Logs:Mission: Greenhouse
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 7 December, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Leova |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Vrianth sends Leova. Leova finds Jo. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, N'thei/Mentions, Rhonda/Mentions, Varian/Mentions, Veylin/Mentions, Via/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
    |
| It would be no surprise to find Jo here late at night. The black leathered rider is towards the back, having snagged one of the long tables topped with plants and a stool to write a letter. It looks like she's been here for awhile, judging by the half-filled opened bottle beside her on the table and the fact that she looks well and truly occupied with her task. After some time, there are footsteps, not loud. They pause on the threshold, then travel unhurriedly to the source of light, to the light-bringer in black. The greenrider's not so much dark-clad as just as typically brown-clad, her dark auburn hair showing its usual summer sun-bleaching at its tips. She toes herself out a stool to sit across from Jo. Barring an interruption, she'll just watch her wingmate for some moments. Jo can hear the footsteps, but that doesn't prompt her enough to move and see who is coming. It's just the flicker of a hide that moves in indication that the greenhouse is in fact not empty. Once Leova sits, she has written up the first page and has turned the hide over before her writing stylish has finally paused just above the sheet - as if the pause meant she needed a moment to think about what she was going to write. Then, abruptly, she looks up from the blank sheet to eye Leova. A brow lifts a bit at her before she breaks the silence with, "Come to fantasize about me?" Yeah, she'll just take that silent staring to mean just that. At least there's that amused glint in her dark eyes to indicate that she could be joking. Could be. "For fantasizing," Leova remarks with a lift of her own brows, "Wouldn't have to find you. Jo." But the dragonhealer smiles, one-cornered, and the intonation's explained with a name. "Vrianth... felt I should come. Despite my desire for sleep. What's up?" She does glance in the direction of blankness. It's her wingmate, though, with whom her gaze stays. "For more source material, sure," Jo is quick to counter, passing her wingmate a crooked grin as she straightens up. "Vrianth wanted ya to come here? Why here?" Whatever the pause on the other side, the writing stylish doesn't connect to the hide and so when Leova asks, there's a slight shrug and the stylish gets laid down on top of it. "Writin' old friends," is her explanation, propping her elbows on the table as she reaches for her bottle. "Sometimes I can write better in here than I do up in my weyr. Yer 'mate's sleep already?" she asks then as she tips the bottle to her lips before lifting it towards her in silent offer. Leova's eyes narrow, but in laughter. "Nice one." And, "I don't know. Ask Tac?" Vrianth may have a plan, but her rider just has a shrug. Leaning her own elbow on the table, she's got a nod for here, a nod for asleep, and acceptance for the bottle from which she drinks unflinchingly. "Twins too. Shouldn't really be out. But." Another drink, and she offers the bottle back. "Hoping we don't have more rebuilding, on the morrow." Jo just flashes Leova a briefly winsome grin on the first, but the next one draws a slight furrow of her brows. "Would she tell Tac?" she chooses to ask instead of answer, studying the woman before her now. "Is that green of yers conspirin' somethin' against ya?" The bottle is given over, nodding on the twins and the latter. "Well. Unless Vrianth sent ya here to talk to me...." is all she could surmise on her wingmate being out and about this late in the night. "Rebuildin'. I'm sure Taikrin's so excited about it if there is to be." As in, she knows their wingleader would be pissed. "What's yer take in all of this?" She takes the bottle back and takes a drink. "If she were conspiring with him. Don't know as it's against me, though." Against her, or against her, either way. "Otherwise, seems likely." Leova's got a short laugh for Taikrin, mentioning, "Enough reasons for her to get 'excited' without adding more. All of this, though? Don't mind a certain amount of helping. If the Farmcraft gave over their time, be fine with ferrying," within the usual Vrianth-imposed limits. Leova runs her hands through her short hair, holding it even further from her skin in the lingering warmth of the greenhouse. "And volunteers, those're good. But don't know as resentful untrained helpers are... helpful. You?" Laughing shortly, "Tac would have no reason," Jo states on conspiring, that being easily dismissed with confidence. "He isn' the sort, darlin'." She listens in silence to the rest, though, nodding her