Logs:Redfruit Deals
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 13 January, 2016 |
| Who: Quinlys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rat (sort of) confronts Quinlys about his encounter with C'ris. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language. |
  |
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but
here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening
and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions
to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides
warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced
off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water
there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows
drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge
undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be
bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge
divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky
outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one
-- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly
tempting stairs. Rain can be smelled in the air today as the weyrlings are let out from their duties. While some venture off to their various endeavors, T'gar and Asaroyh veer towards the shore as if on the mission. Their mission: lunch. With the bronze submerging himself into the lake, his weyrling claims a dry spot with a look towards the overcast sky threatening to rain as he reveals a whole redfruit and a knife from the pocket of his worn riding jacket. Once he seems content about the sky not opening up on him right away, starts to idly cut into the fruit in silence. Quinlys may not be involved in taking weyrlings on trips between-- something that now takes up a chunk of every day-- but she's still very present for the rest, leading her way through what classes remain before the impending arrival of senior weyrlinghood. She's some distance behind T'gar in reaching the lake, her ambling pace making for slow progress as she rounds the bowl and ventures onto the sand. Does she notice the bronze pair? If so, she doesn't immediate acknowledge either of them, gaze focused intently upon the ground in front of her, upon which she sets one foot after another. It might not be noticed how T'gar was quick to leave classes, not passing many words to those clutchmates he hangs with as he heads out. Once seated, his back is to the Weyrlingmaster as he finishes one cut of the fruit and places it in his mouth with an audible crunch before looking out over the lake in clear contemplation. Quinlys' steps haven't been heard yet, but the closer she gets, it's bound to. Oh look. It's a T'gar. Quinlys must not have identified the bronzerider's presence as she angled her walk, because there's a furrow of her brow, now, as she comes up more-or-less alongside the bronzerider, glancing side-long at him. "Does that count as a proper lunch?" she wants to know, asking the question in lieu of offering a greeting. Her steps must be heard now, for the weyrling to straighten up a bit without looking behind to see who it is. When Quinlys is almost beside him, "Does for me, ma'am," is Rat's answer on lunch, passing a careful glance in her direction. In his Bitran accent, "I always get a full proper one once all that duty stuff is done for the day. This'll tie me over until then." There's a guardedness in his tone, couched beneath an easy neutrality as he continues to chew. It's neutrality, and guardedness too, that Quinlys doesn't seem to know what to do with; a glance at her face shows as much, something akin to wistfulness caught beneath the twist of her mouth. "I guess I can't argue with that," is what she says, clearly aiming for something light and easy. "How's Asaroth?" Cutting another small piece off with a studying look leveled towards Quinlys, "It's also because I'm still used to the way I eat before coming here," Rat admits now, a touch wry. "When you don't have enough.... He's good," with a nods towards the bronze in the lake. "Talks a bit more, which isn't much. He's looking forward to Betweening. So am I, really." There's a pause and then, "Hear you're not teaching it," he notes as an aside as he cuts. Quinlys's nod acknowledges that: she may never have gone too long without, but clearly she can accept the reasoning. "The ultimate freedom, between," she muses. "After that, you'll be very nearly full riders. Just a couple more months of getting a feel for things." She's turned her attention towards Asaroth and the lake, by now, and perhaps that's partially deliberate; certainly, her gaze is intent in that direction as she confirms, "That's true. Good learning opportunity for Telavi. With three queens, we might end up with multiple weyrlingmasters." "I'm sure you're looking forward to ridding yourself of us," Rat muses as he slowly devours the redfruit, a single nod given when he looks her way and she looks towards the lake. "A couple more months. A different kind of freedom than ours." To the last, "She'll be good for it. She's capable, like you." Compliments seem to come easy, of course. Even if his tone remains the same. Quinlys may not have intended the rueful huff she releases at this idea of freedom, but she doesn't comment further on the topic. "She will. She is." The compliment has drawn her attention back towards T'gar, gaze reflective, but there's still a stilted look in her eyes. "And you'll all be fine. I've got a lot of confidence in you all. Have you thought much about graduation? About after graduation? You'll be shadowing wings, soon." The reflective gaze from Quinlys gets met from T'gar, the study plain through her words on graduation. Her question gets an easy shrug from himas he returns to his meal before answering, "If we survive Betweening, it'll be smooth sailing. I have no preference for whatever wing is out there. Maybe Taiga. Maybe Glacier. Holding hope out for one means being disappointed when they don't choose you. I'd rather be surprised. What wing did you get tapped into when you graduated?" "As long as you know where you don't want to go," is Quinlys' opinion. "I didn't think I cared, but then I ended up in Icicle, and... Olly and I, we're not really acrobatic. It was a bad fit, and I was glad to come back to Flurry. Wingleaders don't always get it right. Weyrleaders, too. But ending up in one wing doesn't mean you have to stay there for always." She hesitates, watching T'gar study her. Nodding upon hearing this, "I don't think I see you two in Icicle either," T'gar admits with a small enough snort. "You're right. It's why I'm not putting too much stock on where I get tapped the first time. Once I start shadowing, I'll have a better idea, but even then...well." Blue eyes seek hers once more. "Won't be always," he agrees evenly to that with a barely-there nod. He sees that hesitation