Difference between revisions of "Logs:What it Takes to Change"

Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

The ledge is frightfully more treacherous looking that night, what with the monstrous figure in his patchwork fur cloak confiscating the flowered plants marking it's edge. With those little pots one by one being loaded onto a simple handcart, it was difficult to tell precisely where it was safe to walk, and where one extra step would send one hurtling into the abyss. The mass of fur and dreads pushes that cart in out of the light snowfall, and safely up underneath the overhang where partial shelter still existed overhead. He takes the time to simply pause and catch his breath, heavy steam leaving his lips in the dim light.

The whole world is a little treacherous looking, with the roll of thunder coming in time with another gust of sparse snow, like some ominous winter mountain entity having a temper tantrum in the sky. Vienne, bundled up against the weather, has to stop on her trek to the Snowasis and stare into the heavens, eyes wide and mouth faintly agape, just marveling at the display. When she turns to start forward again, her boots end up in a handy track -- the one left by Barnabas' cart. Eventually her eyes lift from the path to the shadowy man going about his business with the flower pots. "You've picked a fine night for this, haven't you," she calls out, picking her way nearer. "Need help?" Because when one thinks of manual labor in the snow, the best help they can imagine is a wee little bluerider in her nice tan coat and white wooly mittens.

The figure turns to Vienne, only now in it's new dead on position that a face emerges from a sea of hair. He's breathing heavy, having moved swiftly in his work lugging heavy pots of earth and dying flowers onto his cart. "Hey Vee!" His greeting comes with it another great puff of steamy hot breath in the night air, pushed past his big white smile. "These bluebottle spark lillies can't hold up to the cold. Gotta replace em with something a little more hearty. Figured the best time to do it is when nobody in their right mind would be out on the ledge in the first place eh? Haha!" He pulls the cart a little closer in towards the weyr as he speaks. "I'unno, y'can help by getting me some klah from the snowasis there?"

For all that she's offered to help, Vienne doesn't actually creep into Bones' work space, standing just clear as she tugs her mittens to keep them securely on her hands. But the man's greeting, that big smile, goes a long way to welcoming her a little closer and she peers down at the pots. "Seems like it's a little late," she muses. "In the season, not the day." After all, the snow is already upon them. And even though he's told her to fetch some klah, she lingers, lifting her gaze toward the sky again as another distant rumble echoes overhead. "But..." She looks to Barnabas again, her lip caught in her teeth, considering something without saying it.

Bones rubs his hands together vigorously, a pair of ugly leather gloves not entirely keeping the heat in for the man from more tropical climate. Both arms are tucked under his cloak soon after, once again a limbless figure from the neck down. "Buuuuuut?" Playfully elongated, trying to force a confession from the little rider. "Ain't no reason to be shy 'bout nothing around me y'know. Spit it out."

His playfully drawn out syllable makes Vienne chuckle easily, at herself more than anything else. Though it's possible she didn't quite realize until just now that he's wearing a cloak. Of course he'd wear a cloak! "But... I think you should get out of the cold. Can I help you? I mean... I don't if I can. I can try to lift them. How heavy are they?" She starts toward a pot, mittens out, ready to tackle the challenge. "Or I could follow the car and try to make sure no one falls off." Apparently a pot of cold-sad flowers now counts as

A grin can only grow at the girls' honest enthusiasm. "They're like... seventy, eighty pounds?" He looks Vienne up and down briefly. "So like one of you? Ha!" His words are clear truth just judging by how much of his weight he needs to put into the pull that soon follows at the cart, neck bulging in those first few feet, before inertia makes the job a little easier. "But watchin' the cart sounds like a good idea. Y'can lemme know if I'm goin too fast and one's about to topple. But first, I wanna get that cup'a klah to warm me up. How about just relaxin' with me in the snowasis for a few eh? I'll get you a stiff cider or something." Whatever her drink of choice may be.

