Logs:Leading Breasts
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| RL Date: 14 December, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Lys, P'tras |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: We learn what motivates Jo to follow, and then Jo and Lys make Pip horribly uncomfortable. It's not fair at all. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, T'gar/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Tits. Yep. |
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>---< Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr(#1549RJ) >------------------------------< With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It's a decent early evening that finds Snowdrift's wingsecond at the sole round table there in the nighthearth. Jo is settled in one of the chairs before a small stack of hides - wing reports - and enjoying her trusty flask in her customary black leathers. There's many passing through this area, but for the moment she is on her own without distraction. "You too, huh?" is Lys' darkly amused greeting as she sets her own stack of remarkably similar paperwork on the table across from the bluerider. Possibly, this month's weyrling wingleader has already been seen since the weyrlings are drilling now and again with the professional wings. She doesn't ask if the wingsecond minds her presence. "And you wonder why they don't make new ballads everyday about the great deeds of riders in the Interval," that's wry as she settles, a patchwork bag coming to rest next to the hides and dug into to produce a pen. "Me too on downin' this flask?" Jo makes the verbal assumption, looking up in time to see Lys set her hidework down - or rather, her dark gaze lingers on the hides moreso. Nodding her greeting, "Heard'ja made wingleader 'mongst the weyrlins'," she comments to her, a touch wry. "Don' tell me they're loadin' ya up already?" "Oh, no, paperwork. It's only you too on the flask if you're sharing." There's something of a cheeky smile to accompany that, along with a too sweet, "ma'am." Lys' eyes turn briefly to the pile, "Quinlys isn't one to let hands stay idle long, but I'm proving to have good help, so it's not too bad. Good study companions, too. And a tutor, even." Clearly, Lys has it made if that includes working ridiculously hard as a weyrling "Is that your usual load, more or less?" That seems genuinely curious. Maybe Lys has taken a liking to her role and who knew Jo would be a role model so soon? "I'll bend ya over my knee if ya call me 'ma'am' again," Jo says far too casually. Which is probably either good or bad. Taking a leisurely drink from her flask then, "So ya like bein' in charge," she takes what Lys says on her position in stride, one faint corner of her mouth lifting. "'Spse that's better'n stayin' in trouble like I was in yer position. It's usually more," she now answers on her workload, lifting with one hand up the small stack of hides she has before her. "I try to keep a lid on it gettin' outta control on me by doin' a bit each day. Not that there's been that much lately, comin' outta the plague. The lil' I saw got fuckin' depressin'." "You know, if Quinlys took up that sort of policy, the weyrlings might behave better." Lys has a blush, but her voice is even as she makes the thoughtful delivery, adding after a measured beat, "Or worse." There's a shrug of her shoulders to answer the next. "It does make use of my natural inclination toward bossiness. I like my lifemate, like the idea of the life coming along." There's more curiosity as she looks at the stack and then back to the woman tending it, "If you were a screw up back when, what changed that you're wearing that knot now?" She doesn't say 'ma'am', but her lips press purposefully into the semblance of a 'm' as if she might. The plague on the whole seems to be left to lie. Fucking depressing, indeed. His hair is damp and his clothes are casual when P'tras makes his way into the little cavern. It's downtime for the tanner. He pauses, just for a moment, when he sees Lys and her companion at the table, then continues on at a slightly more hurried pace toward the hearth where there's stew simmering. Maybe he doesn't want the girl he wants to like him to see him with his springy, freshly cleaned curls. It's not the most flattering of looks for a tall, skinny guy, after all. "Or be less innocent," Jo remarks in counter to Lys's first lifting her flask briefly in a toast. "Which I why I wouldn' be assistin' any weyrlin'masters. Bossiness." There's a snort to that one. "Yer green is that way, too, ya mean? As to what's changed from my bein' a screw-up....well," and there's a pause, and a shrug as she looks over her wing reports on the front page, "nothin's changed all that much. I trade one rumor for 'nother. I fuck 'round worse than a greenrider. I'm certain me gettin' this knot's still a fluke, but, Mielline seems to believe in me, so....'n I can follow a 'leader who has nice tits, so...." Good Jo logic. When P'tras walks by, her dark gaze indeed follows him and his freshly cleaned curls. The shrug Lys has for Jo's first is practically demure. If the wingsecond says so~ The motion is only arrested slightly as blue-green eyes catch the wet curls of the skinny young man. She doesn't greet him immediately, instead offering, "Evyth's as sweet as they come. Tacuseth can feel free to introduce himself," as if the blue might need a personal invitation. "Sounds like you have everything