Facts of Life
Location: Exile Island
Time: Afternoon on Day 18, Month 1, Turn 2
Players: J'lor, Lorna, Laemont
Scene: Lorna's father has asked J'lor to give his daughter The Talk. J'lor attempts to do so in his own sort of way.
On a Western Island, Deep in the Forest
Once uninhabited, this large island, part of the many that make up the Western Isles, is now home to the Instigators. Their numbers swelled in the past decade by births and exiles picked up from other islands in the nearby chain, the tropical island is now home to nearly one hundred and fifty people, including the 31 dragonpairs exiled after the rebellion.
It's a pleasant island, made moreso by the work of many hands. Stone cliffs on the leeward side make a home for dragons, a large cavern at the base home to the rest in all but the worst rain season. Tropical forest covers most of the island, though there is a small plot of land near the cliffs for cultivated crops and beasts, and the exiles have even added a small dock for the small fishing boats made from the wood of the native trees.
The smoke of fires for cooking, heating water from the freshwater stream that bubbles through the center of the camp, and even the occasional resmithing of old metal traces a hazy line above the island.
The trouble with island storms that wash the land clean is that they always seem to come in clusters. The afternoon started sunny, but now the sky has darkened to an ominous grey and a chill wind has picked up. J'lor is sitting on the beach, far away from the tide, his 'sketching stick' held in one hand. It pokes in and out of the sand without making much more than holes, and he's staring, not down, but out at the ocean, a small distracted frown on his face. Vellath, having perhaps a better weather sense (or working eyes) has already retired to his weyr to sleep out the inevitable storm.
The skiff moves terribly quickly, ahead of the wind, small and agile as it picks its way through the submerged reefs with the ease of long practice. It isn't until she reaches the rickety mooring dock that Lorna runs into trouble; tacking hurriedly, she simultaneously pulls the cord to let the sails fall and manages to avoid plowing into the other boats at a breakneck speed. Pulling the rudder hard to starboard, the boat lurches and shudders, and the girl uses that shuddering shift of direction to leap from deck to dock, agilely. With her comes a rope, secured to her skiff's bow, and is hurriedly and deftly looped around the cleat to hold it. Only then does she stop, surveying her boat and then flopping backwards onto the wood of the dock, cross-legged. Exciting stuff -- her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright.
The distant expression on the bluerider's face, as he sits in the sand, snaps into sudden focus as Lorna's skiff comes careening in and she maneuvers it as smoothly as a rider nudging directions to his dragon. A little shake of his head and a little moment to roll around thoughts of what might have been, and then a mask of utter calm descends over J'lor's face and he heaves a deep sigh. The calm dissolves into a smile and he raises his arm, waving it for Lorna to see. "Lorna!" the blue rider bellows. You know, in case she misses him sitting there.
Lorna jumps at that bellow, quite audible even over the wind. Her head snaps round, finding J'lor up the beach immediately; her face splits into a delighted smile, and she lifts an arm to wave at him. Then she clambers to her feet and hops -back- down into the boat, disappearing from view for a few moments as she gathers up the sails, lashing them together and securing them to the boat, to ride out the storm without being scattered across the sand and waves. Then she puts both hands flat on the dock and hauls herself back out, neatly, and just as calmly as if she hadn't just risked a broken neck or a concussion on the reefs, she moves over toward J'lor. "We're going to have a storm!" she says, with excitement as she approaches, as if they hadn't had another storm just yesterday, and the day before that.
"We are at that, my dear," is J'lor's jovial agreement. He pats the spot next to him. "Sit with me a while until the rain begins?" There's something about storms. He's always out there watching them start. Sometimes, he just stands, out in the torrential downpour for hours. He's never explained why.
"Of course." Lorna folds up beside him with instant obedience, lowering herself onto her knees first and then the rest of the way down. She ends up a few inches away from him, not touching, but very close. Drawing up her legs, she rests her arms about them loosely and then rests her chin on her knees, a pose only comfortable with childlike flexbility. She says nothing else -- it's not the first time she's sat out here with the man while waiting for the storms to begin, and speech is not usually called for, the sounds of the encroaching storm plenty accompaniment to the silence.
It seems, this time, that speech is an included element to their storm watching. At least, it is for J'lor. The man opens his mouth several times, inhaling as if he's about to breath out words. But then his mouth closes and...nothing. This happens perhaps three times before he spurts out, rather abruptly, "I cannot take you fruit picking anymore." Good start, man. Goood start.
Lorna is no idiot. Her eyes flicker to the side at each of his inhalations, patiently waiting for words to spill out. Her lips are quirked in the faintest of smiles, though not quite amused -- rather, the expression is almost fond. It slants abruptly though with that outburst of his, and she turns, hands leaving her knees and going back on the sand as she leans back to look at him. "I-- what? Why not?" Bewilderment.
