Logs:The Rules
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| RL Date: 14 October, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali and N'rov catch up, talk baby names, and recent events. |
| Where: Kitchen, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Visrain/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Reyvar/Mentions, K'varl/Mentions |
| It's early afternoon - early enough that things haven't got entirely hectic in the kitchen yet, with things still winding down from lunch. All the hearths are still burning though, which makes the place toasty warm and the perfect place to hang out. Ali's seated at one of the breakfast nooks with one of the storeskeepers, and all across the table there's swatches of material of different colors and textures. "No, nothing too light- let's stick to the darker tones, they'll hide- anything. How about this?" She holds up a darker, more coarse material, and the storeskeeper nods. "We've enough in stock for that. I'll get right on it, ma'am." While he begins to pack up the material, the junior studies them distractedly, as if rethinking. Maybe she's nesting? "What," is N'rov's immediate question as his curly head pops up over the divider between one nook and the next, "are you doing? Hello," this to the storeskeeper, though it's with barely a nod. "Ali. I brought you back the bags and things.' With a smile, Ali's quick to respond. "New occupation. I've stepped down as a junior; I'm going to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an interior decorator. Do feature walls like yours with all the little nooks and stuff in it. What do you think?" she cocks her head to seek his input; the storeskeeper gives a kind of uncertain smile, like he's not really sure if she's joking, so he just collects the last of the swatches, gives N'rov a vague nod in that I-know-you-but-don't-know-you kind of way, and heads for the stores. "Thanks," the goldrider's polite enough to murmur after him. "I thought you were going to be an interior decorator-slash-cook," N'rov says, not missing a beat. "Maybe if you then put tasty treats in the nooks. How would that be?" Looking after the man, he says sorrowfully, "I don't think he's convinced. Yet." "I've updated my life goals. Tea?" The offer involves the growingly tricky movement of sliding out and standing; Ali pausing to stretch her back with a hand pressed there for a moment. "Did you like the last batch I sent? I figured you could use the comb," there's a wry twist of lips as she walks over to the hearth. Over her shoulder: "/He/ thinks it's for a baby room, I think. That's why he's probably not convinced." "You're /perky/," N'rov says half-disbelievingly, but follows her anyway once he's settled the bag of bags onto where she'd been sitting. "It was tasty. I liked the bits of fruit and nuts and things in them. A few of them I did have to dole out in bribes, though." He leans on the mantel for warmth and watches the familiar process, adding, "Do you really expect your baby to be so... projectile? That you'd need it to blend in with brown?" "Oh. Local bribe tax, hm? I should include an extra ten percent margin?" Clearly, someone's been working with /numbers/ too much recently. "I'd hoped to take the cot from home, but Edmur'll still be using it by the time this one comes." Ali's hand rests briefly on her stomach, head tilted. "I should see about getting something commissioned. I already combed the stores, but there's only a couple there and they're- they need work." With an exhale of breath, she collects a couple of mugs, and fills the cups from the pot sitting on the edge of the hearth, offering one to him. "Always be prepared, I say. How's Vhaeryth? Still smug?" "Edmur. Which one is he? No, I'm not great at keeping track of my brothers' kids either. But definitely include the ten percent." N'rov takes the mug and adds offhandedly, "I could check around, see if theirs are all in use. They'd know where to find you if you don't return it. Vhaeryth is..." currently not technically looping around with Isyath and her gang if only because he's doing figure-eights, "...not running out of smugness anytime soon. I hesitate to think of what their offspring will be like, but at least they'll get any self-satisfaction honestly. And won't ours be joining wings soon? I should check with N'muir, see if any of them are going to get tapped to Hematite." "My newest nephew. He's-" only a beat to work it out, "He's seven months." Twisting so that her back is to the hearthside, Ali wraps fingers around her mug, taking a small sip. "And steal your families' cots? Then I'd be obligated to start sending your mother monthly thank you gifts, and we'll get to talking, and she'll