Logs:Riled Up
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| RL Date: 17 March, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Mave |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo gives Mave her first punching lesson. Mave turns that lesson right back on her. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 4, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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| It's an early evening and Jo is here on the shore - which for some that tend to observe her patterns of being around, is uncommon. Tacuseth looks settled with his hide nice and oiled, and it looks like the blue pair isn't alone. The black leathered rider seems to be having a casual conversation with two of the weyrlings from Crom: Sybile and Canie. Whatever it is they were talking about seems to break up at this moment, the weyrlings with their charges taking a step back as a ringing chirp could be heard over the shore. There's a little bronze fire lizard also present, sitting on top of Tacuseth's wedge-shaped head. Wind whipping against the lake might seem deterrent to most, but Mave's trek towards the water's edge aims precisely, stepping amongst drifts of snow, watching her feet. It may not be brilliant or green these months, but when Mave lifts her head it's with vast admiration for the lake's landscape; she slows to spread her arms to the side and breathe deeply in of atmosphere, ignoring the cold she sucks up her nose in doing. The chirp has her tossing her head-- a strange silhouette for the girl; it appears someone's strung all of her hair into a tight bun near the peak of her head, with braids circling it then falling in delicate loops framing her face. Spying the ensemble, appearing less of one as those have stepped aside, it takes her a second to recognize Jo but, as she does, her mouth thins and she shoots her look determinedly out to the lake, markedly less content. "Try not to," Jo seems to be saying towards the smaller of the two weyrlings as they as one head off, leaving the bluerider there with her nicked and scratched up dragon and firelizard. She spots Mave easy enough as the girl was approaching up the shore, recognizing her despite the hairstyle. She turns to watch Sybile and Canie head off first before she starts her little trek towards the young woman, both hands going into her pant pockets as she goes. Once they're within a distance where she could be heard, "Ahh, my favorite bookie!" she calls in greeting, her tone easy. "I believe ya owe me somethin'." Shoot. The reminder clearly takes the wind out of Mave's determination to ignore the rider, and her shoulders slump with stolen agenda. "Hey," is lackluster at best, when the girl's features prove to be pensively occupied. But with a confidence-rousing purse of her lips, she rounds on Jo more animatedly, forcing a half-smile, closed, with no friendly flash of teeth. "Yup." Bringing her hand to her belt, she scopes out one, two, three little purses dangling there, and detaches the second. It's put into her palm and weighed with a soft up and down before she is content dropping its loop onto her forefinger and getting it with a good grip. Jo's not too far, not too close, so it's difficult to judge just how intentional it is when Mave winds up and chucks the small bit of winnings much too hard at the other. If Jo is noticing any discontent in Mave and the look on her face, she seem not to let on. On her end, she's easy in her gait like she doesn't have a care on Pern. She watches the other more closely, moving to pull a hand free to hold it out for her wagering payment. What she didn't expect was that her payment was being chucked at her, having to snap a quick arm out to catch it before it smacked her in the chest. "Gotta strong arm on ya," she comments, loosening the purse so that she could peer inside of it, "for someone that can' punch. Or has grown outta it." Dark eyes scan the mark pieces inside, likely counting them before the purse gets closed and she darts a look towards her. "So. Ya made good on yer wagers, too?" For she assumed this little bookie would have played the game, too. If anything, the comment causes her to flush uncomfortably, glancing out over the water for a sense of peace as Mave puffs out a breath from the side of her mouth before looking down then up, "Decided not to bet." A boot scuffs anxiously into the ground, riling up dirt and sand, where the snow won't stay long. Her next inhale clearly is meant to fuel a strong, decisive comment-- that never comes. Jaw snapping shut on her intention, even her shoulders lower from their expectant, defensive lift. She regrets it, momentarily, sighing distantly and scowling inwardly. "Ya should have," Jo says, taking