[Evaly] Vlad deviates from the script.
RL Date: 4/17/10
IC Date: 7/4/22
Waterfall Pool, Ista Weyr
From high above a majestic waterfall thunders, dropping into a broad, shaded glade and its deep, stone-bottomed pool. The constant roar of the water plunging from the top of the plateau drowns out the sounds of the ocean. A curious stream runs from the pool to the sea through the jungle greenery that keeps the water constantly cool.
A few dozen paces from the stone ring of the pool is a flat, grassy area, spotted with occasional wildflowers and little clovers and removed just enough from the splashing water that voices are more easily heard. Behind the pool, the cliff wall is rocky; ancient-carved steps meander up the wall, just far enough from the waterfall to be passable though moss and dampness make the path exciting. Another, less dangerous path seems to lead back to a tight squeeze and a certain shower if one chooses to pass behind the waterfall.
Some hours ago, it was pouring rain. By the time that quit and things cleared up, most people had given up the day for a wash (ba dum), which probably accounts for how Evaly wound up here pretty much by herself in the warm, summer dark. Pants rolled up to her knees, sandals in the grass beside her, a towel under her to keep from soaking up too much of that earlier downpour, she doesn't seem to mind the solitude so much, especially since it means she's working through a couple of pieces of cold wherry with no more company than a curious firelizard stationed on a boulder nearby, chirping his plea for chunks.
This is Vladilen's time. Not a person that anyone normally sees strolling the weyr during the day, he seems quite relaxed as he wanders down the damp stone stairs. He gets to the bottom and nearly slips and barely manages to regain balance, probably lucky he doesn't break his ankle. "Fucking moss. Are you fucking kidding me?" He mutters, cursing more darkly under his breath. Not noticing Evaly right away, he pulls a small bottle out of his light jacket. Unscrews the top and takes a good long drink from it before he begins walking again.
"I don't mean to start an argument or anything here," begins the girl in a scratchy-hoarse voice that seems pretty well-suited to things like velvety tropical nights and lounging in the grass and addressing total strangers out of the blue, "but if that's a flask I can hear you tipping over there, it's a little silly of you to blame the /moss/." In case he's got any more of that profane muttering and lack of watching where he's going to spare, Evaly pulls her feet up, knees bent to take her legs well out of the way of traffic.
What? Who the fuck? Vladilen stops right where he's walking and looks around suspiciously. Once to the right, once to the left... again to the right. Eventually he has the sense to look down and spots Evaly sitting where she is. Since she's a rather harmless looking girl he stops looking so alarmed and exhales. He tips the bottle back and drinks from it again, fixing her with a look before wandering her way. Hey, it's not like he has anyplace else to be. "The moss was in my way. I'm only a fraction of the way through the bottle tonight, it'll be my fault later."
A chunk of her barbecue birdie sails on over to the firelizard, who chirrups in a cheerful prelude to the girl's openly derisive chuckle. "Ahh, I see. How dare the moss grow where moss is inclined go grow. Bad, bad flora." Evaly chastises the stuff like she really means it, tosses the bone from her snack to the firelizard afterward and wipes her hand on the-- "Oh, the grass is wet, too. In case you haven't gotten all your plantlife aggression out of the way yet."
"Someone should take care of that. Burn it off or pour something down that makes it impossible to grow." Yeah, because there's a lot of moss-preventative solutions being used at the weyr. Vladilen doesn't sit, simply hunkers down and remains balanced on the balls of his feet. One hand touches the wet grass for aid in that and he turns inquisitive eyes on her. "Yes, I realized that. It's more of the rain again. Buckets and buckets of rain."
Evaly, helpfully if lowly pointed out, "Or people could watch where they were going. That might take less effort all around, if you think about it." Resting her weight on one hand behind her, she extends the other in Vladilen's general direction if not yet into his personal space. "Isn't about now when you should give your name, ask mine, and offer me a drink?"
"I'd rather other people expend their energy while I just don't have to worry about it." Vladilen admits, sounding entirely truthful about this. One finely crafted eyebrow is lifted and he casts an interested look onto Evaly's hand, though he doesn't reach his own out to grasp it. Not immediately anyway, "I could. But it's late and I'm apparently going to have to focus all my energy tonight into avoiding wet grass and moss. I don't know if I can expend anymore on pleasantaries." The hand with the bottle comes out, he'll put it in her grasp if she takes it. "A drink I could do? No glasses in my pockets though."
