A perfect day, spoiled
Who: Jolasek, Miniyal, R'vain
Where: Clearing outside HRW
When: 16:26 on day 24, month 4, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
What: Downpours are the perfect time to get out for a walk. Except this time.
8/28/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is 16:26 on day 24, month 4, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
It is currently mid-spring. The only word to describe a spring day such as this one is soggy. Rain falls in a constant shower of silver from the skies above, sometimes retreating into a misty drizzle, sometimes strengthening into a downpour that threatens to soak anyone who ventures outside.
The rain isn't exactly conducive to exploration. Which, perhaps, explains why one finds a particular person out and about. The ever social and charming head of records is slogging along towards a small outcropping of rocks. She's managed to keep herself partially dry simply by throwing on a jacket. But rain still drops from her hair and the hem of her dress is soaked and creeping upwards in wetness. Still, no one is about and while it's not something that is anyone's business, even Miniyal sometimes gets cabin fever and wants to be outside. Which leaves her hear, stumbling along and finally letting out a quiet stream of curses as she hikes up the hem of her dress to just under her knees to make the final leg of her journey a little easier.
The racket of boots on wet soil, rattling pebbles and skittering stones, is not unique to Miniyal. Similar sounds come from up the trail, though maybe a little louder, punctuated by the thuds of a particularly heavy gait. So it should be no surprise that the person who emerges from the tree-lined mountain path is a large one. Likewise it should be unsurprising that it is a /wet/ one. R'vain's hair is too short to plaster to his head, but the wet makes it seem spiky, more like the pointy leaves of bright red plants sprouted from his skull than hair at all. His jacket does less than Miniyal's to keep him dry-- he hasn't even closed it up the front-- so the front of his shirt's a wet clinging mess, and his leathers are dark and sodden where they tuck into his boots. But he stops a few feet into the clearing and, apparently unaware that he's not alone there, tips back his head and lets the rain wash his face. The grin, unfortunately, seems fast.
Situational awareness is an important trait for a recordskeeper. At least one who likes to scurry off and hide when the sounds of footsteps can be heard. Even over the rain then, Miniyal hears the sound of approaching feet. Just as she's reached her destination too, more's the luck. She stops before seating herself on one of the larger rocks. While still wet at least it won't cling like grass and mud which there is plenty of out here. Her head tips up and she looks towards the noise, blinking the rain from her eyes and then lifting a hand to shield them and gaze over. Oh. Him. Unseen, the desire to flee flickers across her features, but he is quite in the way so she lets that thought go. Besides, she was here first! There will be no fleeing. Instead she sits down upon her rock and lets her dress fall back down to cover her up, pulling wet boots up under the hem. Whatever she was going to do, if anything, out here alone, with company she just sits and stares off at nothing at all.
R'vain's grin widens into a yawn. Maybe inadvertently he sucks down a few splotty raindrops while yawning, but more's the pity he doesn't choke. A little rough cough and a clearing of his throat and he's done with his stretching. He scrubs a hand over his head, sending a fine spray of rainwater flying from spikes springing back up in his fingers' wake, then shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and starts downslope out of the dirt from the ancient track into the meadow. Wet grass plays about his legs, swatting him as he walks, and even after he catches sight of the figure on the rock he keeps on moving. His path will take him nearby past her. No need to alter his gait. But as he closes in the shapeless dark-clad lumpenness of her becomes familiar enough for recognition and, alas, he does remember her enough to sail out a wave and a, "Gorgeous day f'a sit," before shoving his hand back into his pocket and coming to a stop a couple paces away.
Miniyal's gaze went anywhere but towards the man moving along down the path and such. Other than a few cautious looks to be sure he wasn't going to get too close. Which he did, damn the man! One hand lifts to brush rain soaked hair off her face. The attempts earlier to tie her hair up are pointless now and she's giving a savage yank at it all to let it tumble down into a sodden mess as the words greet her. Shards. He's talking. Lifting her head and giving one more push of her hair just so she doesn't look like some Japanese horror movie child there's a quiet sigh and a lift of her shoulders. Manners are bred into her no matter the rank of her parents and she inclines her head a fraction. "It was quiet," is her reply. Barely the hint of 'so leave' in her words.
R'vain stands a few paces away from Miniyal, who is seated upon a rock. The Weyrlingmaster is-- like his apparent companion-- soaked. His hair is spiky from wet; his leathers are dark at the shoulders of his jacket and where the trousers tuck into his boots, and since he does not apparently have the sense to button up his shirt is wet and clinging to him down the front. He has a jovial grin on, maybe a little bit toothy for some peoples' taste. Like, maybe, for Miniyal's, because she doesn't look too pleased. "Still is," says the bronzerider, and ambles toward a rock a conversational distance from the woman's.
