Logs:First Month Challenges
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| RL Date: 29 October, 2015 |
| Who: C'ris, Lys, Telavi, Evyth, Solith |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'ris and Evyth are sweet. Lys is not. Telavi has a tunnelsnake that may or may not be sweet, but is not for eating so the world will never know. Solith is sweet. So are the pastries C'ris brought. Things go oddly awry. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#392RJLs) >----------------<
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a
large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the
bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the
furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed
chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone
tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the
tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the
room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a
detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden
door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance
is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the
barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also
home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old
and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable. "I don't know," Lys' voice holds tolerant amusement and carries both a little ways outside of the cavern and a little and within. Evyth's head is cocked in a way that all but says the 'But why?' her lifemate is lacking an answer for. The green is peering out into the bowl, her eyes on one of the larger dragons farther off and away. Lys' eyes are on Evyth. It might be easy to think that the blonde hasn't noticed anyone or anything outside of her lifemate since they left Impression, save for the few bits of evidence that, no, she really is still somewhat grounded in the world of here and now. In the flurry of snowfall, there is one man trudging, alone, towards the weyrling barracks. His head is ducked and shoulders hunched against the cold, but it's the basket under the curve of his ribs that he is attempting to protect for all that it's already covered with cloth. It's the sound of the weyrling's voice that brings the bluerider's intense focus up from the trail he forges in the snow, brown eyes bright with the same smile that catches easily at his lips. "Hey there!" is greeted as he approaches. Lys' blue-green eyes flick away from Evyth and to C'ris at his greeting, her eyes briefly narrowing as if C'ris has already made some misstep in distracting her from what are no doubt important questions. Evyth, on the other hand, turns her little head and warbles the cheeriest of cheery greetings to the assistant to assistants. Her happiness translates into a little vibrating bounce as she heads his way, Lys trailing with half-resigned expression. (The other half is annoyed.) "Bluerider C'ris, sir," she intones in a way that might suggest mockery of the etiquette practice. "Look at how big you are!" C'ris exclaims first to Evyth, that smile only joined with a huff of warm laughter at her cheery warble. His basket gets readjusted so that he can drop down into a crouch at the entrance of the weyrling complex, extending the arm without the basket to scratch at Evyth's headknobs gently. It's only after that he looks up to offer in friendly tones, "Lys, hey. You, uh, don't have to call me sir. C'ris is good." Evyth's happiness goes up a notch at the bluerider's compliment, but with it comes a sweet bashfulness that has the green ducking her head shyly, the intended scratch ending up finding neck instead of headknobs, but that's quickly corrected as soon as the intention is understood. It's possible that in C'ris' friendliness, Lys sees only weakness, or perhaps she just doesn't appreciate the familiarity with her dragon. Arms fold across her chest. "Actually, sir, the rules this month say we're to show proper respect. It's one of the only things other than caretaking we're supposed to be practicing." Lys doesn't generally strike as the type to be concerned with what she's supposed to be doing though, so motivation for informing him of that... well. "Right, I know; sorry," C'ris says, apologizing to her without any sense of shame or sarcasm. Instead, he continues scratching fingernails lightly, thoughtfully against her dragon's hide as he considers her in a quick study. "But, uhm, you'd be doing me a favor? By calling me C'ris? I mean, I'm not one of your actually weyrlingmasters, so you don't have to worry. And I'll continue to call you Lys." Even with their passing interactions, it seems Lys is still trying to get a read on C'ris, given how she looks at him while he apologizes. "Do you think Weyrlingmaster Quinlys would excuse me if she overheard me being so casual with you if I explained to her that I was doing you a favor?" The question that's really being posed is: how would that look. One could guess that Lys doesn't actually care how it would look, but it's in her nature to challenge. Evyth's warble is quiet, but concerned. C'ris is quick to drop his hand away from Evyth at the quiet concern, as if he might be the cause of it. It frees his hand, at least, to ruffle at fluffy hair in a mild gesture as he answers, "I don't-- You know, if I asked you too, I don't think she's going to blame you. Or me, I hope. She's not that tough on everyone, but don't tell her I told