Logs:Unromantical
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 July, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'mic has big news. Faryn has frustration. |
| Where: Stables, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
  |
Stables, High Reaches Weyr Taking advantage of a natural overhang in the side of the mountain for its roof, this building boasts sturdy stone construction braced by beams of tough-as-nails skybroom. Just inside a pair of broad doors, the ceiling rises a full two stories high for the full length and half the width of the building. Beneath the overhang, wide windows admit light and more fresh air, while opposite is the second-story hayloft. The stables' main focus, however, is the double rows of stalls that line the walls below: one large stall serving as tack room, the rest housing a remarkable variety of beasts. They disappeared from the skyline; the reappeared relatively shortly thereafter. That was still in the morning. Most of the afternoon was spent in victorious eating and oiling and headbutting. It's getting toward supper time now, and at least the initial adrenaline has worked its way through T'mic and Jorrth's respective systems. The blue wants sleep now. His rider probably does, too, but first, there's a Thing. So they both put it off, and Jorrth lets T'mic down near the stables, much too big now to go inside with him, though he sets up so he can at least see a bit inside. T'mic, once in, breathes in the smell of hay and familiarity deeply, spreading his chest and ribs, and seems quite unable to keep from smiling even as he looks around for Faryn. She has to be here. It makes too much sense. At first, she isn't. The stables are empty, the tack room too, and if he manages ot make it up to the hayloft and back down it might seem like the barn is completely empty save for the whickering runners. It's the clip-clop of another runner that hails her from the side of the building, bringing with her a young horse that looks tired enough to sleep where she stands. Faryn's coddling her in that gentle way she has, praising her, encouraging her with a sugarcube that she has in her palm and just out of reach, a modified carrot and stick. The runner doesn't have far to go, which is probably why the filly dips her head in dismay when Faryn stops, spotting T'mic, and says, a bit flat, "Hi." The runner doesn't say hi. She mouths insistently at Faryn's hair. Put me away. T'mic hasn't got up the ladder yet, but he's got a hand on the nearest rung when he turns. Jorrth cranes his neck to try and see whence they came, Faryn and that runner - even if he now knows enough about runners that, had she passed right in front of him, she'd still likely have been saved a happy headbutt. Her greeting can be flat; T'mic doesn't stop smiling for it. "Hey," he says. And, "Between's really cold." It's a full-on grin, then. Poor runner, disregarded by the rider. Faryn says, "Oh, you did it." It's not exactly surprised; her confidence in his capabilities, in most regards, remains intact. Jorrth's prying eye is met with a glare she's softened at the edges, and a warning: "Don't you scare her. She's new, and flighty and tired." All sound reasons for him to shoo. "It's very cold, yes. And empty and strange. I'm not really a fan, except it makes everything feel warmer, after. Even Reaches winters. 'Scuse me." Faryn guides the horse around him to a stall, ushers her in, and begins removing tack, thorough in her duties even though they won't be hers much longer. "Which means you can go anywhere on Pern, right? Back to Benden?"" "This morning." It's an excitement that refuses to die, not today. Jorrth doesn't shoo. But he does take a step back from the front of the stables, and dip down and make himself a bit smaller. She's new. She's interesting for that reason, then. Also, T'mic is recounting their accomplishment, and Jorrth is not above pride in it. The bluerider sidesteps so Faryn can get through, nodding. "It's so different though. With him, instead of like... some green or brown. And we've got some more practice runs, and there's gonna be weyrlingmasters, but I've asked 'em if we can do Benden soon as possible." He's leaning up on the door of the stall. And after a fleeting daydreamy look, thinks to ask, "Need a hand?" Faryn doesn't, and waves a hand at him. "Faster if I do it alone," she says with a look that isn't meaningful, it's not. But the fact remains that she's practiced, and half the work is done already. She's got the reins draped over her neck, a whip wrapped and tucked into the back pocket of her trousers, and is working on the cavesson with the sugarcube still out of reach. "I can only imagine," she says, with a smile that has a few too many teeth to be happy. She is, though, mostly giving that smile to the side of the