Logs:Safe Place
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| RL Date: 25 September, 2014 |
| Who: V'ros, Lycinea |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: V'ros and Lycinea become a mass-murdering duo. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north. Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries. A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.
Revelry is all well and good, until one must add the adjective drunken. That has Lycinea stealing from shadow to shadow to shadow for as long as she can. But that takes her well out of her way from the direction of the craft complex to the inner caverns. So, at some point, with a huff of frustration, she makes a break for it, bringing her out into the open, walking swiftly, with her head down and fingers curled into fists at her sides, wearing a jacket that obviously belongs to some guy as it's several sizes too large for her, but surely warm enough to ward against the autumnal chill. She moves to skirt the path of the green- and blueriders, and is still looking back at them when she adjusts back to her original course, putting her right in front of the unexpected V'ros. Obliviousness is V'ros' strong suit, but he's had enough training in recent months to know that when you spy something coming at you from the corner of your eye, you should look up. He stops just short of walking into the blonde and promptly.. frowns. "Why are you.." His eyes scan their vicinity, before coming to rest on Lycinea again. "Shouldn't you be.. asleep?" That is to say - non-riders, not-forced-into-group-activities - weyrfolk should be in bed. "Are you.. going to.. the Snowasis?" His question is the only thing that keeps Lya from walking into him anyway, her head snapping back around and her step rocking as it brings her dangerously close to the drink in his hand. "Faranth," she swears, "where did you come from?" Like he might've materialized out of the darkness itself. "Why should I be asleep?" isn't an answer to his question, but the 'no' is probably implied. Her arms don't seem to know what to do with themselves, so they hug across her middle, squeezing the extra fabric of the jacket bunching under her elbows. "No. I'm not hungry." Wings are obviously the only reason to go to Snowasis in the first place. Then she glances behind herself at the other weyrlings, "Did you come from there?" There's confusion and uncertainty in Lycinea's face briefly, but it's quickly covered. "Didn't you just say they might jump me here?" Maybe she missed the part about him staying nobly to protect her. One of her hands moves to brush through her loose blonde hair, "I don't like parties." She's probably never been to one. "Yeah, they might. I don't know." A shrug follows the lackluster words, and V'ros takes an ample sip from his glass. "Flights.." He winces, not finishing his statement, and knocks back another portion of his drink, before settling baleful eyes on the kitchen aide. "I thought.. everyone.. likes parties. Why don't.. you?" He sounds genuinely curious as her reasoning. Lycinea shrugs. "They're loud, and there's a lot of alcohol, and I don't usually have anyone to talk to at them." She'll pretend she's been to one, if she hasn't. It's not like's she's ever been a pillar of truth. "Are you worried about them?" She gestures skyward. "The flights. I hear lots of weyrlings are." One hears a lot of things in the kitchen. "You're supposed to.. make friends at them.. I think." Because V'ros wouldn't know, not being particularly sauve himself. "You don't have to go." Another shrug. It's the talk of flights that's got him looking gloomy. "Yeah.. it's.." He stops and looks down, shuffling his feet. "I don't know. Not what I thought it would be.. Zmeyth isn't.. he's not interested yet. I'm just.. everything says it isn't bad." That should stand for something. "That seems backwards." Lycinea answers the first idea without much consideration. "How are you supposed to get to know someone well enough to decide if you want to be their friend if you can't even really hear each other or if everyone is looking over your shoulder or interrupting you." She wrinkles her nose. She shifts her weight and lets her hands fall to her side. "Well, if it helps, in the kitchens, the only time people talk badly about them is if there's a fight during a flight, or if the people who have sex have weyrmates who are jealous or girlfriends and boyfriends or-" She waves a hand encompassing all the other possible relationshipy variants that exist in a Weyr. "Or I guess if you hated having sex it would suck to win. And I hear losing is no fun, but that's why Snowasis stays in business, right? Alcohol for losers." That's probably not why Snowasis stays in business, but thanks for playing, Lya. "Ahhh--" Awkward tendencies rear their ugly head. V'ros kind-of-not-really shrugs and finishes off the dregs of his glass, letting his fingers lightly grip the lip as his hand falls to his side. "I've never been good at.. getting to know people," he says it plainly, as if that isn't already old news. He's looking strained as he lifts his gaze towards the activity on the garden patio. "You don't understand Lycinea, you don't have a dragon.. it's not what you want, but it is what you want." His sigh is shuddering, his smile self-deprecating. "It's everything.. it's nothing.. it's unnatural.. it's completely natural. Everyone has something to say about it." "I'm not pretending to understand," Lycinea agrees, for once. "I'm just telling you what I've heard. But if you don't want me to talk about it, then I won't. I don't see what the use of talking about it really is anyway. It's not like you're going to get a choice, right? That's not the way it works. You'll want what he wants, when he wants it for that. All the riders do, I think. I don't envy you." This is not exactly not talking about it. But she seems content enough to stop talking about it then, asking instead. "Will we go to Ista soon? Or Balen? I've been behaving." The last is said almost defensively, since he got whiny about her conning a healer, where whiny is defined as expressing an opinion contrary to her own. "No-- no-- I don't.. want to talk about it." V'ros has done enough talking about mating flights in recent history to want to steer clear of that topic, even if it's hard with the green flight looming overhead. "We can go when.. Quinlys says I can. We can't between yet and I don't think.. it would too hard of a straight flight on Zmeyth. Two more months." He won't stop her from planning, should