J'lor lifts a hand up, rubbing it fretfully against the stubble on his chin. Why, indeed? "Forgive me, my dear. You're going to have to bear with me. In this particular explanation, words seems to be...elusive." His hand drops into his lap and he turns to regard the girl sitting next to him with his dark, expressive eyes. "Lorna, many of your friends, those you've had since childhood, are boys are they not?"
Lorna raises an eyebrow. She doesn't look all that alarmed, no doubt confident that she'll be able to win out in this and can get to the fruit picking after all. His question earns him a somewhat blank look, a pause during which she thinks, and then a furrow of her brow. "Yes, but they are bigger than I am. They can't climb as quickly or as high." She's humororing him.
J'lor looks, for a moment, perplexed. As if he doesn't understand why boys and climbing should go together. But then...ah! The clouds clear away from the exiled man's expression even as they gather in the sky. "No, I suppose they can't. But, tell me Lorna, these friends. Have you found, as of late, that they've treated you...differently at all?" Eeease into it.
"Laemont made me dance in front of you the other day," she replies, easily, rosy cheeks darkening a little bit. "He's never done that before. And Ravi finally admitted to my face that I am the better sailor." The day to day lives of the younger generation of exiles can be so uncomplicated. Her lips quirk, and she adds, "He owes me a new rope for my boat." She looks up then, away from J'lor and out towards the sea, at the distant ominous rumble of thunder that rolls in from the ocean.
J'lor nods slowly making a faint little 'mmm' sound as he stares out at the water. The man's usal presence, his charisma and ability to steal the stage, seem to be somewhat missing in this particular conversation. "My dear, I'm afraid I'm simply going to say it and we shall have to see what comes next." Nod. "Your body is changing, and with it the expectations others have of you. And yet, up until now, your actions have remained essentially the same." He is looking, not at Lorna, but up at the blackening clouds, as he talks.
Lorna just continues to look gently puzzled, though at the mention of her body's changes, she looks away from the man and out toward the ocean, both eyebrows up and her face carefully neutral. "Oh." Silence, while her face slowly grows pinker and pinker. She's -technically- been an adult for a few Turns now, but with a dearth of female companions, Lorna's not one for discussing the matter. Then, eventually, "Expectations? Different work?" She sounds almost hopeful.
J'lor clears his throat and his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips. "Well, perhaps different work, although not necessarily. But..." the bluerider quiets to struggle with organizing his thoughts. "But besides that. For example, when you speak with a little girl of ten turns and with a woman of twenty, your manner of address changes, yes? And you are perceptive enough to have noticed, my dear, that the same is true when, ah, men speak to children versus grown women."
"You don't think people treat me with the respect accorded my age?" Lorna's brow furrows, and she gives her head a quick shake. "I'm still a child, J'lor. And I like being a child; I like being everyone's little girl." The wind is picking up, and it plucks at wisps of Lorna's sun-bleached hair as she tilts her face up towards the sky, anticipating rain. "I don't want anything to change."
"But my dear," and here the rider's voice gentles because the news he must impart is, truthfully, unkind. "You are not a child, and others are beginning to see you as something more, even if you do not wish it. You do not treat *yourself* with the respect due to your age. There are...certain things a child may do that a woman cannot. I am afraid, Lorna, that it is time for you to begin discovering what such things are. Changes comes, regardless of our protestations." And it is now that, with a rumble, the sky opens. No slow trickle to lead up to a full storm. It's a heavy, frigid downpour, water pounding into sand and surf and onto the two on the beach.
"What, a child may climb a tree but a woman may not?" Lorna does not get angry but once in a blue moon; here her temper has flared, out of sheer frustration. Rather than vent it on her mentor and idol, she gets to her feet and walks away from him, out onto the beach in the rain toward the ocean, arms folded tight across her chest. That is, until she happens to look down at the effects of such a pose, and the dampening of her blouse in the torrential downpour; woman, indeed. She drops her arms, awkwardly, looks over her shoulder at the bluerider. "What good did growing up ever do -anyone-?" she asks, forced to raise her voice above the sound of the rain, before she turns and stalks further down the beach, kicking up wet sand with her heels and leaving angry footprints behind her; a sodden figure, hair already quite plastered to her face.
"I think he means you'll have to stop running around naked, now, Lorrie," comes a familiar, melodic, soft voice as a tall figure steps out onto the beach. He is unbothered by the rain, his pack waterproofed long ago, strawberry-tinted hair gleaming brightly even as it is plastered about his bemused features. He pauses only to push his bangs away from his face, watching his friend throw something similar to a tantrum before he pulls his scarf free from around his neck and trails after her. Without sparing any interest in her current temper, he merely ties the wide scarf tightly around her chest, throwing the extra over her shoulders and tugging on her hair gently, "Calm down. People are trying to help you."