She's ready to give it a try anyway! Maybe she can't lift the thing, but hey, plenty of small people have successfully rolled, rocked, wiggled and inched too-big items across some moderate distance, and so Vienne bends and tests the pot's heft and, as the gardener expected, it doesn't budge. "Yeah, probably like one of me," she agrees with a little cough, her smile showing up a beat later. It grows all the wider when Bones tugs so powerfully at that cart, teasing toward one side. "Oh sure. Show off," the bluerider smirks. She shakes off whatever snow or possible dirt could have adhered to her mittens and wonders, "But what about the blue star lillies?" Or bluebottle spark lillies. Close enough. Still, another light blast of snow has her hunching her shoulders high, so maybe stepping inside isn't a terrible idea. "I guess if you're ready for a break..."

Bones lets gravity do the job of informing her what a poor idea it is to try and help in the fashion she chose, not needing to rub her lack of muscle in her face. "What about em? I'll just leave em up against a wall somewhere." He was already testing the waters of his recent unbanning from the establishment, it seems. "And I get grumpy without my klah anyway." The cart is lugged in through the archway to the Snowasis, blessedly quiet that night. Perfect for tucking in to grab a drink without too much of a party atmosphere hanging in the air.

"I would hardly want to come between a man and his klah," Vienne avows, stepping back to let him and his cart lead the way, or perhaps to try her hand at that possible job of keeping an eye on the pots as the cart moves along. Either way, she follows and as he finds a nice place to tuck his work away, the bluerider stands just inside the Snowasis and goes about trying to make herself presentable for indoors - brush snow from her coat, pulling her hat off, tucking it and her mittens away, knocking her boots together. When that's done and she glances around the relatively quiet space, there's some relief in her shoulders and she opens her mouth to stay something to Bones only to reconsider as she looks at him. "I'll have some klah, too." Instead of cider. Not that that is likely what she was initially going to say.

The gardener's routine for getting ready to drink is far less involved than Vienne's. Coat is shed with a heavy shrug of his shoulders, the massive thing looking comparable in weight to the flower pots with how much his arms strain to set it and his gloves atop his cart. He didn't mess around when it came to warmth. "Suit yourself. Just pick us up a table and I'll go get us our drinks eh?" An arrangement specifically designed so that he'd be the one paying for their klah. Not that it was all that expensive.

No, one would not expect Bones to behave at all like Vienne, as they make quite a pair of opposites: a towering wildman and dainty little bluerider. So he can toss his heavy garb with his flower pots and she can get herself precisely arranged, neat little fingers at the buttons of her jacket when he tells her get a seat. Which she does, selecting a small table and leaving her coat over the back of her chair, legs crossed and hands folded in her lap as she waits. And watches. And when Bones comes back with the klah, she has a wide, thankful smile for him. "Can I ask you something?" she asks with a cock of her head. "Kind of personal..." There's apology for that in the way her mouth tightens.

The two tall mugs of klah are set down with precision, both overfilled and ready to spill with the slightest bit of jostle. Once the two are down however, Bones is back to his usual self, spinning his chair around so that he can mount it with splayed legs, and lean an arm across the back of it. "No harm in asking questions. I'm an open book, Vi. Knock yourself out." He genuinely seems unworried about her line of questioning as he reaches for his mug, and brings it up to his lips so he can test a sip of the hot beverage. Mmm, sweet nectar of life.

She doesn't have quite his relish for the klah but her hands are eager to wrap around the warm mug and before she does anything else, she has to sip at it to make sure it won't spill -- which means she ducks down a little to do so. But once that's taken care of, Vienne, with a thoughtful lick of her lips and an eye across the table, wonders, "Why do you... look the way you do?" It's not the most delicate question, but it's clear from her tone that it's all hesitant curiosity and no judgement. "It just seems at odds with who you are. You're quick to smile, laugh, buy a warm drink for a chilled stranger..." And while she grins for that last one, she also shakes her head, at a loss to explain the disparity in her observations.

Bones is in mid sip when she asks, and he doesn't falter at the question one bit, not even pausing his attempt at downing the too-hot klah untill he was very certain it would scorch his throat if he drank too fast. He kept the mug in one oversized hand as he pondered precisely how to answer. "How long you got?" He smirks as he toys with the idea of a long story, but is quick to clear things up with a laugh. "Hehehe, just teasin' you sweetie. Honestly though, I'm not sure I totally get the question. Just 'cuz a dude's got some ink and long hair doesn't mean he has to take things seriously. Matter a'fact, I think it's the guys with the short hair and clean skin that y'gotta worry about on that front. You met H'kon yet? Ha!"

