Logs:A Love Letter
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| RL Date: 19 April, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo finds Lya writing a love letter. Lya stumps Jo. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Keysi/Mentions, Leova/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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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.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly
warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the
air. Two days after the afternoon hatching that had so many finding their lifemates on the sands, Lycinea is crouched at the top of the diving cliff, with a chisel in hand, tapping away at the already graffitied rock. It's nearing the dinner hour, but the sun has yet to set over the spires, offering her still the last of the natural light to work by. It's a long name, hers is, but she's determinedly marking it into the stone. Here under the cloudless expanse of sky, her frame has an ease to it that has not been seen in recent days. Her nice blue blouse has been tossed aside to rest by her waterskin, leaving her in her off-white sleeveless undershirt and hiked up brown skirt. She could've dressed better for this dirty, sweaty, work, but that doesn't seem to bother her. The work is what's important here, not what she's wearing. The blue bulk of Tacuseth suddenly drops from the sky to dive right into the lake with a splash. It's even more sudden that Jo is there, hiking up the diving cliff with a small, dirty-looking basket hanging from one arm. Whether she knows the cliff is occupied or not, the black leather clad bluerider is heading Lycinea's way to reach somewhere close to the edge - so that she can easily spot her dragon. At least she gives a greeting as she drops down to her knees: "Carvin' a love letter o'er there?" Blue-green eyes lift to the black leather-clad woman when she speaks, though not before. Lycinea's work arrests mid 'e'. She's thoughtful, some moments as if Jo's had been a complicated question. At last, she speaks, simple, "Yes," as the determined answer before looking back to stone and beginning to tap again. After a moment she adds, "You're not though," by way of observation and perhaps invitation for Jo to explain her own reasoning for being in this particular spot. "Must be some love letter'n," Jo mutters to that answer, settling in a position where she could watch the going-ons of both below and with her dragon. Her gaze roams with the occasional glance in Lycinea's direction, leaning a little forward (without being so obvious) to see exactly what she was carving. To her return words after answering, "Not my style, darlin'," she states breezily with a slight half-shrug of her shoulders. "I get'em, not make'em." Nodding out towards the edge, "My dragon wants a swim, so I'm lettin'im swim," by way of delayed explanation. The script is simple, not elegant. It's a single word: Lycine. Next will come the 'a,' though she's distracted by the bluerider. She pauses, chisel resting on rock but loosely held in her hand. Blue-green eyes study the older woman. "I guess I can see it," she concedes, thoughtful. "You probably make all the men and women just fall over themselves to shove them into your hands." The love letters. She doesn't seem eager to do so, though, perhaps the rock is more her speed. She lifts the chisel and then let's it drop again as she asks, "Did you feel less alone once you Impressed? Do they do that? Make you feel remembered and valued?" Jo looks over at last with every intention of reading what she's carving, smirking a bit at her response. "Don' take much, no," she agrees on men and women falling over themselves for her. Humble and modest, Jo is not. "It's only a problem when they decide to get too close." Looking back over towards where Tacuseth floats - his head being the only thing seen above water - the questions get a seemingly thoughtful pause from her before answering. "Valued? Had plenty of value before'im, darlin'. Nah," and she shakes her head, glancing over towards Lycinea once more, "I ain' one to care 'bout things like bein' remembered, shit like that. I'm less alone, though, yeah. Didn' see it that way in the beginnin', though. Ego like mine," the smile grows, "well, it took some gettin' used to havin' to share headspace. Did'ja see the hatchin'?" she asks now. Lycinea's 'hm' is one that indicates Jo's answers about dragons don't thrill her. She looks away from the brunette and to the stone and her name there. If there's more to the love letter, it's only in her head, or perhaps her name is the love letter. "Yes," comes the answer. "My best-friend is the new goldrider." She doesn't look entirely thrilled about that. "They can't make goldriders go back to the Holds they came from, can they?" She lifts the chisel again and takes the small mallet to it, chipping into the will-be-an-'a' now. "That...Farideh?" Jo guesses the name with a slight frown. "Ah, yeah. I've met that one. Ya don' sound so thrilled 'bout her Impressin'." She makes an observation, tilting her head to take in Lycinea's expression. "Seems like she's in some trouble with her Hold when I last talked to her. This should keep her out of it, at least. Can' take a 'rider back to where they were from." It's an answer with a nod, distinct. "Ugh, yes, Farideh." Lycinea's expression reflects the sororal annoyance of one who is too fond of the source of annoyance for the feeling to go deeper than only looking sour about it. "It's not that I'm not happy for her. I mean, there wasn't any other way for it to go, was there? She's Roszadyth's lifemate, so that's how it had to go and imagine what would have happened to High Reaches if she hadn't Stood, hadn't been there at all." The girl shakes her head and moves on quickly. "It's only just that now everyone is going to know about her being here and it's going to cause a mess with Big Bay, even if they can't take her back." She sighs, defeated, "Only Farideh could make such a mess of Impressing a gold," she tells Jo with authority before looking back to see what damage to her 'a' her distraction has wrought. "Well, she could've Impressed green or somethin'," Jo notes on there being any other way to go. "And, I don' see what the big deal is with her Hold, anyway, but she didn' tell me specifics'n I didn' ask. I just know she was certain someone like me was goin' to turn her in to her Hold." She shakes her head in dismissal at that. "Anyway," she continues on, "I imagine her future's secure now. 