"Lorna..." but the girl is already running away from J'lor and down the beach. He pushes himself up, kicking off his boots as he does so, to jog after her barefoot in the downpour. Clothes cling, hair flattens and all three of them are beginning to look more like water bowls than people. Still, he follows after the girl, watching as Laemont appears and offering a warm, if strained, smile to the boy.
"Well, at least I'm myself, if I'm running around naked!" Lorna retorts, evidently unsurprised at Laemont's appearance. She does register some confusion as she turns toward him, distress evident. Behind her friend is J'lor approaching, and Lorna's eyes fall on him for a few moments, her breathing somewhat labored to avoid snorting in water. "What brought this on? Why now and not yesterday or last turn or ten turns from now? I don't see how I am any different today than I was yesterday." Her flares of anger never last long, even rare as they are. Now she sounds merely unhappy. She eyes the scarf as Laemont wraps it about her, and merely looks at him for a moment, long and hard. And then quite stubbornly pulls it off again. She doesn't give it back, though, perhaps not quite such an exhibitionist as her earlier remarks might have implied; she drapes it about her shoulders like a shawl, clutches the damp knit to her front.
Laemont folds his arms over his chest, his own shirt clinging to his torso as the water drags his pants down on his hips, fitting as they are. He breathes a soft sigh as he listens to what she has to say, smiling faintly back at J'lor only to look at Lorna and shrug helplessly, "Probably because it's one of the single most uncomfortable things to discuss on all of Pern." That said, he wanders over to sit on a rock under one of the big leafed trees, taking a crudely carved pipe from a smaller pocket on his pack. He plays, and while it isn't nearly as good as the gitar, he's obviously skilled enough to do it for fun. He watches his friends over the top of the pipes and from beneath a fringe of water-dappled eyelashes, silent besides that music for now before he draws the pipes away to say, "You're not a different person. You're just... bigger than you used to be." A shrug, and that's it, though he does point out, "You laughed yourself silly when my voice was breaking."
What brought the talk on now? Maybe the fact that Lorna's father cornered J'lor this morning, but..."This morning was the first time I'd seen...others begin to truly notice those changes." If his words don't specify 'boys' then his tone surely does. One hand comes up to push soggy water away from his face. "You are at an age, I fear, where you shall be different everyday for some time. I'm not asking you to be pleased by this, Lorna. But I am asking that you acknowledge it."
"Only because of the look on your face every time it cracked mid-song," Lorna replies, though the memory does bring a smile back to her face. She dismisses it after a moment though, watching Laemont seat himself under the tree. She remains where she is, standing in the rain and -liking- it, clutching his scarf around her. Her eyes flick back to J'lor, and she starts to speak but then stops to lick the rainwater from her lips, buying herself another moment to think. Finally, she just looks down. "But -why- can't I go fruit picking with you?"
"How long were you noticing these changes?" comes Laemont's teasing voice, aimed at J'lor this time, his hazel eyes warm and amiable only for him to look in Lorna's direction once more, apparently somewhat pleased that she's at least calmed down. He runs his fingers over the smooth wood of his pipes, sliding his hair behind his ears and shaking water from his eyes. He peels free of his shirt after a time as well, just setting it across his lap, the long sleeves making his movements somewhat sloppier than they need to be. WOO! SEXY LAEMONT! Ahahaha... Er. Anyway. He licks water from his lips, eyes his childhood friend in silence, then turns his attention towards J'lor, eyebrows arching. Why can't she go fruit picking?
The look J'lor gives Laemont for that rib is actually a little bit dark. Not. Now. And then, poof, face softens and his attention turns back to Lorna as water drips from his nose. "Because," the bluerider begins slowly, "You will be a beautiful young woman scrambling at the very tops of the trees whereas a significant number of young men would be admiring the view from below."
If Lorna grasps what Laemont's joke implies, she's either very skilled at hiding it or simply stubborn about not showing it. She just regards him evenly for a few moments, filing his comment away somewhere, before her attention is dragged back toward the bluerider. She watches him for a little while, face tilted up, her short stature not very handy for communication with either Laemont or J'lor, both of them signficantly taller than she. "Alright," she says eventually, calmly, the semblance of agreement and submission. But then-- "It seems to me there is no harm done, then. Everybody wins. I get to climb and pick fruit as I wanted, and they get to watch, as they apparently want." Surely she doesn't actually fail to grasp the situation -- but her expression is so bland.
