Logs:Put on the Mitt
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2015 |
| Who: C'ris, Yesia |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'ris has a gift for Yesia, along with a little advice. |
| Where: Puddle-Keeper Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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The passage from the ledge narrows abruptly to a human-sized aperture that
disallows entry by a dragon, suggesting that damp depression outside is
truly the only couch available to the draconic resident. The entry is
angled for protection from the elements, though, and save a small space in
extremely strong winds, there's rarely any exposure to poor weather for
the weyr proper; it gets little wind and loses little heat naturally,
though a heavy drapery has been hung in place, if not for privacy than as
a failsafe in the colder months.
The interior of the weyr is impressive indeed, with high ceilings, shelves
carved straight into the walls, and ornate glow-holders at intervals that
are always fresh and light the room in gentle yellow-white. The furniture
is, like most furniture, secondhand, and the most impressive piece is
certainly the huge bed - not stone but framed and lifted off the floor by
hardy wooden construction, including both head and foot-boards. It's
flanked by a set of side tables that match each other, but not the bed.
The rest is average: a large desk and wooden chair; a well-padded armchair
and a mismatched loveseat, and a tall round table that usually has a
pitcher and mugs upon it. It isn't a dragon's touch that reaches out to Aeaeth to ask her permission to come to her weyr, nor even Mivength himself that brings C'ris up to the ledge, but rather another blue that plays elevator duty today. It may be, even, that the man would be secretly relieved if no one was home, for all that he calls out hesitantly, "Yesia?" as soon as he has slid down from the dragon. He clutches a cloth-wrapped bundle carefully, a scarf wrapped around his neck. Since Aeaeth's not there, the blue gets no greeting in alighting on the ledge. And since there's no warning and Yesia wasn't expecting company, it's probably no surprise when the drapery covering the door shudders and Yesia pokes her head around it, looking ready to tell off whoever is standing there. The impression doesn't fade when she sees C'ris. "What are you doing here?" she asks, snippy, with a glance at the parcel in his hand. "Hello," starts a bit too formal, before C'ris adds a, "Uh, hi. I mean, I-- How are you? Can I come in?" He doesn't exactly wiggle the package, but his fingers curve tighter around it even as he tries to slide a look hesitantly past Yesia and into the weyr there before his gaze returns to the weyrling quickly on catching himself. "No. Does anyone know you're here? They're going to think you - I -" He knows, that look says, and Yesia crosses her arms, her chin tilting up, her gaze flicking down to the parcel. She's not the best barrier for his view, but there is warmth emanating from the inside, which might be tantalizing enough. "What's that?" "It's not-- No, this was me. I, uhm, a while back, got this made for you," explains C'ris, holding it out awkwardly towards her as she answers no. Maybe he had, in his mind, some bigger, grander gesture of revealing it. "Well, Edyis drew it. But I had the rest done." Inside the cloth is a sketch of Yesia and Aeaeth, caught in midst of an Eskimo kiss, and framed in dark wood and expensive glass. His stumbling confession has Yesia's slender eyebrows arching in displeasure, but she takes his offering anyways, gripping it carefully. That she doesn't drop it as he explains is a good sign, even if her grip flexes on it as he says Edyis' name. She moves the cloth aside carefully, touching the frame, the glass, looking at the picture within with a softening expression. Then she moves the curtain aside wider, too, a tacit invitation so neither of them have to bear the cold. She's looking at it as she moves further in, and presently comes her only response. "Why?" Gratefulness floods C'ris' expression as he steps inside, hands reaching to untwine the scarf from his neck and immediately make himself more comfortable even as he offers a quick, warm smile at Yesia for her question. "It's a weyr-warming gift. And it's such a nice drawing that Edyis made, and the two of you--," he starts easily, shrugging a shoulder up with a hint of what might be guilt. "She gave it to me months ago to give to you, but it took a while, you know, to get it done. But, I can hang it somewhere, for you?" He takes that moment to glance surreptitiously around the weyr, curious to see if she's made changes there. Yesia's been busy, but all those times sneaking away when she was wingsecond have culminated in some changes: the extra seating in the form of a loveseat, for one, and the head and footboards of the bed. She's even scored a pair of sidetables, and at some point rearranged everything into a decent and functional array. But no, there's nothing warm about it, nothing that says it is hers except the fact that she's in it, in this moment. "The two of us what?" she demands, putting the picture - face down - on the desk. His offer to hang it recieves no answer, though her eyes go to a point on the wall where it might fit. Considering. "You look cute in it," answers C'ris of the statement he left off before, his fingers lifting to scrub at dark hair briefly. But then he'll look away too, towards the wall where she is looking to consider it as well. Yesia can't argue against that. "Did she draw this while she was being all...stalky? I remember doing this. I told her to go away, and she drew a picture of me anyways?" A disgusted sound leaves her throat. "She's so weird." Vanity wins out, though. She lifts the picture at the corner of the frame, tilting her head to peek at it. "So weird." C'ris shakes his head, finally drawing his gaze back to Yesia before he tells her gently, "Not weird. You are one of her clutchmates, and that matters. And--." Again, he