a step towards Mave now as she unfastens down the front of her jacket, only to drop the purse into one of those concealed inner pockets. Her dark gaze studies her more now that she's closer, noting the inhalation and the scowling in the following silence before she folds her arms across her chest.....and just waits. Her look is expectant, brows furrowing just a bit to suggest there's the obvious question coming to mind - only, she doesn't seem to be voicing it. Maybe the imperceptible lift of her brow at her, will. Brow's plenty, what with the furtive looks between the lake and Jo conflicting Mave plenty already. Managing to contain the worst of writhing by crossing her arms steadily over her chest, she tosses her oddly well-done hair. Besides it, clothing trends towards usual, including her particular olive jacket, two days away from having a definite hole in the left elbow. Perhaps because she rubs it, like one hand is picking at the nearly worn-through strands now. "So." Left out there, a beat by itself, remarkably like she's instantly forgotten-- or decided she hated-- that train of speech. Instead, clearing her throat and nodding towards the shore, "Punching people." It's like a question, but when a small fluffy animal is attempting to make it sound like an non-negotiable one. "Yer gonna tell me what's got ya sulkin' like a caged feline, or ya wanna just duke it out?" Jo puts to Mave like that, once she speaks. No gentle, nurturing, feminine words from this woman! Looking around them and finding the shore mostly deserted, "Cuz, ain' nobody out here but us and Tac. And Mime. I can teach ya, sure, but if somethin's eatin' at ya..." Maybe she's offering to lend an ear. Or duke it out. Or, both. She even takes in that olive jacket and where the it looks about to develop its own hole before she adds, idly, "Looks like that jacket needs a good patchin'. Or a replacement if ya have the marks." Sounding enticing, "I might know somebody." Perhaps said to draw Mave from her sulk, watching to see what she'll do or say. "Nnn," an indecisive noise if ever there was one, as Mave turns in her elbow to peer at the developing hole with a sigh and shrug. It makes her let go of the shreds, at least, letting her teeth fray her lip instead with its worrying. "I'm not sulking." Just doing a really Harper-approved imitation of it. "I just-- I'm eager. Yeah, I want to do this. Let's do this!" Hands drop towards her hands, clenching and unclenching to rapidly stretch her fingers. She shakes out her shoulders and shifts her weight; all very fair impressions of having seen others spar before, perhaps some time ago. Ahh, teenagers. Jo regards Mave just a few moments more as she speaks before she counters with, "Ya are. I just can sulk better." Eyes light in a challenge to that, or, she could be teasing her. Since she's looking for that punching lesson, the bluerider nods once and loosens her arms and shoulders while Mave prepares herself. "Alright," she says to that, hands lifting with palms facing the young woman. "Alright," she repeats, "I think for now, we'll work on how ya jab. Ya can get a good hit to the stomach, the chest, even the face. Watch me first." She takes a few steps back from Mave to create more space between them, then she turns to the side and goes into a fighting stance as she aims her right fist and shoots out in blinding speed before her fist shoots back. She looks over to make sure Mave sees, then she relaxes her pose and jerks her chin towards her. "Ya got that? It's a quick one hit, here," and she demonstrates again, just how the arms are arranged. "Dependin' on how fast, ya can sucker punch someone good before they least expect it. Before they can block it. Show me." Aside Jo, Mave aligns her arms to match, having gleaned from before so that she presents her fist mostly appropriately rather than the uninformed she once threw punches with. Fingers flex hesitantly; a theme, until it's time. Bidden to show, she shakes out her shoulders again and shuffles her feet into a mirror of the fighting stance, awkward for unfamiliarity but grounded and determined. A fierce tenacity stressing her face, turning usually concentrated eyebrows a tinge darker. Some note of truth is revealed, though, when all of her sullenness funnels straight into aggressively getting correct her fighting attempt; she's eager. It's just more. A similar agenda -- aggression and more -- when, after testing out her fist's preparation in the air slightly at an angle to them, she twists, spraying up sand, to take a rushing jab straight at Jo's chest. Jo watches every move Mave makes, seeming to make sure that she was doing it right. If she was noticing anything untoward, it wasn't registering on her face as she nods at