Surprised, hard to say if it's pleasantly given her tone is mild and it's too dark to read much into her expression, Evaly says to his first, "Points for honesty, at least." She will indeed grasp the end of the bottle, without hesitation and without looking even remotely like she was gunning for a handshake. "I can live with you conserving the energy and foregoing the introductions. I was just letting you know how the script usually goes. What's in it?" With an experimental sniff, as if she's in any position to be finicky.
"I'm nothing if not painfully honest." Vladilen tells her, the sound of smirk in his tone. Perhaps that's not necessarily true. "Yes, I noticed. I can appreciate that, though I'm pretty familiar with how the script works. I just don't always feel like following it. Sometimes it's for chumps." Sometimes. He waves his hand towards the bottle, almost dismissive of its contents. "Rum. Cheap. Very, very cheap. But still high in alcohol content."
Evaly repeats, "Painfully," with a questioning lilt, draws the bottle away from her nose like she's sorry she sniffed it at all. "Translation... got the shit kicked out of you a few times for running your mouth?" she guesses, an enlightened 'ahhhh' to greet the information about what's in the bottle. "Very cheap rum. Cursing at moss. Painfully honest. It must be--" She takes a drink, eyes watering on the downhill side of that, though she presses on. "--fun being you, then."
"Painfully." Vladilen confirms and has to laugh at her question. "It's happened before. It's not my fault if they can't handle the truth." He's truly a bastion of personal responsibility. "Sometimes," And here he holds up a finger to make a very important point. "It's extremely fun to be me. Very entertaining. Unfortunately, the other times I have to make due wandering around partially intoxicated and talking to girls who'd probably rather I leave them alone. But then, that has its upsides too. And occasionally you get lucky."
Not his fault, he says; "But, of course, it's your responsibility to point out these truths," she says. Evaly starts to hand the bottle back to him, the neck of it tilted toward Vladilen, but then he's going on about being drunk and her preferring her solitude and-- well, that's an opening you just don't see every day. (Or every dark damp night, as is the case.) "You're welcome to stay if you think you can tolerate all the mockingly moist greenery. Though I wouldn't complain if you felt like you were a third wheel and wanted to leave the two of us--" Her + bottle. "--alone." She does hand it back to him at that point, just to prove she's not going to steal it or whatever.
"Of course. Who /else/ is going to do it?" Vladilen asks with an air of importance to him. Something in what she says draws a slow, sly smirk to his face. It's possible she can see the glint of his white teeth in the dark, but then again maybe not. "Mockingly moist. That's a play on words you don't hear everyday." He cracks his knuckles then. "I'm going to have file that away and use it later, thanks for the play on words." When she hands it back, he takes another nice long draw from it. "Unfortunately, if you wanted your solitude it would just have to be you and the grass. Me and the bottle come together and leave together."
Evaly doesn't even try to answer who else, the quirk of her lips just notable in the dark, certainly harder to discern than the glimmer of his teeth. "You're welco--" The rest of that comment is lost when she cringes at the knuckle-cracking, this entirely obvious no matter how dark it is. "That's so-- attractive. The solitude, bottle or not, is looking steadily more appealing. You don't do it often, I hope?" Said while she looks beyond him to the path toward the Weyr, perilous or not, she needs to know her escape route if he's going to be all gross and knuckle-cracky.
Vladilen crunches his thumbs, just for good measure. Before he looks at her, appearing to be absolutely puzzled over her cringing. "What? Crack my bones? Only when I'm trying to limber them up." He doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with that as he screws the cap back onto the bottle. Maybe he's not aiming to become completely wasted tonight. "You've never cracked your knuckles?"
Considering the way the conversation started, Vladilen's perversity /really/ shouldn't come as a surprise, but Evaly still asks, pained, "Must you?" She might have had more complaints, but he's got a full bottle that he doesn't seem to have any interest in finishing, soooooooo. "I try not to," crack her knuckles, her unpopped fingers lifted, beckoning toward the capped bottle like she can use the Force or something to get it to come on over and join her. "No point in coveting cheap booze, is there?" There's a 'please' in there somewhere, just have to listen reeeeeeal hard to find it.
"Too overt?" Vladilen asks. "You see, this is the benefit of coming out at night and talking to people in the dark. I get to try all these terrible lines on women and see which of them are going to be really objectionable." How serious he really sounds about this is up to debate, but he hands the bottle over. Evaly is being a pretty good sport about this, sans trying to get him to accept responsibility for slipping on the moss earlier. "I thought I'd take a breather, try to make it last. Have some more though. After all, it is cheap."