Laemont balances the situation in his mind and, ultimately, decides that his input is neither needed nor particularly welcome. Taking this as such, he merely turns all of his attention to his pipes, smoky eyes downturning to the small instrument. He focuses on play soft music in the rain, slick fingers making it actually easier than it might normally be. He could head back towards the camp, but there's nothing really there for him.
J'lor closes his eyes, inhales and then exhales very slowly, before opening them again. When he does, his next words are to the sound of rainfall and pipes. "It is not what *everyone* wants." Just that.
Lorna regards the rider steadily, the seriousness of her gaze only slightly marred by the way she's forced to crane her neck. Her eyes are thoughtful now, taking on that soft, liquid aspect they get when she's thinking, evaluating, understanding. Finally her head cants a little to one side, and she says in a very different voice, "If -you- don't want me to come with you, J'lor, than do not invite me in the first place." There's no anger there, just a sort of gentle admonishment, her voice rather ridiculously like that of a teacher to a disobedient but charming pupil. That said, she turns and pads over toward where Laemont sits on that rock, and seats herself on the damp sand next to it, and leans sideways against his legs, cheek on his knee.
Laemont glances down at Lorna quietly before he leans over, seemingly ready to say something, but at the last moment, he changes his mind and just focuses on his pipes. He doesn't exist. Don't mind him.
J'lor's mouth closes with a soft snap. At Lorna's rebuke, the rider only lowers himself into a deep bow before her. A custom from the mainland that he has brought into exile. "My aplogies," his tenor voice says, low and soft. "I will endeavor to be more forthright in the future." Laemont, existing or no, is offered a "Good afternoon." Then the bluerider turns and begins making his leisurely way through the downpour and away from the pair of more-than-children.
Lorna watches J'lor go, bow and all, face still leaning against her friend's leg. She sniffs once, arms moving to link loosely about Laemont's ankles in an almost distracted fashion. "Lae, why did he say those things?" Yes, Lae, tell her. We're all ears.
"You were too hard on him," Laemont informs Lorna calmly as the bluerider walks away, moving a hand to brush Lorna's wet hair out of her face, "And he said it because he wants you to be safe. Men will do bad things to those they are given the chance to view. Admittedly, I don't think keeping you from situations like that will help, but he only said them because he was trying to help." A glance down at Lorna, and he gently tugs on a strand of that hair, "You should apologize."
"It isn't fair!" Lorna's voice, unused to bitterness, is uncertain as her arms tighten and she turns her face to press it into his rainsoaked pantsleg. But it's only a moment before she lifts her head, looking up at him with a somewhat disgruntled expression. "How long has it been since I got over that phase? 'I can't go with papa on sweeps? It's not fair!'" She lifts her eyes to the sky, blinking in the rain. But that last comment of Laemont's brings her attention back down, pale hazel eyes focusing on his face. "Yes. I should. I will!" Quick to anger, quick to forgiveness. Lorna lifts herself on her knees and then gets to her feet, bestowing upon Laemont an impulsive kiss, sisterly and chaste. She smiles then, and turns and scampers off after the direction J'lor left. She's forgotten the scarf by Laemont's feet -- so much for turning over a new leaf.
Laemont takes the scarf up with a faint, amused expression, shaking his head as he straightens and winds it around his neck. Tucking the pipes away in the side pocket on his pack, he hops free of the stone and moves to walk off down the beach as well. He folds his arms around his chest against the cold of the rain, keeping his head bowed. He doesn't mind walking by himself, he just watches the way the wet sand holds his footsteps. He's sort of walking in the direction J'lor and Lorna went in.
Some mid-scene OOC commentary that I feel compelled to share for its sincerity and wisdom:
J'lor says, "Hey Laemont. Welcome to J'lor's Most Awkward Moment."
Laemont chokes.
Laemont says, "OMG. J'lor has to give the birds and the bees. XD"
Lorna says, "I know, right?"
Lorna snickers. And Lorna is just like *blank look* "I like fish?"
J'lor says, "uhm, yes. Well, you see, when a male fishie loves a female fishie...well, actually they both start out as female fishie but then at a certain time in the right climate, one of them BECOMES male...uhm, that is...shard it. Go weave some baskets."
And...
Lorna just hit the wall one encounters after several nights of no sleep. XD So it's just as good this is wrapping up.
Lorna says, "Just as well?"
J'lor says, "just as well."
Lorna says, "I know, I was just... making fun of myself. XD Because I apparently have no grasp of grammar when I'm sleepy."
J'lor says, "you've still got one up on those who have no grasp of it fully awake."
Laemont rules all.
Lorna snort.
Lorna says, "...yes. LORNA SNORT."
Lorna says, "It sounds like an attack of some kind in like, a video game."
Lorna says, "Lorna, I choose you! Go, LORNA SNORT."
J'lor says, "it's her tribal name."
Laemont snerks.