well-reasoned," Lys says it deadpan, and then she's lifting her voice (she's in fine form tonight), "What do you think, Pip, could you follow a wingleader who has nice tits?" He clearly should weigh in, and join them judging by the way one of the other chairs is scooted out from underneath the table by one of Lys' new boots. P'tras has a bowl of stew, and he's turning just a bit to decide whether he wants to sit or try to get back out by the time Lys speaks up. It makes him turn the rest of the way, glancing awkwardly at Jo before his eyes shift toward the younger woman and drop, involuntarily, to her chest. "Uh," he begins, eyes darting back up to her face while his brain does its best to catch up. "I don't know if I should answer that," he says, stepping with some measure of caution toward the chair that scoots away from the table where the women are sitting. "Ya want Tac to make nice with Evyth." There's a question there from Jo, and it's likely a tad suggestive as she lingers on her flask. "Well, he does love himself some greens. She has a long while before she takes flight, don' she?" As for tits, the wingsecond flashes a smile for Lys' deadpan before her attention is drawn towards P'tras and his quick gaze towards Lys' tits. On his answer for her, "I think ya should," she says to him on answering the question as she takes a leisurely sip. "Ain' nothin' wrong with followin' a good pair of tits. They could sometimes lead ya to greatness. Ya can quote me on that if ya want." Eyes flick a raised brow towards Lys in askance, perhaps looking for an introduction. Lys probably should've known there'd be that look. "Not mine," she rolls her eyes. "Mielline's, in this case," she indicates the wingsecond. "In a way, dragonriders do sort of follow tits or a boob at least into great things, folly or otherwise." Goldriders or Weyrleader, doesn't seem to matter for the point of her humor. "Evyth likes making friends," might be genuinely innocent or simply come off so, and then there's the introduction. "P'tras, Jo, Jo, P'tras, or Pip if you get to be his friend. He makes great boots." And if one of those ends up on Jo's knee under the table? It's surely for a quality check. P'tras makes a face that assures anyone in their right mind that he's uncomfortable answering that question in the company of two pairs of tits. "I guess? I've never really thought about it like that. I always thought Quinlys' were nice. Haven't really followed any since then. Professionally, I mean. I've wanted to be with..." His trail of thought pauses just as he realizes he's going off on a tangent he probably shouldn't finish. He glances at the bluerider, "Yeah. I know who you are." As for him? "Riennath's." Like she's more likely to know the young green, even if she isn't. The compliment for the boots makes him grin at Lys, but he adds for Jo's benefit, "I make other things, too." With a soft snicker, "Would you?" Jo challenges Lys. "Follow the tits, that is? I'll let Tac know that Evyth likes makin' friends," and yes, there's something amusing about that, if her expression is any indication. And while she frowns down at that boot to her knee, "Ya should always look at things in different perspectives," she tells P'tras, like a corruptible mentor. "Quinlys' own does look like they would be nice to see. Wanted to be with....?" Brow raise. And really, if that brow could raise any higher when the male greenrider mentions him knowing who she was, it would. "Riennath's huh? Well met. I'm sure Tac's talked to yer mate at some point. Considerin'. What other stuff do ya make?" "I've always followed Irianke well enough," comes with a smile that keeps secrets pressed behind her lips. Lys goes one step further to say, "If there were brains enough attached, I'd be happy enough to follow another, but I don't think I have to worry about not with our weyrleader. He doesn't seem the type for those sort of dalliances." Lys spares a brief smile for P'tras, though she doesn't seem about to cast him any lifelines in the face of Jo's questions, just that smile. It might even be encouragement. "I do. I mean I often look at things from at least two perspectives. Sometimes three if Ri counts." And he seems to think that she probably does. "I just meant that there's lots of them that I've wanted to be with. Unprofessionally-- no, that sounds wrong. Privately. Intimately?" Whoops, P'tras looked at Lys' chest again, but he catches himself more quickly this time and looks up at the ceiling of the cavern instead, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm a tanner, all sorts of things," he hurries through. He's blushing. His speedy pulse is even kind of visible in his throat the way he has it exposed right now. "The Weyrwoman does seem to have that way 'bout her," Jo states on Lys following Irianke with an amused twist of her mouth. What sort ya goin' over?" She nods toward Lys' reports. Watching P'tras now, she seems to appear as though she didn't see his looking at Lys' chest since she's saying, "Tanner. Ya make leather ridin' jackets? Belts? Headcaps?" Pause. "So ya wanna be with Lys' tits. Intimately." Well, she wasn't going to let him off the hook after all. Even if P'tras didn't say anything of the sort. "Right now, just filing my earlier assessments into the weyrlings' personal files." Lys tells Jo with an easy shrug after her dimpled smile for the matter of Irianke. P'tras gets a long measuring look next, her cheeks coloring at