each shift made, at the stance given. "Better," she even gives in a grunt of approval, and now, with Mave testing the first at a slightly different angle, it's all a quick succession when there's a sudden spray of sand and there's now a well-aimed fist coming straight for her chest. Since Jo was well aware of the young woman, she moves just as quick a breath later and side-steps from that jab, though, it knocks into shoulder instead. There's an aimed shove to try and knock Mave off-balance, with more than a little force while she was trying to deflect the sudden jab. What greets the hitch of breath after this? Laughter. Jo's probably off to the side of her now since the side-step, her low voice ringing out on the crisp lake shore air. "Nice try, darlin'," she drawls with a click of her teeth, her gaze studying her. "Ya gotta be a little faster than that. Might help if they're a little hazy in the boots, too." She even lifts a hand to brush at the affected shoulder before rolling it until it cracks. Staggering with the combined force of her own thrust with Jo's shove-off, Mave stumbles step after step before righting, dropping her right foot down with finality while using it to turn her towards the sound of Jo's voice, the suggestion of figure in her periphery. Laughter's riled the shadows on her face, tugging them till she's scowling in her frustration yet nearly flat-featured with straight-forward intention. She goes almost like a toy, if not for the stumbling that started, ankle twisting-- dangerously so, really, with her thoughtless drive-- hit and rebounding back. Fist having kept intact, fingers are only stiff as she jumps off of her turn to throw her right arm at the coolly brushed shoulder, already a difficult aim between heights made worse by hastiness but given drive through sheer unflagging tenacity. Jo watches Mave stagger, but the move has certainly put her on alert. Her eyes bright with challenge, she sees that frustration, that scowl, and pulls one of her annoying cocky smiles. That next fist aimed for her shoulder - this one she flicks her whole body away at an angle, not making contact. "Throw without thought and ya'll find yer fist thrown at somethin' that's gonna hurt ya more than the other person," she states, dancing back and keeping Mave right before her. "And watch yer feet, too. Yer gonna fuckin' fall into a table like that, or put yer face into someone's fist." There's unmistakable curiosity now, letting the silence linger between them before she drops, "And, I thought I was showin' ya how to throw a punch. Not to spar." Pause. "Unless ya gotta problem with me I don' know about." Eyes hold the challenge again, waiting. Both Tacuseth and Mime seem content enough to look on without their interference. A soft, whiny gasp escapes Mave at hitting nothing; the inconsequential dissatisfaction of hitting nothing vibrating through her as the air whooshes, braids flying and stinging at her cheeks. But she silently recovers, drilling forward like a machine. Lesson on the go. Feet thump hard on the ground to absorb momentum while encouraging more; taking it literally, her eyes drop to them, losing precious sight of her target, her dipped chin a facade of lessening spirit. A lie. Even with eyelids shielding part of her gaze, she's sure of Jo in front of her, and her right arm gears up, shoulder rolling. "I don't-- " but, foot catching, she banks unpredictably to the side, "have a problem!" Inexpertly using what could've been a trip to veer off, as her right arm loses drive, she ends up bouncing off the other foot and swinging indiscriminately with her left as hard. Jo can spot the lie, even though there's a twinge of approval in her voice as she watches Mave look to her feet. She stays silent as the other seems to trip, and that fist goes wide enough that the bluerider merely takes a step back to get out of its way. "Sloppy," she drops the word, her tone sardonic now. "Yer angry. I can even bet the purse ya threw at me that yer angry at me." Arms spread out from herself, the gesture almost arrogant, almost daring her to swing at her again as she says, "Angry people can' throw a punch. Yer all over the place." Literally, as she drops a brief glance down towards those feet. "Now ya wanna tell me what's up or are we gonna do this all day?" She waits once more, giving Mave that choice to either come at her or not. It seems, the usually busy convict rider has all the time in the world right now to do either. "I don't-- " trying to speak right when missing a poorly executed punch earns Mave another distraction; less than stumbling, she catches her footing, and her noise is born of frustration, with herself. "Have-- a-- " Her fist loses shape as she loses steam. A foot plants