[Log] Blonde Boys Are Troublemakers
Who: L'sen, Satiet, X'dyr
When: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 4, 11th Interval
Where: Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr
What: L'sen just isn't Satiet's type.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons love to dive and bathe within the lake's deep waters, enticing their riders to join them for some play; a chilly but refreshing experience. Firelizards frollic above the clear surface, hunting for the small fish that are kept well stocked.
Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
The evening is clear, not a cloud to be seen, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The smaller Belior winks as a waxing crescent while Timor sleeps in darkness. The air is calm, with no hint of breeze. The water's glasslike surface mirrors the cliff walls and sky above.
Contents:
Satiet
Obvious exits:
LAke Pond Diving Cliff Bowl
It's a nice evening out, crisp and cool, and L'sen and Neiveth are making the most of it. The boy is stretched out in the sand, propped up on his elbows with sand clinging to hair and back; he wears an easy grin as he watches Neiveth's antics. The young blue is experimenting, testing all the tricks of his repetoire. At the moment, he's practicing a waddling sort of gait, like an egg-heavy queen. "Hey, that one's good," L'sen says enthusiastically. "Looks just like 'er!"
Always one to enjoy the outdoors when possible, the autumn crispness does little to deter Satiet from being out by the lake. The aloneness or odd glances aren't a deterrent either it would seem as the slender woman works with an oddly pieced together set of wood strips with a hammer and some nails. Out of the corner of her eye, the girl catches sight of Neiveth's antics, and unbidden a slow smirk curls just at the corners. Letting the hammer fall lax in her fingers, she calls over with dry amusement, "And how would he know just what 'er' looks like?"
"Ain't you seen 'er?" counters L'sen, grinning over at Satiet. "You know, what's-her-name. That one cook that waddles around like a duck? Heh. It's pretty funny, you know what I mean? But she's really nice, too, so. She gave me cookies the other day." He beams at that, and Neiveth stops his impersonation to eye Satiet, rumbling and cocking his head. He ambles closer to the goldrider to inspect her project, and L'sen sits upright and calls a question for both of them: "Hey, what're you working on, anyway?"
The oblong end of the hammer's top rests lopsided in the crook of her thumb across her fingers and rocks back and forth in idle movement. "I can't say that I have," Satiet begins, dubious as to the origin of this 'er' or 'she' with the cookies that waddles like a duck. "Unless you have name to attach to that remarkably distinctive gait." It's not a compliment, no flattery intended in that dry alto, but Neiveth is granted a milder look than the one for L'sen. Also noted, used mostly as a seat if the rumpled burlap ends are any indication, is a large sack with the soft shine of Nabol apples visible here and there. "A gift, for someone who might enjoy the joke of it all. Interested, are you?"
L'sen makes a face, nose wrinkling, brow furrowing. "Um. Kessle? Kaysale?" he suggests. Then, waving it off, he shrugs. "Anyway, it's still funny, even if you don't know who it's supposed to be. Trust me, though: Neiveth's got it right on." Then, curiousity piqued, he hops to his feet in a shower of sand, not thinking to dust himself off. He shuffles over to peer at the project, trailing sand as he does so. "So who's it for? And, um. Er, what is it?" He gives her work a confused look, eyes cutting up at Satiet. Neiveth investigates more thoroughly, nosing anything he can reach.
And for Neiveth's nosing pleasure is a long wooden stake set into an 'X' of wood sticks. From the larger stake more slender stalks of wood are hammered out, some a bit more precariously than others. "Kessle? Sneaking you treats, I see. Because you're cute, or because you think you're cute?" Rhetorical, the raven-haired girl returns to study the growing tree-like structure and frowns. "They teach you how to sew, stitch, and clean up after dragon dung, and I'm not sure if I'm using a hammer correctly." Crisp and clean, the darkness of evening has settled over the lake area, with only the soft shine of moon reflected in the water's surface. Near Satiet is Neiveth, and an approaching L'sen. "It's for... it's an apple tree. Or will be, maybe someday soon."
Neiveth eyes the wood formation curiously, tilting his head and peering again to Satiet. "Huh?" L'sen says blankly. "Um. I don't know? Because I am cute? Am I cute? I don't know if I'm cute or not. Do you think I'm cute?" This question seems a lot harder than it should be for L'sen, who frowns and debates it for several seconds before shrugging and brightening. "Don't look much like an apple tree to me."
And it's a question that X'dyr doesn't have to deal with immediately simply because he's out of earshot. The lanky blonde weyrling actually seems to be in the singular this evening - almost looking at a loss at what to do. The pacing near the lake shore, the occasional stone lobbed into the water. Definitely a case of idle hands and an idle mind.
"Not my type." Satiet replies with smooth sarcasm. "Seriously. You look too fruity, and besides which you're blonde. Blonde boys are troublemakers." It's a known fact, and a decisively known one given the punctuating nod, one that allows her to spy out the somewhat familiar shape X'dyr strikes, which in turn elicits a curl on her lips that's not pleased. "Blonde girls for that matter too," she adds, this one with more vicious punctuation in the form of a hammer's head to an ill-positioned nail to make sure one stake sticks up rather than down. "It's... abstract. For someone who doesn't have the time to go apple picking himself."
L'sen gives Satiet a confused look. "So... what /is/ your type?" he wonders mildly. "I mean, I dunno. I mean, don't guess I've ever seen you with a guy or anything, so I was just... wondering. And hey! What's wrong with being blonde? S'not like I can help it or anything, you know what I mean? Besides, I kind of like it myself." Pause. "And--er, fruity? What's /that/ supposed to mean?" Fortunately, he's easily distracted by the discussion of her project. "You never did say who it was for, you know? Did you?"
Blonde boys may be trouble, but what of blonde men? It may perhaps be unfortunate that X'dyr doesn't particularly qualify as one yet - just ask his mother. The bronze weyrling stretches his arms above his head, hands balled into fists, and an all might yawn is allowed to escape - whether it be from boredom or simply a lack of oxygen it seems rather moot. He tilts his head back to study the sky briefly, it apparently not holding his attention for long. Turning away from the lake, the surrounding area is slowly scanned - and once people are discovered a hand is lifted to wave. Someone else to give an opinion of the apple tree.
Satiet reaches up with her, now, free fingers, having relinquished the nail to the depths of wood, though the top is a bit, well, bent. Her fingers sink into her dark hair, as if to make some nameless point, and fall along the natural wave of the strands to the bottom and twine there. "As long as you're happy with it." It's your life. "My type, dear weyrling, isn't you, and other than that..." she pauses, as X'dyr's wave is noticed, a half-hearted one returned with a hammer attached. "It's for a friend who could use some light in his life about now." Blue gaze shift away, finding the tree more interesting than the conversation at hand. "Are you handy with a hammer?"
L'sen shrugs it off, grinning. "Just wondering," he defends himself again. Then, he adds, "You know, my dad's a woodcrafter. I helped 'im some, too, so maybe I could help?" A shrug, again. "If you want." Pause. Neiveth is looking distracted, raising one back leg to scratch at his side. "Er, or maybe not. Or some other time? Neiveth's itchy," he says glumly. "I better go oil him up, you know? C'mon, then." He offers Satiet and X'dyr both a grin, then starts for the barracks, preceded by his blue.