tell me all about the time you ran naked down the road when you were five saying you could fly and... I don't think you want to go there." Though the junior for a moment does seem to be considering the prospect. "Yes, the Wingleaders have started eyeing them carefully. Think they're the most well-behaved they've been the entire time right now. I don't think they'll last a whole month of it though." For now, N'rov just warms his hands. Of course, that means he can smirk at her that much more easily. "That would be assuming my mother either had care of me or listened to the nannies." Or his older brothers, but why mention those. "As long as they don't break out of bad behavior with paint... or fire. Seven months? And you have how long to go? That's pretty close." "Mothers /always/ have embarrassing stories about their children. She'll have /something/ on you. You could save yourself the trouble and just tell me, you know? It'll be our little secret." Ali's giving him the you-can-totally-trust-me-face. "Oh, a month and half or so. Give or take. We still haven't settled on a name," which is undoubtedly driving the junior absolutely crazy. "Or name/s/, but I feel like it's going to be a boy." N'rov would be laughing right into that face if there weren't that cup in the way; he finally sips, then says, "Nice /try/." But he's got a grin. "It's good to see you like this, not... sluggish and throwing up every minute or two. I think I can help you with the name situation, though," indeed, his tone of voice is all too anticipatory. "I guess I'll go the 'drop in' route, looking after your family while you're gone. I'm sure they'll appreciate the effort, and I can thank her for the jam." Ali nods her head, like it's a done deal. Not that she's actually... stepped foot in Boll at all since that other time, but that's not even in her thoughts right now, given the relaxed nature of her posture. "Yes, the constant sleeping and throwing up was pretty bad. Now I just get constant back aches, and I need to pee constantly." Isn't he lucky to be Ali's friend who gets to hear about all this? Her expression grows wary at the anticipatory tone in his voice. "I am /not/ naming it something silly. Rey already suggested poohead, so /that's/ off the table." "Why don't you do that, then," N'rov drawls, and either he really is that confident or... well, it's not as though she's known to go flying much of anywhere these days. "Anyway, if you have to pee too soon, let me know and I'll get my feet out of the way.... Do you like 'Peehead' any better? 'Peebutt'? How /is/ your brother, is he good for anything yet?" Not that they don't both get along when they're drinking. "I like 'Ladel,' like for pouring." "How about I surprise you instead?" Ali counters, looking down at where his feet are at, for future reference, presumably. With arms folded, those name suggests get a mock-grouchy: "No, and no. I don't think you're taking this process seriously at all. I mean, imagine if your mother had named /you/ Peebutt. Then Vhaeryth would've named you P'butt." A twitch of brows at his question of her brother. "He's keeping busy," she says, of Rey, ultra casually. "He was helping out at the Fountain, but I think it's a little more... upmarket than he's used to. Which says more about him than the Fountain, really." N'rov makes a show of sidling back a step. "I'm not sure whether that's better or worse than P'bu," and then all of a sudden he smirks /again/, not that he explains right away. Instead, "I don't doubt it. So what's he keeping busy with, then? And do you think he'd like a nephew named 'Likas'?" Only the bronzerider pronounces it with a distinctly short 'i.' It's a good thing he steps back, because Ali's reaching to aim a punch at his shoulder, only she gets distracted by not spilling her tea all over herself and doesn't quite manage to connect. "I hope to Faranth you never become a father. Your children would hate you forever for whatever you name them." "They would, wouldn't they," N'rov says with satisfaction, stepping back /further/. "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't answer about your brother, by the way, but I'll let it go this time. How are things here, anyway?" He's lowered his voice, gotten more serious. There's an unapologetic smile, but it's brief, and it falters almost straight away at his question. "Uneasy, I think. People are concerned about the tithe- about rumors around Turns End not happening, and about Fort Hold. A lot of people are from there or have family there." Ali turns to warm her front, taking another sip of her tea in the process. "At least- Boll seems to be sorting itself out." She glances over her shoulder at that, to get a sense of