forward, but she takes it at rest, hand jumping to her knee, breathing out her exertion, "Problem. I have..." Breath, huffing, exasperation. Indecision and uncertainty toil together across her face, baiting deeply discomfited eyebrows as she finally expresses beyond that grimace of flatlined aggression. Straightening up, she scowls, though the expression seems to look beyond Jo, despite being aimed at her. "Doubt!" Since Jo looked at her feet, she can't help but look, as an echo, and, on the word, she buries her toe in some sand and kicks it up supremely maturely at the older woman. Another fist seems prepared, and there's only the subtle hints that Jo is bracing for it. Even if she's still being cocky about it, but then, that could be how she is. Cocky and a smartass. When it appears Mave is losing steam now , those arms drop to her sides - especially once she states the final word. There's a slight frown for it, but then right before she could even open her mouth, she's finding sand being kicked in towards her. There's a bark of rough laughter as she jumps back and tosses her head, some of the sand landing on her black jacket that she now has to look down use her hands to brush it away. Either way, the leathers look like they could use cleaning now. Looking up to meeting her scowl, "Shit, I like ya!" she openly admits, not seeming to take any offense. "All else fails, go for the dirty trick. Of course, if ya were anybody else and not lookin' so young, I'd be kickin' yer ass right now for dirtyin' my leathers," she notes the last in slight dangerous tone, that glint in her dark gaze that flickers through - there, and gone. That there's more to the easy demeanor and the smiles is evident. Scowl sags, as Mave's jaw slackens inch by inch as she surveys the sand falling off of Jo's-- a rider's-- riding leathers-- because she's a rider. "That's-- ... " a hard swallow, her eyes skate unhappily to the side. "I'm sorry." The boot that kicked buries deeper, not to shovel more sand at folks, but to guiltily hide, as if it could detach itself from her. Fists now sweaty across the palm from her efforts, like the corners of her temples, she blinks in odd discomfort against the drifting snow. "I wanted to be mad at you." Admittance does little for her, though the weight of indecisiveness has lifted, she's accepting another load atop. Now harmless (or harmless-er, considering her form) hands lift to either side of her face, squashing her temple and rubbing, inadvertently catching several braids and loosening little tufts of hair from them. The bun's already looking a bit lop-sided. "Fuck apologies," Jo states, not couching any words for Mave as she sets her fists to her hips. "I don' care about that. Where I come from, we knock it out and be done with it. Or, ya tell me why ya mad at me and we squash it." It's cut and dry with her, eyeing the younger woman now with the barest lift of her brow as it seems the wind has finally left her. She's not taking any step towards her or a step back, once again playing the waiting game with her. She even adds, deadpan, "And ya messed up yer pretty hair. If ya were on yer way to a date, ya gonna have to go back and fix it up again. Or not, if he likes a rough-n-tumble chick." Underlying tease perhaps, the woman poking where she could. "Apologies can be nice." Shot back like she's forgotten the respect for riders that made her apologize in the first place; Jo makes it easy, really. But, listening, Mave rubs her shoulder like it's got an itch -- likely one she can't get out that way. Hair mentioned brings another few fingers there, tugging at one of the braids threateningly before she sighs, "... Flusterfuck. H-- Hana did it for me. She was supposed to take it out. And I'd be very okay if boys stopped liking me for a good long while." Perhaps grumpier than she truly feels, as it's spat out at the height of her attempt to not spill the beans. Beans that have her crossing her arms and looking out to the water, "I wanted to be angry with you," repeated, for emphasis and to bridge into a slight story-telling tone, "For standing next to her. I wanted to hate you." As for apologies, she sounds not apologetic to say. Just frustrated, perhaps, not to have it be so simple. "I remembered what you said about fear tactics, and I was looking at her and you, and thinking about how she prowls around the lower caverns..." A distraught weight shift; she seems embarrassed to go on, but does, "But then I... thought about how I said, y'know... that the other bookies were bullying me. And how being here for time should mean that stops." She licks her lips. "And I didn't want you to push 'em out. I wanted to beat 'em at their own game. And is that," caution; it's fearful to say it out loud, but