Evaly's, "Not your target audience," is a little sing-songy, a lightly offered FYI in response to his trying out lines. "Though... 'trying to limber them up?' That's a line?" She takes the bottle and knocks back a much more substantial drink this time, like she really needs it after that. Mostly, she manages to swallow the cough afterward, and her eyes don't water tooooo much. "You do," she begins, even more raspy than normal, "know how to make a girl feel special. Thanks." After all, it is cheap.
"You might be a little young. But it's hard to tell." Vladilen squints at her in the dark. "You're also blonde. Not that it's bad, but not usually my thing. I love me those dark, sultry types. Oh, fuck it. The night isn't getting any younger. Let me take another hit of that." He puts his hand out to take the bottle from her after she's done coughing. It'll go down much smoother for him once he drinks, practice makes perfect. "And yes, it could be a line. Something like..." He clears his throat, "Hey there." He mock-cracks his knuckles, not making the noise. "I have some limber fingers that need exercising. Want to let me run laps on your track with them?" There's a pause as he allows time for that line to set in. "Alright, fine. That was crap."
Evaly fans her face like she's just so hot and bothered now, like his first comments-- young and blond-- are so flattering that, "Gosh, how am I ever going to keep my panties on after that." She passes the bottle back over, letting the butt of it land heavily in his palm, leaning forward so it's easier to make out the amused but, yeah, totally not buying what he's selling look on her face. "Pretty much it was, yes. I know you said you don't always feel like following the script, but I don't think improv is really your strong suit."
"I know, I know. It's very difficult for most women to keep their underware on when I'm around. But you're going to have to, you just don't have a chance. I'm so sorry. If you feel the need to cry, I do keep a tissue in my pockets... It's even clean?" He accepts the bottle and holds out the tissue to her. After he's done drinking, he smirks towards her in the dark. "No? That's unfortunate. If I don't like scripts and my only other option is a bust? I guess I'm just screwed. Good thing there's still whores. Tall, sultry, brunettes whores."
"I'll survive somehow," is Evaly's dry answer-- where dry is pretty ironic considering she's drinking while sitting in the wet grass. She waves aside the tissue, both hands pressed behind her now so that they can help push her to her feet, unwinding, bent double to collect her towel and her sandals before she's bothered to straighten all the way. She stops, though, once everything's all collected, and looks down at him with her head canted. "Not screwed, actually?" Flopping the towel over her shoulder, she debates putting on the shoes and finally gives in to it, concluding, "Thanks for the drinks--"
IC Date: 7/4/22
Waterfall Pool, Ista Weyr
From high above a majestic waterfall thunders, dropping into a broad, shaded glade and its deep, stone-bottomed pool. The constant roar of the water plunging from the top of the plateau drowns out the sounds of the ocean. A curious stream runs from the pool to the sea through the jungle greenery that keeps the water constantly cool.
A few dozen paces from the stone ring of the pool is a flat, grassy area, spotted with occasional wildflowers and little clovers and removed just enough from the splashing water that voices are more easily heard. Behind the pool, the cliff wall is rocky; ancient-carved steps meander up the wall, just far enough from the waterfall to be passable though moss and dampness make the path exciting. Another, less dangerous path seems to lead back to a tight squeeze and a certain shower if one chooses to pass behind the waterfall.
Some hours ago, it was pouring rain. By the time that quit and things cleared up, most people had given up the day for a wash (ba dum), which probably accounts for how Evaly wound up here pretty much by herself in the warm, summer dark. Pants rolled up to her knees, sandals in the grass beside her, a towel under her to keep from soaking up too much of that earlier downpour, she doesn't seem to mind the solitude so much, especially since it means she's working through a couple of pieces of cold wherry with no more company than a curious firelizard stationed on a boulder nearby, chirping his plea for chunks.
This is Vladilen's time. Not a person that anyone normally sees strolling the weyr during the day, he seems quite relaxed as he wanders down the damp stone stairs. He gets to the bottom and nearly slips and barely manages to regain balance, probably lucky he doesn't break his ankle. "Fucking moss. Are you fucking kidding me?" He mutters, cursing more darkly under his breath. Not noticing Evaly right away, he pulls a small bottle out of his light jacket. Unscrews the top and takes a good long drink from it before he begins walking again.
"I don't mean to start an argument or anything here," begins the girl in a scratchy-hoarse voice that seems pretty well-suited to things like velvety tropical nights and lounging in the grass and addressing total strangers out of the blue, "but if that's a flask I can hear you tipping over there, it's a little silly of you to blame the /moss/." In case he's got any more of that profane muttering and lack of watching where he's going to spare, Evaly pulls her feet up, knees bent to take her legs well out of the way of traffic.
