Logs:New Boots for an Orphan
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| RL Date: 12 December, 2015 |
| Who: Lys, P'tras, Evyth, Riennath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: P'tras makes Lys a gift. It's a bigger deal to her than he knows. |
| Where: P'tras and Riennath's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions |
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| It was around dinner-time when Riennath bespoke Evyth to see if Lys might be available sometime that evening. At her convenience, really. Whenever she could meet P'tras at their weyr so they could talk about their previous negotiations. When Evyth arrives, though, the older green isn't there. The greenrider is here, and that's the important part. Whether Riennath is watching from where she is near the lake or P'tras has just been waiting eagerly for the weyrling's arrival, he's there to greet her on the ledge. "Hi! She can stay here if she wants. Plenty of room. Or not. It's up to you. Both of you, I mean. How was dinner?" Evyth was pleasant, passing along the request. Lys, she explained, is the wingleader this month and is very busy, but can make a brief visit. Evyth follows the directions and offers forewarning of their coming after dinner. Lys is freshly bathed, her hair disheveled from drying in the wind. "Pip," is practically wary in the face of his stream of words. The woman's mouth opens to speak and then it shuts, a glance cast back toward Evyth before she looks to her host. "Dinner was fine," is carefully neutral. "Evyth would be delighted to stay, though we can't stay too long." Stiffly, she asks, "How was your day?" "Great! That's great. Not my day. My day was fine, though." P'tras waves that off, turning with a gesture of the same hand for her to follow him through the big wallow toward the hole in the wall in the back that leads into the inner weyr. "Do you want a drink or anything? You seem kind of tense." Is that a weird thing to say to a woman? "You can sit down wherever to take your boots off," he adds once the couch and pair of chairs on each side of the rug in front of the hearth are visible. There's a small table behind the couch, too, but no bed in sight. "You don't mind if I have a drink, do you? I think I might be nervous." "Why am I here, Pip?" Lys might be tense but she's also direct. She follows behind him, at a slight distance, pausing at the doorway to glance beyond before moving through. That doesn't answer the matter of a drink for her or if she minds his having one. He turns toward her, confused and a few more paces away now from starting toward the alcohol. "The boots?" is offered earnestly, like he thought she already knew that and isn't sure how to deal with any other options. "I told Riennath to tell you. Fuck, I'm sorry. Just-- hold on, okay? I'll be right back." P'tras makes the hold on gesture at her, even, then hurries off to the curtain that separates this cavern from the one he sleeps in. "Boots?" No, there's no recognition in Lys' expression. Still, something about that makes her relax a little bit. She considers the furniture and then selects one of the chairs in which to sit. She sits on the edge, not making herself at home, "If I'm just here to hang out, there are better months for this, Pip." She calls, perhaps trying to be helpful in her own special way. "Would you come over just to hang out ever?" P'tras wonders as he comes back out of the bedroom with a pair of boots held in hand. Maybe he'd have rather done more than just dump them on her, but he holds them out to her once he's close enough. They're not master quality or anything, but the leather is just soft enough, the stitching is even, and the soles are undamaged. More importantly, they're her size. At least, just tight enough to stretch comfortably into her size. "I can still fix the others," he says with a glance to her feet. "But it seemed like you could use another pair. So." There she goes. "That's all." "That depends. We're friends or something, aren't we? If you can manage to not mention nudity or your penis in the course of it, I probably would. But not during a month when I've got wingleadership, silver threads and regular training on top of it." Then there are the boots held in front of her and she stares at them dumbly. "You... made me boots...?" It's boggling, evidently. "Why?" She must be in too much shock to not look this gift runner directly in the mouth. Blue-green eyes blink in bewilderment up at the curly haired man. P'tras starts to open his mouth to say something about her schedule or her requirements for coming over, but he leaves it be in favor of addressing his reasoning for the boots. He tries to smile as he takes the few steps toward the couch to sit, but it falters into something less certain and he looks away from her into the cold hearth. "I'm an idiot, I guess? I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I sort of pictured this all going differently." He chews on his lip, brows furrowing as he leans back into the cushions. Lys' eyes close slowly and open again. It's a blink, but a long one. Her lips are licked briefly, and her hands fold over her knees. "How did you picture this all going, Pip?" The question is delivered evenly, but she seems to have genuine interest in his response. "Worst case, I figured you'd at least maybe smile. Or say thank you." P'tras doesn't look at her. He certainly doesn't offer what his best case scenario would have amounted to. "It's fine. Really. They're yours. I didn't mean to waste your time. I'm sorry." Him apologizing to her, too embarrassed or nervous or whatever he is to look at anything but the floor, definitely wasn't in any of the scenarios he'd imagined. "Pip," Lys leans forward in her chair, elbows coming to lean on knees and hands lacing together out in front. "You're not wasting my time," it's granted with weight. "But you're also not answering my question. How did you want this to go?" He glances over at Lys now, but then down at his hands again. "I just wanted you to like me, Lys. I don't... want anything from you." Except for her to like him. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it, okay? Just take them. Sell them, if you want." He waves a hand that might look kind of dismissive because it sort of is. P'tras is having trouble here. "Pip," Lys' exhale is something of a sigh. She rises from the chair and moves to sit next to him on the couch. She doesn't reach for him, but she does rock a little from one side to the other to bump her knees gently to his before withdrawing again. "This is the nicest thing anyone has ever given me." She says that with quiet sincerity. "I didn't not like you. I'm just-- I'm getting used to you." That too is honest if less positive, depending on how one takes it. The curly-haired tanner tenses slightly when Lys' knee bumps him, however briefly, but he doesn't go so far as trying to move away from her. Not yet. P'tras glances over at her, tries a smile that's more awkward than anything. "Thanks. I'm glad you don't hate them." But other than that, the greenrider doesn't seem sure what to say to the other. "You're not hearing me," Lys shakes her head, expression briefly frustrated. "Pip, no one goes the extra mile for orphans. They just don't. Not unless you're really, really lucky. In a Weyr, you can grow up enough to earn your keep, to keep clothes on your back, no matter how patched and edited to make them last," there's something a little bitter in her tone for that. "No one has ever made me new boots." She looks away from him, probably because her eyes look a little damp. "I was surprised. And I'm sorry. I thought you might have been inviting me for- well, nevermind. This is a great kindness, by the definitions I've been offered in my life." Now she reaches for one of his hands with one of hers, seeking to cover it briefly. "Thank you. You're a good person." He must be, right? Chewing on his lip, he listens. He doesn't watch her the whole time, but it's obvious that's where his attention is focused. It's not until she's finished speaking, touched and withdrawn from his hand, that he murmurs, "I didn't know that. About you. I'm sorry." He apparently doesn't want to repeat the bit about her being an orphan, but he looks troubled for a few moments before he pushes himself up to his feet and paces toward the hearth. He turns back to face her when he pauses there, nodding, "You're welcome. Maybe if anyone asks you about them, you can send them my way, yeah? Just... just don't tell them yours were free. Bad for business." There's a quick smile. "You didn't know that because we're practically strangers, except that we're friends," Lys tells him, her tone wry, her eyes tracking him as he moves. "I will," is easy to assure. She has a strange sort of look for some moments before suddenly, "Hair! I could cut your hair, if you wanted, when you need it." A skill she could trade. P'tras, perhaps understandably, seems a little dubious about this sort of trade. "You know how to cut hair? I mean... hair like mine? It can be kind of troublesome. Is that something you like to do, cutting hair? I guess even if you don't know how to cut curly hair, it might be good practice. If it's something you like." He pauses, giving her a chance to also say words out loud. But it probably means something that he's willing to have messed up hair for her sake. "Yes," holds tolerant amusement. "I used to help Irianke with her hair, and before I became her assistant, I was practicing to become a hairdresser. Then I helped with that while I was gone with the traders." Lys explains it all patiently, but as she does she slips her boots off and reaches for the new ones to try them on. "That's good to know." P'tras is relaxing more and more, now that he's not worried about having made a big, huge, horrible mistake. He'll save any remaining worry until after she's gone. "It's good to know people who know how to deal with this. I used to get it cut really short so it looked almost normal, but someone said they liked it this way once." And she must have been very pretty. He suddenly seems way more interested in the fact that she's trying on the boots. "They'll should feel just a little tight until you've had a chance to break them in." There's nothing but a silent nod to acknowledge his words about hair. If she has an opinion about how his hair should look, she keeps it to herself. Lys' attention is on the boots, carefully working the laces until they're fairly secure. She takes a moment to look down at them (perhaps giving an experimental toe-wiggle). There's briefly a look of disbelief followed by one that might best be described as marveling. Then her expression assumes something more neutral and she rises to walk a little. P'tras watches with a slightly worried furrow in his brows and his arms crossed over his chest as Lys laces up her boots. He doesn't interrupt the moment with words, but he seems eager for feedback once she's risen and had the chance to move around. "It helps if you get them wet and wear them till they dry. To stretch them to your feet," he explains, more out of uncertainty than because he thinks she doesn't know how boots work. Lys must not think he's watching her face or she's not even aware of the smile that spreads across her lips. "I'll do that," she tells him, walking a little more before returning to the couch. "I'll wear them in non-drilling hours for now," when there's less chance of getting awful blisters from the break-in process. "Thank you, Pip," she offers again as she moves to unlace the boots. "You didn't have to do this, but it was kind of you." Even if he had no idea how much this particular gift and gesture would mean to Lys. "Good." P'tras smiles for a moment, still not quite comfortable enough for it to stick around. But he seems pleased that she's pleased. Or that he thinks she is, anyway. "If you have any problems with them, let me know? You shouldn't," he clarifies, in case he was about to make her worried, "But if you do." He doesn't seem all that sure what to say about the rest, now that he knows she's not upset with him for the boots, but this is almost certainly more of what he'd had in mind. "I will, Pip," is sincere answer, though somehow a little distracted. Lys rises from the couch once her boots are back in place. "I should get back. I have some things to do before I can get to bed." Wingleader. Silver Thread. All that. "Do you-- want a hug?" The question is a little awkward and she's a little awkward offering it. "I used to hug some of my friends." He gives a slight, awkward shake of his head, "No, it's fine. I'm just glad you like them. Good luck with your things, yeah?" P'tras stays where he is by the hearth, like the distance is important for some reason, but he'll at least follow to the door to the wallow once she heads that way. "Okay." Lys answers, picking up the new boots and wrapping her arms around them in a sort of hug-carry. "Maybe next month when things aren't as busy, I can come by and we can just hang out," she suggest as she goes. "And let me know when your hair needs trimming." She's not really waiting for answers to any of those things, heading for the ledge, not looking back at him. |
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