she be inclined to such thing, but his own expression is uninspired. "Why do you want to go.. so badly, anyway?" Shockingly, Lycinea doesn't seem given to any abundance of forethought, so her "Okay," comes easily. She steals a glance toward the sky and then back. There's an awkward moment where she must be restraining herself from talking about it. But there's a question to answer, so that helps. "I've never been to one. A proper beach, anyway. And I can't really remember the one we used to go to when I was little. And the only other person," answering the 'why him' question that was not asked, "who would take me, that I know of, is an old pervy bronzerider," does she need to say that sounds like a bad idea? "Although, Tela might, if I asked, and she had time. But she's always so busy with all you weyrlings." There's a long suffering sigh. How dare they take up the time of their instructor who happens to be one of the only people Lycinea speaks to without snarking. Mention of Telavi sparks an idea-- "That could.. work. Telavi could come with us and we could go sooner, but.. not until we can between." V'ros is contemplative, staring at something over Lycinea's head. He blinks away his thoughts and sighs. "Stop talking to H'vier. He's nothing but trouble. You don't want to be associated.. with that." Solid advice, peppered with annoyance; he's not such a fan of the pervy old bronzerider. "Okay!" Lya seems willing, nay, excited even, at the prospect of having Telavi along. So V'ros can probably lay to rest the idea that she might jump him here or at Ista later. If that's her design, she's playing it really cool. "You're really bossy for someone who doesn't want to be my friend," probably also for someone who wants to be her friend. "And anyway," the blonde says moving a hand to pull her hair back over her shoulder, "I mostly don't anyway." Mostly. "She might say no. She might not want to.. go." A quiet sigh goes along with the words, V'ros taking a couple short steps in the direction of the Snowasis, but then, stopping and turning aside to look at Lycinea. "I'm saving you the trouble. He's a dick. No one even.. likes him.. except, girls. I don't understand that, but," he sucks in a breath, "he has a bunch of babies by a bunch of women and he treats everyone like shit that he meets. Don't.. just.. think. Okay?" Maybe Lycinea doesn't understand that he's walking away from her because she follows those few steps. "Well, if she doesn't, then we can go alone, right? And we'll have fun either way," she hesitates, asking with a slight cant of her head, "Won't we?" Because awkwardness and misunderstandings are fun! Of H'vier, she can only purse her lips. "Well, I'm not going to have any of his babies or get myself into a situation where that would even be possible, if that's what's worrying you. What-- why--" Now she's well and truly puzzled. "Why do you care, V'ros? About what I do- or who I talk to. You don't even like me," right? Except for that part about taking her to Ista. Telavi coming or not coming- their whole lives count on it right now. "Yes. We can still go, but.. we have to wait longer, until Quinlys gives the okay." V'ros shifts uneasily, dark eyes moving from the blonde, to the Snowasis, and quickly up the sky. "We will.. sure, if.. yeah." Fun. Subjective. Ista. Beaches. Eh. He drops his gaze back to Lycinea. "You're okay.. you're.. high-strung, but okay. I wouldn't mind.. being friends." That's all she's going to get out of him, because he's shifting to angling himself towards the Snowasis again, where raucous laughter can be heard. "So, we wait. Aren't good things worth waiting for?" Lya's obviously been told that a time or two in her life. Beaches are definitely good things, according to almost all the stories. "Are-- do you want to-- go?" The blonde asks haltingly, not having missed the looks toward the party and the angling, though apparently they're not clear enough signs for her to not have to ask. She takes a step back herself, her head tilting down so the light is off her face and the look of almost hurt flickers briefly into existence there. "I'd like that." She says a moment later, "To be friends." Not that her additional step backwards is really congruent with her words. "I think-" His stillness is sudden, roving eyes lifting to the sky. "We should both go. You should.. find someplace safe. Inside. Away from.." V'ros gestures lamely with his hands; words go unspoken, and still the meaning is there. "We can try, Lycinea, it's hard with.. everything.. that's happened. But you should go," he mumbles, reaching a hand to grab her wrist and pull her towards the inner caverns. "It's.. it's almost over." The flight. "They'll be coming.. soon." His eyebrows knit as his eyes swing between the guest weyr, the lake, and the Snowasis. He's grabbing her wrist, in answer she's grabbing his hand, "V'ros," the touch of her palm to his and the way Lycinea is saying his name is to get his attention. She lets him pull her toward 'safety,' but not without pointing out, "I've been living here since I was six. You don't have to protect me," then her fingers briefly squeeze his hand, "Not that it isn't sweet and all." Is there a better word to describe it? Then she's letting go of his hand, not to prolong the touch that might easily become awkward if it hasn't already. "You could walk me to the dorms, if you think I'd be safer." She does offer, not wholly dismissing his concerns. They'd been getting along! But the reminder of where they are, who they are, and that they're actually touching is enough to make the weyrling jerk his hand back like he'd been grasping at flames. "Wha.. what? No.. no.. I just meant.." V'ros stops himself, his mouth compressed into a fine line. He blows a breath out of his nose. "No.. just.. go. Now. I'm going to.. goodnight, Lycinea," is his barely-there whisper, before he's trudging towards the Snowasis, without so much as a backwards glance; as she said, she can fend for himself, and wasted emotion is something he doesn't have to spare. Lycinea can't help but roll her eyes, and if he hears her muttering, "Bossy, bossy, bossy," well, she probably doesn't care. The blonde isn't slow, though. Part of growing up here means knowing when one doesn't want to be involved in shenanigans, one gets well and truly out of the way, and so that's what she does, though it's not to the inner caverns she ends up heading, but toward the dragon infirmary. Maybe it's a safe place to hide at times like these! |
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