Logs:An Empty Klah Pot
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| RL Date: 2 January, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Alida kicks a puppy. That happens to be Tomic. Figuratively. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 9, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr Groggy and not yet smiling, Tomic's only just woken up by the look of him. His face is still hanging more than it's being held up by its little muscles, and he's still bleary-blinking as he makes his way through the caverns. He doesn't seem aware of the fact that a pantleg is stuck on top of his boot cuff. The first stop is at the nighthearth, to check for klah. The stumble into the back of one of the rockers on Alida's chair brings a hiss of, "Sorry." Part of her heard someone approaching before Tomic's actual presence entered the room, the guard part of Alida nearly always on some kind of 'duty.' Habit. With his near-crashing into her rocker, however, the blonde jerks her gaze from the flames, clear green depths slightly haunted, more irritated at having her thoughts interrupted. A cool and hard look studies Tomic from head to toe in a gestalten grasp, and the bluerider finally comments to the bleary one, "Yeah." Back to flame staring she goes, but not before one silky mound of her hair ripples to life on its own...undulating and catching palest-gold highlights from the fire...until the motion manifests in a little firelizard head with green eyes. Peep! There's a moment there, when the blonde woman is looking at him, just looking, and not even saying anything, that Tomic starts to look worried. The 'yeah' doesn't do much to appease him, but it does set him back on his way, walking just a little funny where that toe was stubbed hard against Alida's chair. He makes it to the klah pot, lifts it, and finds it disappointingly emptied. He doesn't put it back. He turns, and there catches Alida's hair moving. Huh. Only in subtlest fashion does the blonde keep aware of Tomic, much of her concentration offered to the flames, instead. Apparently she's either distracted or not very social, or tired. Or any or all of the above, especially since there's hints of darker circles beneath her green eyes. Emptied klah pots aren't her purview, anyway, though the hair-rumpling flit does stick her neck out - quite literally - upon the air, and offers peering Tomic a quirk of her saffron head and a faintly inquiring burble of sound. It can't be said that Tomic has seen all that many firelizards in his life. But it also can't be said that he's not been affected by that look, that non-forgiveness sort of response, from the woman. And his foot still hurts. Tomic and the empty klah pot make their way farther out from her chair. And if he slows a bit, it's only a bit. He's not going to interrupt, not again. No. Alida and the word 'forgive' tend to be mutually exclusive events. Not that this helps Tomic, given his (likely pleasant) lack of knowing her, up until now. But, at some point during her reverie, either the firelizard or the youth's presence stir the bluerider up enough to prompt her gaze to lift, seek him beyond her. Murmured almost indifferently, in a cool and distant alto, "Comin' soon..." Huh, what? Once more, the flit peeps, her head and neck then withdrawing beneath white-gold tresses again as she rearranges herself back to hanging about her 'owner's' neck. "I know," says Tomic, shrugging up his shoulder and scrubbing his face against his bicep. The one on the arm holding the klah pot; the other one just stays put, at his side. From around a yawn: "I'm the one getting it now." He makes his jaw crack by opening it in a circular motion. And eyes Alida's hair warily. Well then... she didn't expect his answer, and it shows in the momentary hint of a frown found between mostly-smooth brows, the hint of tiniest surprise found within clear green eyes. Mostly to herself as she nods stiffly, then returns her gaze to the fire... "Joy." The woman's alto holds not a single dram of that word, her delivery as dry as Igen's desert, flat and dark as untempered and bittersweet chocolate. 'Joy' as in having him show up to interrupt her, or 'joy' as in who'd want klah at 3am? The bluie's not telling, and neither is the sedentary lump of firelizard buried beneath the woman's hair...though Tomic *might* just catch a glimpse of twice-inner-lidded, faceted green little eyes still peering at him between skeins of pale hair. He might have, except that dry tone makes him droop a little. "Sorry," is said again, quietly. "I'd best... get prepping." So he turns, and he heads off toward the kitchens, empty klah pot in hand, hurt toe in boot, and hurt feelings... well, under his shirt, I guess. Is it his tone, or something else that prompts the contained, quiet bluerider to mutter quietly to retreating Tomic, "Yer fine..." her comment only a little long-suffering. Unseen beneath her covering layers of long human hair, golden Pyrite gives her perch a brief and quiet little hum of approval, and rubs her chin upon the skin of the bluie's neck before she settles down to try and nap again. Unlike the guard, *she* will finally find sleep, this night. |
Comments
Tela (16:34, 8 January 2015 (EST)) said...
Some nights are like that, aren't they.... I started to count words and then realized there actually were more than a few!
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