Logs:Feeling Safe
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| RL Date: 8 January, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, Z'ian |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: A drive-by chat. |
| Where: Kitchens, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 9, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold |
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| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs) 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.
Which is when a pair of greenriders blows in, tousle-haired and full of energy, and they aren't shy about interrogating the nearest worker. It's Rhonda who blows right back out again with a tray of flaky pastry something-or-other, though, leaving Leova to lean against the wall and just plain laugh. He can't help it, he's a curious creature. The arrival of the two greenriders has him twisting around, curious eyes drifting over to Leova and her friend. The friend that's soon gone. Z'ian watches as she breezes right back out the door that she came through, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile, one eyebrow partially cocked. There's a glance towards Leova and he comments idly, "She's direct." Not that Leova's left entirely alone, given the napkin-wrapped flaky-something she's been left to nibble on. Amber eyes lift. Her head doesn't. Until, maybe having made up her mind, "Gets away with it, too." Most days. "How's life treating you, Z'ian?" The spoon lifts to his mouth, "Yeah, I can imagine. Who'd stop her?" Z'ian blows on it for a moment before taking it down. He lifts his shoulders for her question, smiling around the utensil. In a moment, "I'm alive. Eating. Who could ask for more?" He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and twists his mouth, grinning. "And yourself?" Who knows: the amused roll of Leova's eyes suggests she doesn't. "Depends on what you're eating." A couple quick paces take her over to eye his dish, one hand braced on the table's edge, like she could possibly doubt his veracity. "Mm. Fair to middling, weather's not helping. Didn't you," she pauses. "Switch? Wings. Or something." "I guess it's subject to opinion." The food issue that is. His stew is close to being halfway gone, the chunks of meat in it having been picked out earlier. "When does the weather around here ever offer to help anyone out?" Z'ian asks, that quirky half-grin working its way across his face again. She mentions the wing switch and he blows a little air out between his lips. "That. Yeah, I did. Tsanth still flies, I still ride. Just different wing, different people. We adapt." The greenrider's mouth pulls to one side, disappointed-like, and she looks both ways down the line of the kitchen before shrugging and sliding into the spot across the table from him. "'We adapt.' Very easygoing of you." She's got her elbows on the table, now. "Did they give you any choice?" Z'ian digs his spoon around in the liquid of the stew, likely searching for whatever hearty parts are left to it. He looks up from the bowl to Leova, shooting the greenrider something of a knowing look for that comment on his easygoing nature. It doesn't do anything to his smile, doesn't make him skip a beat. The beats are just a drag slower than previously. "He wanted to change wings. Was I really going to get in his way? Under the circumstances? Life isn't always about what you want." "Your swap? Or Tsanth." Leova's got a one-shouldered shrug to follow that up with, and says quite dryly, "Not about what I want. Reckon I got it wrong, then, guess I'll have to turn in my party frocks." She pauses, if only to pick out another couple fragments of pastry. "But yeah, if Vrianth wanted out, that'd be different." "Tsanth? He was glad to go along for the ride. Encouraged it." Z'ian replies with a shrug, mouth pursed to the side. He spoons another mouthful of stew up to his mouth. "You've got party frocks?" He asks, breaking the point of the conversation. His eyebrows lift and he leans forward to make a point of looking at Leova's standard fare of concealing clothing. "Don't turn them in to soon. Some of us wouldn't mind if you busted them out." Here he flashes her a more forward smile then takes down some more of his dinner. "I keep 'em with my Weyrsecond's knot," only then Z'ian starts in and Leova stops short. And snorts. "Don't even," she says with entirely too much confidence, and flicks a shred of pastry in his direction: if it lands in his stew, all the better. "Tell me you have some better lines. Somewhere. Don't say 'em, mind." The snort prompts laughter and his finger stops on that flake of pastry, having landed on the surface of the table and not his stew. Lucky him. "No?" He rubs the bit of food into the surface of the wood, turning blue eyes onto her. "I've got plenty of good lines. Don't tell me that you don't want to hear them." It's hardly serious, more like mock incredulity. Z'ian drops his elbow down and leans his chin into his palm, "There are young men in this weyr dying to learn my pick up lines, I'll have you know." Poor squashed pastry-bit! Poor kitchen maids! But Leova's much more focused on giving him, deadpan, "There are young men in this Weyr dying to get those pick up lines." She allows a slight pause. "At least one or two." His fingers inch up to partially cover his mouth, from behind them Z'ian grins, mischievous. "Maybe three." He rolls his eyes self-indulgently and admits, "The rest are just dying to hear them out of morbid curiosity." "Morbid. Good word." Only then Leova half-stifles a harder exhalation and presses her forehead into the heels of her hands. It's the knowing look again. This time for that half-stifled harder exhalation. Z'ian nods his head, his smile quirked to the side. Placing his spoon carefully onto the plate underneath his bowl, he lifts the stew and downs the rest of the liquid. "I'm a man of many, many, brilliant words." Something like that, maybe. "You have kids," Leova more says than asks: surely he's bound to have some, somewhere. "Here?" That's not something he's usually questioned about. "My kids?" Z'ian, just a touch off balanced by the inquery. "Two. Here. Well, over there to be more accurate." He pushes the empty bowl away and jerks his thumb into the direction of the rest of the lower caverns. Leova, even more tersely, but with an odd wistful note in her voice: "Do you feel like they're safe?" Z'ian's eyebrows draw together, gaze growing more focused. Carefully and most certainly loaded, "As safe as anyone else here." "You," and Leova's voice is low, not just because it's muffled. "Aren't reassuring me any." She pushes back, out of her hands, hair disheveled even more where she's let that go. "I'm sorry." Z'ian starts, sounding more sincere than falsely accommodating. "I don't like to bullshit. Would a different answer really give you any comfort?" He asks, eyebrows lifting questioningly. There's a pause, and then she finally focuses on Z'ian again. "Only if it's true." It's half-dragged out of her: "And makes sense." Leova hitches one of those one-shouldered shrugs, what-can-you-do? and swings herself out of the seat. "Anyway." In lieu of any more formal leavetaking. Z'ian takes in a breath, considering. "Me too." An answer to a question that she didn't ask him. And since this is all too big of a window into the more serious nature of things, the bronzerider shakes his head. He flashes Leova a recovering smile. "Bring your party clothes next time." "Hold your breath," Leova invites, that latent, maybe-forced cheer the only thing she stalks out with that's anything like how she'd breezed in. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Feeling Safe"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Tue, 08 Jan 2013 08:07:32 GMT.
*blinkblinks and looks around* What just happened? x3
As a great greenrider once said, "Ahh, people crashing into each other." *grins*
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