Lorna dies.
Time: Afternoon on Day 18, Month 1, Turn 2
Players: J'lor, Lorna, Laemont
Scene: Lorna's father has asked J'lor to give his daughter The Talk. J'lor attempts to do so in his own sort of way.
On a Western Island, Deep in the Forest
Once uninhabited, this large island, part of the many that make up the Western Isles, is now home to the Instigators. Their numbers swelled in the past decade by births and exiles picked up from other islands in the nearby chain, the tropical island is now home to nearly one hundred and fifty people, including the 31 dragonpairs exiled after the rebellion.
It's a pleasant island, made moreso by the work of many hands. Stone cliffs on the leeward side make a home for dragons, a large cavern at the base home to the rest in all but the worst rain season. Tropical forest covers most of the island, though there is a small plot of land near the cliffs for cultivated crops and beasts, and the exiles have even added a small dock for the small fishing boats made from the wood of the native trees.
The smoke of fires for cooking, heating water from the freshwater stream that bubbles through the center of the camp, and even the occasional resmithing of old metal traces a hazy line above the island.
The trouble with island storms that wash the land clean is that they always seem to come in clusters. The afternoon started sunny, but now the sky has darkened to an ominous grey and a chill wind has picked up. J'lor is sitting on the beach, far away from the tide, his 'sketching stick' held in one hand. It pokes in and out of the sand without making much more than holes, and he's staring, not down, but out at the ocean, a small distracted frown on his face. Vellath, having perhaps a better weather sense (or working eyes) has already retired to his weyr to sleep out the inevitable storm.
The skiff moves terribly quickly, ahead of the wind, small and agile as it picks its way through the submerged reefs with the ease of long practice. It isn't until she reaches the rickety mooring dock that Lorna runs into trouble; tacking hurriedly, she simultaneously pulls the cord to let the sails fall and manages to avoid plowing into the other boats at a breakneck speed. Pulling the rudder hard to starboard, the boat lurches and shudders, and the girl uses that shuddering shift of direction to leap from deck to dock, agilely. With her comes a rope, secured to her skiff's bow, and is hurriedly and deftly looped around the cleat to hold it. Only then does she stop, surveying her boat and then flopping backwards onto the wood of the dock, cross-legged. Exciting stuff -- her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright.
The distant expression on the bluerider's face, as he sits in the sand, snaps into sudden focus as Lorna's skiff comes careening in and she maneuvers it as smoothly as a rider nudging directions to his dragon. A little shake of his head and a little moment to roll around thoughts of what might have been, and then a mask of utter calm descends over J'lor's face and he heaves a deep sigh. The calm dissolves into a smile and he raises his arm, waving it for Lorna to see. "Lorna!" the blue rider bellows. You know, in case she misses him sitting there.
Lorna jumps at that bellow, quite audible even over the wind. Her head snaps round, finding J'lor up the beach immediately; her face splits into a delighted smile, and she lifts an arm to wave at him. Then she clambers to her feet and hops -back- down into the boat, disappearing from view for a few moments as she gathers up the sails, lashing them together and securing them to the boat, to ride out the storm without being scattered across the sand and waves. Then she puts both hands flat on the dock and hauls herself back out, neatly, and just as calmly as if she hadn't just risked a broken neck or a concussion on the reefs, she moves over toward J'lor. "We're going to have a storm!" she says, with excitement as she approaches, as if they hadn't had another storm just yesterday, and the day before that.
"We are at that, my dear," is J'lor's jovial agreement. He pats the spot next to him. "Sit with me a while until the rain begins?" There's something about storms. He's always out there watching them start. Sometimes, he just stands, out in the torrential downpour for hours. He's never explained why.
"Of course." Lorna folds up beside him with instant obedience, lowering herself onto her knees first and then the rest of the way down. She ends up a few inches away from him, not touching, but very close. Drawing up her legs, she rests her arms about them loosely and then rests her chin on her knees, a pose only comfortable with childlike flexbility. She says nothing else -- it's not the first time she's sat out here with the man while waiting for the storms to begin, and speech is not usually called for, the sounds of the encroaching storm plenty accompaniment to the silence.
It seems, this time, that speech is an included element to their storm watching. At least, it is for J'lor. The man opens his mouth several times, inhaling as if he's about to breath out words. But then his mouth closes and...nothing. This happens perhaps three times before he spurts out, rather abruptly, "I cannot take you fruit picking anymore." Good start, man. Goood start.
Lorna is no idiot. Her eyes flicker to the side at each of his inhalations, patiently waiting for words to spill out. Her lips are quirked in the faintest of smiles, though not quite amused -- rather, the expression is almost fond. It slants abruptly though with that outburst of his, and she turns, hands leaving her knees and going back on the sand as she leans back to look at him. "I-- what? Why not?" Bewilderment.