What? Who the fuck? Vladilen stops right where he's walking and looks around suspiciously. Once to the right, once to the left... again to the right. Eventually he has the sense to look down and spots Evaly sitting where she is. Since she's a rather harmless looking girl he stops looking so alarmed and exhales. He tips the bottle back and drinks from it again, fixing her with a look before wandering her way. Hey, it's not like he has anyplace else to be. "The moss was in my way. I'm only a fraction of the way through the bottle tonight, it'll be my fault later."
A chunk of her barbecue birdie sails on over to the firelizard, who chirrups in a cheerful prelude to the girl's openly derisive chuckle. "Ahh, I see. How dare the moss grow where moss is inclined go grow. Bad, bad flora." Evaly chastises the stuff like she really means it, tosses the bone from her snack to the firelizard afterward and wipes her hand on the-- "Oh, the grass is wet, too. In case you haven't gotten all your plantlife aggression out of the way yet."
"Someone should take care of that. Burn it off or pour something down that makes it impossible to grow." Yeah, because there's a lot of moss-preventative solutions being used at the weyr. Vladilen doesn't sit, simply hunkers down and remains balanced on the balls of his feet. One hand touches the wet grass for aid in that and he turns inquisitive eyes on her. "Yes, I realized that. It's more of the rain again. Buckets and buckets of rain."
Evaly, helpfully if lowly pointed out, "Or people could watch where they were going. That might take less effort all around, if you think about it." Resting her weight on one hand behind her, she extends the other in Vladilen's general direction if not yet into his personal space. "Isn't about now when you should give your name, ask mine, and offer me a drink?"
"I'd rather other people expend their energy while I just don't have to worry about it." Vladilen admits, sounding entirely truthful about this. One finely crafted eyebrow is lifted and he casts an interested look onto Evaly's hand, though he doesn't reach his own out to grasp it. Not immediately anyway, "I could. But it's late and I'm apparently going to have to focus all my energy tonight into avoiding wet grass and moss. I don't know if I can expend anymore on pleasantaries." The hand with the bottle comes out, he'll put it in her grasp if she takes it. "A drink I could do? No glasses in my pockets though."
Surprised, hard to say if it's pleasantly given her tone is mild and it's too dark to read much into her expression, Evaly says to his first, "Points for honesty, at least." She will indeed grasp the end of the bottle, without hesitation and without looking even remotely like she was gunning for a handshake. "I can live with you conserving the energy and foregoing the introductions. I was just letting you know how the script usually goes. What's in it?" With an experimental sniff, as if she's in any position to be finicky.
"I'm nothing if not painfully honest." Vladilen tells her, the sound of smirk in his tone. Perhaps that's not necessarily true. "Yes, I noticed. I can appreciate that, though I'm pretty familiar with how the script works. I just don't always feel like following it. Sometimes it's for chumps." Sometimes. He waves his hand towards the bottle, almost dismissive of its contents. "Rum. Cheap. Very, very cheap. But still high in alcohol content."
Evaly repeats, "Painfully," with a questioning lilt, draws the bottle away from her nose like she's sorry she sniffed it at all. "Translation... got the shit kicked out of you a few times for running your mouth?" she guesses, an enlightened 'ahhhh' to greet the information about what's in the bottle. "Very cheap rum. Cursing at moss. Painfully honest. It must be--" She takes a drink, eyes watering on the downhill side of that, though she presses on. "--fun being you, then."
"Painfully." Vladilen confirms and has to laugh at her question. "It's happened before. It's not my fault if they can't handle the truth." He's truly a bastion of personal responsibility. "Sometimes," And here he holds up a finger to make a very important point. "It's extremely fun to be me. Very entertaining. Unfortunately, the other times I have to make due wandering around partially intoxicated and talking to girls who'd probably rather I leave them alone. But then, that has its upsides too. And occasionally you get lucky."
Not his fault, he says; "But, of course, it's your responsibility to point out these truths," she says. Evaly starts to hand the bottle back to him, the neck of it tilted toward Vladilen, but then he's going on about being drunk and her preferring her solitude and-- well, that's an opening you just don't see every day. (Or every dark damp night, as is the case.) "You're welcome to stay if you think you can tolerate all the mockingly moist greenery. Though I wouldn't complain if you felt like you were a third wheel and wanted to leave the two of us--" Her + bottle. "--alone." She does hand it back to him at that point, just to prove she's not going to steal it or whatever.