runner, and not to T'mic directly. "They said okay, didn't they? That they'd take you? Have you seen your family since --" a gesture outside. Since Jorrth, presumably. T'mic shakes his head. "Didn't even really see them then." Presumably, he's thinking of the hatching. "Wasn't much point in them coming later. It's hard to get a ride for that many people anyway, and we had like no time, and I... I want to go there, you know? Us." But the words have slowed, and he's watching Faryn a little more carefully now, as she works - and not just her back pockets, either. "Mmm. It's good to go home, Grounds you," the herder intones softly, removing the cavesson and draping it over the stall door. Finally, the runner is allowed that coveted cube of sweetness. Faryn pats the runner's nose gently, considers the gate, and then moves around to find something else to do in the stall; in this case, it's to check the water trough. "Your family will like meeting him. You two will have a good time." Us = Them. "Yeah." Agreement. Certainty. T'mic can't help but be happy for that runner. He leans a bit more on the stall door, forearms going flat over it, chin resting, as he peers on into her world, watches her, still. "You got anywhere you want to go?" "Nah," Faryn says after a moment that suggests she considered it. "I've been gone a lot, and - well - Farideh's going to keep me busy soon. She's a hot mess." It's not unkind. She's sympathetic, more than anything. "Tillek, Ista, Benden. I even made it to Keroon to -- the Hall, but that wasn't leisure, really. Nobody goes to Keroon for vacation. No," she repeats. "Unless there's really a forest that rains sweet tarts." T'mic sends a glance away from the stables, out, out all the way to where Jorrth waits. "No harm in looking for one, anyway," he decides after his own moment, the one of conversing, as much as consideration. "There's lots of places I haven't been." His chin hits his forearms again, he heaves a sigh, though not an unhappy one, and murmurs, "Faranth. I never really' thought about it, before? The stuff we can do. Just... can do, just 'cause of how it is." Water's fine. So's the food. She checked. She mirrors his posture, sort of; it's hard for someone her height to actually rest her chin on a runner's back, but Faryn can put her temple against the soft flank and look at him, finally. "Maybe," she acknowledges eventually, "I can't explore all of Pern with you, though. And, when you get tapped, you'll just have drills and duties all over again, right? It seems like freedom now, until your plans to be a weyrlingmaster take hold and Quinlys drills you into the ground again about all these things you'll be expected to teach." A shrug for it all. "You can show me places you find, though. I'd like to see them." If T'mic's face weren't attached to him, it might've fallen so far it'd slid right off, with all that. "We won't always be able to do everything," he nods, somber now. "And maybe... maybe you won't always be able to come along, 'cause with them," a gesture to that runner in the stall, "or Farideh. But, well," and now he stands up, pushing off the stall door (creak?), "why's that have to mean we can't at least explore a little together?" Faryn watches that with a twinge that almost becomes a frown in the very neutral facade she's maintained thus far. She keeps it admirably at bay. "I just -- worry? You've spent a lot of energy splitting time between him and duties and...everything. Maybe he needs you, just you, you guys together for a while. Like when he was little. New things, new sights. Everything's neat and interesting." Her apprehension is palpable. "I just don't want -- until he adapts, I feel like I'm the third wheel." T'mic gives that its due consideration, whatever sudden push of motion that had started with his standing up from his lean brought to an end with this. And in time, a big hand comes to rub at the bridge of his nose, just on one side. And he reaches for the stall door, this time so that he can get inside. Hi, new runner. And then, hi, Faryn. "It's not 'splitting'. Not with duties and not with free time and not with you." "Isn't it? He's -- like having a kid." Which speaks for itself, maybe, but now they're all in that stall, and the runner huffs a breath for feeling crowded. "Shh," she murmurs to her, smoothing her pale mane. "Maybe I'm selfish, but I don't want to feel like that. Like I'm making you choose. And you will have to choose, sometimes." T'mic looks to the runner again - and then, to Faryn and the runner. "Sometimes, yeah. But not all the time." He nearly crosses his arms, then makes a point of not. "He's fine if I hold your hand. Faranth, that's how he met me. And he likes when we're talking, and not just fighting over all this. And as soon as he gets it that the whole feeling in the pants stuff is part of the same, I really think it'll be okay. You know, the general idea of it he's okay with now like he wasn't before. It's just different with you, that's all. 