J'lor lifts a hand up, rubbing it fretfully against the stubble on his chin. Why, indeed? "Forgive me, my dear. You're going to have to bear with me. In this particular explanation, words seems to be...elusive." His hand drops into his lap and he turns to regard the girl sitting next to him with his dark, expressive eyes. "Lorna, many of your friends, those you've had since childhood, are boys are they not?"
Lorna raises an eyebrow. She doesn't look all that alarmed, no doubt confident that she'll be able to win out in this and can get to the fruit picking after all. His question earns him a somewhat blank look, a pause during which she thinks, and then a furrow of her brow. "Yes, but they are bigger than I am. They can't climb as quickly or as high." She's humororing him.
J'lor looks, for a moment, perplexed. As if he doesn't understand why boys and climbing should go together. But then...ah! The clouds clear away from the exiled man's expression even as they gather in the sky. "No, I suppose they can't. But, tell me Lorna, these friends. Have you found, as of late, that they've treated you...differently at all?" Eeease into it.
"Laemont made me dance in front of you the other day," she replies, easily, rosy cheeks darkening a little bit. "He's never done that before. And Ravi finally admitted to my face that I am the better sailor." The day to day lives of the younger generation of exiles can be so uncomplicated. Her lips quirk, and she adds, "He owes me a new rope for my boat." She looks up then, away from J'lor and out towards the sea, at the distant ominous rumble of thunder that rolls in from the ocean.
J'lor nods slowly making a faint little 'mmm' sound as he stares out at the water. The man's usal presence, his charisma and ability to steal the stage, seem to be somewhat missing in this particular conversation. "My dear, I'm afraid I'm simply going to say it and we shall have to see what comes next." Nod. "Your body is changing, and with it the expectations others have of you. And yet, up until now, your actions have remained essentially the same." He is looking, not at Lorna, but up at the blackening clouds, as he talks.
Lorna just continues to look gently puzzled, though at the mention of her body's changes, she looks away from the man and out toward the ocean, both eyebrows up and her face carefully neutral. "Oh." Silence, while her face slowly grows pinker and pinker. She's -technically- been an adult for a few Turns now, but with a dearth of female companions, Lorna's not one for discussing the matter. Then, eventually, "Expectations? Different work?" She sounds almost hopeful.
J'lor clears his throat and his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips. "Well, perhaps different work, although not necessarily. But..." the bluerider quiets to struggle with organizing his thoughts. "But besides that. For example, when you speak with a little girl of ten turns and with a woman of twenty, your manner of address changes, yes? And you are perceptive enough to have noticed, my dear, that the same is true when, ah, men speak to children versus grown women."
"You don't think people treat me with the respect accorded my age?" Lorna's brow furrows, and she gives her head a quick shake. "I'm still a child, J'lor. And I like being a child; I like being everyone's little girl." The wind is picking up, and it plucks at wisps of Lorna's sun-bleached hair as she tilts her face up towards the sky, anticipating rain. "I don't want anything to change."
"But my dear," and here the rider's voice gentles because the news he must impart is, truthfully, unkind. "You are not a child, and others are beginning to see you as something more, even if you do not wish it. You do not treat *yourself* with the respect due to your age. There are...certain things a child may do that a woman cannot. I am afraid, Lorna, that it is time for you to begin discovering what such things are. Changes comes, regardless of our protestations." And it is now that, with a rumble, the sky opens. No slow trickle to lead up to a full storm. It's a heavy, frigid downpour, water pounding into sand and surf and onto the two on the beach.
"What, a child may climb a tree but a woman may not?" Lorna does not get angry but once in a blue moon; here her temper has flared, out of sheer frustration. Rather than vent it on her mentor and idol, she gets to her feet and walks away from him, out onto the beach in the rain toward the ocean, arms folded tight across her chest. That is, until she happens to look down at the effects of such a pose, and the dampening of her blouse in the torrential downpour; woman, indeed. She drops her arms, awkwardly, looks over her shoulder at the bluerider. "What good did growing up ever do -anyone-?" she asks, forced to raise her voice above the sound of the rain, before she turns and stalks further down the beach, kicking up wet sand with her heels and leaving angry footprints behind her; a sodden figure, hair already quite plastered to her face.
"I think he means you'll have to stop running around naked, now, Lorrie," comes a familiar, melodic, soft voice as a tall figure steps out onto the beach. He is unbothered by the rain, his pack waterproofed long ago, strawberry-tinted hair gleaming brightly even as it is plastered about his bemused features. He pauses only to push his bangs away from his face, watching his friend throw something similar to a tantrum before he pulls his scarf free from around his neck and trails after her. Without sparing any interest in her current temper, he merely ties the wide scarf tightly around her chest, throwing the extra over her shoulders and tugging on her hair gently, "Calm down. People are trying to help you."