"All night," Vienne puts in with a grin and a little shake of her head. She's got all night for the explanation. And for what comes, well, she listens attentively, sipping at her drink again, nodding a bit here and there. "Well, that's just it, though. The way you look, it seems like it would be designed to stand out, designed as a warning even. Like you would expect people to look askance at you, to be cautious and keep their distance. But you don't seem to be that way at all." She pauses, still mulling it over as she eyes him. "You must get looks," she supposes, a question in there even if it doesn't sound like it. The bluerider may take a quick glance around, just to see if anyone is staring now, though considering that Bones isn't exactly new to the Weyr, it wouldn't be all that much of a surprise if no one is taking any note of him.

There's a little roll of Bones' eyes as Vienne tentatively elaborates on her question. He wears that much of his frustration on his face at least, convinced that she's at least partially beating around the bush. "I was a sailor. If you live on a boat long enough, bad tattoos just sorta start growing on you in your sleep! Hehe." A bigger sip is taken as the klah cools, but he signals his willingness to open up a bit more by putting the mug flat on the table and crossing both his arms across the back of the chair. "Alright alright, you had the nerve to ask, I won't dick you around no more. Simple truth of it is I wasn't always as nice a guy as I am now."

"It's not..." Vienne tries to calm some of that frustration he shows, a hand sliding on its heel across the table toward him, fingers up and palm out as if she can push any offense away. But he does explain a little more, and his decision to share is met with a smile that might even be a little flattered -- he said she had nerve. "So you used to want that reaction," she guesses. "You weren't nice. You wanted people on edge. You wanted them to be intimidated." Her eyes skim over all that hair, the wrap of strong arms across the chair. "I've just been thinking about... people who embrace the perceptions others have." So perhaps this started more as a case study than anything else. "But now I'm curious... What changed you?" Beat. "Unless that's too..." Private?

Intent to clarify on her first assumption before getting to personal question part two, he still lets her finish the entirety of her thoughts by wetting his whistle with more hot klah. "You got the wrong impression'a who I was a little bit there. Me and the boys? We barely spent enough time on dry land that we ever had to give damn what people thought of us." He glances down at the ink on his arms, some of it more impressive than other patches, but he still smiles in admiration of it's completeness. "Didn't slap these on thinking about other people all that much. S'more like.. a catalogue of memories eh? Each and every one of these bad boys had something specific attatched. Some still do." Eyes lift back up from his own arms to the girl across the table from him. "But I still don't give a shit what people think of me. Least not enough to change for em, eh? Nah, I changed because..." Now there's a pause. This subject was at least a little private.

If she has the wrong impression, it only seems to serve to sharpen her interest on his correction, her lip caught in her teeth while he paints a picture of his life before. And as he looks down at his arms, Vienne does as well, studying what ink is visible there. She has another question, it brims in an audible inhale, but rather than derail his line of thought, she keeps it to herself. For now, at least. When he pauses she affords him a little extra privay by letting her glance fall to her mug, twisting it on the table between her hands. "I don't mean to pry or anything," she says, just in case he wants to change his mind about continuing.

Bones' cheeks puff out as he blows air through pursed lips, digging through memories with eyes aimed at the top of his vision. How to put it without turning this into an hour long session with a mind healer? "Well I mean that's what ten years in the mines is supposed to do right? Make you not wanna do the same shit that got you put in?" Smile comes back now, finding a bit of humor in how cliche his life story really was. "I learned that the dudes I was hanging out with were pricks. Then I learned that I was exactly like them. I put two and two together, and decided to make the change. I had ten years of practice before I got out."

Vienne's chin lifts a little when he mentions being in the mines and maybe it's just a little flicker of tension that straightens her posture so slightly. But there's no change in her expression, in her quiet interest, and when he smiles, she mirrors it with her own. Surely, she could probe further, but the bluerider has no such intention. "You got out," she repeats, focusing on what's positive. "And you'd changed." Her eyes, however, are skimming over him again, at what, presumably, had not changed. "And now you are what you are. You accept yourself." Her smile starts to spread, growing wry and wide. "I don't know if I can do that."

