Logs:Sunshine and Silver Lining
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| RL Date: 10 August, 2014 |
| Who: Lycinea, Oliwer |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Lya is moody. Oliwer is a unicorn. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: G'laer/Mentions, V'ros/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
It's Oliwer's chubby blue firelizard that lands on the table in front of Lycinea. He chirps at her like this is a totally normal thing to do. And then he's looking at her bowl as though he's wondering what was so interesting about it that she'd been staring at it like that. He moves closer to look inside and-- oh, food! He chirps at her again. It all makes sense now. She doesn't mind if he grabs that chunk of meat that's in his mouth now, right? He'll probably give it back if she complains. Lycinea's nose wrinkles at the blue and she dips the fingers of her good hand into the not-hot-anymore broth and flicks the liquid at the blue, making a little hissing sound, as if this is somehow meant to discourage him. Even if it is Oliwer's blue. Even if she might even know it's Oliwer's blue. The firelizard only cocks his head at the broth flicking and hissing as his jaws start to closer around the chunk of meat. Once he's swallowed it, he hisses back at her, sounding oddly happy about it. What a fun game! But then there's a sound from a short distance away. It's not a word, just a firm, serious noise that the blue reacts to immediately with... well, with a chirp at Oliwer instead. "No. Go on, leave the girl alone or I'll stop letting you come in here at all." Disappointed dad face even works on firelizards, evidently, because the blue gives a heavy sigh before he jumps into the air and disappears between. "He's a menace," Lycinea grumbles in the healer's direction once the blue has vanished, but it lacks her usual bluster and pizzazz. That, combined with the fluttery sigh and the push of the bowl away from her definitely means the teen is troubled. "He can have it," the stew. Perhaps by her saying this within Oliwer's hearing, the blue will magically reappear to claim it. With his own bowl of stew in hand, Oliwer moves closer to the table. "Do you mind if I join you? It's okay if you'd rather brood alone, but you look like you could use some company and I don't really like sitting by myself if I can help it." He waits for her permission to sit, though. His feelings won't be hurt if she doesn't give it, no doubt. Oli may wish that she didn't say, "Sure," dejectedly as she does because perhaps alone would be preferable to brooding teen. Lya reaches out and uses the index finger of her good hand to poke a piece of meat toward the edge of the bowl. She must have been sitting here a while for the stew to be cool enough to do that. Surely Oliwer isn't so ignorant of teenagers to offer if he didn't really mean it. So he sits across from the girl, eyeing her stew before stirring his own and taking a bite. "So what has you brooding by yourself, anyway?" He makes it sound like it must be important, no matter what it might possibly be. "The stupid boy that broke my arm." The arm that Lycinea previously and repeatedly assured him had just been an accident that was a result of her own clumsiness. Either she doesn't realize or doesn't care she's just admitted an untruth (or told a new lie). That gives the healer pause. His brows furrow but his expression turns concerned rather than upset. Oliwer's response is relatively mild, however. "Do you want to talk about it?" Lycineas pauses in her finger-pushing of the meaty chunk to cast a completely unsubtle suspicious glance at Oliwer, like this might be a trick or a trap somehow, but likely the moment of consideration comes up with no motive, so a laborious sigh later, she talks. "When I was still taking that medicine the day after I broke it," don't mind that semi-reproachful glance as though this might be all Oliwer's fault after all, "He came to apologize, because he had to, I think, and I told him we should be friends." The tone suggests she has no idea what on Pern gave her that sort of notion. "Only we're both really awful at it. Being friends. Or even being nice to each other. And he sort of made fun of me down at the lake today, and I wanted to push him in the water, only I couldn't." She eyes her cast balefully, "So I threw a rock at him and left." Another sigh. Oliwer listens as though he's taking this all quite seriously and not brushing any of it off as silly, childish nonsense. While he considers, he takes another bite or so, then offers, "Do you want to be friends now that you're not under the influence?" Of drugs that he's not going to apologize for, sorry. He must not immediately take the rock throwing as a sign of 'not gonna happen.' As well he shouldn't! Lycinea's face is expressively torn. "I don't know. It's not like I have any other friends, so maybe having a bad friend is better than having no friend at all. But he's not nice to me. And takes everything I say as an insult." Imagine that! "I've never had many friends," shares Oliwer like she might find this interesting. Even vaguely so. He's a generally friendly person, after all. "Sometimes it's a matter of how you approach other people. It wasn't until I made time to spend on things other than work," even if it actually started as doing extra work, but he'll leave that part out, "that I met the pers--" Pause. "The