necessary, "The same thing?" "They can be, when needed." Apologies. Jo stands there, remaining silent. She watches Mave as if expecting a burst of energy - another throw - at any moment, and so when she starts to talk, she's as still as stone. Even when the other looks away, her piercing gaze remains firmly on her. Never wavering. It's hard to tell what's really written on her face, as well, her gaze mostly unreadable through those words. It's once she's done, giving her that question, that her eyes narrow just a tiny bit. "Do ya blame a woman," she says slowly, carefully, "for doin' what she thinks is right? When her own father was crudely taken away from her?" Not apologetic herself, she runs a thumb past her nose and sniffs as she says, "Yeah. I stood with her. Anyone wanna throw one at me, they're welcome to it. Even you. I see nothin' wrong with what she did. Fuck, she could've done worse, darlin'. Much worse." Head tilting down at her, letting amusement now creep in, "So ya want to hate me, because I stood by a woman far more civilized than I am?" she drawls, almost wry. "Then I wouldn' go hear what's been said about me around here, darlin'. Nobody's perfect. Especially. 'riders." Now she falls silent before addressing the question, the words smooth and simple as she answers with, "If ya wanna beat them at their own game. Revenge can be a heady bottle of wine, Mave." Eyes regarding her, "Be careful with it." She seems like she would know. A long, long moment passes with Mave's face contorted by each individual thought she has to wade completely through before responding. Finally, slow and steady, she declares, "Yeah, I do. I mean... and not just her? It's everyone... it's the way everyone seems to know what's right and they're just going to do what's right to them, who cares, like it doesn't matter. But it does matter, because there's a whole lot of us down here." The slight ramble embarrasses her, having lost control of her careful phrasing and she clamps her jaw, pushing her tongue into the inside of her cheek till she can breathe out carefully. "But it's not just about blame. It's about, like..." shit says her voice, when her young brain fails to know appropriate words for what might be churning in her heart, beneath those stiffly folded arms. "Respect. And trust. And how you shouldn't get any if you don't give some, too. And I think that saying that, like that, in front of all these guests was really rude and disrespectful to the Weyr. If this was her home, why would she do that? It looked embarrassing for Azaylia. Like. Not knowing something like that when you're supposed to be in charge, too? It felt like," she finally sighs out, all of this far too heavy and her chest feeling tight and restrictive -- though that might be the arms. "Gloating, Jo." Thought expelled, she freezes. A terrified little blush comes to her cheeks as she thinks back to what she's said-- about who. Her lips part minutely like she might retract it all, but, throat stiffening, she doesn't. When Mave opens up and starts to give her opinion, Jo listens. There's lack of judgement in her eyes, the way she regards the other with always that barest layer of humor - as if there's little in life that she really takes all that seriously. It's only towards the end, when she freezes, that the convict rider finds her voice after her easy silence. "Do ya give yer respect, and trust, easily?" she asks Mave now, once she was done. "Gloatin'." She echoes that word - the word frozen upon - as if testing it herself. "Maybe. But, there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that." Falling a little sober, "When someone takes somethin' from ya, and I mean, really take somethin' that's not just marks or yer favorite shirt....and ya pay for it, not them. That does somethin' to a person." Clearing her throat, "But like I said, it could have been worse. Revealin' who ya really are, what is that in the bigger scheme of things? Isn' the Weyr still standin'? Has anythin' really changed?" She'll even wait for an answer. She'll have to wait. Again, Mave is arrested by the need to stand there, eyes down and mouth lightly pouted, as though this were a quiz and she being graded, despite Jo's easy-going face; it's just, becoming more obvious now, the girl's way of puzzling through. "When someone takes something..." her turn to echo comes amidst the lull in a voice well telling, unable to apply the edge of those who have experienced, truly know. Practical in manner, but ignorant to much, yet she leaves room for a want of understanding. "I'm... too young, really. I wasn't here, to really know how it all went. There's just stories now." Her arms shift, loosening for space to breathe, though she looks distinctly uncomfortable