his reaction - /she's/ trying for neutral. N'rov's drunk his tea too quickly while she's been talking; he spaces his sips more shallowly now. "It'll end with or without us," he says wryly. "But there can be ceremony even without a feast, can't there?" Having held back about Boll, the wryness slips away towards something grim. "I hope so. My family's flourished under Visrain's line, and we still have that, but I don't know how closely the apple's fallen to the tree." "I suppose- but it wouldn't be the same," Ali says, kind of wistfully. "And I was stuck here on the sands last Turn-" a grimace. Then for Visrain: "None of us really know. Visrain had so many descendants it would've been impossible to pick who was the likely heir after K'varl." She chews her lower lip, distractedly. "At least they've- they've tithed." Her tone seems to suggest it's more than they might expect. N'rov starts to speak, then tempers it into something less sharp. "I remember," he says instead. "I remember very well, Ali." There's surprise in Ali's expression at N'rov's tone, tempered or not, giving him an uncertain look. But she's not about to poke further, far too polite for that. Instead, there's a quiet pause, and eventually, "Do you think you'll come by, for Turns' End? Will the eggs be hatched before then? I- can't keep track of things as well as I did before. The healers say /that's/ normal, though it's fairly disconcerting to have to look up things I knew off the top of my head before." "If they're hatched," the bronzerider says, "I'll return to Fort, at least for most of it. If they aren't... I'll still strive to drop by, though it might only be for a little while, hard as their shells would have to be. Some from our clutch have been by to see their half-siblings, by the way, N'dalis among them. And they have a guard posted." N'rov adds more lightly, "Is it normal for that change to go away afterward?" "If- well, you /have/ to come by or you don't get your present, you know. Those are the rules." The ones she made up right now. Ali's been spending far too much time in Isyath's head it seems. "I guess it depends how much sleep I end up getting, which depends how well behaved he is," she's already giving it the sex she already assumes it is, the fingers of one hand pressed to her stomach. "He kicks a lot at night," the dark-haired woman makes a face. "I might forever be this dumb. You'll remind me of my name when I start to forget, right? And not tell me it's something weird like Olivanderaei?" "The rules, are they." N'rov, cautiously amused. "We'll see," is all he commits to. "Maybe he's an evening child, will want to sleep in for the mornings. I wouldn't blame him. And of /course/ I wouldn't tell you that; I'd tell you your name is 'Al.' Much easier, don't you think?" He adds after a moment, reluctantly, "I suppose the laundry is about ready, I should be getting back. They told me to warn them first next time, though it's not as though they didn't have plenty of time to bag it up." "If you ever get amnesia, I'll tell you /your/ name is Rovrov. But Ro for short." Ali's expression is, frankly, bemused. "Surely you've charmed all the High Reaches caverns girls to do all your bidding already? I mean, I would've thought the hair product I sent you alone would've done it." Glancing over her shoulder at the collection of bags settled on the breakfast nook, she asks, "Any special requests?" "Will you tell me I have a little boat, not to sail but to Ro?" N'rov immediately asks, only to shrug for her next question; "They have a different setup," and it's different, "and the clothes wind up smelling differently," and it's different, "and what if one of those refugees staying there takes my shirt or something?" He shakes his head. "Just the cookies. I'd invite you to surprise me, except that sounds like dangerous precedent." He'd thanked her before, but the ghost of some relative on his shoulder pokes him to add, "Thanks." "Of course," Ali's quick to respond with a laugh. "Then the third thing I'll tell you is the song and how it's all about you and your boat. Start building up that ego of yours." It's the talk of the clothes and how it's /different/ that has her snickering. "I'll think of something. It's good to see you," she adds, with a smile, holding her tea to one side for a one-armed hug, though it's kind of awkward with her stomach the way it is. "Right, right." N'rov returns the easy gesture, only to try and tweak her nose just before he steps back. "Take care of yourself, Ali." He doesn't offer to say hello to K'del for her, though at least he puts the mug away before sauntering off; he's not /completely/ untrained. |
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