Logs:(Not) Putting It On
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| RL Date: 4 January, 2015 |
| Who: Telavi, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi and Tomic look at sweaters. They're both from Benden! |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 9, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'zin/Mentions |
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| Telavi in the 'men's department.' Suspicious? That skirt of hers has awfully girly flair compared to most of these drab things-- though there are the odd bright 'spot me in the snow' garments-- and the large-size sweaters she's taking her own sweet time with would hang on her like a tent. "That one's perfect." So says the big guy headed Telavi's way, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, with his hands shoved in his pockets. "That one." He pulls one hand to point to one on the shelf right about where Telavi's hand last was. "There. Perfect." "Oh?" Of course Tela's hand would go to it, claiming it an instant before she glances back over her shoulder and... up to see the rest of him; reflexively she steps slightly towards the shelving, slightly away from him, though in the next breath-- he does seem unassuming, doesn't he, even if he might be only vaguely familiar. Blue-green eyes keep surveying him, though her tone is light; "How would you know?" Tomic shrugs an easy shrug, and puts his hand back in his pocket. "Because." The grin appears, broad over a broad face. "It looks just right." Such a simple answer doesn't require much more of him. Just another shrug, as he comes to a stop, and rocks from toes to heel, and back to flat feet. She relaxes near-infinitesimally; it's a slight thing, but there, and in the breath after that she's easing the sweater in question out to shake it out by the shoulders. It's a warm marled brown with reddish undertones, and it's got holes for a head and body and even two arms; what else could someone want? "What," Telavi asks with a warm marveling tone, "do you think I'm going to do with it?" "Probably," says Tomic, "keep something warm." He turns a quick eye to the sweaters remaining, musing, "That's what sweaters do best... why not let them do it?" Tela's eyes widen a fraction, and she looks at him, and at last she says-- is he putting her on?-- "Any old sweater?" She hasn't put it on. Tomic blinks at the woman. And tilts his head. "So it's not for keeping something warm?" "It, this one, isn't yet for keeping a particular person warm," Telavi says. "One could say it was keeping the shelf warm, though I hardly think the shelf cares..." Tomic looks at her for a while longer, tilts his head the other way, lets his elbows flap out to the sides before settling into a more normal position. "So who's it for?" "Possibly someone I know. Possibly-- but, I don't know you. Who are you?" the greenrider asks, proffering her hand. "I'm Tela," and she belongs here. "Tomic," answers the young man of the same name, taking the hand, lightly, and shooting another of those grins her way, for good measure. "You mind if I come look at these with you?" If she's not going to tell him who this perfect sweater is for. "I need one, too." "Tomic." Firmly, as though she's decided. Telavi doesn't dust off that hand, even, before she's tucking the sweater over her arm-- hers!-- and asks, "Well, what do you want in a sweater?" It might not even be impossible that that might affect whether she minds. "Something with arms that are long enough, first off," says the big guy, taking the opportunity to slide nearer the shelf, and even start lifting a sweater or two. "Because otherwise, your wrists get cold." Flip. "No holes, for sure..." Flop. "What is your view on ex-holes?" Telavi inquires, looking on. "Mended holes. No-longer-holes. Are those fine by you?" If the one she's holding has any, they aren't casually visible. Maybe the armpits. "Well," muses Tomic, still sorting, "am I getting a new sweater? Or am I getting a handed-down sweater? No point in wanting something you can't have, right? At least, not right-away wanting." Ooh. This one is green. Telavi leaves him to the green sweater. "New? Not likely," she says with a laugh. "Where did you live before here?" she asks then, head atilt; it could be that someone else dressed him, before, but-- "Kind of what I figured," is good-natured; what can you do?, says his face, the one shoulder that rolls. The green one is tossed over the other shoulder, and he keeps looking. "I don't know if sweaters are really so much about fashion anyway. I think... I think they were what I said earlier. Keeping warm." And where's he from? "Benden." Telavi must forgive him for what he said about sweaters and fashion-- or at least gloss over it, for now-- for she's all lit up when she says, "I thought so! Weyr for me. You? Benden area, or the Hold itself?" Tomic doesn't like that pinkish one. It might even have once been red. The brown one... no. "Hold. You're from there too, huh?" Should he have known? "Sort of, I guess. Weyr's different. Really different." His eyes widen, but he seems to at least find it amusing, whatever past experience has traumatised him. The green sweater is gathered off his shoulder, and he holds it out for consideration again. She is, and, "Most people say that," Tela says airily-- loftily? good-humoredly, anyway, and only a fraction at his expense. For that, she'll even lend her expertise: "Keep looking, unless you're desperate; the arms are okay but it's too short, you'll get cold above the belt every time you lean over." Next! "Oh," says Tomic, reailsation dawning when he brings the shoulder seams up to the centre of his shoulders. "I like green," comes later, once the sweater has ben reunited with its brethren. But that brown one... it's not just brown, it's sort of rusty. He lifts that one next, and looks to Telavi, expectant. "It's true, though." Has she followed him as he's moved so slowly on this subject? "It's not like home." "It's better." It comes after his last words, but Tela's got a bit of a roll of her shoulders to go with it: it, "This sweater. Would you want it to be like home?" "The sweater?" Tomic's nose wrinkles up, in slow motion, like so many things with him. "I don't think any sweater's going to be like home. I don't think home is... like... a sweater?" "No, no, this place." Telavi, not so slow. "Oh." Unbothered. "No. I mean, if I wanted to be home I'd just find someone to take me home." He doesn't get it, the joke. The rusty sweater is put over his shoulder. He digs a bit more. All the next ones were clearly made for super skinny people. Telavi's isn't. But-- maybe if he'd gotten the joke, or rather the transition, maybe he'd have gotten it. She doesn't give it up. "Well, I hope you enjoy it," Tela says. "While you're here." She gives tall Tomic a quick, bright smile and moves to step back, the better to leave him to the sweaters. All the other sweaters. Tomic can be left, seems happy enough to be left, but not without, "Who are you looking for?" A point to the sweaters. For the person, not the person. She glances back, blonde braids falling over the tilt of her shoulder, over the sweater in her elbow's crook-- "Hmm? Oh, if K'zin likes it, he can have it, and if not," Tela ups the smile a notch, with more than a hint of mischief, "I have plans." But first, the plans to leave. Tomic almost certainly doesn't know K'zin. And definitely doesn't know what Tela's plans might be. But he still says, "Oh," and gives her a little headbob before going back to looking for sweaters. Boiling water. Scissors. But all in good fun! |
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