[Log] Male Bonding
Who: Galavon, Greta, Ironeph, Jathein, Yasia
When: Day 20, Month 5, Turn 442
Where: Lakeshore, Fort Weyr
What: Galavon, Ironeph, and Jathein irritate Greta and Yasia. At least two of them don't mean to.
Lake
The more habitable and friendly-looking end of the bowl, near the lake is where one finds the greenery of the Weyr. The lake itself takes up about a quarter of the bowl floor, making it about a quarter-mile long and quarter-mile wide, though irregularly shaped. The water is sweet and clear, kept clean by algae and the like. A fence at the western edge pens in the feeding grounds, which boast a trodden ground of grass and even a pair of large trees. Just northwest of the lake are the weyrling barracks, and just south is a small herb garden used by the kitchens. Near the garden is a wide, gradually sloping tunnel that leads through the walls of the bowl to eventually exit the Weyr - a path traditionally used by tithe trains.
Afternoon traffic keeps the lake busy enough as people wash their dragons or catch a breath of fresh air. Though the weather is still chilly, the lake is warm enough, kept heated by the inner warmth of the Weyr itself.
Exits:
Bowl..........................[NE] Entrance Cavern...............[S]
Feeding Grounds...............[W] Herb Garden...................[SW]
Weyrling Barracks.............[NW]
Jathein
Tall and well-built, Jathein clearly takes effort to keep his physical appearance in line. At 21, he stands at 6'2" with long, lean limbs, lightly muscled - more agile than bulky. Calloused hands and what looks like a belt-knife scar on his forearm might hint at the labor that keeps him trim. A bit fair-skinned with reddish-brown hair, he's one of those unfortunates that sunburns and freckles, though his complexion is otherwise unmarred. Short, trimmed reddish hair curls unmanageably though it's cut so that it only brushes the tops of his ears and the middle of his forehead. His eyes are actually quite pretty, bluish-green with amber lashes and laugh-lines at the corners of them. There's a good chance that his nose was broken and reset at some point in the past, making it slightly crooked with a bump in the bridge of it.
His russet and tan clothing isn't especially impressive, but it fits him well. The sleeves of his off-white, collared shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the tails of it are tucked into his canvas pants. Over this, he wears a lightly quilted brick-red vest with pockets. His boots are scuffed but in good repair, as is the plain leather belt with a belt-knife sheathed on his hip.
Galavon
Tall and muscular, with copper-brown curls that drift down his neck to rest atop his collar, this young man looks to be in his early 20s and has a friendly and approachable air. His face is traditionally handsome, with a square jaw, patrician nose, and bright green eyes framed by girlishly long lashes. Galavon's shoulders are broad and his arms powerful and well-muscled. His skin, never pale to begin with, has been further browned by the sun. He has a mellow tenor voice, and carries himself with the confidence of someone who's never had cause to doubt himself.
Galavon's clothing is clean and impeccably neat, a blue tunic of soft fine-woven wool with brass buttons, and klah-brown pants that taper down the legs and tuck into his spit-shine polished black boots.
Ironeph
About six feet tall and built along athletic lines, Ironeph is blessed with the dark, olive-tinted skin and dark brown hair more characteristic of a tropical climate. He keeps his hair close cropped, swept back off his forehead and to the right. Ironeph has brown eyes and thick dark brows above a straight nose and firm mouth, a slightly squared jawline framing his features. He seems to be in his early 20s.
Ironeph's clothes are in good condition, either relatively new or well-cared for, a pair of heavy dark brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a dusty green. His winter jacket is a little large on him, the sleeves and shoulder seams longer; based on its more worn condition, it's probably a hand-me-down.
Yasia
Yasia is a young woman having just come into her own at the age of seventeen. With a trim athletic build and a bit of extra height to her she makes herself known by literally standing above her compatriots at six feet tall. She carries herself with a sense of self-worth which can be seen in her easy yet authoritative poise and grace. Dark chocolate colored hair would reach a few inches below her shoulders if it wasn't pulled into a tight bun with a simple off-white ribbon at the nape of her neck. A well defined chin and nose and thin eyebrows accentuate her gently curved steel blue eyes on a background of warm beige skin.
