Logs:T'gar, a Poet
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| RL Date: 21 November, 2015 |
| Who: Lys, T'gar, Asaroth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's month 4 of weyrlinghood already. Lys and T'gar have a chat. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today. |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow
clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn,
graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a
reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl
are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to
the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting
some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the
thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy
the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the
bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the
careful to get the job done.
The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is
overall pleasant today. These days, with all the plague-running going around, one particular weyrling pair has not been around much. Of course, T'gar and Asaroth are seen in every class and participating at the most basic level - which some would still label him quite the slacker - but beyond that? His free time has him and his growing bronze aloof from everybody else. This day, the bronze seems to be practicing his flying skills - or diving skills with the way he seems to crash into the lake - while his weyrling is up on the cliff....eating. What else is new? If one were paying attention, Lys could have been sighted walking along the lake shore toward the diving cliff, coming from the direction of the weyrling complex and without, oddly, her lifemate. Footsteps are audible up the stairs as she ascends. The patchwork satchel slung across her shoulder is pulled off immediately, but without haste. Still wearing a fabric mask wound around her head to cover nose and mouth and long armed gloves, she produces a mallet and chisel before offering a greeting to T'gar across the distance, "Alright, T'gar?" T'gar sees Lys coming as he bites through a breadroll. When she's close, approaching him in that fabric mask, his blue eyes light upon that first and the longest - and then on the mallet and chisel. "Have we already gotten to the 'threaten by weapon' stage of our relationship?" is his return greeting, nodding towards her. "With those tools and all. And the plague." Because, she has it, right? His tone certainly says it, but he's not even moving away from her. "Is that a stage you get to in all your relationships with women?" Lys asks, a brow arched in inquiry, but eyes betraying nothing that would indicate she would be at all surprised by an affirmative answer. "They don't think I'll get it, since I haven't already, but they'd rather be safe than sorry. The Weyrlingmaster made it perfectly clear that if I infect any weyrling, she'll be extremely displeased." Instead of heading toward the bronzerider, she moves toward the rock she spent time looking for the last time she was here. "I didn't suppose I'd get it anyhow. There's no one to cry over me if I were to die. Doesn't seem like the kind of thing a plague would waste itself on." Besides, with her sparkling personality, it would happen that Lys would be among the immune (or uninfected, anyway). "The last three," Rat is quick to answer that first one in his Bitran accent. "I don't know what really gets into you women. Why would you have it in the first place?" He's asking about the plague and the face mask now with a frown as he finishes his roll. The rest of what Lys says draws a shake of his head and a, "No one's going to cry? That green of yours may have something to say about that. Her life attached to yours and all." He watches what she's heading - towards that rock now. "You, I suspect, though not me, obviously. No, these are for the rock this time." This time. Lys gives him a long look at that to make sure he understands the implication. She sinks to her knees by the rock, setting her satchel aside as she answers, "I went to see C'ris and he has it, so Quinlys freaked out and told me I had to wear them. And dragons don't cry. She'd between, of course, but, no one would cry about me." "I'm a good catch and you know it," T'gar gives in an open tease as he watches Lys with the rock. "I can be charming when I want to be. This time, huh?" There's a pause as he looks the rock over before he adds, "What are you going to write about this time? Another love letter to your home? A guy this time? It's to that L'ton fellow, isn't it?" His smile is a cheeky one. Asaroth takes another turn trying to glide, seeming to ignore both weyrlings from his vantage. Her last has him leaning back on his elbows with a stretch of muscled arms as he answers her back with a droll, "I find that hard to believe, if this is your home. You seem to know a lot of people here. More than I do." "I do? Based on what, precisely? Your reputation for writing girls sexually explicit letters to keep them bothered for you and the knowledge of the three exes that wanted to take weaponry to you at one point or another? A great catch," clearly. The sarcasm could not be thicker. Lys looks away from the bronzerider to set the chisel and start tapping with her small mallet. "Just adding Evyth's name. Going to surprise her with it when she gets flying well enough. She doesn't like to chance the stairs and the falling." Not exactly a daredevil green is Evyth. "I know a lot of people, but they don't like me," her pause is punctuated by mallet strikes,then she adds, "understandably." Lys's sarcasm draws open laughter from T'gar as he rests his hands up behind his head with a look of someone that hasn't any care in the world when he should. "Well I'm not a man of poetry," he says, as if that's a valid enough reason. "And, I'm not that way with all girls."As she carves, he nods towards the sky then before asking, "How has she been with gliding? I can imagine the greens can pick that sort of thing up a little quicker than the rest. You're not....understandably liked. Do you want to be like?" Lys' mallet stops as she gives T'gar a dubious look. "If you were a poet, that might be worse," she decides before the mallet starts up again. "She loves gliding. Seems like she's more graceful in the air than on the ground. Hard to keep her from using her wings for more than floating. They do have a lot less weight to pull around than bronzes, for