Logs:Shhhh
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| RL Date: 12 August, 2015 |
| Who: H'kon, Ulyana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Not a lot of talking. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Not much is a discovery that H'kon has already made. It's the same that doesn't really crowd his plate. But there's a bit of bread, and the scrapings of a porridge left over from the morning. The stern look on his face is, at least, not one of disappointment. In fact, it's likely just his face. When he turns to find Ulyana off his shoulder, he doesn't seem in the least bit concerned with trying to change his expression. He looks the younger rider over. Looks back to the table. Looks to his plate. And he shrugs. All with those eyebrows well in place. Her expression is a bland one, the very image of indifference. Ulyana surveys the possibilities and, with nary a twitch to her features, settles on a fairly dull arrangement of meats on a plate. Dry bits, mostly, likely leftover from lunch and reheated to less-than-stellar results. A few pieces of fruit are examined and ultimately taken, some pocketed and one left to sit precariously alongside the meat on her plate. Her eyes haze, draconic communion yielding the first shift in expression; a wrinkle of her nose in mild distaste that transitions into a study of the cavern in an obvious search for seating. H'kon is, briefly, caught within that look; if her gaze lingers, it might be purely to examine those eyebrows. H'kon watches Ulyana's gathering of food, not in the way of one truly interested, despite the faintly studious look his face gets if only by virtue of the angle to which his head moves as it turns to track, but of one mostly distracted, his eyes left to their own devices, to follow what movement they will. He own motions for a seat don't quite mirror hers, offset enough to be independent. More so when he spots a table that seems suitable, and moves that way, with his meagre assemblage of foodstuffs. Like as not, H'kon's selection is noted; everything else seems to be. Ulyana's judgment, however, remains her own - much like her quest for somewhere to sit. There is no difficulty in finding a place to sit, however; there are plenty of seats open, given the odd hour and paltry food offerings. Yet. There's a momentary distraction, a draconic intervention - inadvertent though it may be - and her steps wind up following after H'kon's own. Though she sits at a different table, it's still within a roll's throw of of the brownrider's own. As soon as she's seated, she picks at the meat, shredding it into smaller bits. H'kon sits when he arrives, though not before producing a spoon he'd pocketed when he'd picked up his plate. The leftover porridge has reached a semi-solid state; it can be sliced into - should be sliced into, rather than scooped. H'kon does this, and puts it in his mouth, and worst yet, seems to enjoy it, the furrow in his brow becoming less deep, if only momentarily. Another slice is made, though this time, he looks about the caverns before lifting it to his mouth. Out to the other spaces, apart from Ulyana. But eventually, his eyes are back on her again, at the end of their track. Knowing where she'd gone. He opens his mouth, and lifts his spoon. He exists only in the most peripheral of senses. The scoop that should be a slice. The apparent pleasure in the congealed mass. Ulyana, for her part, maintains that ambivalent facade while she picks and eats the shredded, dried bits of mystery meat on her plate. Her attention might seem to remain fixed - but, between slow, seemingly calculated blinks, her gaze roams from here to there in a measured manner. H'kon and his porridge are, once again, a point of fixation - curiously, at about the same time that his attention levels on her again. He eats his porridge; she eats her shredded whatever-it-may-be. There wasn't a great deal of it, that porridge. A few more slices and it's gone. H'kon doesn't look at the girl the whole time, though he never makes a roaming gaze of the cavern again. But his plate and food are deserving of his attention as he cuts each mouthful, and that place just beyond his table in the air somewhere also earns some contemplation. There isn't a lot of porridge left, and what was was in the shape of the bowl that had held it since morning. Soon he's on to the roll, which has lost some of its weight to evaporation. Chewy. While chewing, of course, he's turned to the bluerider's table again. Not to her, not this time. To her assortment of food once more. There isn't much for her to process, for all that it takes her a while to do so. Lots of chewing. More than is perhaps necessary. Ulyana finishes up the last few scraps without relish, her attention sliding inexorably inward all the while. Dragon-inspired or otherwise, it's hard to tell. The fruit is next and this is handled with a certain, clinical precision. A knife is removed from her bag, cleaned with a cloth from the same, and the process of cutting the fruit into thin slivers begins. This, at least, looks like a decent offering. Gray eyes momentarily cut askance to the brownrider, if only to mark his position - and, perhaps, confirm the state of his own plate out of abstract curiosity. In that time, he's finished most of that roll. Enough that it's the last bite that enters his mouth when Ulyana looks back to him. He's chewing purposefully now, willing saliva to flow where dry bread would seem to see it removed from his mouth entirely. As he chews, he cleans, ensuring any bits of crumbs or whatnot that may have escaped his plate are gathered up and brushed back down to it. From there, it's a matter of ensuring his fingers are cleared of any visible food bits. It's careful. It's calculated. It's more conscious than most of this has been thu sfar. Some measure of consideration is given to the fruit. The slices are precise; exactly the same size, save for the last, which is a little large owing to a slight miscalculation. Ulyana eats a few pieces - slow, methodical chewing for every crisp slice - while the brownrider proceeds through the ritual of cleaning. Still. Chalk it up to either her understanding of his meal or a fundamental misunderstanding of the depth of her hunger: the remaining pieces of fruit are offered, her arm extended and body twisted just so to allow that oblique presentation. Never mind that he's been cleaning; it's not as if the fruit is oozing fluid everywhere and making a mess. H'kon finishes his process, and gets to his feet. The spoon is set on top of the plate, and the plate is taken in a careful, balanced grip. But for one little clink, there is no noise, no shaking of the dishes. H'kon moves out and past Ulyana's table, the initial response to the offer a shake of his head. Perhaps it's the consideration of his would-be noisy cutlery that takes him so long to stop, to take a few steps back, and reach down for one of those pieces. And nod, once, with a blink in time. And then he's off again, toward the main table to deposit his dishes before making his way out. Observation is made, if from a slight angle. She watches, Ulyana does, but she does not move - neither limbs nor expression. Not until a slice is taken. Not a moment before. And, once taken - and he's on his way - she bundles the remainder of the fruit slices up in a kerchief she brought. Her departure will be some time after his, following his steps - but only to the point where she, eventually, makes her way to her weyr. |
Comments
Alida (02:28, 15 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Add Alida into this, and it would be... weirdly funny, but no less non-social. *Observes* ;)
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