Yasia's clothing choice is simple and functional with albeit clumsy home tailoring to show off her figure. A simple bark brown skirt and white half-sleeve shirt are her base necessities along with a pair of well worn boots. Button firmly across her middle and bust is a small vest of the same color as her skirt; they have to match after all.
Galavon comes striding over from the bowl, a towel draped over one shoulder. He finds himself a nice quiet people and dragon-free spot, near enough to hear the waves lap at the rocks, and spreads out his towel. He strips off his tunic, stretches, and then sits down. After prying off his boots and setting them upright next to the towel, he lies on his back, hands behind his head, and closes his eyes. Ahh, restdays.
A damn fine day to be outdoors, and that's where Jathein is right now. Kind of a jock, he does very jock-esque things: Right now, that involves fiddling around with throwing knives and a make-shift target painted on a couple of bails of hay stacked against a post of the feeding grounds. It keeps him occupied, so that's all that really matters, right? Plus, throwing knives look cool.
The outdoors - at least it's better than being cooped up inside. Sitting far enough back from the shore to not get splashed Yasia is busily working away on some unknown mass of clothing that's in obvious need of some good repairs. A few other articles that seem to all be in a triage pile are near at hand but their cases don't seem to be as severe as her current work.
Escaping the confines of the Weyr, Ironeph walks quickly, purposefully down to the lake, as though he had some pressing business there. As soon as the young man reaches the shore of the water, however, his steps slow, that purpose fading as he settles to ambling, studying the people frequenting the area along with him. In particular, the knife exhibition of Jathein attracts his attention, and Ironeph pauses a moment to watch before deliberately heading away from the guard. He shuffles instead in another direction, toward Galavon.
Greta comes over from the bowl.
Greta has arrived.
Greta
Rather plain looking is this young woman, with pale hazel eyes that are ringed in ebony lashes. Her mousy brown locks are clean, but always tightly braided back from her face and out of her way. The roundness of her face and jaw line helps to offset the thin length of her nose. Lips of pale rose are full, with the upper lip being marginally thinner then the lower. Her height and weight are average for a girl of her age, her overall form is lanky and without feminine curves. Her long torso tapers into a thin hipped waist before moving onward to the length of her legs.
Greta is attired in a simple outfit of brown pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a pale green hue. On her slender feet are a pair of well made but slightly worn brown leather boots match the belt that is draped around the young woman's waist.
Galavon lies there sprawled under the sun for a few minutes. But after a while, the thunking of the knives against the target gets to him, and he sighs, rolls over, and props himself up on his elbow to watch.
Jathein calls pleasantly, "I won't nail you with one, promise." He marches across the space to the hay, pulling the three throwing knives out after pausing long enough to send a reassuring grin at Ironeph. "It's supposed to be, uhm, therapeutic?" Big word. He hangs up over it a second. "Yeah, that. You want to try?" he offers very friendly-like, turning to toss the words across the fairly long distance between himself, Galavon, and Ironeph. Male bonding opportunity, yay!
Galavon belatedly notices Ironeph. "Oh, hey," he says casually.
"Men and their toys," Yasia mutters, looking up long enough to write them all off as minor annoyances before going back to her work. "Now I remember why I don't work out here very often." She tacks on as a note to self.
"Show-off," mutters Ironeph to Galavon as he stops and sprawls there himself, watching the water and ignoring the knife-thrower behind them for a few seconds. Then, turning, he offers Jathein a grin, as though he hadn't just been talking about him. "I'll pass. Wouldn't want to put you to shame," he remarks easily. Yasia is ignored just as handily as Jathein had been a few moments earlier.
"Or miss the target and raise your voice an octave," Galavon calls to Jathein with a laugh. Then he glances at Yasia and rolls his eyes. "Why would you sew out by the lake, anyway?" he asks. The remark is directed at Ironeph, but loud enough to be overheard.
Fortunately, Jathein is totally unaware of what Ironeph just muttered over there, so he very foolishly assumes there's just good-natured ribbing. "You sure? It's pretty fun," he comments, crunching across the gravel toward the two other guys like a big dumb dog that just saw some friends on the other side of the fence - all happy and oblivious. "Though I guess getting tagged in the - yeah. That might not be as fun," is added after Galavon's remark.