acknowledgement thereof, here and there. When it comes to her, "I have no take," comes far too easily. "I'm not a fan of gettin' involved in any hold business, but, perhaps that's the reason why I'm not the one in any position of leadership. I suppose there's a future in this farmin' business though," she notes with slight dubiousness as she looks around them, "even though there would be those that will consider all this....beneath us." She's not naming names. She's not even naming herself. "Still," she goes on to add, meeting her gaze once more, "it's not as if there's Thread in the skies these days. Some holders would see us 'riders doin' nothin' but sticking fingers up our ass all day." "If you say so," Leova says with another of those one-cornered smiles. Taking Jo's word for it, maybe. Not arguing, maybe too. "Won't say you always have a take," comes out affectionately. It's her turn, then, to nod and nod again. "Something to be said for visible work. Visible help. If it is helping, not getting in the way. Though I reckon they're thinking more about each other's ass." Then, "How long before they became 'them'? For you." Snerking, "Well, I guess I do," Jo has to amend on takes, tipping the bottle back for a drink before passing it back over. "Just, not much of one. I'm used to not questionin' if it don' involve me. Guess that makes me a bit selfish." She doesn't look apologetic, either. "What do ya mean, though? Before they became them?" Leova's roll of the shoulders holds more amusement than concern. The tip of the bottle towards Jo, though, that's appreciation. She's slower to drink this time, the humidity curling her hair fractionally darker, her gaze roving amidst all that shadowy green before returning to the bluerider. "Us, riders. Holders, them. If it is that." Fingers brushing her own lips and the bottom of her own face as she regardsthe greenrider, Fingers brushing her own lips and the bottom of her own face as she regards the greenrider, Jo has to pause and muse over the clarification before lips curve into something curious. "I was more a guard than I ever was a holder," is her explanation, her arms propped on the table as she leans, "and I didn' become a guard, so that's sayin' somethin'. I never did quite fit into a box. Even now. Not sure if it's that. Yer holdbred, right?" she asks, turning it back on Leova. "They so different?" Leova asks, quizzical. "Or maybe: different, how? Don't know as I've ever heard it from you, anyhow." She's got a low nod for holdbred. "Bred," gets a wry tinge, "and raised. No guards 'round our cotholds, either." Her thumb traces the edge of the label. She doesn't read it, not now, anyhow. "Never heard me speak on Keogh, ya mean?" Jo prompts with some humor. "I guess there's a difference when it comes to my father. He never raised us as if we were holdbred. It was always...bein' a guard with him. Maybe a little different when it came to me. I think he was plannin' on marryin' me off if I hadn' ran. Want more?" Drink, perhaps she means. "Do ya miss it?" That's for being a holder. "Mm. Word or two there, I reckon. Maybe even three and four," Leova says, deadpan. "Just, not so much the differences. Can't say as I run into many girl guards to begin with, wouldn't know if they're married. Or is that his way of getting you out?" She drinks more, slow-like, then passes the bottle back with a low laugh. "No. Well. Parts maybe. But I get on better this way. Wish there were a magic dumbwaiter up to my weyr for Anvori and the littles, is all, and no way of them falling off." Snorting, "Oh no," and Jo shakes her head slowly, "my father wasn' interested in havin' a female guard for a daughter. Even if I was better than most my brothers in their stupid trainin'. That was his way of gettin' rid of me'n gettin' somethin' in return for it." She takes the bottle back with a nod for Leova's answer, stating, "I suppose improvin' life at the Weyr could be more of a project for us 'riders than farmin', then. How's he and the kids doin', anyway? I imagine ya don' get all that much sleep up there." She briefly raises the bottle towards her. "Not a dowry but a bride-price?" Leova asks, a curl to her mouth. But about the life at the Weyr, "Suppose it would. 