even for that much relaxing and her arms stick out a little oddly for the way her shoulders hunch up to compensate. "It feels-- bad." More is injected into the simple word than its usual blandness; she makes it ominous, like a storm. "Because-- yeah. Stuff's changed." Courage soaks into her enough to raise her eyes to definitively meet Jo's, biding herself to drill deep into the rider for a clue of predilection. "Like, really changed, Jo. Right?" Because Jo, a rider-- in a wing-- knows better. There's no doubt in Mave about that. "People are upset. People want to do something, or not do something. Or expect something. I hear all the talk in the caverns and that's just the caverns," her hand finally frees to gesture forward unconsciously in emphasis, "People are riled up. Riled up people do stuff'. It can still get worse. There's, like, egos and shit." Egos: the end of the world. "We weathered through two Weyrleaders and two Weyrwomen, didn' we?" Jo is quick to counter, cavalier in her demeanor. "I heard all the rumblings through that, and yet..." A hand lifts, then drops to demonstrate its outcome. Nodding, "I know. People are upset. People are uncertain, but they'll see. They'll see that nothin's changed, and they'll calm down, and if they don'..." Mave gets a look that could probably say it. Jo's not above knocking some heads together. Then, "Ya can tell me what they're sayin'," she offers in encouragement, regarding her with interest. "What they're expectin'. What they're not expectin'. Maybe, somethin' could be done to ruffled those feathers of the riled up ones, hm? Smooth over egos and the like. Just gotta find the right sweetspot to push with them. I'm not worried," she notes now, arms folding across her chest. "This will work itself out, like everythin' else. With time. But hate me for a stronger reason than stickin' up for a friend," she tacts on, changing tactics midway. "Like, me thievin' ya, or shankin' ya. Not over somethin' like this." A note of concern furrows Mave's brows again at the mention of telling Jo. Her instinct has her head giving a tiny shake, but she doesn't follow it up, just shifting lightly onto her heels as Jo goes on. Finally, swallowing down a lump, she mutters, "I don't hate you." Clear, still, that this would've been easier, though less conflicted than before as she scratches at an arm. "I don't-- I don't hate her, either. Don't know really anything." In one simple flourish, she sounds as to negate everything expressed to Jo up till now. "M'not clever, y'know, like others are. Not really used to saying 'I think' at all." From her arm, the hand sneaks up, grabbing onto one of the braids, warring and bothering it till it relents, freeing from its loop. It's welcomed into the corner of Mave's mouth, where she chews the done hair generously. "And I know I have a very poor first reaction to stuff. So I'm, umm." She gestures with the hand, leaving the braid where it is, "Sorry I-- actually. Not sorry I swung at you. Sorry I missed so stupid. Guess I..." nervous eyes lift up, "Could still use those lessons." Are we good? Smirking a bit, "Yer remind me of how I was back home," Jo admits, and there's the barest touch of wistfulness in her tone, however brief. "Had a lot to say back then, too, but the men didn' want to hear it. Yer perceptive, and ya pick shit up well," she notes on the cleverness comment. "And ya gotta temper that'll keep the boys wantin' more. Yer smarter than ya think ya are, and, if ya truly feel the way ya do about this," about Aishani, "then I reckon yer ain' the only one. Nothin' wrong with that, ya know. Bein' against it all. We all gotta answer to ourselves, in the end." She does step up and try to tug at one of those braids when Mave speaks on the last, her smile crooked as she says, "Yeah. We're golden. We'll try this lesson again, and maybe next time, I'll have somethin' set up for ya to punch at instead of me," and she drops her chin to pin a look onto the younger woman. "We'll get to swingin' at me later on when ya get good at it, okay?" Because that must be a worthy enough goal, by the quiet laughter heard now. Jo gets the present of Mave's tongue stuck at her when the braid is tugged; the girl uselessly batting her hand in the air nearby as if that would actually stop anything Jo did. "I broke a boy's nose for pulling my hair once!" She lords, as if telling a great heroic tale, before even that, too, sours with some present memory. Why so complicated, things. Hands coming to rest peacefully on her hip, affirmations are made in the form of several strong nods. "Yeah, okay. Next time will be better." An oath as much to herself as to the rider, as she casts a far more idle glance out to the lake, miles more relaxed than she