Logs:Greenrider Gossip 2
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| RL Date: 19 August, 2015 |
| Who: Telavi, Yesia |
| Involves: Southern Boll Hold, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Do Telavi and Yesia do anything but gossip? Not usually. |
| Where: Lava Lounge, Southern Boll |
| When: Day 8, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Bristia/Mentions, B'ren/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Laine/Mentions, Oisa/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, R'van/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions, Z'kiel/Mentions |
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| Telavi's leaning back in one of those sky chairs, the tips of her long hair perilously close to the floor; a few slender braids twine within the blonde wave, caught up with shell pins, but mostly it's loose the way it almost never was on duty. Her sandaled feet are up, and she's smiling at the pretty pink drink she's balanced above her navel. Then she tilts her head to smile just as peacefully at her friend. "How does it feel?" "I didn't die!" seems to be the primary answer to how she's feeling, curled up in her own chair and looking alternately down at the floor where Telavi's hair might touch (gross) or at the other greenrider herself. "And," this is the best part, "You can be my friend now, not just my boss with all the mean rules." Yesia's own drink is not pink, though her regret for that is gone now; it's green, because it seemed appropriate on the menu to order a dragon after her own heart, and it's also half gone already. It's not going to touch. People walk on that floor. Sometimes it's even sticky, though it's not like Tela's tested it in that particular location. Still, if that's the second most scary thing tonight, that's not so bad. "We can. Isn't that lovely?" Tela's isn't half-gone, but that's because it's just barely her second. While she's at it, "Which rule would you get rid of first?" Her toes wiggle. She flicks her fingers in the air, as though swatting some poor vtol-- or rule-- away. "The one where you chopped my hair off," Yesia says, reaching up to touch her locks. They're getting there again, growing quickly now that they're not being shorn every two sevens to curtail their growth. She wraps a big ringlet around her finger and stretches it out with a bright smile, to show how long it's gotten. "That's the meanest, cruelest thing to ever happen. I could have braided it, Tela." Pout. Telavi duly admires it, with a flutter of her lashes rather than of her hands-- she has, after all, a glass to hold! "You could have," she consoles the way she hadn't then, with not even a word for the likely consequences. "And it would have grown long, Yesia, so, so long, and then if someone whose name need not be mentioned kept burping in class, you could have strangled them with it." "Ew, no!" Yesia says, shaking her head. "No no, he would have gotten it so greasy and then you would have had to cut it all off anyways. I could have just used my hands, if Quinlys had stopped acting like he wasn't doing it on purpose." A deep breath; a wistful little sigh. She twists in the sky chair, making it sway a little, and says, "And now that Aeaeth's already flown, the only milestone I have left is hoping someone actually wants me, or I'll stay in Cirrus forever. As my own Wingleader. Until there is another clutch." "Oh, I suppose," Telavi says with a little moue. "Or I could have told him to wash himself first, but then that might spoil the effect, not nearly as dramatic." She peeks at Yesia. "Someone will pick you, I know they will," if only because Quinlys demands her vacation. "Though it would be fun to see you as a wingleader, though, not as much fun without someone to be wingleader over, don't you think?" Yesia wrinkles her nose pertly. "You can't wash some things out of people, Telavi. It's in his skin forever." But for the rest she has a little hum of consideration and, "I don't need to be over anyone. Taking care of other people's messes is a waste, when I can try and do it right myself, now. It wouldn't be like when I ran it with Laine." Sighs for that, because that month fell just short of a fiasco. "I want to go to Iceberg," she says eventually. "H'vier said he would take me, if I wanted." There's a giggle and then... "Yes," says Telavi, about her doing it herself now. Sigh, sighs Telavi, commiserating. "But he hasn't? Did he think better of it? I mean, since you're..." Now Telavi can even wrinkle her nose, pertly. Yesia's defiant little chin-lift is no stranger, certainly, but perhaps in context with Telavi it is, especially when accompanied by that single eyebrow arching. "Since I'm...?" "Since you two are," Telavi uses a very much not-weyrling-approved term for all that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, blue-green eyes dancing. "I mean, when you had enough of, 'Ooh, wingleader, sir!" in the huskiest, most breathless tone imaginable , "if you got bored with him and then he put you on dawn sweeps forever, and not the fun kind." It's clearly very, very hard not to break her defiance with Telavi's impression, even if the suggestions Telavi is making are not in line with what Yesia views as unshakable reality right now. To cover her smile - which tightens at the corners of her mouth as she triest to suppress it - Yesia just takes a drink of that green thing in her hand, a long one that leaves it less than a quarter full. "I don't call him wingleader," she corrects when she's regained