'Cause it's you." He means it well. He has to, with the way he's looking at her. Even while the fingertips on one hand have reached out absently behind him, toward the blue. "I'm not fighting," the herder establishes at once, contrary despite her words. "I don't want to fight," is even more firm. Hemmed in as she is on multiple sides, it's inevitable that she does cross her arms, protectively, uncomfortably. "That's the point. It's me. I shouldn't be annoyed with him, or you, but I am; and I know I can't be, because he's not even fully grown. He'll get it, because he has to, but -- if that's because he chases some green and catches her? Or doesn't and you - " She makes a sound in her throat that's not entirely pleasant. "You understand?" And it's just as inevitable that T'mic will notice, and, in this instance at least, will lean back, even shuffle a little, if not a full step. "Yeah, I understand." He tongues at his teeth, this time managing a bit of a weird suck-pop noise that's too loud and not intentional. It needs words to follow it. "Faryn, we're not gonna know if he gets it if we stop like... doing anything. And then what if we lose all the rest, too? I only want you, and we've been talking about that, him and me, and... well. Isn't getting all ready and then nothing happening worse for guys anyway?" Faryn's expression deadpans, and she says drily, "I think I could make a case for why it's worse for me," and blessedly she doesn't. But the rest of his argument has it's points, made in that succinct and innocent way of his. "I get that you're a rider now. I don't care that you will sleep with other people, when he decides he wants to chase. It's just that we're waiting for him. I'm not as patient as you. With him, or in general." That he's backed off relaxes her shoulders slightly, allows her to dip her chin. "Are you saying he's almost ready? That we can...what, exactly, do you think he can handle?" "I don't know. I mean, he's woken up before when I've been," and he's partway through a hand gesture before realising that it's all been said out loud. Faranth. T'mic goes that familiar reddish colour. "It's not supposed to be all this, planning and stuff. Way I wanted it was just to be in one of those times you know, where everything just falls right, and it's just easy." At some point in all this, a big hand has come up to spot more or less over his heart. And then it falls away, and he tucks his hands into his back pockets instead. "And in the hayloft," is an attempt at levity, but probably also true. "I don't know. Maybe we start with what I do for you that doesn't have you rubbing right up on me so quick I almost- Faranth." Faryn's got the grace to hear him out, the whole time, without interrupting or cutting him off even though a couple times her mouth opens so quickly the words must burn her tongue to stay unspoken. "The hot springs would have been one of those times," she notes, and who cares if that would sully the spot for everyone now and future. "The hayloft. Is that--?" then she laughs. Finally. A low, breathless thing that scrapes humor. If she had ears like a dog, or like the filly standing with them, they would perk noticably at his last. "I think...you might be underestimating how that works, T'mic." By a long shot. "But -- if you insist." Twist her arm, why don't you. She steps into him, pokes him in the chest to make sure he knows the warning that follows is serious. "But you'd better finish what you start, we do that." Probably, hopefully?, they're talking about different things when T'mic points out, "I know how that works. It's not like I've always had Jorrth to protect." And still, there manages to be a tendril of affection in that name. Adorable. He looks straight down to where that chest-poke has landed. "I don't know what we're even talking about," is all sorts of honest. "But I'll try." And so will Jorrth. Faryn rolls her eyes, so long suffering. "What have I gotten myself into?" It doesn't quite match the affection T'mic has for Jorrth - but that's a hard thing to manage, probably. She withdraws her finger, shoves her hands into her jacket pocket, and angles towards the stall door. "You'll catch on," she tells him, mild. "But not today. I have work to finish." In answer, T'mic just grins at her, and sidles back, out the door, no doubt much to the runner's relief. "Sure." And then, "Hey, Faryn? We got to go between today." "I'm proud of you," comes her response. "You'll have to show me." "We will." And now he can go. |
Comments
Roz (17:17, 12 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
OH STAHP IT. THEYRE TOO CUTE.
Leave A Comment