'Course, I do like to eat, most days. And we're good. Tired." She shakes her head for the bottle, this time. "Not the right kind of not enough sleep, if you catch my meaning," not something she ordinarily talks over, but they've known each other longer than most by now. "And we might be taking on another. Don't much want to, but. Family. Got news of Z'ian?" Flapping a hand at her, "Maybe he was goin' to toss me to some random bastard for booze?" Jo didn't care. It was a past that didn't happen. Since Leova refuses the drink, she takes another one herself. "Yeah, catch yer meanin'," she notes on not enough sleep with a little smirk touching her lips. "Get that remedied, darlin'. Shit, yer addin' another to yer weyr?" That gets both brows, and when the former Weyrleader is brought up, there's only the slightest of pauses before she answers. "Recovery's slow, but he's gettin' there. Still refuses to come back. Not that the choice is there, with the injury'n all. I worry a little less each seven, so I guess that's progress." More than one sentence. Maybe that's progress, too. "Better have been some particularly fine booze," Leova says, dry. "What alcohol would you pay for a girl as you were then? And. Don't know about our weyr, but here, the Weyr. Cousin's boy, his daughter. Rough story, been visiting though. Still working it out with her folks. Hope it's almost done. She's got to go somewhere." Matter-of-fact though her tone stays, there's something troubled about her expression, those amber eyes. "And I thank you for the update, too. Won't ask if you've got less reason to worry, or if you're getting over the worrying. Only so much a woman can do, some days." "Ale, at best," Jo remarks on herself turns back. "Not the murky kind at least. She would see all of this differently. That girl." After a beat, she sets the bottle down before continuing with, "I dunno much about family, but for ya, if one has to be here, then I'm sure they'll fit in just fine. I'm suspectin' there's a story there," and she regards Leova steadily, but at least she's not flat out asking for said story. On Z'ian, there's the non-chalance that comes to the fore when it comes to her showing any outward emotion. "Can' protect him if he's not here," seems to be her basis for worrying, but it's also in agreement to what Leova says. "Somethin' like this, one of brothers would say that life goes on." "Reckon the girl I was, she would too." Leova's shrug is flatter this time. It's no immediate reaction to that look of Jo's, but a considered response: "Rough one, like I said. Some families don't care for who their daughters take up with," and something grim about the greenrider's tone suggests it's for good reason. "But. As you say. Life goes on. And him, if he's not here, guessing less of a target on his back." "Girl I was was as shy as one of these delicate plants," Jo notes, it bringing something crooked to her smile. She's certainly not now. "Tough one, indeed. And yeah. Less of a target. Better that way." And Tacuseth? He reaches out and touches Vrianth with shadows and the slow beat of some drum. He's curious. Maybe he's prompted by his rider but one wouldn't know. Leova's gaze does not swing over to the cacti. Instead, "Mm. Nice not to be, hm? Though don't know as I was ever that." Vrianth, as it happens, is amenable to being shadow-touched when it's that particular blue. At last, tonight. She might even be... expectant. « And what do you want? Tacuseth. » Warm, there in the night. Giving a half-shrug, "The world has a way of changin' ya," Jo seems to agree with that touch of humor. "I do wonder what ya were like, though." Meanwhile, Tacuseth is indeed fond of his greens. Not that he's laying claims to Vrianth. Well, not openly so. Perhaps he's about as suave as his rider in that regards. His shadows blanket her mind, a lazy sleepiness that is equally just as warm. « To see what game yer playin', » comes with his amusement, images of her rider and his. There's a pause before he does add, « And, to chase down somethin' juicy. » Hungry? Maybe. Juicy. « What, » Vrianth asks Tacuseth, « would be worth your while? » Glimmers of energy chase beneath that blanket, increasingly luminescent as they edge into the visible spectrum. Better: what could be worth hers? She does not deny that she has a game, does Vrianth. Nor does she name it, though perhaps, 'perhaps it's a hint that that energy traces the outline of the clutchmate that just now shares her ledge. A clutchmate who, at least in Vrianth's mind, is certainly smaller than she. As for Leova, "Don't know as I'd have much to do with the girl I was." Which may say something for whether she'd want to introduce her to Jo. « Better question involves what would be worth yers, sweets? » Tacuseth is not one for subterfuge like his rider, so his curiosity is piqued by the green. He shares in her outline of the clutchmate - theirs or their riders'? - his shadows darkening as he tries to figure out the game. Leova's answer, meanwhile, draws a simple grin from Jo in pause before she lifts her bottle briefly towards her wingmate and takes another drink. Passing a look to the thin stack of hide before her as she straightens, "Well, darlin'," she drawls out, releasing her hold on the bottle in favor of gathering up the notes and tucking them into the inside of her jacket, "Sucks that that green of yers is rockin' yer slumber tonight. Unless she gives any insight, I'll see ya around at drills, okay?" The writing stylus gets tucked just above her