Greta has been watching all this for sometime, though it's hardly enough to really sending her running closer with the want to join in. Instead the slow moving seamstress is content to stay in her little spot and just watch...for now.
Yasia seems a bit surprised that her commenting has been overheard but it's barely a blip on the radar as the small look is smoothed over with her normally calm look. "Apparently you have never been stuck in a room sewing all day with a bunch of gossipy old women." That seems to be enough of an explanation for the tall seamstress for now.
"Well. Not for /you/," qualifies Ironeph, still grinning. He shrugs, glances sideways at Galavon. "Now, you see?" he notes, "/That's/ why." While the words might be marginally sympathetic, the tone is definitely dryly mocking toward Yasia. The smirk he aims at Galavon only emphasizes as much. "Now--" he turns back to Jathein "--how you figure that? Doesn't look so entertaining to me. Let alone relaxing or whatever it was."
Galavon actually laughs at Yasia's comment, and not in a mocking way. "Good a reason as any." He tosses the remark toward her and then turns his attention back to Ironeph and Jathein. "Those special knives or something?" he asks. "I never tried that. I can throw rocks pretty good."
Greta heard that comment about the gossiping old woman and nods her head in agreement as she gets to her feet "A man wouldn't be caught dead in the sewing area." she comments as she joins the outter edges of the area where the others are.
Jathein crouches down near Galavon, holding the trio of throwing knives across his two open palms. "Yeah. See, no handles. And they're weighted specially so they - well, they kind of turn end over end when you throw them. See?" And he throws one, aiming to make it stick point down into the dirt. It does. Go him. "I don't know," he adds to Ironeph, shrugging. "It's pretty relaxing. I mean, it's repetitive but kind of useful so it's not boring. And it doesn't feel like you're just being lazy." If he didn't seem so downright earnest, one might take that as a barbed comment at Ironeph. As for Yasia and Greta - he glances without comment, just a quick 'hi'-type smile.
Ignoring Ironeph's comment Yasia glances back over her shoulder on hearing Greta. "Hey, didn't see you there." She apologizes, smiling at her words. "True. I think some of them would be scarred for life if they hear the kinds of things that get talked about there." The slightest of nods is given to Galavon and Jathein, nothing more.
Unimpressed, Ironeph arches a brow in his regard of Jathein. "Uh-huh. Spectacular," he notes, leaning over to reach for the knife in the ground, to pull it up and inspect it first-hand. "Anything repetitive is boring. No thought to it," he notes absently. "I don't see how useful it could be, either. You plannin' on stabbing many people around here?"
Galavon reaches out to take one of the knives Jathein is still holding, weighing it in his hand with interest. "Yeah, not that much more useful than rock throwing, unless you're planning on - yeah," he says. "And besides, nothing wrong with /resting/ on your rest day, huh?" He hands the knife back, and pushes to his feet. "I've gotta go take a leak. I'll catch you guys later. See you at dinner, Ironeph?"
Greta returns the smiled greetings with a faint one of her own "I think they'd more then likely have a mental breakdown personally." she offers towards Yasia "I mean what do you think they'd do if they heard all the matchmaking some of the mothers were plotting."
Jathein goes to retrieve the thrown knife, not particularly good at just sitting still. "No. But better to be the one stabbing the one getting stabbed, right?" He and his healthy paranoia return to crouching to collect the knife back from Galavon, nodding. "Anyway. It's therapeutic," he reiterates, sticking to that one. "Bye," to Galavon.
"Curl up in a ball in the corner and cry themsevles to sleep. At least that's what I think." Yasia shrugs, absently pushing a bit of loose hair behind her ear and out of the way. At Galavon's parting words she quirks a look of disgust but does not comment.
"Yeah, sure," Ironeph hedges around Galavon, lifting one hand in a distracted wave to the young man. For a moment, his dark eyes fall on the two girls, narrowing briefly. Then, glancing back to Jathein, he smirks. "You said that already. Got any new material?" he points out.
"Later," Galavon says, and trots off to do his business.
Galavon has disconnected.