Ack. Sit? No, no. He cannot sit. That would be wrong. Shaking her head, Miniyal looks about to say something, you can tell because her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. It's not until she realises she's looking like a fish that her mouth snaps closed. There she sits, watching her 'companion' cautiously. Finally, when it seems he's not going to be leaving she lets out a louder sigh. "Not if people talk," she points out, only mentally adding a 'duh' after that.
R'vain, immune to fish-lipped expressions, sits on his chosen rock, pulling a boot up so his knee's bent; he leans an elbow up top of it, hand draped down over on the inside. "Well, we won't talk, then," replies the bronzerider through some wicked riverbed gravel, a brow twitching. "We'll just /think,/ how's that?"
And there's rain falling. Rather a lot of it. Rain, rain, rain.
Miniyal's expression shows a lack of amusement at the situation. Maybe the rain has her annoyed? Of course, she wouldn't be out here if she were really bothered by it. Would she? Who knows what lengths she would go to to get away from something or someone. But, since she cannot avoid everyone she just stares at R'vain. "Well, I can manage that," she replies all soft politeness. "If you think you can?"
"Sure." R'vain /sounds/ so amicable. But then he's leaning forward a little, flicking his fingers, and leering. Sure, it's quiet. He doesn't even let his wriggling fingers hit his leathers, so there's not even a few little taptaps to add to the loud patter of the rain. His grin just keeps getting wider and more crooked, though, and his eyes glitter-- when he's not blinking them against the rainwater running rivulets down his forehead, or tipping his head back for a swallow of rain.
What is it about someone who can infuriate even when doing what they say they will? It's probably just R'vain. The man is insufferable and it's not like Miniyal would forget their other meetings. It's not as if they went well, now is it? So she sits there, but any relaxation in her posture just slips farther and farther away. Like his merely being there is horrid enough to ruin her day. Pouring rain? Not as bad. She sits there letting it soak her to the bone, hair a plastered mess that she tries to push off her face once more. The silence other than the rain isn't even the sort she likes it would seem. Because moments pass and then she finally mutters, "You could go somewhere else," all tense now like she's had no break at all.
Jolasek is muttering under his breath, the stablehand also soaked, which is nothing new. Neither is the fact that some areas of his clothing appear slightly muddied. For whatever reason he's out here, is to his knowledge alone as he moves down the side of the slope to the clearing. And while he cannot hear the conversation between the Weyrlingmaster and the Head of Records, he does spot them off to his side a little and hesitates. As the rain continues to fall, Jolasek goes to move in what he hopes is undetected by the pair, only to have his one foot slide on the slick grass. He doesn't fall, but he does some sort of weird half skip, flailing movement that, helpfully, lands him right side up at the end of the slope. For a second, he doesn't move, the rain soaking him through as he glances back at the offending slope.
"I thought we weren't talking," replies R'vain. But he's had his way, his point is made, and he /did/ go up the mountain and come back down for some purpose other than to try to inspire Miniyal to invent dirty things he might be thinking and think about them herself. So he stretches back onto the rock, puts his arms up behind his head, and lets the sky pour out onto him. A little sigh, contented, and if the head of records were to look his way now she'd at least find that his eyes have closed. But then there's that sort of splutchy muddy slippy sound out there in the grass somewhere, and the Weyrlingmaster half-rolls onto his side, puts an elbow under himself, and props up his head for a look around. Maybe he sees Jolasek, or maybe he just sees shapes in the downpour, but his eyes search the meadow, keen.
"We weren't," is said through gritted teeth. The truth is, Miniyal doesn't even want to know what R'vain was thinking and spared that no thought. She does looks annoyed, but she always does around him. The falling noise distracts her and she turns her head to look off as well, trying to see who or what is invading her space now. /Her/ space. She was here first and now all of this. It doesn't matter that she cannot see whom it is stepping in now to bother her time further. A quiet curse of annoyance and she undoes her coat some to pull it up over her head slightly. at least enough to cause the rain to drip off of it and not all over her face.