from her with just a slight tilt of his head that lift his chin a fraction, the pause lengthening before he notes in a matter-of-fact way, "C'ris, huh? He told me. About what you think of me." Awkward? Of course not! Quinlys opens her mouth, and then closes it again. Her cheeks have turned pink. "He..." Again, she stops, pressing one hand to her flushed cheek, her eyes closing. She knew. Must have known. Surely. But that's a little different to... "Oh." And then: "You're my student, T'gar. And you won't always be, and maybe that means things will change, but for now..." And yet. The way she's looking at him? It's more complicated than embarrassment, given her gaze seems almost disappointed. Watching those flushed cheeks as Quinlys speaks, and then, "I never asked for now," T'gar is easy in saying. "I know I'm your student. You think my aim was to get you in trouble, or, a scandal?" He shakes his head slow in answer to his own question, his gaze never leaving her face. At length, "I'm no one's game, Red," he says that simply as he returns to finish the cut of fruit briskly. "And you've made your choice." Beat. "I just wanted you know that I know," he goes on to say now with ease. "I can't even be mad at C'ris about it. He was polite in asking that I step back and let him have his chance. I wanted to say no. Still do, but....from what he's told me, you're into him, and not into me." Looking her way, "I have to respect that." Quinlys' expression goes through a series of changes, and for now, she looks nothing like the calm, competent weyrlingmaster she usually is; she just looks an emotional mess. "I would've enjoyed," she begins, and doesn't finish. And, "I still would," which may be worse. Also: "I can't think of you like that, not while you're my weyrling. I don't even know that I can do a relationship. With anyone." Oh. And then there's, because like this isn't stupid enough: "I'm pregnant." Quietly, "But you're trying, with him," T'gar notes, watching Quinlys with a furrow of his brows. "I know that's what he wants. And I...." His mouth closes on the words before there's a slight frown, "I know I'm open to anything," he says then, meeting her gaze. "I didn't want to rush things because shit, relationships scare me, too. But you're the first in a long time that's made me want to one day try." The last draws silence, his expression not changing other than him saying, "That's really why Telavi's running the Between classes. It's his." Silence descends as he seems to process the news, and when he looks at her again, "I still fucking want you, Quinlys." It's said with a boldness that comes natural to him. "But that's all I'll say while I'm your weyrling. While you're his." Quinlys exhales through her nose, and then again, this time through her teeth. She winces, the weyrling's acknowledgement of his feelings clearly catching her partially off-guard-- and certainly not making this whole scene any simpler. "I don't belong to anybody," is what she finally says, though it sounds less bold than she'd probably intended it to be. "I'm sorry. I never intended... This. This is why I don't do relationships. I fucking hate it. I am sorry, T'gar. I'll leave you alone, shall I? Because you're right: you are still my weyrling. And I'm trying to make this work." "So you say," T'gar says on her belonging to anybody. "You are pregnant. He must be thrilled." But Quinlys looks to be leaving and the bronze weyrling is quick to say, "Don't." Don't go. He doesn't grab her or touch her, but his gaze is perhaps intense enough to. He even shifts his redfruit to the hand holding the knife to dip his free hand into his pocket to pull out a redfruit....and hold it out to her. Holding it out, "I know what should be," is what he says, but his offer suggests otherwise in a counter to what she says. The intensity of that gaze stills Quinlys' intentions, and the foot that had already lifted to carry her away. She seems more hesitant in staying than resolved, but as T'gar offers that redfruit, she sucks in a breath and then accepts it. Rolling it between her fingers, "He doesn't know. So... that's one thing you're up on him over." T'gar doesn't let up his gaze as he watches the myriad of decisions cross the Weyrlingmaster's face. He holds it out still until she takes it, and he retrieves his own fruit with the glimmers of a grin coming forth when he answers back, "Right now, maybe. I reckon you might tell him soon enough." Some of that grin goes, though, before he says, "Look, Red. Last thing I want to do is fuck things up with you and what you want," is said in earnest. "I know my hands are tied right now, but, like you said, only a while longer. And then..." He looks her over briefly. "I want us to get to know each other," he says carefully. "There's no harm in that. If it ever goes farther, that's great. If it never does, I'm willing to accept that. I'll let him have his shot-" one can almost hear the for now in the pause "-but the moment things change, and I smell it...." All bets were off. "If you tell me to back down, I will. You make that choice. Not C'ris." For now, for once, there's nothing but seriousness in Quinlys' expression-- no smug, no smirks, no thinly-veiled amusement. She swallows thickly in immediate response to T'gar's speech, but it gets followed, straight up, by a little nod. "All right," she agrees, the decision having evidently taken very little time at all. "I can give you that much." For emphasis, for punctuation, she lifts that redfruit to her mouth and takes firm, sharp bite out of it. T'gar watches Quinlys face - the guardedness long gone from his now with everything out in the open between them. When she agrees, he echoes her. "All right. I can take that much." One piece cut, when she bites in the redfruit, he pops his cut piece into his mouth and bites down with an audible crunch - as if a deal has been struck. Everyone knows a deal made over redfruit is... binding? Right. That. Quinlys finishes her mouthful, then hesitates. "I should get back to the barracks," she says, gesturing with her free hand. It's not awkward; if anything, she seems determined. "We can talk properly in... three and a half months, I guess." Somewhere, someone must be making redfruit deals. T'gar doesn't seem to question it in any case. He nods when she gestures, the man casting a look over his shoulder back towards the barracks. "I should finish this up and get to the stores," he says now, meeting her gaze. "A worker there says they might have the table I'm looking for for my weyr." Nodding, some of that infectious grin surfacing, "Three and a half months, ma'am," he confirms, his nod binding it. "I can live with that." "A table? Good." Quinlys can smile for that, her expression returning to that more-usual smugness. But then she turns; she goes. |
Leave A Comment