"Uhm," begins Jathein, brows knitting together. He even has a little pouch where the throwing knives live, awww, and he puts them away while he thinks about Ironeph's question. "Girls like it?" Then comes a pause and his attention naturally diverts to the two girls nearest, a quizzical look at both. "Well, most girls." Pause. "Hold girls, anyway. Weyr girls seem really bent on being, uhm, difficult."
Greta laughs softly at Yasia's comment before giving Galavon a look of disgust, "Some males around here." she mutters before fixing a look on Jathein "I hardly think you know anything about Weyr females then, we aren't difficult we're just smarter then you males give us credit for being."
"Now see," Ironeph declares smugly, "that should have been your introduction. If you're trying to sell something, you gotta start with the most compelling point. Anyway--" He breaks off to frown briefly as his eyes fall on Greta and Yasia. "Only some of them, and only when in groups," he decides, eyeing the pair but particularly Yasia. "I could suggest a few names, though, of the more easily-impressed ones, if you like."
"Exactly. And for some of us it's our duty to make sure you never get any." Yasia smiles ever so sweetly at the end of her comment. Catching the look Ironeph is giving her she returns it with a smugly calm look of her own. "Really now. Do spread your wisdom among us not educated in your ways." Obvious sarcasm.
Jathein may have known he'd be overheard, probably realized it, but didn't reconcile the facts with potential consequences. Like Greta taking offense, for example. "Pardon? I think girls are usually smarter than I am, miss, but - well. Most girls I knew at home were smart /and/ kind of nice to be around." He shrugs, oblivious to the likelihood that he just insulted them again. "And thanks, but I'm set for right now. There's a girl already."
Ironeph arches his brows at Yasia, the gesture a little too smug for surprise or offense. "Fortunately, the ones I'm actually willing to hit up didn't get that notice," he drawls. And, deliberately, he turns to Jathein. "Really now," notes the man, not a question. "That wouldn't happen to be old Boll's daughter, now would it?"
Greta says "Please do impart your unending wisdom to us, we are so ignorant to the ways in which you deem yourself fit to be treated." Her sweet sounding words end with a snort of distaste. Now Jathein truely earns a smile that can only be termed as warm "I wasn't meaning you, by the way I'm Greta, I was meaning him." jabbing a finger in Ironephs direction as she speaks "Some women don't wish to be anything more then empty headed bodies for men to use.""
Jathein blinks. And, maybe it's the sun and the fact that he's all fair-skinned, but he turns about five shades of pink as he answers, "Old Boll's dauther? Uhm, you mean Sarei? Because she's actually engaged - to that one Lord that's living here, actually." Heh, fancy that! He also sucks at lying, so he turns almost eagerly to Greta. "Nice to meet you. But - I didn't actually hear my friend say anything about girls being empty-headed bodies? Uhm, you're kind of putting words in his mouth, aren't you?"
"Hey, don't look at me," Ironeph offers in laughing defense of himself, grinning over at Greta from his seat. "I wasn't complaining." A shrug, another grin apparently meant to rectify the situation. That is, until he notes Jathein's blush with obvious amusement. "Really now. Since when's that got to do with anything?" he wonders idly. "By the way, no need to defend me."
Yasia just smiles. Nothing warm, not even sarcastic, the best title for it would be 'I-will-eat-your-face-while-you-sleep', but it's gone quickly as she turns back to her work for a moment. Looking up once again she listens to Jathein's flustered words with a look of mild amusement. No comment for the moment.
Greta just lifts a brow as her gaze shifts from the males to the target, her real interest was in that but well she's good at hiding most things.
"Er. How does it not have anything to do with it?" Jathein's clever attempt to change the subject failed to pay off, and so he scrapes a picture in the sand in front of him with his forefinger, successfully casting his face in shadow. Ignore the reddened ears - that's probably to do with the sun. Really. "I mean, I couldn't very well say 'I have a girl' if she's engaged to somebody else, right? Right. Also, I wasn't really defending you. Just trying to set the record straight?"
