. It... depends on the weyrlings. It all keeps me busy. But I'll try and-- arrange something. I'll let you know."

"The Weyrleader has already laughed at me," counters C'ris to that barely audible response, but his smile only pulls crooked for it. "But it doesn't matter. Quinlys, it doesn't. Everything else and everybody--." He shrugs up a shoulder, lifting his hand from a pocket to press a knuckle lightly against the other bluerider's bright cheek. Maybe just for the fact that he is not the one doing so. "You've promised now."

That only makes Quinlys blush more, bright cheeks matching her bright hair. But she doesn't pull away from C'ris' knuckle, and nor does she break their shared gaze. "I... guess I have." Beat. "Please don't tell the weyrlings."

It's her words that drop C'ris' hand away, suddenly very aware of where they are as he casts a quick glance back to the barracks before returning his attention to her. "Right, right. Of course not. I don't think-- I mean, they have other things to focus on," he agrees, lifting his fingers to ruffle self-consciously at his hair instead.

Quinlys manages, somewhat reluctantly, to smile for that. "Right," she agrees. "Much more important things. I'll-- but I should go." Before this gets more awkward. "I'll, uh, let you know."

C'ris nods, his own smile returning in a bright flash for Quinlys even as he offers helpfully, "Ok. I'll take care of this, then. And--." His gesture is made to the pile of left-behind belongings, already reaching to gather up a sweater with the hook of a finger. "I look forward to it."

Quinlys can't manage much more than a fleeting, awkward smile-- all right, and a nod-- before she turns to flee, back into her office where she can shut the door and probably take a good, long swig of whisky. What has she gotten herself into?!