"Lorna..." but the girl is already running away from J'lor and down the beach. He pushes himself up, kicking off his boots as he does so, to jog after her barefoot in the downpour. Clothes cling, hair flattens and all three of them are beginning to look more like water bowls than people. Still, he follows after the girl, watching as Laemont appears and offering a warm, if strained, smile to the boy.
"Well, at least I'm myself, if I'm running around naked!" Lorna retorts, evidently unsurprised at Laemont's appearance. She does register some confusion as she turns toward him, distress evident. Behind her friend is J'lor approaching, and Lorna's eyes fall on him for a few moments, her breathing somewhat labored to avoid snorting in water. "What brought this on? Why now and not yesterday or last turn or ten turns from now? I don't see how I am any different today than I was yesterday." Her flares of anger never last long, even rare as they are. Now she sounds merely unhappy. She eyes the scarf as Laemont wraps it about her, and merely looks at him for a moment, long and hard. And then quite stubbornly pulls it off again. She doesn't give it back, though, perhaps not quite such an exhibitionist as her earlier remarks might have implied; she drapes it about her shoulders like a shawl, clutches the damp knit to her front.
Laemont folds his arms over his chest, his own shirt clinging to his torso as the water drags his pants down on his hips, fitting as they are. He breathes a soft sigh as he listens to what she has to say, smiling faintly back at J'lor only to look at Lorna and shrug helplessly, "Probably because it's one of the single most uncomfortable things to discuss on all of Pern." That said, he wanders over to sit on a rock under one of the big leafed trees, taking a crudely carved pipe from a smaller pocket on his pack. He plays, and while it isn't nearly as good as the gitar, he's obviously skilled enough to do it for fun. He watches his friends over the top of the pipes and from beneath a fringe of water-dappled eyelashes, silent besides that music for now before he draws the pipes away to say, "You're not a different person. You're just... bigger than you used to be." A shrug, and that's it, though he does point out, "You laughed yourself silly when my voice was breaking."
What brought the talk on now? Maybe the fact that Lorna's father cornered J'lor this morning, but..."This morning was the first time I'd seen...others begin to truly notice those changes." If his words don't specify 'boys' then his tone surely does. One hand comes up to push soggy water away from his face. "You are at an age, I fear, where you shall be different everyday for some time. I'm not asking you to be pleased by this, Lorna. But I am asking that you acknowledge it."
"Only because of the look on your face every time it cracked mid-song," Lorna replies, though the memory does bring a smile back to her face. She dismisses it after a moment though, watching Laemont seat himself under the tree. She remains where she is, standing in the rain and -liking- it, clutching his scarf around her. Her eyes flick back to J'lor, and she starts to speak but then stops to lick the rainwater from her lips, buying herself another moment to think. Finally, she just looks down. "But -why- can't I go fruit picking with you?"
"How long were you noticing these changes?" comes Laemont's teasing voice, aimed at J'lor this time, his hazel eyes warm and amiable only for him to look in Lorna's direction once more, apparently somewhat pleased that she's at least calmed down. He runs his fingers over the smooth wood of his pipes, sliding his hair behind his ears and shaking water from his eyes. He peels free of his shirt after a time as well, just setting it across his lap, the long sleeves making his movements somewhat sloppier than they need to be. WOO! SEXY LAEMONT! Ahahaha... Er. Anyway. He licks water from his lips, eyes his childhood friend in silence, then turns his attention towards J'lor, eyebrows arching. Why can't she go fruit picking?
The look J'lor gives Laemont for that rib is actually a little bit dark. Not. Now. And then, poof, face softens and his attention turns back to Lorna as water drips from his nose. "Because," the bluerider begins slowly, "You will be a beautiful young woman scrambling at the very tops of the trees whereas a significant number of young men would be admiring the view from below."
If Lorna grasps what Laemont's joke implies, she's either very skilled at hiding it or simply stubborn about not showing it. She just regards him evenly for a few moments, filing his comment away somewhere, before her attention is dragged back toward the bluerider. She watches him for a little while, face tilted up, her short stature not very handy for communication with either Laemont or J'lor, both of them signficantly taller than she. "Alright," she says eventually, calmly, the semblance of agreement and submission. But then-- "It seems to me there is no harm done, then. Everybody wins. I get to climb and pick fruit as I wanted, and they get to watch, as they apparently want." Surely she doesn't actually fail to grasp the situation -- but her expression is so bland.