'Riders protect their queen and all." They're easy words, the convict rider is quick to say them though there's little interest in them as she watches over the cliff. "Oh, she practically pranced out of a Harper's romance and right into the laundry here at the Weyr," Lycinea answers dismissively of matters with Farideh's home Hold. It doesn't divulge the specifics, but surely provides fodder for the imagination. The next gives her pause to look at Jo all over again, examining her face, her build, even the way her body is positioned. "Would someone like you have taken her back? If she didn't want to go?" It's more curious than concerned since any fears of that have been quickly laid to rest by Jo's decisive answer on the last score. "How dramatic. It suits her, somehow," Jo notes on the first with a taste of dryness. "Granted, I only met the girl once. Not really a great impression." As for the question, well, the bluerider is slow to respond as she looks on over at her swimming dragon. Maybe she's being deliberate in not answering her right away, but, when she does, "Why? Is she worth the bounty?" she chooses to ask instead without looking her way. "I mean, if there's that much worry over an uppy holdbred brat goin' home, then, maybe I've been seein' this all wrong." Dark eyes slides over towards Lycinea with an appraising look. "How much'ya think she's worth, eh? Does the price go up with a dragon attached?" Lycinea doesn't know her, so, it could be easy to take the words as genuine since she's saying it with a straight face. "Doesn't it just." Lya sounds less than thrilled, but she moves on quickly. She considers Jo right back, apparently unbothered by the appraising look or perhaps feigned interest in values of a certain weyrling goldrider. "Probably not. I'd imagine a dragon would make the price tank. They just wanted her to marry her off to one Lord or another, but no Lord is going to want to handfast a goldrider. Too much public shame in all the boot-knocking and sheet-rumpling when her hide goes from shiny to glowy. Not that Farideh ought to mind much," such is the opinion of Lycinea on her friend's virtue. At least it doesn't seem like she's pining for her friend, after all she has this one-word claimed love letter going for her. The 'a' at least is completed in little time. "I wouldn't want to try to take her for a bounty anyway. She probably bites. Even if her dragon biting would probably be more effective." Now Jo is regarding the other younger woman, seeming to studying her with just her gaze alone before breaking her silence. "All this over a handfastin'?" The tone is good indication of what she thinks of the subject's content. "What, this particular Lord can' fuck or somethin'? He hits his women? Or is he more pompous than she is?" Lips press together before she snorts and looks away, shaking her head. "Well," she exhales out, "I don' mind a bitin' woman. I do mind a bitin' dragon, though. Anyway, sounds like the bounty wouldn't've been worth it even before. I'm a girl of high stakes. Better for all that she Impressed, but, I'm not sure if it's a good thing that she got hitched to a queen. She seems like someone I wouldn' get along with." She crinkles her nose a bit, very briefly, before her face smooths back to dragon poker form. Noting to Lycinea, "I don' get why ya ain' so proud of her big grab, anyway. Bein' her best friend, 'n all. Y'all can hang in her shiny new weyr one day, braidin' each other's hair'n and whisperin' 'bout some bronzerider leavin' her potted flowers on her ledge." Or so, she seems to be assuming that's what weyrwomen do with their time. Lycinea snorts, too, "I don't even think there was a particular Lord. Just wanted by her family for her Blood. Like a prize runner's breeding stock." She rolls her eyes, evidently much of the same opinion as the bluerider on this score. "Lineage and Bloodlines. I'm glad I'm not going to be stuck with Holders in the least, even if I have to deal with them when I'm gone with the traders." She makes a flutter gesture that indicates the wide, wide world beyond the Weyr. "And I'll get to skip all the nonsense in her weyr. Not that we don't braid each others hair, but I'd rather not be here to hear about how she's all heart-sick over that sailor who'll leave like he's always planned to." She rolls her eyes expressively. Even with all the reasons she's finding to be glad about being gone, she frowns at the 'a' and then moves her chisel to the side and starts a small arcing line that will shortly have a mirror and make a little heart there beside her name. Jo nods to all that is said, saying little in return as she watches over the cliff again. It's only towards the end of it that she comments with a blithe, "A trader. What is it ya trade?" She glances over at the younger woman with the questions, but does offer up in response on the information given about the newest goldrider, "She'll have enough distraction here to last her for turns. I wouldn' worry 'bout her there." "Nothing yet." Lya answers with a shrug. "I'm going to stay with some for a while. She thinks it might help me get better." She doesn't specify about the she, though she does fidget uncomfortably as she stares at the rock. "But I don't want this place to forget me. Or me to forget it." She touches her chisel to her name on the rock. "Now, at least this tiny bit of it can't." Perhaps there's some logic there. Perhaps not. Trying to piece together what she's saying, "So it's not a love letter after all." Jo almost sounds disappointed about that fact. "Well, whoever the she is sounds sound. Never been with a trader caravan myself, but it was on my list for things to do if the Weyr thing didn' work out. If ya find out