Ironeph just stares at Jathein with a expression so sympathetic and believing it has to be faked. "Well, you can still be /after/ her if she's engaged, and, well. Just because she /is/ engaged doesn't mean she's off-limits, after all." Pause. "Just in public, I guess, which is overrated anyway."
Suddenly gathers up her work, stuffing it unceremoniously under one arm Yasia stands and hitchs her skirt up from its rumpled state. "If you'll excuse me, there's something I've forgotten to do." Nodding to Greta she turns on her heel and heads out.
Yasia heads over to the bowl.
Yasia has left.
Greta flashes a look at the men before following Yasia away from the lake "As for me, I've got work to do." And with that she departs as well.
Jathein laughs weakly, not so much amused as scoffing. "You obviously don't know holders very well. If someone was fooling around with a Lord Holder's daughter? They'd find out about it. And then that thing your friend said earlier about raising your voice an octave would pretty much apply." Look! He drew a dog in the dirt - stick-figure dog, or possibly stick-figure cow. "They seemed really easily pissed off," he remarks as the girls leave practically in unison.
Greta has disconnected.
"I guess so," agrees Ironeph easily, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "I'm weyrbred--what do I know, anyway?" He falls silent a moment to watch both girls exit, then smirks. "Greta's not usually so bad, I didn't think. Yasia's a bitch, though, 'specially lately."
Jathein gives stick-figure dog/cow some fiery breath. So maybe it was stick-figure dragon. Or a fire-breathing cow, which would be really cool in a self-roasting way. But that's a digression. Point is, he continues to doodle aimlessly. "I wonder why. Maybe all the excitement about the eggs?" Pause. "Which reminds me. Why do people ask 'have you gone to see the eggs yet?' Is it common to sit and look at eggs?"
Ironeph shrugs. "Not a clue. She used to be... not so bad. I know one of her brothers," he explains vaguely. "The eggs? Eh, it's... kind of the curiousity factor, I guess. We've never had a lot of them, you know? I mean, two clutches in a turn--when's the last time /that/ happened? They're okay to look at once, more than that and it's just plain pointless. They're only interesting once they've hatched."
Jathein asks honestly, "I don't know. When is the last time?" He missed the section of life where one learned about rhetorical questions. "Probably like two hundred turns ago, huh? That's a pretty long time." Scratches his ear while he tries to grok it. "So I should go see them, I guess. Then I can just say 'yes' and end the conversation. Thanks."
Ironeph blinks. "Uh... yeah. Something like that," he replies after a moment, giving Jathein an odd look for his answer. "Wait until she's done--then they won't try to drag you back. There's some people, you'd think they've never seen an egg before, the way they carry on." A roll of his eyes.
"Seems like a weird thing to do," muses Jathein. "Like watching paint dry, which was my dad's way of saying 'really boring.' This is kind of boring, too," he adds, downright blunt about it. "Don't you ever work?"
"Pretty much," agrees Ironeph. Then, stopping, he frowns at Jathein. "Don't you? Or do you just hang around practicing knifing things?" he retorts, though not sounding particularly offended by the question. "You think they'd keep me around here long if I didn't? Of course I work. Just because you don't see it happening." He shakes his head.
Jathein says, "Well, the Weyr's not actually providing me with anything, so no. I don't work for the Weyr right now." He pauses a second, then adds, "Well, I guess technically the Weyr is providing me with shelter, but I have been taking some of the runners out for exercise, so I think that's a fair trade. What work do you do?"
Dubiously, Ironeph regards Jathein a moment, then smirks. "Uh-huh. And feeding you," he points out. "Unless you're holding out on some of those--what was it--rivergrains you brought down for us. I fix things." A shrug. "Tables, chairs, beds... stuff."
"Er, I actually pay for my food? I brought some money with me 'cause I wasn't sure how long I'd be staying. Since I don't have a job like you do." Jathein finds that funny, chuckling as he straightens up, scuffing his dragon-cow-dog off the dirt with a swipe of his foot. "And I actually better get going before it gets downright dark. Nice chat." Where he's going is anyone's guess, as he straightens up and heads toward the stables instead of the caverns.
"Weird," is all Ironeph has to say to that. He shrugs and glances away from Jathein, idly remarking, "Uh-huh, see you. Good luck with that lady of yours."