Logs:Safe and Clean
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| RL Date: 15 February, 2013 |
| Who: Barnabas, Vienne |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Bones and Vienne plant a tree. |
| Where: Greenhouse |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Sometimes, when a person is longing for a little warmth and the smell of growing things, the greenhouse will do. Lunchtime has most of the workers off for their meals, leaving one small woman in relative solitude as she sits gingerly on the edge of a trough beside something big and leafy. She's loosened scarf and jacket, but Vienne hardly seems occupied now, just looking up at the rafters, across the rows of plants, enjoying a respite from the windy, sleety world outside. The deathly grey sleetstorm is a reminder or just how unsuited for human life High Reaches can be. But with the biggest and thickest plants lining the walls in the ever-present warmth of the greenhouse, one could easily mistake themselves as being deep in tropical forest. The king of this particular jungle is the one with a massive planter perched up one shoulder, empty of soil and the small tree it'd one day be home for, but heavy-looking nonetheless. "Vee?" The questioning tone is unnecessary, given the smile on his face. Massive pot is set to the floor with a clunk, and he approaches while clapping his hands free of dust. "How'ya doin?" It might be a lunchtime lull here, but the scuff of boots and the continued sound of working bodies have made it clear that, despite her personal quiet, Vienne is not alone in the man-made jungle. And then it's hard to miss the tall man with his massive planter. The little bluerider looks up, neck craned to see over the neighboring frond so she can smile back at Bones as he approaches. It's a rather enchanted smile, some wonder in her eyes. "It's always so nice to see you," she muses through her grin, as though the realization itself is a pleasant surprise. Her gaze drops to the planter he's just set down. "Where are you going with that?" But no, she's not offering her help this time. "Is it?" Nice to see you is a pleasentry that he's used to, but always so nice to see you? He actually raises a little eyebrow in question. Sarcasm? Didn't seem it, and so he smiles right back at her. "Nice to see you too." Spoken with an honest warmth. "Oh this sucker? He's Gonna be the new home of a Flowering Blackbark Genzo Tree. How's being tiny and cute workin' for ya?" Nope, no sarcasm, just Vienne's guileless smile. She grins for the fate of the planter. "Do Flowering Blackbark Genzo Trees like company?" she asks, pitched forward in her seat -- to watch, to stand, she's ready either way. As for being tiny and cute? She rolls her eyes and lets out a big, exaggerated sigh, like she's been just dying to complain to someone about it. "Oh, it's so much work. And I have to sleep in this really little box every night to make sure I don't grow." She describes the box with the shape of her hands, something a piece of jewlery would fit in. That small. "Company? I'unno. They like a nice spritz of water on their leaves, but they don't seem to care if-" The pause is sudden, realization settling in. She means him. "... yeah, they like company." There's no embarassment in him at being slow, just happy enough for the offer. With a deep grunt, he hefts the pot back up onto his shoulder, long arm stretched along it's side to grip the top rim. "You should try being ugly. It's way easier." Finger points towards the back, letting her know where he's headed before he moves along. Her brows lift as he begins to explain the care of his trees, but they settle again when realization sets in, deepening her smile. She gets to her feet, brushing behind her a little to try to shake free any dirt she might have picked up from her seat. "I try sometimes," she says about being ugly, continuing her droll account of this terrible life she has being a little doll. "It's really the tiny part that's the problem. That's all anyone sees. It confuses them into thinking everything I do is cute. Watch." She turns toward him as they walk, furrowing her brow, baring her teeth, bringing her hands up with fingers bent like claws. It's a classic face to pull. On Bones, it might actually look threatening. On her, well... He can be the judge. Bones' pace is slow and careful, both for the sake of keeping the pot secure on his shoulder, and to ensure he doesn't outpace Vienne with his long stride. It falters only slightly as she turns towards him, briefly thinking they might be stopping, but the bluerider pulling her face in motion. At the sight of it, Bones winces and shakes his head. "Yeah, hate to say it but that's fuckin' adoreable." Spoken with a note of playful pity, with the wince swiftly giving way to a smile. "Ever give a second thought to that blue dragon tattoo? I've heard that havin' ink done makes you look intimidatin', hehe." "See?" Vienne is just so exasperated. It's all a good show until she slips a wry little smirk aside to the tall man with the huge planter on his shoulder. She glances at it again, that vessel, as if something about his cargo that amuses her. Meanwhile, he is bringing up the tattoo and she lets out a laugh. "Then I might just be the tiny and cute girl with the crazy tatoo. Do you know someone who does that sort of thing? I mean, clearly you have' known people in the past but... Does the Weyr have such an... artisan?" "Artisan?" The word isn't all that familiar to him, but it had art in it. He could figure that one out. "Y'know I don't mingle all that much. But I know a guy who knows a guy, which means I guess you know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy, now." He smirks, having to admit to himself internally that the joke wasn't worth all the syllables. "You're not actually thinking of getting one are you? I had to get absolutely trashed for my first