Difference between revisions of "Logs:Prude"

Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.

There's still plenty of work to do even though it's summer, but the need to be outside beneath the clear skies and sun mean there are plenty of people willing to shirk, or simply to bring their work with them to the lake if they can. Kids are everywhere, it seems, splashing through the water, and in the middle of the lake is Aeaeth. She's not doing anything special - sleeping, it seems, and glowing, on that special little jut of rock that she has claimed as her own. Her tail flicks occasionally in her dreams. And above, Yesia, who has dutifully claimed the end of the diving rock and is frowning down below, the jut of her chin stubborn and at odds with her bathing top and the sarong she's wrapped into a short skirt. People who approach to leap off find their laughter stunted by the immovable greenrider, who simply expects them to work around her, and will be rewarded with pebbles to the head for their efforts.

Since shadowing with Polaris this morning, Jorrth has been out in the sun, chatting with other dragons, wallowing on the shore, and most recently, being 'washed' by the unskilled efforts of many a weyrbrat, young and old. (His shins? Very wet.) T'mic has only just come back from whatever it was he was doing that's left his fingers black-smudged. Somehow, between Jorrth's encouragement and those of the older kids, he's now on his way up to the cliff, dared perhaps because of the gargo- uh, greenrider - who sits on the top, whose mood a few of those older boys have already encountered today. So he comes up behind Yesia with that broad chest bared, and big feet moving almost delicately, Jorrth-learned, on the stone, and his undershorts serving as swim gear. Here's hoping the tie holds when he dives. "Hey, Yesia," he greets, coming to a (brief?) stop under the expectant gazes of those onlookers below.

Yesia's movements have been very deliberate lately, even down to when she's plucking up rocks, but when she turns her head...that might be a little too deliberate, enough to be a little unsettling when her hazel eyes drop on him and take him in for several long beats. On her island, Aeaeth opens her eyes, regards Jorrth like she's only just remembered he's a dragon, and then puts her head back down. "You," Yesia says to suffice, flicking a stone at him, and he's not even off the cliff yet. "You're not here to talk, so go on. But I'm not moving."

T'mic looks back down toward Jorrth and his entourage, including the one girl who has taken advantage of the rider's absence (not that T'mic would mind but who's to tell her that) to press her cheek against the blue's shoulder, an arm straight up, though if he were shorter, it would surely be draped over that dragon. Jorrth, thus adored, looks back to Aeaeth when he notices her attention. « They're not bad, for washing. I could send some to you if you want. Jorey's particularly skilled. » The one who's got his hands on his hips, annoyed that T'mic is still not moving. T'mic, who tilts his head to Yesia, and asks, "You doing okay, though?"

Streeeeetch. Jorrth's first mistake is actually acknowledging her back, and his second is talking, because Aeaeth slides off her rock and into the water to disappear beneath it, with minimal rippling. She's...drippy, when she moves. « You can send Jorey, » she says, « but none of those grubby, dirty little boys. They'll just mess it up. » She'll surface, eventually. Maybe. "Why do people keep asking that? I'm fine. I could always be better," and now she is glancing at him sidelong with a small, secret smile, "but I don't expect you to help."

"I always try make sure you're okay," says T'mic with a shrug, his smile easy, though he's watching her fairly intently. Well. Until he gets around to understanding her implication, after a brief wrinkling of his nose, and then widening of his eyes. "Oh. Yeah." Those big arms come to wrap around his belly, and he turns a little, sideways. 'Cause he's in his underpants, and aware of it now. "Anyway, it's just been a while since I've checked in, other than drills, so. Thought I'd see if you're good. Excited for the grown-up wings. You know." Still blushing, but he's brave. Jorrth gives a look to each of the 'grubby, dirty little boy's in his entourage, some of whom (along with the girls) are getting bored of watching T'mic not jump. « Not all of them. Some of them are very attentive. » Said to the spot in the water where he expects Aeaeth to be.

Yesia scoffs at him, and then laughs outright at his embarrassment, tossing her head back and making those big red ringlets sway. "Don't be such a prude." She's not quite sneering, and indeed sounds almost like she's making fun of someone, mimicking. She relents quickly though, rolling her eyes and turning her gaze back down towards the water. "They're not that much more impressive than Cirrus," is her estimation, "but yes, to get away from being treated like a child all the time. By other children." It's a toothless barb, and nevertheless, "But I'm fine," she repeats. "Are you?" Aeaeth will, ultimately, surface a fair distance away from where he's looking, evaluating the children with a critical eye. « No. Boys are too rough. She can come. And maybe that little blonde one there. »

What T'mic hears is an underhanded compliment, before the toothless barb. It makes him turn some to face Yesia, more so than does being called a prude. "We aren't children," the weyrling wingleader decides, now thinking to peer back down to the losing-interest crowd below. "When I say grown-up wings, I'm just joking, you know?" A little chuff of laugh goes with it. T'mic's arms come down from around him, and he scratches idly at his shoulder. "We're fine." « Sometimes it's nice, when you've got a spot that you really want scratched. Are you sure? » But already Jorrth has started to lean his head into a few of his helpers, and nudge them toward the newly surfaced green, oddly gentle considering his size and bulk. Here's hoping they get the message.