Jo's words but wisely she remains quiet and makes poor Pip address the assertion, her brows arched skeptically at him. He swallows, quite visibly, before he's looking at Jo as though she's some sort of dangerous, wild feline. But he gives Lys the exact same look. And then there's a glance toward his only escape point; the one regrettably on the other side of the table where he'd have to pass one woman or the other to get through. "I think she's, ah. She's very pretty. Not just her... those." P'tras manages not to look at them this time, or Lys in general. "All of her is nice." Can someone be both pale and blushing profusely at the same time? His face is trying really hard. He should probably be given a break for forgetting about leather entirely. Grinning, Jo looks from P'tras and Lys and back again. Is there anything innocent on her face? Absolutely not. When P'tras gives her that look, there's a brief flash of teeth. To him, "Girls do like it when ya compliment them," she advises liberally - as if complimenting a girl on her breasts is important. "There was this one greenrider that I did so to'n then the next thing I knew she led me to-- well, that might be too much for y'all. In any case," she gets up, collecting her hides and her flask before looking to P'tras first. "I'll ask again 'bout the work ya do sometime, right?" and to Lys, "I need to head up to a meetin'. Run by me, sometime, yeah?" "You sound like T'gar," Lys observes of Jo with a roll of her eyes. Still, there's a nod and smile for Jo and a sardonic, "Have fun," that can only mean Lys has ended up with her fair share of meetings lately. Then her eyes settle on Pip. Perhaps she's waiting to see if he'll sink into the hole he's dug. "Sure," says P'tras in a slightly elevated, cracked pitch that might as well come from some prepubescent boy rather than the young man in his twenties. But he's not looking at either woman, so he doesn't have to look away from either of them to hide his embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he tries to say but mostly whispers when he can feel Lys' eyes on him. There's a flicker of something in Jo's eyes in reaction to hearing T'gar's name, but perhaps either is not related since there's nothing else that comes after it. Tucking the hides into her riding jacket, "I've merely given some hard-earned life lessons to ya," she says to them both - because leading by tits must be a hard-earned life lesson. "Y'all take care of yerselves. You, especially," that going towards P'tras with a look. It's all said with a straight enough face before she's off, heading out into the inner caverns like a woman that's not on a mission. "You're sorry because you looked up when I talked to you?" Lys asks, "Or because you met me? Or because you fell into an obvious trap?" She's really curious, but possibly a little apologetic too. "I'd have thought if you could talk to me about hard-ons the first time we met that breasts as a quality of leadership would've been no big deal." Maybe she didn't hear any of the parts about him wanting to be intimate with her breasts. P'tras sends a look after Jo, not very impressed. The confrontational questions from Lys get a similar look, but with more furrowed brow. "You didn't like talking about that very much, did you." He seems a little more relaxed now, either because the scary older woman is gone or because his flight response has turned into fight instead. "I'm sorry I talked about your breasts. That don't qualify anyone for leadership more than a big old floppy dick would, either. I mean, not yours specifically, just breasts in general. You don't follow people because of their tits or their dicks, you follow them because they treat you like a person and they aren't shit at their job." Defensiveness works retroactively. "Of course you don't, that was the point. Jo might," Lys concedes as an afterthought, but the rest she seems to certainly agree with, which might serve to disarm some of that defensiveness. "And I'm not bothered. Not that I'm encouraging you to talk about my breasts, mind, or your hard-ons, or them both together, but I did participate you know." In the conversation that led them here. "Of course it's okay for you and her to talk about breasts and whatever." P'tras stares at the bowl of stew that he hasn't so much as touched since he sat down. "I'm sorry I'm an idiot. Does that work better for you? Riennath says I'm being an idiot. Maybe she's going proddy," he says with a shrug, leaning back in his chair and resting his face against his hand, one arm crossed over his chest to support the other. "I don't know." "No, it's not," Lys will self-censure (though not severely). "We made you uncomfortable. I told you I was good at that. I'm sorry, Pip." If only he knew how rarely she apologized for that and meant it. "You should eat," she encourages, looking down at her hides. "And I should take my hides to the barracks." Her tone says she doesn't want to, but a wingleader's work is never done. "It's fine," is dismissed pretty easily, and P'tras seems sincere about it. He'd probably forgive her a lot more just as quickly. That's what people like him do. He glances at her hides as he rises to his feet, picking up his bowl along the way. "Good luck with all that," he says, moving around the side of the table opposite Lys while she gathers her things so he can disappear into the caverns with his stew. |
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