left ear as she stands. « Telling, » Vrianth determines unhurriedly, « would mean you didn't discover it on your own. Tacuseth. » Would that be cheating? Would she care? Would she even prefer that he attempt what advantage he can? She does, with the darkening, fill in at least one blank for him: Ishawith visits her, Ishawith of Boreal. Two of them, then. It's a large ledge, even with the space taken up by the fruit trees. Wyaeth's, it was once. Vrianth's forever, if she has her way. "It does that." Leova. Dry. "None to me, not yet. Clear skies anyhow, hm?" She doesn't speak of Jo and sleep. Nor does she move to walk the other rider out. "And good hunting." « Ishawith. » There's silence from Tacuseth as if he is trying to recognize his significance, so the only explanation he could come up with was a wry, « Do ya need me to come by? Regulate, darlin'? » he sends then, the shadows further darkening as his focus pulls away just a bit - just as abruptly as Jo tucks that bottle under one arm pauses and sends a frown Leova's way. "Ishawith?" She openly questions the name, much the same way her dragon does. "Is that green of yers...?" There's a flutter of fingers that's suppose to mean that there's proddiness about! "Is that why she sent ya down here?" « Need. Perhaps not need. Though... » Leova's eyes narrow, the green's rider abrupt in her turn. Then, easing, "Not yet. Though," a breath after Vrianth's, "She is." Ishawith. Rhonda's Ishawith. "Wouldn't think," but Leova shrugs, not pretending to follow all the intricacies of all of Vrianth's plans. Both rider and dragon appear dubious at this point, with Tacuseth sending with clarity, « ...There's a proddy green on yer ledge. » Should that be a question? One's not really sure, but the way he sends it could be. Jo, for her part, is frowning at the name of the rider before she prompts, "What's Rhonda doin' at yer weyr? I thought...?" She looks towards the entrance, then at Leova for a moment before blinking once. Regardless: « You noticed. » Was told. Close enough. "Rhonda's not at my weyr," Leova says mildly. "Just her dragon, cluttering up the place." But evidently Vrianth's... social. « Why is there a proddy green on yer ledge? Vrianth. » comes from Tacuseth, just as Jo is stuck frowning at Leova. "Soooo...ya get random proddy dragons on yer ledge, then? Is that normal? Why would she send ya down cuz a proddy green? Is there somethin' I'm missin'?" Her name, from him, gets its own halo of luminescent not-quite-color. But, « Why not? » It's there for Tacuseth to pick up on if he notices: the layers of familiarity, the knowingness, and something teasing about the edges. « She does not disturb me. Would she disturb you? » He's not worried about such a thing, is he? Leova's not so much worried as bemused: that frown, from Jo. "Not so random. They visit quite a bit. Wouldn't say she sent me down because of her," but there's the shrug just before she pushes to her feet and heads towards the vestibule and the descending stair: she doesn't know. "Likely something we both are. Wouldn't recommend worrying about it, anyhow, won't get either of us anywhere." Jo continues to watch Leova as she answers, the frown slowly wiping away to something unreadable as it's almost clear that there's another question on her lips to Vrianth's antics. But then, whatever that comes seems to just fade away, her own bemusement evident in the brief shake of her head. "I think I must be missin' somethin' here," she remarks with that crooked grin petering back in place, "and I am far too exhausted this night to figure out what. Get that green of yers to get ya to bed, eh? Yer not gonna like the mornin' the longer ya stay up." This coming from her. As for Tacuseth? He seems just about as lost as his rider, his whisps of shadows starting to thin out as he sends back, « Why would she disturb me? She's not on my ledge. » Simple logic from this dragon. Familiarity, he picks up on, but the rest? It becomes one of the littlies' missing puzzle piece. « No, » agrees Vrianth. « But you are not here. » Neither will her rider be in the greenhouse for very much longer. "Would say the same to you, but," there's that lift of one shoulder. "Like to imagine you get to sleep in, hm? Someone should get to." Leova's got a slow smile, a swifter parting wave, and then she's disappearing down the stairs. Vrianth, humor ghosting invisibly through the wisps: « Good night, Tacuseth. » Tacuseth seems not sure how to answer the first, so he falls to his default: his humor. The shadows shudder in it before dissipating, sending in return after a brief moment until all tendrils of his presence is gone, « And ya, Vrianth. » As for Jo, there's a half-shrug from her before she says, "I do what I can. Night, Leova." She lingers behind just a bit longer to gather her things, and then she, too, is gone into the night. |
Leave A Comment