"Of course. Who /else/ is going to do it?" Vladilen asks with an air of importance to him. Something in what she says draws a slow, sly smirk to his face. It's possible she can see the glint of his white teeth in the dark, but then again maybe not. "Mockingly moist. That's a play on words you don't hear everyday." He cracks his knuckles then. "I'm going to have file that away and use it later, thanks for the play on words." When she hands it back, he takes another nice long draw from it. "Unfortunately, if you wanted your solitude it would just have to be you and the grass. Me and the bottle come together and leave together."
Evaly doesn't even try to answer who else, the quirk of her lips just notable in the dark, certainly harder to discern than the glimmer of his teeth. "You're welco--" The rest of that comment is lost when she cringes at the knuckle-cracking, this entirely obvious no matter how dark it is. "That's so-- attractive. The solitude, bottle or not, is looking steadily more appealing. You don't do it often, I hope?" Said while she looks beyond him to the path toward the Weyr, perilous or not, she needs to know her escape route if he's going to be all gross and knuckle-cracky.
Vladilen crunches his thumbs, just for good measure. Before he looks at her, appearing to be absolutely puzzled over her cringing. "What? Crack my bones? Only when I'm trying to limber them up." He doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with that as he screws the cap back onto the bottle. Maybe he's not aiming to become completely wasted tonight. "You've never cracked your knuckles?"
Considering the way the conversation started, Vladilen's perversity /really/ shouldn't come as a surprise, but Evaly still asks, pained, "Must you?" She might have had more complaints, but he's got a full bottle that he doesn't seem to have any interest in finishing, soooooooo. "I try not to," crack her knuckles, her unpopped fingers lifted, beckoning toward the capped bottle like she can use the Force or something to get it to come on over and join her. "No point in coveting cheap booze, is there?" There's a 'please' in there somewhere, just have to listen reeeeeeal hard to find it.
"Too overt?" Vladilen asks. "You see, this is the benefit of coming out at night and talking to people in the dark. I get to try all these terrible lines on women and see which of them are going to be really objectionable." How serious he really sounds about this is up to debate, but he hands the bottle over. Evaly is being a pretty good sport about this, sans trying to get him to accept responsibility for slipping on the moss earlier. "I thought I'd take a breather, try to make it last. Have some more though. After all, it is cheap."
Evaly's, "Not your target audience," is a little sing-songy, a lightly offered FYI in response to his trying out lines. "Though... 'trying to limber them up?' That's a line?" She takes the bottle and knocks back a much more substantial drink this time, like she really needs it after that. Mostly, she manages to swallow the cough afterward, and her eyes don't water tooooo much. "You do," she begins, even more raspy than normal, "know how to make a girl feel special. Thanks." After all, it is cheap.
"You might be a little young. But it's hard to tell." Vladilen squints at her in the dark. "You're also blonde. Not that it's bad, but not usually my thing. I love me those dark, sultry types. Oh, fuck it. The night isn't getting any younger. Let me take another hit of that." He puts his hand out to take the bottle from her after she's done coughing. It'll go down much smoother for him once he drinks, practice makes perfect. "And yes, it could be a line. Something like..." He clears his throat, "Hey there." He mock-cracks his knuckles, not making the noise. "I have some limber fingers that need exercising. Want to let me run laps on your track with them?" There's a pause as he allows time for that line to set in. "Alright, fine. That was crap."
Evaly fans her face like she's just so hot and bothered now, like his first comments-- young and blond-- are so flattering that, "Gosh, how am I ever going to keep my panties on after that." She passes the bottle back over, letting the butt of it land heavily in his palm, leaning forward so it's easier to make out the amused but, yeah, totally not buying what he's selling look on her face. "Pretty much it was, yes. I know you said you don't always feel like following the script, but I don't think improv is really your strong suit."
"I know, I know. It's very difficult for most women to keep their underware on when I'm around. But you're going to have to, you just don't have a chance. I'm so sorry. If you feel the need to cry, I do keep a tissue in my pockets... It's even clean?" He accepts the bottle and holds out the tissue to her. After he's done drinking, he smirks towards her in the dark. "No? That's unfortunate. If I don't like scripts and my only other option is a bust? I guess I'm just screwed. Good thing there's still whores. Tall, sultry, brunettes whores."
"I'll survive somehow," is Evaly's dry answer-- where dry is pretty ironic considering she's drinking while sitting in the wet grass. She waves aside the tissue, both hands pressed behind her now so that they can help push her to her feet, unwinding, bent double to collect her towel and her sandals before she's bothered to straighten all the way. She stops, though, once everything's all collected, and looks down at him with her head canted. "Not screwed, actually?" Flopping the towel over her shoulder, she debates putting on the shoes and finally gives in to it, concluding, "Thanks for the drinks--"