"You're not very funny, T'mic," Yesia says, by all estimations trying to be helpful. She leans back, both arms out behind her and her palms planted flat, fingers splayed. It does...interesting things to her chest, all accentuated by that apparently ultra-tiny bathing top. "You should talk less, I think. Make fewer jokes. Just do that thing, where you smile and look a little lost. That's cute." Aeaeth is very particular now, and very very possessive,. Once the girls she's requested are within reach, if they get within reach, she'll curl around them and put her head and wings in just the right position for attentions, settling down into the water and glaring at anyone else who comes by. « I'm sure it is, but I don't itch just now, » the green decides, then, for no apparent reason, « You haven't said anything about how pretty I am today, Jorrth. »

It's a good thing T'mic is very soon making a real point of looking only toward the lake below, then. "I'll think about it," he puts back toward Yesia, eyes wandering, and then schooled right back to the kids below. Jorrth waits for some other weyrbrat to come tend to him. Inevitably, a few do, although this that attention tends more toward splashing than washing. Jorrth might even get to enjoying it, except that he is called upon once more. « Well you are very bright. » T'mic has, apparently, had time to think it over. "How do you think it's gonna be different? When we graduate?"

Like she said. Prude. She makes a dismissive sound at him, tilting her head back to see if he's paying attention, and when he isn't she sighs, straightening, staring at him with her arms crossed. "Are you gay?" Because, yes, that is the only explanation for why he's being so diligent about avoiding her. The girls are being very careful, guided as they are by Aeaeth's low croons and warning grumbles in turn, and one of them is rubbing at her eyeridges in such a way that is melting her like ice. « I am. But do you think I'm pretty? Would you race with me, some day? » For his question, Yesia shrugs. "It depends where we end up, doesn't it? It could change any way."

"What?" asks T'mic, and now he's looking at her. "No." Not blurted and not defensive, but certainly, well. Certain. But, that said, he's willing to step down some and consider more important things. Arms go to cross over his chest again, but mostly 'cause now he's waiting, and has no pockets. "I guess. You want any one in particular?" The splashing fight continues around Jorrth, without his direct involvement. It's warm, after all. And it's the lake. And it's kids. « Sure. When were you thinking? » And from there, « Where? What kind of race? »

When he looks she's doing nothing particularly interesting, certainly nothing with the arch of her back, so that's his loss. At his answer, Yesia snorts, saying with ominous gravitas, "I think you might be. We'll see." She leans forward over the edge of the ledge again, looking down at the kids fawning over their dragons. "Iceberg," she says at once of wings. "Maybe Icicle. Aeaeth likes the acrobatics." Aeaeth is splashed in the face once, incidentaly, and growls her displeasure enough for the girl at her head to stop; insistent nudging gets her going again. « Good, » she sighs happily, counterpoint to her threats. « I was thinking to the stars. Someday very soon, I think. Not today. Not tomorrow, either. » As for what kind of race? That she doesn't answer. He'll figure it out.

« The stars, » muses Jorrth, looking up. It confuses some of the weyrbrats, who all look to T'mic. T'mic, who's still, for the moment, just standing there. Well, and (not that the kids should easily be able to see this) getting a grin on his face that's not gonna go away. "Nope. Definitely not." « We've tried that. The air gets thin. And cold. And between would ruin a perfectly good race. » It's all matter-of-fact, all planning, all practical. « Which one will mark the end? »

« I haven't decided, » the green says wistfully. « We could just race, until we got tired, and then come back. Don't forget. Not today. Not tomorrow. Soon. » Yesia glances over at him, lifts her chin to gesture. "What are making that face for?" That stupid grin of his.

"I'm not making a face," T'mic manages to get out past that grin. « I think, » says Jorrth, « that you need to put more planning into this. But I won't forget. » And with that, T'mic shakes his head, and backs up a couple steps, and frees his arms, and runs, and jumps. And doesn't even kick Yesia in the head or anything.

"Bye," grouses the greenrider, thoroughly miffed. When he surfaces, he'll probably get a pebble or seventeen to the head while Aeaeth says, « I don't need to plan it better. It will be fun. I promise. » Then she's being splashed, and that is not fun. The green rumbles and backs away, leaving her girls, all the better to swim back to her island and orient herself just so once again, as put out as Yesia.