began. Even embarrassment at swinging at the woman has faded to nothing. "Things've changed," she decides, almost optimistically; if so, then it's because she's come upon a decision, of any shade. "Because people will always wonder now. But... I don't know yet what that's for." Better or worse or-- merely change. She partially licks her lips, mostly massaging the upper as, regaining a tinge of caution, she waits a moment to ask, "Are you going to tell her what I said?" "Oh-ho! He probably did it cuz he likes ya!" Jo teases, fingers fluttering to that batting hand, her humor in high spirits. She nods firmly to confirm a next time, even though she states, "I ain' around much, but, ya can get one of the 'riders to have their dragon call Tac. If I ain' engaged, I'll have those lessons day or night." The talk on change gets something more neutral from the bluerider, following her gaze to the lake for a moment before she says, "Yeah." Pause. "People are gonna wonder anyway, regardless," she adds with a slight shrug. "We best learn to find ways to adapt to those changes. S'what I learned, growing up. Nothin' ever does stay the same." There's a lingering silence on that, the woman almost guarded as she watches the lake - even beyond that last question. It's a few moments before she puts to Mave then, "Do ya want me to?" Thought over change reintroduces discontent to Mave, along with a wistfulness too heavy for her age and a sullen clinging to anything less than that. Decision made, there's still a sense of revolt as she shifts, watching without interpretation the gentle slosh of lake water, melted-- constant. When asked, she swivels, hands up to show Jo her pleading palms, "No! Oh, blue fuzzy balls, no! She-- " intonation becomes jumbled, tripping over itself: fear, respect for position, distrust, all stuffed into a basket then violently shook. "does not need to hear the ramblings of a fifteen-turn-old caverns worker. "May Faranth burst from the billowy waters and swallow me whole... not that," there seems some need for her to explain, though it's not full of pity; not fishing, this one, "The opinion of one little girl's not gonna rock her boat or anything." The colorful way in which Mave declines to have her opinions passed on, has Jo laughing and waving a hand at her to stay her words. "Fuzzy balls or no, I won' tell if ya don' want me to," she says, openly amused. "Not that she'd take offense, I think, if ya did. Be good to know the pulse of the Weyr. See what people think. Or I could leave yer name out of it, too." Then, briefly inclining her head as she turns and starts to head back towards her dragon, "But I won' tell, if that's yer wish," she states, walking backwards away from her. "Or I'll find one wild girl tryin' to hunt me down in order to sucker punch me and make my leathers all dirty again." There's short laughter for that, the tease evident before she adds right after it, "I better head on out. Much to do before dinner." A mighty breath is released out of Mave, heaving a deep whew that eventually trembles her lips with a phhbt from her force. It's clear she feels poor enough having spouted to Jo, though not as much comes out of her mouth as the rider begins to retreat. Smiling touches her lips, instead; too, sheepishness in guilt over the leathers has drifted off over the waters and disappeared into the mist of snow and waves. She rolls her eyes and scuffs her foot in the sand reassuringly, finally really pulling that buried toe out upon recalling she thrust it there. Wrapping one arm against the other, she loiters, despite things to do, clearly finding again the appeal that first brought her to lake's edge. Thus, Jo's nearly out of range when she pivots, and thinks to shout with practical sincerity: "I'm trusting you!" "I'd expect no less! " gets shot back from Jo, the convict rider chuckling before she pivots around - now that any further threat has been dissipated - and heads on out towards the bowl with her dragon and firelizard following in tow. |
Comments
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 18 Mar 2013 16:34:17 GMT.
< That's the problem with teaching people to fight... ;)
Nice scene.
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 18 Mar 2013 20:33:34 GMT.
<
Good scene! I love reading things going on from other's perspectives.
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Mon, 18 Mar 2013 21:18:24 GMT.
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Awesome! Love that Mave got an outlet for her aggression as well as those opinions that are bouncing about in her head. Jo's good for both of those things. xD
Loved reading this scene. You can tell how much fun the two of you had with it. c:
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