Logs:Squishy Feelz
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| RL Date: 4 December, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, W'leri |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: W'leri's super concerned about Dahlia's well-being after her brush with death. (Ha.) |
| Where: Training Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions |
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>---< Training Room, Fort Weyr >---------------------------------------------< Roughly rectangular in shape, this spacious room is often littered with exercise equipment which people have failed to return to the large storage units in its north-east corner. Next to these wooden storage units, a notice board is hung on the wall beneath a glowbasket, various notes and reminders and messages pinned or stuck to it, some dating back months. Tall wooden screens sit at various points throughout the room, some folded and stacked against the walls, available for those who would rather exercise in some privacy. For this particular cavern, brightness is the key word, for there look to be more glows than anything else, maintaining the high level of light and visibility needed for sports and activities that require precision. It's a good time to be in the training room with dinner well underway. It means there's less competition for the equipment and less spectators for those who'd rather have none. Dahlia, as one might expect, has been busy day in and day out, and today has been no different. Still, she's a rider and one still regaining her health after her own illness, so tonight she's taken time to spend in the training room. Her workout was long enough to be useful but not so much as to exhaust and now she sits on some of the mats, stretching long limbs in the wake of it. Did she notice the hulking bluerider sitting on one of the benches, over yonder? No? He's been quiet, which is unusual even for him, but he's been watching; it is definitely as creepy as it sounds. His legs are stretched out and his hands flexed against his knees, and he.. doesn't look like he came here to exercise, at all. Dressed in his riding jacket over a sweater, he's attired more for the outdoors than the relatively-warmth of the training room. "Dee," sounds delighted, oddly enough. No weyrwoman or ma'am. "My, my, wasn't expecting to find you here," emphasis on the find and not on the here part. As seems often the case with the goldrider, she's been oblivious to her surroundings. It must be a willful sort of thing when she'd rather not notice the eyes on her, so perhaps Dahlia can be excused for not taking note of the big bluerider during her precious 'me' time. Hazel eyes lift to find the voice, lashes fluttering as they settle on the man. "W'leri," she greets after just the slightest stutter of a pause. Her eyes go over his riding jacket and sweater and down before returning to his face. "Good workout?" she asks it dryly, but perhaps with an edge of polite inquiry. Just in case. The pause and scrutiny might have flattered a man more interested in the goldrider than W'leri seems to be; at least, for his purposes. "Workout? Here?" He chuckles deeply, sweeping one hand out in a motion that signifies the whole cavern and all of its entities. "I thought I was heading for the Glass Fountain and yet.. here I am," with another wide-flung gesture. "It's a pity. How're you holding up, sweetheart? I couldn't help but hear about your near-death experience." "Still alive, cupcake," Dahlia returns with a slightly arched brow. It lacks anything in the way of real sentiment, but bears a lightness that might be teasing. "And what was it that distracted you from your goal?" Evidently this goldrider won't give herself so much credit as to think it was simply the chance to inquire into her health. The bluerider watches Dahlia without any emotion, and his sudden "fuck" that breaks his silence is likely unexpected and rightly unwarranted. "Here I was, hoping you were dead," he returns, leaning low, forearm on his thigh; a broad grin follows his stark words. His eyebrows lift in a facial shrug, big hands moving to brace against the bench in preparation of standing. "I thought I saw.. something interesting." However she wants to take that. "You're not the only one," Dahlia returns without letting the comment ruffle her, even if his "fuck," caught her off guard enough for her to startle (perhaps satisfyingly). "Better luck next time," she offers as conciliatory feeling infused in the words. "I'd make a joke, but it seems too soon to joke about the plague. You think?" She cants her head to silently ask the opinion. "Don't tell me your feelings are hurt, little weyrwoman." W'leri's rump clears the bench and lands back again, his blocky head cocking to the side. "Big and bads picking on you? I don't know one that would have you gone and that Monaco woman in your place. Not a one, not as long as Elaruth's blood runs in your lady gold's veins. A sentimental bunch," he muses, finally standing. And no he's not leaving, but his vantage from standing is much better; better to see everything with. "Feelings?" Dahlia has a laugh and a shake of her head, "When do feelings ever have much to do with politics? The hurt feelings I have are for the people who've died," and about that much, she's perfectly serious. "And I don't much have time for those with so much to do for the living." She shifts onto her knees and then into a low lunge to stretch her legs and hips. W'leri gives a low whistle with just his lips, meandering half-heartedly closer to the goldrider. "Politics? Is that what they call it these days?" He looks amused. "That's a pity," he adds, long-suffering, his blue eyes flicking to the doorway. "I liked you better before," is an offhanded statement, but it's obviously meant to be his version of a goodbye, as he pivots on his heel and makes for the exit; and the bar? "I might've cared before," might not even be heard so low is the murmur. Dahlia's calm is proven false (only once she thinks he's going) as she turns her face toward the mat, eyes squeezing shut and lips pressed hard together. |
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