one just to deal with the pain, and even then I damn near passed out." Now his wince is a little more genuine as he recalls the experience, the slow needling done by hand, each prick hurting just as much as the last. Vienne puts on her best impressed face. "I feel so well contected," she teases warmly, probably aware that the joke's value fell short of its effort. But as his comments turn more serious, the small bluerider lets her smile fade a touch, even if it doesn't disappear completely. "You don't think I could handle it? I mean, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want one on my face but..." She shrugs a narrow shoulder in her jacket, not ruling out the possibility. Anything is possible. "If it was so awful, what made you get the next one? Or the one after that?" And also: "Where's our tree?" Wince put aside at Vienne's query, he adressed the slightly defensive she asked the question. "Hehe, hey now I didn't say you couldn't handle anything. I know all about judging books by their covers." There's a pause as they reach a junction, Bones aiming his thumb to the left turn they'd need to take. "And as for why I got more? I'unno, once I got that one on my wrist... I kinda wanted another one on the other wrist. Then once you've got the two, the rest of your skin starts feelin' a bit empty. They're addictive." Her final question is answered more with action than words, the two ending up at a workbench in a more secluded part of the greenhouse. Next to stacked burlap sacks of potting soil, the pot was set down with another rough clunking noise, and he tugs his razor from a pocket to start slicing open the bags he'd need. "Our tree's right there." He motions with his head as he upturns a bag of soil into the pot, and there at the table is the most pathetic of saplings, it's roots wrapped up in wet cheesecloth, with just enough soil bundled up to keep the thing upright. Vienne lets out a sigh. "I'm afraid I'm probably little more than the way I look. Sometimes..." And here a good portion of her playful facade falls away for what she might say next, only the words never come. She follows along -- keeping up with him and perhaps more concerned with keeping out of his way, since he's carrying such a load with him -- and her wry smile comes back when he explains about the tattoos. "So really you're saying that you can't have just one. And even if I got one somewhere else, I'd eventually end up with a blue dragon on my face." Despite the warmth of the greenhouse, she folds her jacket closed and crosses her arms. As they reach the potting area, she leans to peer over their tree. She doesn't make any move to touch it, though. Or anything else. She's not getting too close to the bag-slicing, either. "It's so sad looking," she murmurs, sounding rather sorry for the poor thing. With another glance at the waiting pot she surmises, "It'll like the space, though." And just in case that's unexpected, she explains: "My mother's a gardener. She always had plants around. Still does." The little tree, a foot tall at the most, is lifted by hands that dwarf it's already slim trunk. With great care, a small little space is carved out by Bones' fingers to set the sapling in, and then earth is smoothed over. "It's just a baby, but come back in a few weeks and your jaw will drop." He can't help but smile as he looks down at it, one hand on his hip while the other flips the straight razor back into it's handle. Useful little tool is then slipped back in a pocket. "You were sayin'? Bout sometimes not bein' how you look?" He had been listening. "Really? Are we talking... taller than me?" Vienne asks with a laugh, staring down at the tiny tree Bones has so gently nestled into its new home, dubious that it could overtake her in so short a time. "Can I water it?" she asks, or offers perhaps, unwrapping her arms and brushing her hands together as though they aren't currently much cleaner than they would be after handling a watering can. As for what she was saying, she's quick to shake her head. "Oh, it's nothing. Just the complaints of a girl with nothing to complain about." Bones is mesmerized by the little plant, though he overhears her question about height enough to snap himself out of it. "Hmm? Oh. Nah, won't be taller than you for at least a few months." He wanders back towards the work table that the plant had been sitting on, and reaches behind several pruning projects to pull out a simple metal watering can, which he walks towards Vienne with. "Everybody's got something that bugs em. C'mon' fess up to one at least one little pet peeve. I'm a good listener, and I won't tell nobody but the trees." He offers his ear as readily as the can of water. Vienne takes the watering can with careful hands and tips a healthy drink around the base of the newly planted tree. "It's nothing like that," she promises with a quiet smile. There's enough of a pause, silence filled with just the glug of water through the spout, to suggest she's giving real thought to something. It might cast some doubt on whether or not she's telling the whole story when she answers. "I just don't have any reason to believe that I wouldn't cry and pass out under a needle." The watering done, she hands the can back, trying to hold her damp palms such that she won't accidentally smudge her nice clothes. "I've never done anything like that and I probably never will. It's... disappointing." The can is taken back after the little tree is watered, giving a soft nod in appreciation for helping him care for the plants, even in such a small way. "You think you're boring?" That was his personal summary of her woes. "So what other kinda stuff are you dissapointed you ain't ever gonna do? Three-way? Stealin' marks? Knife fightin'?" There's a smirk at the corner of his mouth, but he seems intent to reign in the sillyness just a touch. "Why's it dissapointing? Is it because you ain't