Laemont balances the situation in his mind and, ultimately, decides that his input is neither needed nor particularly welcome. Taking this as such, he merely turns all of his attention to his pipes, smoky eyes downturning to the small instrument. He focuses on play soft music in the rain, slick fingers making it actually easier than it might normally be. He could head back towards the camp, but there's nothing really there for him.
J'lor closes his eyes, inhales and then exhales very slowly, before opening them again. When he does, his next words are to the sound of rainfall and pipes. "It is not what *everyone* wants." Just that.
Lorna regards the rider steadily, the seriousness of her gaze only slightly marred by the way she's forced to crane her neck. Her eyes are thoughtful now, taking on that soft, liquid aspect they get when she's thinking, evaluating, understanding. Finally her head cants a little to one side, and she says in a very different voice, "If -you- don't want me to come with you, J'lor, than do not invite me in the first place." There's no anger there, just a sort of gentle admonishment, her voice rather ridiculously like that of a teacher to a disobedient but charming pupil. That said, she turns and pads over toward where Laemont sits on that rock, and seats herself on the damp sand next to it, and leans sideways against his legs, cheek on his knee.
Laemont glances down at Lorna quietly before he leans over, seemingly ready to say something, but at the last moment, he changes his mind and just focuses on his pipes. He doesn't exist. Don't mind him.
J'lor's mouth closes with a soft snap. At Lorna's rebuke, the rider only lowers himself into a deep bow before her. A custom from the mainland that he has brought into exile. "My aplogies," his tenor voice says, low and soft. "I will endeavor to be more forthright in the future." Laemont, existing or no, is offered a "Good afternoon." Then the bluerider turns and begins making his leisurely way through the downpour and away from the pair of more-than-children.
Lorna watches J'lor go, bow and all, face still leaning against her friend's leg. She sniffs once, arms moving to link loosely about Laemont's ankles in an almost distracted fashion. "Lae, why did he say those things?" Yes, Lae, tell her. We're all ears.
"You were too hard on him," Laemont informs Lorna calmly as the bluerider walks away, moving a hand to brush Lorna's wet hair out of her face, "And he said it because he wants you to be safe. Men will do bad things to those they are given the chance to view. Admittedly, I don't think keeping you from situations like that will help, but he only said them because he was trying to help." A glance down at Lorna, and he gently tugs on a strand of that hair, "You should apologize."
"It isn't fair!" Lorna's voice, unused to bitterness, is uncertain as her arms tighten and she turns her face to press it into his rainsoaked pantsleg. But it's only a moment before she lifts her head, looking up at him with a somewhat disgruntled expression. "How long has it been since I got over that phase? 'I can't go with papa on sweeps? It's not fair!'" She lifts her eyes to the sky, blinking in the rain. But that last comment of Laemont's brings her attention back down, pale hazel eyes focusing on his face. "Yes. I should. I will!" Quick to anger, quick to forgiveness. Lorna lifts herself on her knees and then gets to her feet, bestowing upon Laemont an impulsive kiss, sisterly and chaste. She smiles then, and turns and scampers off after the direction J'lor left. She's forgotten the scarf by Laemont's feet -- so much for turning over a new leaf.
Laemont takes the scarf up with a faint, amused expression, shaking his head as he straightens and winds it around his neck. Tucking the pipes away in the side pocket on his pack, he hops free of the stone and moves to walk off down the beach as well. He folds his arms around his chest against the cold of the rain, keeping his head bowed. He doesn't mind walking by himself, he just watches the way the wet sand holds his footsteps. He's sort of walking in the direction J'lor and Lorna went in.
Some mid-scene OOC commentary that I feel compelled to share for its sincerity and wisdom:
J'lor says, "Hey Laemont. Welcome to J'lor's Most Awkward Moment."
Laemont chokes.
Laemont says, "OMG. J'lor has to give the birds and the bees. XD"
Lorna says, "I know, right?"
Lorna snickers. And Lorna is just like *blank look* "I like fish?"
J'lor says, "uhm, yes. Well, you see, when a male fishie loves a female fishie...well, actually they both start out as female fishie but then at a certain time in the right climate, one of them BECOMES male...uhm, that is...shard it. Go weave some baskets."
And...
Lorna just hit the wall one encounters after several nights of no sleep. XD So it's just as good this is wrapping up.
Lorna says, "Just as well?"
J'lor says, "just as well."
Lorna says, "I know, I was just... making fun of myself. XD Because I apparently have no grasp of grammar when I'm sleepy."
J'lor says, "you've still got one up on those who have no grasp of it fully awake."
Laemont rules all.
Lorna snort.
Lorna says, "...yes. LORNA SNORT."
Lorna says, "It sounds like an attack of some kind in like, a video game."
Lorna says, "Lorna, I choose you! Go, LORNA SNORT."
J'lor says, "it's her tribal name."
Laemont snerks.
Lorna dies.