her composure. "I just - maybe that's what happened. I thought..." Shrug. "I don't know who would want me then. I haven't been a glowing example of weyrlinghood." Telavi dimples. Oh yes, she dimples. "'Sir,' then," she has to say it out loud. The rest doesn't go over nearly as well; she glances away, and drops a toe just long enough to give that hanging chair a push as though it could swing her-- and by extension Yesia-- away from all those problematic things. "There'll be someone. It's better if it isn't someone with their nose too high in the air, like some of those other wings." Now Yesia throws her head back and laughs, a bright sound of genuine amusement, no trying to tamp it down. "Ewwww, Tela!" The humour at least leaks into the rest of their conversation. As they swing back, she doesn't sound entirely disheartened, remarking, "I liked Icicle. Well. Aeaeth liked Icicle, because they taught her loop-de-loops. I liked Bristia, too - but not Savannah, just her." She puts the corner of her straw in her mouth and chews it thoughtfully. "Who do you think has their noses too high?" "Bristia--" sighed not with the huskiness of before, but with so much admiration. Tela doesn't take offense at Yesia's not liking her wing; in fact, "Some people might even say Savannah," she teases. After a peek to make sure nobody's watching, much less listening, "B'ren, don't you think? I mean, he's good, and he must have been handsome once upon a time, but he's been wingleader forever and he knows everything... and he's not even exciting. But those rumors about him and Irianke, I just don't know, maybe it would be good to be in the Weyrleader's wing if he's going to be that? and if Farideh isn't, isn't going to be the Weyrwoman that is? but what if she is, what if R'van or Z'kiel fly her, what are we going to do." "Right," Yesia says of the Savannah rider with wistful and bodily sigh that pushes her bonelessly back into the chair. "She's amazing. I don't know how she makes it seem so easy." She gives Telavi a sidelong look. "I don't think R'hin likes me." Which scratches that off her list. "I wouldn't want to be with B'ren. I kept falling asleep, and he's -- well. I wouldn't want to be under the weyrleader, would I? It just seems like he'd watch more closely than anyone else. Maybe Polaris?" The look she gets at the mention of Z'kiel and R'van is appalled, and she makes a small gagging sound. "I would move to Monaco." "Maybe it's being a harper," Telavi muses, "though that wouldn't explain her hair." Perhaps rapt in that thought, she's no help in confirming what R'hin may or may not like; by then she's giggling over poor Yesia and the sick-up thought. "Southern's nicer," she teases loyally. "It wasn't bad at all being in Z'ian's wing when he was the weyrleader; you wouldn't have fallen asleep then, he was fun. But then there was Oisa," she of the ugh which Telavi reiterates right now. "I knew I should have gone into a craft," laments Yesia. "But B'ren isn't Z'ian, I think. Just based on what I heard." Oisa can't have possibly wronged the greenrider, but her expression turns ugh in sympathy, teeth closing down on her straw. "Southern then. Even though, Z'kiel might be an okay Weyrleader one day. Just not him and Farideh. And not R'van and anyone." "He is so not Z'ian,'" the other greenrider can hear it from Telavi right now. "He's at Southern, come to think of it. I wonder if Jo still visits him? As long as you and R'van aren't in the same wing, we'll all survive," she's pretty sure anyway. "Or me and Edyis," Yesia says distractedly, sucking down the rest of her drink with gusto and then regarding Telavi's a little enviously. It's pink, after all. "Maybe I'll ask to move to Southern," she teases, "since Igen fell through, and all." "Oh, you and Edyis," Telavi says warmly, as might one who fully expects to never ever have to deal with harnessing the two of them again, ever. She's starting to notice Yesia glance at her drink, or at least she's starting to look like when she's noticing, and her glass lifts like she might even offer when-- "Yesia." Telavi pouts at her. "Don't be mean." Yesia's expression softens a little at the scolding. "Sorry," she says, "I was only teasing. I...think I'll like it here. I like it more already. Promise." This may have something to do with a particular wingleader, or perhaps just time has worn her down. "You don't think they'd put us in the same place, do you? I can barely stand her." Telavi gives Yesia a stern look that isn't very, and then she spoils it further in the other direction by biting her lip. "I hope not." Only, "They get strange ideas." She sips her drink, and then sips it a little, sips it deep. But then she quickly offers, "Why don't you try this? So you know what you want for your next one?" Yesia shakes her head, stretching just long enough to make her spine pop a little before she scoots forward, careful with her empty glass, to get out of the chair. "I'll get my own," she says, because, "It's pink, and you like it. Nothing can go wrong there." She looks thoughtful about the wings for just a moment, says, "I hope they don't get any ideas. Do you want another?" Tela's eyes widen a little, not dramatically, but touched. "Surprise me," she says a little gently, kicking back her heels, like nothing could go wrong there either-- or if it does it's part of the fun. |
Comments
Edyis (15:41, 23 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I feel sorry for Snowdrift, I really do.
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