trails off, hesitating over his words. But then he adds without her having to ask, "And, I think she could use a friend, too. Just like you." Yesia's arms are still crossed over her chest, her frown relentless. "Weird. Maybe it's important to everyone else, but not to me. They're. I just don't fit in with them. I guess you were one of those lucky people I keep hearing about who did." She snorts, disdainful. "She doesn't want to be my friend. She already has Keysi and T'mic and..." Two is enough. "But it doesn't mean she can't use another. Or that you-- I'm sorry," is how C'ris ends his statement simply, real empathy soft in his words for her statements rather than continuing to push the young woman into anything. "I'd guess that I, uh, was the one that all my clutchmates called weird. I didn't get along well during weyrlinghood. Mivength was-- Well, still is, but I couldn't figure out how to control him. I was always messing up." "I just want to graduate," Yesia murmurs, "and not be..." she makes a so-so gesture with her hand, wobbling it. "Did it get better, after? Do you still like them? Are they your friends?" She has to wonder, because, "You came to help Quinlys even though you're not a weyrlingmaster," and that still strikes her as odd. "You will," C'ris assures Yesia warmly, easily. He even pairs it with a smile towards the younger woman. "After, well-- Yeah. I mean, you get more freedom, but you can still mess up. But we're all dragonriders, you know? We're all in this together." A pause, before he adds, "I guess that's why I came to help. Because I want to make a difference, and weyrlinghood--. You aren't the first person to have trouble with it." Yesia is biting her lip, looking at him seriously, but eventually she picks up the picture anyways and strides towards the wall. She can't quite reach where it would fit, but she puts it in front of her to estimate what it might look like. "I don't think I'm the first person. I think - it would have been easier with different people. From the beginning, it's been like this. The moment I stepped foot in the candidate barracks. Here, maybe?" The query is an aside for the placement of the frame. "Edyis told me, the last time we really talked - when she drew this, I guess, a long time. She said she treats me like that because I act like a bitch. And I don't know how they expect me to just...lie down and take it." She looks over her shoulder at him. "Sometimes it's not like-- Well, I mean, you can burn yourself in one of the kitchens ovens, and you can kick and scream all you want, but if you keep reaching into the oven without putting on a mitt, you're going to keep getting burned, you know?" C'ris starts slowly, but eventually he settles comfortably if quietly into his metaphor as he smile again as she looks at him. "You could just walk away, sure, but then you also don't get food, either. So, sometimes-- You just have to put on the mitt." Then he steps forward, reaching to take the picture and hold it up that bit higher where it would fit better. Yesia relinquishes the picture readily enough, stepping back even as her nose wrinkles at his metaphor, which is, for the record, weird. "What if that doesn't work? What if it still - ah - burns?" "Then you, ah-- Try another oven? I mean, if you've really tried and used the mitt and--." Eventually even the metaphor is too much for C'ris, and there is a sudden quiet laugh that trails after his words that he can't quite finish. "Sorry. I just think, you know, if you wanted to." But he doesn't move away from holding the picture up for her. Whether he intended to or not, Yesia laughs at him. "You're bad at those." But her mouth twists a little. "I'm bad at - " A brisk shake of the head, of those big ringlet curls that are growing and growing nearly to the point that they could be considered long again, "I - do want to. I'm tired." It sounds terrible from someone so young, but months of it makes that the only appropriate word. "That looks nice. Thank you. For - " the frame, the advice, the visit, the shitty metaphor. C'ris offers immediately to the statement, dismissive, "It's no problem." He finally steps away from the wall, setting that framed sketch carefully down on the end table, before he steps forward to Yesia to wrap the greenrider into a brief, comforting hug. "We can both practice, get better. I'll work on that. But--." He draws away, before adding as he remembers, "I can go, so you can rest. I'll come back later to hang it with tools." Yesia goes rigid for a moment under the contact - but it's been a long time, probably, since the stories she sometimes has when she talks to Paz, about how her dad used to hug her after his time in the mines. It's a brief thing, before she seems to appreciate it, and she doesn't try to make it anything more than it already is. "'kay," she agrees into his shoulder before he withdraws, and then issues a short laugh, "I don't have any hanging...things, anyways. Not much to hang." The rigidness wasn't missed; there's a certain carefulness in the way C'ris moves, for all that the man was overall already gentle, in general. "I have some; I used to hang stuff up for-- Well, it doesn't matter. But I'll come back," he tells her, his smile holding the promise there. "Take care, ok? I'll see you tomorrow." And there is one last lingering, concerned look on the bluerider's part, before he moves from the weyr. Yesia is awfully agreeable now, another, "Okay," forthcoming for all of it. When he's gone, she takes the picture in hand, and settles in the big chair while she listens for wings to bear C'ris off. She's pensive, looking at it, but eventually her fingers touch the glass, where her nose and Aeaeth's are touching, and she smiles at the image, for all it was drawn by a stalker. |
Comments
Edyis (18:03, 4 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Not a stalker. -mutter-
This was so cute to read, and that little glimpse of more of Yesia as a person was interesting.
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