Returning to the mug of Klah on his portion of the table, he used her turn to speak as an opportunity to recharge himself on the bittersweet drink. Now that it was cool enough to consume, he did it with gusto, stopping just short of what one might describe as chugging. He stays listening all the while however, and when she's done, it's his turn to read into her state of mind. "So that's what this is about eh? Learning to accept yourself?" He gives a little chuckle at the lofty, feel-good words that just came out of his mouth. "Wow, don't think you can? How many people did you kill?" A playful jab at how dire a situation she seemed to think she was in.

"Well, that's what I'm trying to figure out," Vienne puts in for his first comment. There isn't time to ponder it too much further, though, before his jab makes her laugh brightly. "Right?" Except it might be somewhere in the middle of that natural, instictive response, in the midst of her easy smile, that she realize he might not be joking about the whole killing people thing. It manages to silence her laugh and make her grin hitch, but that's all. The smile remains. "It makes no sense. I know it's silly. But that just makes me silly, doesn't it? And what if I don't want to be silly? See?" she laughs again. "It's a terrible cycle." A sad, terrible, silly cycle, and the little bluerider has to shake her head. "I didn't really mean to have a discussion about... accepting yourself." She has to pause because, speaking of silly, those feel-good words are just too ridiculous to take seriously. "It really didn't start there in my head."

"Well y'seem way too well put together to have that much baggage bouncing around in your skull." It's an honest assessment of the slender little rider, pausing to take down the last of his Klah and then slap the mug down to the table as if it was a shotglass. Old habits. "If you want some advice? Start small, and at the surface. Force yourself to do a little thing differently untill it's just part of who ya are. Then work your way up from there eh?" Heavy arms are stretched up above his head, straightening out his spine in the process. The odd little cracking sound that comes from his neck doesn't sound healthy, but he pays no mind to it. "And if you don't want advice? Well, sorry about all that unwelcome advice I just gave ya, Ha!"

Vienne is quick to shake her head, quick to make it clear that it's not the bounce of baggage that pulls her thoughts in these directions. Or at least, not the heavy baggage he must have. "We walked in and I almost said 'Do you ever feel like people are looking at you' but then, well," she gestures at him -- there he sits with all his hair and ink, hard to miss. "Of course people look at you. And you accept it. It doesn't bother you. I just... I've been thinking about that. About the way people see themselves and the way they think others see them." She gives a little shrug and brings her cup up beneath her chin, caught in the bridge of her fingers. "And now I'll think about that, too," his advice. "Little things to change. If... I should be changing at all," she adds with a crack of her smile. "I haven't decided yet."

"Well then..." he starts as he decides to pull himself up to his feet, chair flipped back around and tucked under the table. "If you ever wanna talk about what it is you think needs changing, stop by the greenhouse anytime eh? I love my plants, but they ain't good conversation." He puts both palms to his lower back and leans back in yet another stretch, shirt riding up a bit over his stomach in the process, but promptly tugged down again once he was done. "Honestly? I don't see much work needing to be done. Except..." he puts his fingers to his chin, and gives her a long hard squint. "A big blue dragon tattoo, right across the front of your neck eh? With it's claws reaching up your cheek all like, argh, I'm gonna eat your eyes!" Smile thankfully lets her know that one's a joke. "Hehe. I gotta get those pots back down to the greenhouse before bedtime, Vi."

His invitation makes Vienne grin, her nod agreeing even before she says, "I'd like that." But as for work needing to be done, as Bones squints at her, the bluerider turns her head, an expectant sidelong gaze that waits, amused, under his scrutiny. When he suggests a tattoo, she lets out another easy laugh, her smile turning sly and playful as she arches her neck and lets her fingertips graze across the canvas on which that dragon should be drawn. "Right there?" she asks, not really needing a reply. She likes the joke for what it is. "Yes, don't forget about the spark lillies," she tells him. "They can be very cranky when not tucked in on time. Thank you for the klah, Bones. And the talk." She draws in a long breath, resettling her shoulders and leaning back in her chair, ready to sit and enjoy the warmth for a little while longer. He didn't really need a cart monitor anyway.