Logs:BOOTS
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| RL Date: 2 October, 2015 |
| Who: Leova, Silva, Varian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Silva has boots. Varian wants boots. |
| Where: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions, Veylin2/Mentions |
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| The clutching feast. Man. It's out there. But Silva? She's in here with a pile of BOOTS and a huge jar of boot polish. She is the picture of dejection, sitting there with her dark brown hair folding over a shoulder and half hiding her face. There isn't a great //deal// of working getting done, but the brush scrubs against a boot every few moments or so. Scrape. Pause. Scrape. Pause. On and on as Silva does her "work". Boots. A pile of boots. Child-attractant. A little boy, maybe six Turns of age, circles aroud the poor girl and into view. He stares at her, coming closer. "Lots of feet," he announces. "Um, excuse me?" The young boy's words bring Silva sitting up sharply, and tossing her hair over a shoulder so that she can glare at the boy. "What did you just call me?" She's all sorts of offended, her tone sharp. At least this distraction does one good thing, that movement of her brush against the boots picks up as her ire does. "I am not a foot thank you very much." Her words end in a clearly defined huff. His little nose wrinkles. He steps back from the glare. "Did not," Varian says. "Said the feet," now he's homing in on those boots again, less like he's about to take one and more like he's trying to decide which ones to take first. "You don't have to be mean. Vey's mean, and so is Boris, and you aren't a foot, you have feet, you have two feet unless you are hiding one, are you hiding one? Are you hiding two?" "Seriously? Why would I," that I having all the self-important inflection that one could expect from the spoiled Silva "not have both feet. You know, little-kid minding is one of the few things I don't have to do. You can just go." Silva uses the shoe in her hand and waves it at the kid, like she can magically conjure the six-year old away from her. "Unless you have a handsome older brother or something to sweet talk my aunt out of this chore." SIGH. Varian stares at Silva like this waving is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, starting to rock side to side with her motions. "Why would I," Varian repeats. "Why would I," he draws out. "I don't have an older brother, do you have an older brother? I have an aunt. I have two aunts! They don't like chores. I don't like chores. I like boots though," and that's when he reaches in to grab. An exaggerated huff from Silva who sits back in her chair again, hope of reprive stolen away from her by the kid. "My luck is just the most rotten. Just because I dropped //one// set of plates I get exiled here." the 'why me' isn't spoken, but it hangs forelornly in the air. "If you take that boot I'm so going to tell and one of those aunts of yours is totally going to tan your butt." Warning given. So of course that doesn't slow Varian down any, "I'll give it back," said along the way, and he probably even means it for at least the next five seconds before something more important comes along. His next goal: getting his kid-sized foot inside that definitely not-kid-sized boot. "Did you break them? Was it loud? Do you have an older brother? You didn't say. You have to say. It's the rule." "Um, and no, it's not a rule." Silva shoots back at the kid, brushing roughly against the side of her boot, and then stares down at it. "I mean, it's not like it actually looks differently. It's still the same stupid boot." A glance up at the kid has her rolling her eyes at him, "You know that's not your shoe right?" "It is so the rule. You have to say. I asked nicely." Did he? "Please-do-you-have-an-older-brother," Varian recites just in case. "Course it's not my shoe." Thanks to the reminder, if she doesn't stop him, he'll go for a second one. And then he'll have two boots, because Silva is so not going to stop the budding shoe-thief from taking another boot. NOT in her job description kthanks! "Just because you say please doesn't mean that I have to say. And it doesn't matter anyways. I'm stuck here and my family's all in Tillek, so it's not like my brother could come sweet talk dear," slight sneer there, "aunt from being a jerk. Look," an abrupt shift to the conversation as Silva sets down her polished shoe and grabs up another one, "You're just going to look stupid if you put another too-big shoe on. KIDS." Oops, did she say that last aloud? "So you have a brother! You have a brother!" Varian, yes, giggles. "No, I'm not going to put another one," even though he's going to do just that and reach for a third, "I'm gonna do four. And then they will be hooves and I will gal-lop." He says it very carefully. "My father rides, do you ride? What's your name? Who's your aunt? You said jerk." "Not I.... you know what, I don't have to answer that." See how Silva is just going to TURN to one side, like she'll try to ignore the boy in favor of her chores, only to realize that she still doesn't actually want to do it. "Whatever. You gallop all you want. Just when the owners of those shoes ask where they went, I'll tell them to go find a little snot-nosed kid that thinks he's a horse." Varian brightens. He neighs. Then as soon as he has all four, he's on hands and feet and 'trotting' around the girl, all clomp clomp clomp. "I could be a dragon," he tells her. "I was a dragon yesterday. Except then I had to go in because it was cold and they were scared I'd catch something, and I would catch something, I'd catch a wherry and I'd eat it, too, and that would show them." "..." Hear that Varian? That's the sound of Silva NOT saying the thing that came to mind. Instead she's rolling her eyes with ALL of her energy and pointedly turning away when the kid comes in line of sight. IGNORING the nusence 101. Clop clop clop clop roar. Varian again, distinctly un-runnerlike. "Like that," he explains. "Except louder. Because this is my inside voice," which is not quiet at all. "So how come you're in here and not out there eating? Were you eating before? I was eating. It was yummy. It was so yummy but Ma... they made me stop. Vey was playing goody two-shoes except I'm four-shoes, that's better, see? Four shoes." "Don't you hate when... I sound like a two year old." Silva stops right in the middle of what she was saying as the words actually sink into her brain. "Fanath forbid, I sound like a flaming two year old." Her eyes flick over to the talkative kid, "A two year old acting like a runner." ALAS, SIGH. Now the runner-boy's clopping up to her, standing on his hind legs, waving his front hooves. "You said flaming," Varian says, and giggles again. "Flaming flaming flaming fla..." he stops all of a sudden. There's his mother. Leova. Bearing down on him. "Just watch, now I... hello." Silva again catches herself right in the middle of a thought as the little kid's mother appears. Woops. A slight look of panic crosses Silva's face before, nope, Nothing happening here. Look at how INDUSTRIOUS she is being with those boots. Polish, brush, boot. Swish, Swish, Swish. Innocence just rolls off of Silva's form. 'Vari." Leova swoops him up as though he were the wherry and she the dragon. Tugs off the boots. Drops them down. Nudges them towards Silva. "Sorry. He..." She half-growls. "Got to get him to bed." No more talking from Varian, just whining, and all for his mother. Silva's saved! |
Comments
Faryn (04:58, 7 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
It says something very funny about the ease of an interaction with a six year old, compared to the contrived conversation with some of the adults Silva's had. It'd interesting to see her honest, when she isn't being watched. She's so funny. Note to self: she needs to meet Yesia.
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