sure," she nods towards the one nearest. "How's he doing?" Then, "Not especially. I like my friends to like me, but if they can't still like me in spite of me being-- well, me, then it's not likely our friendship's going to last any length or be of any depth. Besides, Evyth likes me. What more do I need?" T'gar, a poet. He clears his voice, which might be ominous, and then: "'Lyse, like the lace....there's beauty in your face....I see the snarkiness in your gaze....but a frown on you would be a waste?'" Yeah, he just did that on the fly. "Let me know if you want to hear more." As for Asaroth and his gliding, there's a point look going behind her towards the bronze in his attempts as he answers, "Better than hunting, anyway. I think he's still working on feeling his weight. Well, his hunting has been getting better, even. I never really care if anyone doesn't like me," he gives the last with a shrug. "If your friends got a problem with you and don't want to face you with it, then they don't seem much like the sort of friends you want. Fuck them." It's possible that under the mask Lys is gaping at the bronzerider. Her eyes have certainly widened (appalled, not surprised) and the mallet has stopped. "I think you could make a living that way," she tells him, "getting people to pay you not to do that. Ever." She glances briefly toward Asaroth and then back to her work. "Sounds like a solid philosophy," is given of friendship, and she might actually mean that given that there's no other snark and no dripping sarcasm. "Do the drills seem to help him with that? I imagine it's worse on him, all the growing. I bumped into all kinds of things when I got tits, and I imagine this is so much worse." "Hey, that was some solid work off the top, woman," T'gar tells that apalled face of Lys. "Bet it would've worked more if I did that at the bar, after a few drinks." He grunts on his philosophy and nods on her question about drills with, "It seems to. I'm starting to think he likes some of the structure of it all, which, that's nothing like me." But then, tits. Whatever else he was going to say seems to die right on his tongue when his eyes drop right towards those in question. "After a few drinks your pretty face might just make up for the moronic things that come out of your mouth, yeah," Lys agrees, though it doesn't sound like she's actually giving him a compliment. She's not looking at him (possibly purposefully); who wants to watch a guy take in their substantially curvaceous qualities mentioned as being so problematic? "It's interesting that he's different that way. I never thought dragons were echoes of their riders or anything, but it's sort of interesting what kind of dragon we get paired up with. Evy's the sweetest and I--" Well. She breaks off and just beats the chisel with even strokes (of slightly more force than before). "My words are hardly moronic," Rat takes her in stride, watching her with that chisel. "I prefer the words 'playful' and 'catchy'. You're just mad I complimented you. I hear Reachian girls hate that sort of thing. Whereas gifting them with a box of sharp knives would land you under the sheets, naked." After a moment, with a look to Asaroth, "He's definitely not like me," he decides to say more evenly. "He's far too broody. We have some things in common, like, we both hate failing at something. We'll keep trying till it kills us. And you....?" A prompt for her to continue on her differences with Evyth, his eyes meeting her face from her boobs. Lys shakes her head slightly, "I think you think far more about what I think of what you're saying than I do. If you spent that much thought on what you were saying, I might spend more thinking about it." It's all said very matter-of-factly. "I don't want a box of knives either, for the record." The young woman continues on, rounding the bottom of the 'y' artistically. "Broody, hm? I might like him more than I do you," she offers with the look of a smile around her eyes (though it could as easily be a fake one as real with no more clues offered by her masked visage. "She's thoughtful. She makes having connections and a community look effortless, and she's brave." The tips of her ears are pink, hinting at a blush happening under that mask. "I wish I'd met her sooner." She leaves to his imagination which of those qualities she shares with her lifemate (if any). Straightening up, "Likely true, but does that really matter?" is what comes from Rat, the weyrling brushing his hands over his pants. "You're an awfully unshakeable girl. You and Asaroth would get along very well." He's up then, taking a leisurely stretch of legs and arms as his bronze finally glides to a landing on the shore below as he listens on Evyth. He turns to see the progression of her carving, and the slight blush. There's a pause from him as if he's processing what she says, and then, "There's some out there that believe these dragons show us how we should be," he chooses to say then with a small shrug. "Not a stitch," is exactly how much it matters. Lys doesn't contest his assertion of her, but what intelligent woman would so readily offer up her weaknesses? The script in the rock is feminine but simple with no extra elaborations. It's just below the spot on the rock where she must have, some time ago, chiseled a line through 'Lycinea' and placed beside it 'Lys.' "And what do you say? Would you like to be more like him?" "I think, in my situation, it will be me influencing him rather than the other way around," Rat tells Lys as he watches her carve. Stepping away, back towards the steps, "Otherwise, I don't think I could be the way he is. Broody doesn't look good on me. I should probably get him bathed and fed before drills." "I'll take your word on that." Lys tells him, pausing in her progress to tilt her head to look back at him "Good luck with that. The influencing." She seems to mean that but that's the last that she offers before bending back to the task to finish off the 't' and do the 'h' to mark their names forever together til time enough has passed that they might both be erased. "It wouldn't be my intention," T'gar says on influencing with a strange look stealing over his features at least briefly before smoothing away. "But yeah. Good luck with that carving and legacy on the rock-thing, too." There's only slight amusement there before's heading down from the cliff and off towards the shore to meet his dragon. |
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