interested in that kinda life, or have you always been a little too interested and that scares ya? Ha! You got a crazy rebel lurkin' somewhere burnin' to get out?" "Maybe," Vienne admits, a light laugh that's all breath and no voice. Maybe she is boring. As for his list of supposedly unboring things to do, she shakes her head. "I don't think I'd be good at any of those." She holds up thumb and smudgy forefinger, a tiny space described, perhaps just a tiny height -- it's some kind of explanation. "It's not like that, though. It's not like I want to be a crazy rebel or do wild things. I just feel... untested. But the tests..." With a reserved smirk, her eyes flick over him, about his arms, over the ink she knows he has whether its visible or not. "The tests make you cry and pass out from pain. If you're lucky. Do you have a rag or something?" She shows him her hands, barely dirty but maybe it looks all the more striking against how clean she is otherwise. Bones' own hands are wiped against his pants as he looks around for the rag in question, at first entirely missing the juxtaposition of how he treats himself versus how the greenhouse guest is to be treated. He catches on to what's happening, and looks down at his slightly smudged hands with a mischevous smirk. "Untested, eh?" He rememberes there's a mostly clear rag sitting on the table, walking over to it and inspecting it. It was slightly damp, but had only been used to clean up spills of water. Perfect. "Well, sometimes to get through those tests, Y'cant be afraid to get your hands dirty." He takes his steps back towards her with the cloth dangling from his hand, offered to her. "Or you can stay safe and clean. I ain't tryin' to push one way or another." "Safe and clean, that's me," Vienne replies, taking the damp rag to wipe her palms and meticulous little fingers, her smile self-deprecating rather than lingering over her life choices. "Like I said, I have nothing to complain about." And even though her hands are tidied up, she doesn't pass the rag back yet. "How about you? Any complaints? I hear everyone has something that bugs them." For that quip, she lifts a wide, rather cheeky smile to him. And her head tips toward the tree. "Where does our friend go now?" "Oh I've got tons of complaints!" The tree's fate is once again more show than tell, beastly man in his sleeveless vest wrapping his arms around it in a bear hug, and lifting it from the floor with another manly grunt. "My roomate is going through a crisis of self-worth. My best prospect at lady companionship just snagged herself a bronzerider who's got charm and looks for days..." There's another grunt as he rounds the same corner that brought them there, giving a motion of his head for Vienne to follow. "... and to top it off?" He pauses then, having lugged the pot to it's final destination. There's a patch of empty glass where the snow and sleet is clear and visible, a little window of empty space surrounded by lush green plants. Pot is set down and little tree is shoved into place, plenty of room for it to grow. It's only after it's set he continues. "I don't have any ideas for a costume for that party comin' up! Ha!" If Vienne is impressed by the pot-wrestling or grunting, it doesn't show on her face. She's just attentive, just listening to his complaints with her chin tucked low and her mouth small. But she's ready to follow him along, heeled boots hardly silent as she keeps up with his longer strides. "Your roommate is Azaylia," she remembers, though not from anything he's told her. And she has no idea who his lady-prospect is. Her eyes turn to the glass, the desolate winter outside that steamy window, the pot settling into place, completing the row of growing things. "So let's go look for a costume. I bet the pots and plants can wait." For all that she might not have tattoos, there's a dark merriness in her eye for the prospect of luring him away from work on such an impulse. It's probably as lively as clean, safe girls get. "I need one too." Once again left to clap his hands free of any lingering pottery dust, he looks over at Vienne with a bit of surprise on his face. Go look for a costume? "Right now?" He looked out the window with his hands on his hips once again, blankly staring into the sleetstorm as he pondered the prospect, and of how much work there was left to do. There was always lots of work left to do. "... yeah, alright. Let's go hunting for something to wear. Y'can model something sexy for me." The wink he fires her is more meant to be self-mocking than genuinely flirtatious. He gets a bright nod for his hesitation, all encouragement, and she offers the rag out to him now, so that he might clean himself up a little. Or maybe just because she doesn't mean to steal it from the greenhouse. And his wink, well, he might mean it to be self-mocking, but Vienne takes it he means to mock her. "See? Tiny and cute. It just overrides anything else I do," she says with a dramatic sigh, a fling of her hand. At least she's not offended by his perceived teasing and her reaction is all in play, since she smirks at him afterwards. A more critical eye sizes him up as she she turns toward the exit. "I'm not sure it would be much of a costume to dress you like a lawless sailor. Maybe... cover your hair and beard with powder and pretend you're an old man? Or get some clothes that are too big and stuff them?" So he can be fat. Hands slip into the gardener's pockets as he heads to where he left his heavy cloak, ready to brave the heavy sleet in order to go on a little shopping trip with his bluerider friend. "Old guy? Fat guy? Pfft, what do you think I am, some kinda joke?" This grin is unmistakebly one of mockery, one that even Vienne is likely to see through. "C'mon, I'm sure we'll find something. Or at least get the inspiration to whip up something ourselves." |
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