you that." He smiles reassuringly to the weyrling. "If you'd rather call me sir, though, I mean--. That's fine too." "Explain to me, sir," is just barely a request, "why I should call you 'C'ris' instead of 'sir'?" Lys evidently ignores her lifemate's concern, the wedged head now turning between one and the other. "I'd prefer it?" C'ris offers gently, the smile dimming slightly at Lys' response. He straightens away from Evyth, tall again so that he can look down at the weyrling rather than up. Lys' eyebrows lift slow enough to make her dubiousness clear even before she speaks. Evyth shifts to press herself against the young woman's leg and a hand falls reflexively to resume the headknob scritching. "No offense, sir," always a promising beginning, "but I don't think your personal preference is a good enough reason to take the chance." "Yeah, no, that's fine. Whatever you prefer, Ly-- miss-- weyrling," the bluerider agrees, stumbling over his own title for the greenrider. But, he quickly then, despite the light blush to his cheeks, hefts his basket in a gesture. "I should get these in there for the others before they get cold. Do you want one?" But he is moving past her anyways, into the cavern proper and towards one of the stone tables. "Weyrling Lys," Lys helpfully informs him. If only she didn't, he might get to escape, only Lys turns to follow after him with a briefly triumphant look at Evyth who seems to have mixed feelings judging from the whirl of her eyes, but follows on with her rider all the same. "What are they? I probably do. I'm hungry." And things that get cold sound like food to Lys. Snowflakes are still caught in C'ris' fluffy hair, and he pays an intent amount of attention to his basket as he sets it down on the table and goes through the process of untucking the linen that covers the goodies inside. "Pastries from the kitchens. Some plain and some berry-filled and some cheese," he explains, pointing out each type uncannily. He mumbles, almost to himself but not quite, "I should have brought klah, too." He keeps twitching the cloth, rearranging it again carefully. Speaking of hungry: Telavi marches out from the barracks proper, a thick rope held at arm's length. Except it's not a rope, it's a partially gnawed and overlarge-- "Ugh," she announces of the tunnelsnake. Not happily. If the berry pastries called Telavi's name, that tunnelsnake seems to be calling Evyth's name for no sooner does Lys have a cheese pastry in hand, thoroughly distracted, does the green dash toward the whiskey blonde. Lys' eyes must catch the move faster than her mental attention for it's a sightly delayed, "Evy, don't charge Tela!" and a scramble that takes the blonde possibly into (or barely around) in her haste to get to the dragon whose intent on tasting that something new. C'ris is delayed even longer in noticing the dashing green and the entrance of the assistant weyrlingmaster, only catching sight of them both in the same moment and not quite piecing together what is in Telavi's hand until-- "Shit. I mean, uh. I can take care of that for you, if you want to--." But there's a green and a weyrling even as he's trying to step forward to try to take it from Telavi as well, like a gentleman. "Ew! No!" Tela holds it up high, but of course that just means the tail-- or was it the head? chewed like that, it's hard to tell-- dangles enticingly. "Lys? Don't let her scratch my trous, please-- yes. Yes, take this. Do you think Mivength would... dispose of it for us?" she asks once she realizes just what C'ris is offering, and she'll swing it his way to grab if she has to. Evyth rears, stretching her neck as far as it can go. Lys quickly shifts herself around the bluerider, "Wouldn't you rather have a pastry?" is her attempt to distract. It makes the green pause. Pastries aren't already bloody, but... She turns her nose to sniff, creating a window for a handoff if the full fledged riders are quick about it. C'ris grabs at that half-chewed tunnelsnake quickly, yes, even if it means that he has to dig nails in to keep from fumbling it. He winces, uncomfortably, but he only assures Telavi after, "Don't worry. I'll get rid of it. And then wash my hands." He wiggles the creature in his hand in a gesture towards the basket. "There's some pastries over there--." He glances to Evyth, and then starts moving out of the cavern. "I would rather have a pastry," Telavi breathes wistfully, but priorities. One of which, once she's gratefully passed off the 'snake, is not inhaling through her nose; another is, "My poor gloves. I don't know if they're going to be the same again. Isn't that sweet, though? Pastries." "Ew, no," it's Lys' turn to make a face at Evyth, who is only partly contrite. "She wants to lick your gloves," one greenrider explains to the other with wrinkled nose, even as she offers down her pastry to the green to sniff at extensively before tongue flicks out to taste (cheese first). "Is it-- bad for dragons to have the kinds of things we eat?" She seems to have real reason to want to know this tidbit of caretaking knowledge. C'ris' absence seems to go wholly unnoticed by the self-centered weyrling. Tela brightens; "I don't mind if she licks my gloves, as long as she doesn't bite. Or--" now it sinks in. Hushed, "Don't let the bakers see you do that. They could deem us unworthy for sevens. If... if it's your own portion not someone else's, and it's a tiny bit, I don't imagine it would hurt? Just