man that became my weyrmate." She eyes the healer. "Yeeah, so," because as a moody teen, no, Lycinea doesn't care about any of that. Not even the part about the healer being gay. "I don't really know if I want him to be my friend. But I don't want him to be mean to me, and he always is, sticking his big nose where it doesn't belong and acting like he's sooo much better than me," the meat glob gets a pointed jab of her finger, "even though we're both just bastards, even if he's going to be a rider and I'm probably always going to be 'the help'." Stew juice drips down her finger onto her palm and down to her wrist and onto her orange sleeve as she makes air quotes, too busy rolling her eyes to notice. "When I was younger," aaaaalll those turns ago, "a boy picking on a girl, being 'mean' to her, meant that he actually liked her. Something about not knowing how to deal with the feelings, I suppose." Oliwer is no mind-healer. And his own feelings at the time were even more complicated. "Anyway, there's nothing wrong with 'the help', in any case. Riders wouldn't get very far without any of us." His gaze shifts briefly toward stew juice, but he's more interested in his own stew than commenting on that. "What?" Lycinea sits up straight at this idea, staring wide-eyed at the healer. And then, of course, she has to screw up her pretty face and go, "Ew." Which, given that she's a sixteen turn old girl, probably says absolutely nothing about her true feelings on the subject. More importantly is the impassive look she gives the healer, "Us? No. You're not 'the help'. You're a trained crafter. You actually make enough marks to spend." One hand subconsciously picks at a patch on her elbow. Oliwer, despite his best intentions, can't keep himself from smiling at Lycinea's response to that. But he moves on rather then commenting further about the boy. "Crafter or not, everyone is important. Everyone has a role. It doesn't matter if you're a bastard, a rider, a crafter, a drudge, or anything in between. Some might even argue that riders are useless right now." Oliwer probably wouldn't be one of those people, granted. "Have you ever thought about apprenticing?" Lycinea stares at the healer blankly. "Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine." That might be insulting, but perhaps the eye-flutteringly sweet way she asks as she bridges her fingers under her chin, elbows on the table, "Do you shit rainbows as well?" is worse. Not that Oliwer is unfamiliar with her sparkling attitude in the couple turns he's been treating her various bumps and bruises. For whatever reason, she usually asks for him. Maybe the world is punishing him, or maybe he just attracts crackpots. "Can you imagine a crafter wanting to sponsor me? Or that the Headwoman would want to plead my case for any reason other than wanting to be rid of me herself?" This comes quickly after and with a very nearly contrite air of one who might possibly regret the previous moment's thoughtless attitude just the tiniest little bit. There's just that same patient smile as usual from the healer. He's generally immune to insults and snark from his patients. They aren't often in the best of moods, what with his specialty. So those first comments don't earn a response in favor of him offering for the rest, "I'd sponsor you if I thought you'd take it seriously, Lycinea. But sometimes I get the feeling you sabotage yourself because you feel safer as you are." She looks at him askance, eyes narrowing. "I doubt I could even pass the tests to get in to an apprenticeship with Healer let alone pass even the most basic classes." For all that she says this, Lycinea is still looking at him in a way that suggests she's entertaining the notion. "Why would you think that? Have you ever tried?" Oliwer sounds doubtful that the answer is 'yes'. "It doesn't take any sort of genius to get an apprenticeship. And no one knows how to be a healer going in. That's what those most basic classes, and all the ones that follow it, are for." Rather than answer (because what teen would answer?), Lycinea's rolling her eyes. "They'd kick me out in under a seven based on my bedside manner alone. I don't even like most people." Supposedly. Maybe even truly. Oliwer, sweet, gentle, kind Oliwer, finally laughs outright at Lycinea's excuses as he scrapes the bottom of his bowl with his spoon to get the last of his stew out. "The only one holding you back is yourself, Lya. You should try having as much confidence in yourself as I have in you. You might surprise yourself." Now that his stew is gone, the healer starts shifting toward the end of the bench to get back to his feet as he says, "If you'll excuse me, I need to be getting back to work. You ought to come shadow me sometime when you're free. I think you'd enjoy it." Or hate it. But at least then she'd know healing wasn't for her! Lya has to glower at him when he laughs. It's in the Teenage Code of 'Tude. "Do the Harpers pay you to say that kind of stuff? If so, I'll tell them they should get their money back. I'm too old, anyway. Sixteen. And couldn't catch up on four turns worth of work." Nevermind that people do sometimes apprentice that late. But really, in the end, it's still not a 'no.' It's also not a goodbye, even though she's soon up out of the booth herself, leaving her bowl just exactly where it is. Best Kitchen Helper Ever. |
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