what sort of things they're sellin', maybe let me know sometime, should we run into each other again. I'm always lookin' for things to trade." "It is," Lya disagrees, "I love this place, my home, more than I love any man, woman or whatever." She brushes her fingertips over her name before she rises. "What made you want to join the traders? Or to put it on your list, anyway." The question is asked as she steps to help herself to a crouch nearer where Jo is settled so she can look down at the lake - possibly looking to see if she can pick the woman's lifemate below. Tacuseth can be easily seen down below as he floats half-submerged in the lake while his rider seems to be taking in all that said about home and love letters. Jo finally nods at the end of it, regarding Lycinea anew before saying, "Well said." It at least makes her a little more thoughtful in the exchange, at least. "As for what was makin' me want to travel like them, with them, even, it would have beat gettin' in trouble on my own." There's an arched look going Lycinea's way with her answer. "What I've known as home was not an option. Wasn' sure where I was callin' home would take me back. Things worked out, though, in the end. Perhaps things will work out for ya, too." It's easily given, the bluerider brushing some dirt from her leathers before she straightens to her feet. "Yeah? Better to be with people than alone?" Lycinea must have listened to the rest, too, but this is what she fixates on for the first moment. She looks at the blue. "Nice that it worked out for you, I guess. Things have never really worked out for me," is related matter-of-factly, with no trace of self-pity. "Although, sort of, I guess, before the cave-in, things were going well. I had friends. A job I liked. Now... I just don't know how to feel right. Like, almost dying makes everything I used to think was important feel so small, or so large, depending on what it is. So meaningless, or so meaningful. It's like everything is warped. Like looking at the world through a drop of water." She abruptly looks at Jo, with an intense stare, "Have you ever done that? Look at the world through a drop of water?" "Not exactly," is Jo's slightly hesitant answer to the first with little commitment on her part. She's even further lost at how the topic is going, the woman staring at Lycinea now with a frown. In the pause that ensues, it's clear that she's trying to work through what is said, but the only word that falls from her mouth is a blunt, "What?" A few breaths go by before she screws up her face briefly and waves a hand at her. "Shit, woman, yer look far too young to be talkin' like that! Drop of water!" She shakes her head to that. "Nah. Ya feel how ya feel'n there's nothin' to it. If yer pissed off, then be pissed off. If it makes ya sad, then be sad. None of that other stuff matters." "Am I?" Lya looks down at herself, at her hands, as if surprised to find that yes, in fact, she's still only eighteen. She looks over at Jo again. "If it doesn't matter, why does it feel like it does?" She takes a breath, her eyes flicking down to the blue in the water. "I feel scared. All the time. Terrified. I don't want to feel that, but I don't know how to not." It's a quiet confession, but simply done. It's clear that Jo is out of her element, here. The dubious looks she gives the younger woman is almost even comical at this point, saying very little as that frown just continues to linger. Then, a few long pauses after the teen is done speaking, the convict rider produces the only solution she could probably think of. She shifts to pull out a small blade from one of her pockets, it's handle a worn deep gray and its blade small but sharp. She wordless flips it in the air once, catches it blade-first and then angles it in a way where Lycinea could take the handle. "I ain' the mentorin' sort," she flat out admits, her tone even. "I ain' even the one to go to for advice. Here," and she angles the knife towards her more for her to take. "I used to be scared, until someone gave me this," she goes on to explain the knife. "Told me, ever I get scared again, this was my comfort. Ain' nothin' happens to me without it. Kept it ever since'n it's gotten me outta many jams. Don' mean ya gotta use it, mind," she notes, "but, knowin' it's there, well...I wasn' ever scared anymore after that. Keep it on ya'n never let it go." Lycinea accepts the knife, but holds it as a kitchen worker would, not a fighter. She considers it some moments as Jo speaks, and then she turns it to offer the bluerider the handle back. "A knife won't save me from what I'm afraid of." It's simple. "I was in the cave-in." Perhaps things start to make sense. "For two weeks, I was stuck. With Keysi, and Ghena, and Leova and H'kon. A knife won't keep the sky from falling on me again someday." Her expression is grim but her eyes are sad and guileless. Jo is not reaching to take the knife back. At least, not yet. She listens about the cave in incident, and it's sure that the bluerider knows about it even though she wasn't around or in the thick of things. It's only towards the end that she responds back to her, "Sorry to hear that, darlin'. Can' say I even...." Well. This was clearly too much for one like Jo, for she finally reaches to take the knife back and pockets it as she takes a step back from her. Shaking her head and turning as if in preparation to depart, "Good luck with those traders, girl," is all she decides to say in the end, nodding her way. "Perhaps ya'll find yer way, there." Lycinea was not going to find her way with Jo. Seems like her sympathy, as it was, only goes so far. Lycinea probably wasn't expecting to find her way with Jo. There's just a bob of her head to acknowledge. She watches Tacuseth for some moments below, in silence, before she straightens from her crouch and moves to pick up the chisel and small mallet before starting to make her way back down the stairs; she has no other words to offer. As for Tacuseth, he just sticks around in the water no matter where his lifemate heads off towards. Teens and their angst. |
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