be a waste." She even wiggles her fingers, glove-protected and all. The word 'waste' has Evyth suddenly straightening and looking up at Telavi with her big, big baby eyes, so hurt. Lys' sharp intake of breath and then squinch of eyes indicates the difference of opinion. "I'm sure she didn't mean it like that, Evy. I'll share mine; I never need as much as I'm allowed to have," is said in a soothing tone even as she crouches down to offer up the rest of her pastry. "Like what?" Tela wonders distractedly, even as she heads for the bowl after C'ris, only surely she'll be back sooner, only a short little scoop and scrub. "Like..." Lys starts, but stalls, biting her lip. It makes Evyth croon, distraught. Because Tela probably meant it exactly like that. "I'll be right back," Tela promises and, after a glance askance at Evyth, she will. To Solith, Evyth's feelings come first: worry, distress, concern. Then her sweet voice, the naturally ebullient quality muted. « Why does Tela think it's a waste for Lys to share with me if it makes me happy and she doesn't mind? » Lys' nod is simple to the other greenrider, but her expression doesn't try to hide worry as she looks to the little green. This is Lys not having the answer. Or at least, not the one that fixes things. She meets with a fluttering: the emotions, but also the name. « What? » Solith means, « What is it, Evyth? » All this, it's new. (To Evyth from Solith) Scrub, scrub, scrub, and Tela returns, already inching off her gloves, so delicately. There's a sound that is a wordless noise that mixes Evyth's feelings together and gives them a new form of expression. « Well, I wanted to eat the tunnelsnake Tela had, and Lys said I shouldn't, and Tela and C'ris thought I shouldn't, but it smelled interesting and so Lys offered me some of her pastry and asked if it would hurt me because Lys eats such yummy things and I just want-- I just want to taste them, » it's confessed with a little bit of apology now, « and Tela says it's a waste. But if I want it, and Lys will give it to me, why is it a waste? » She just doesn't understand, but it sounds a lot like Tela might think it's worthless to make your lifemate happy and that-- well, is worrisome. (To Solith from Evyth) Lys is still looking at Evyth when Telavi returns, then, with decision, she goes and helps herself to three pastries. Two berry and one cheese. She offers one berry to Telavi once the gloves are safely away. The other berry is for the green and the cheese, presumably for herself. All done silently, with no offered explanation or accounting for Lys' sense of 'her portion' of these pastries. Oh! Solith half-forgets the original concern in favor of storytime, though of course it creeps in after. « If you were bigger, you could have had it, if you still wanted it, » Solith is happy to assure. If there are varieties of tunnelsnakes, what of it? « Or if she chopped it for you, so it was small, and did not catch in your throat. She does not want it to catch in your throat and make you make those noises, » those getting-sick noises Solith's able to mimic so well. The rest is harder, her sunniness clouded; it takes some figuring out. « Did she... know it's only a little taste? » Solith wonders uncertainly. « We eat much more than humans do, » and within her thoughts is a sense that bloody things are much tastier, why would Evyth even want it? but if she does want it... it's just confusing, that's all, and a little uncomfortable too. (To Evyth from Solith) Tela accepts it with thanks, once she's sniffed at her fingertips a little and then a little more; she does also keep an eye on the remaining pastries, and more importantly for other weyrlings, that she might be quick to snatch a cheese of her own should there prove to be an invading horde. Her lips have gotten a little tight. Solith's confusion engenders more confusion in young Evyth. « I just-- she likes what she tastes, and I'm curious and I like things that taste good, and they taste good to her and-- » she trails off the explanation, her touch in sudden withdrawal from the older green. How does one explain why one wants what one wants when that wanting is more visceral than mental? (To Solith from Evyth) Lys isn't even half way through her new pastry, one hand still holding out the berry one to Evyth, when the green croons softly, pathetically. The green has only nibbled, something curbing her desire and appetite in the here and now. "Yes, my darling, we can go oil you." The fact that the weyrling looks to the whiskey blonde and with unusual manners says, "Excuse us, please," is probably a marker of both their friendship and whatever's gone amiss here, but the pair don't waste time heading to the barracks and the oil vats. Some of this Solith can understand, and there's even an, « Oh! » ...but such a withdrawal sends her bit of breeze this way, that way about the edges. She doesn't chase, but rather circles, drawing in those disrupted bits before they can become yet more uncertain. (To Evyth from Solith) Telavi doesn't stop her, even has an encouraging murmur, but there's a bit of color to her cheeks; she doesn't even follow to see whether the green gets more elsewhere, out of sight. Even into the evening, there's work to be done, and the greenrider knows just where to find it. |
Comments
Alida (01:43, 30 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Poor Evyth.
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