Jolasek squints a little from the rain water dripping down his face. His hair is pretty much a matted mess and he doesn't look to pleased himself as he looks back towards the clearing just to see the Weyrlingmaster move and in his direction, then the Head of Records. The stablehand curses now, shaking one leg in an attempt to free his boot from clinging mud in order to properly walk rather then slide around. At first, he seems to turn in the opposite direction, but his path changes and he slowly, almost hesitantly moves closer. He doesn't say anything yet, he just approaches through the rain, somewhat hunched over as he pulls his light jacket up more around his neck.
"Well, c'mon over if you're comin'," mutters R'vain, enough under his breath that it can be neither invitation nor command, so remains a rhetorical remark on the situation largely for the benefits of himself and Miniyal. He raises up the hand he's not got his head propped on, though, and sketches out a wave for the approaching youth. After that, a glance back at the head of records and a grin, then a weird shrug that doesn't work so well since he's laying like he is. "You want t'get away from people, let me know and I'll take you someplace farther sometime."
More company. This is why finding a secluded spot is important. It's like a radar. If one person shows up soon enough others tromp out and you're left with. . .people. Lots of people. Ok, maybe to anyone else /two/ people is not lots of people, but Miniyal is not exactly normal and we do all know that. "Oh, thank you," is said under her breath to R'vain at his offer. Again with the gritted teeth, but she will speak politely if it kills her. Here? It very much might, but she will not sink down to his level. Instead she watches the approaching person with a scowl. On the bright side, maybe he will save her from the weyrlingmaster's attention.
Jolasek catches a glimpse of the wave as he approaches, still squinting a bit in the rain as he carefully makes his way over now. The stablehand has no idea that Miniyal is scowling at him, at least not yet. In fact, Jolasek has no idea who he's about to run into or what he's about to get into. The stablehand is good at just...appearing in the middle of things. Finally, when he's close enough, he gives a faint nod and an even fainter smile. "Odd place and time for a bit of chatter." he says in a low tone and rather bluntly. He then shakes his head a bit, either in annoyance to the rain or to a passing thought. "Sorry if I'm barging in, though."
"Hey, it's an offer." R'vain flips over a hand and shows the empty palm to Miniyal, not that she's paying him any more mind than she has to. He turns his attention to Jolasek when the stablehand speaks, and splits a cheshire grin for what he says. "We weren't talking," replies the Weyrlingmaster, though clearly they were. Pushing himself up so he's half-sitting, leaning deep into one hand that props him up, he adds, "Have a sit and don't talk with us. Miniyal's tryin' t'get away from it all, so I figured I'd keep her company." He's /so/ nice.
"Yes, so it was," Miniyal answers because it seems as if an answer is called for. Jolasek is looked at when he speaks and she tries to place him, but when after a moment she cannot she just flicks hair from her face and tugs her coat back down and around here. She will sit here and freeze in the spring rain before giving up her spot even if she doesn't want to be around anyone. Which she doesn't, but this is getting ridiculous. How can people not see she was here first? R'vain gets a glare at his final words, the venom enough to put a man down. Well, a normal man. Not a pickled one.
Jolasek looks oddly confused for a moment at R'vain's response. "But you're talking now, so how are you not?" he replies with a bit of a smirk. He keeps his attention focused on the Weyrlingmaster even as he accepts the offer to sit by moving to the nearest available spot. The stablehand then looks over to Miniyal as he sits silently, 'not talking' as the Weyrlingmaster so put it, a brief moment of recognition passing through his thoughts, making him look ready to say something to her. Then its gone, as is his focus on her and he simply glances between the two while ignoring the rain.
R'vain, at the end of that, grasps that Miniyal is looking at him. So he looks back with his most winning, most wolfish of carnivore grins and a waggle of ruddy brow. "We weren't talking," the rider reiterates after a moment, returning his attention to the other man. "About not talking. But th'rain feels good, don't you think? Relaxing." And he unprops himself then rolls over onto his back again, putting an elbow up beneath his head as a pillow so he can stare, eyes twitching against the falling drops, into the rain.
Miniyal snorts loudly in response to the words spoken by the new arrival. Of course they are talking now. Because /someone/ was, well, hrm. Well, he was sitting there. But it's the principle of the matter. He was sitting quietly near /her/ rock. Which is so not fair. Although when is on his back she can't help but glance over, probably hoping he drowns. The new arrival at least isn't having murderous thoughts thought about him. For now. And in all of this there is just nothing at all said out loud. Annoyed silence speaks for her instead.
Jolasek isn't sure what to make of this pair and its apparant by the confused frown that follows R'vain's last comment. The stablehand has to think for a moment before replying with a crooked smile. "Relaxing and miserable." he says, lifting one hand up to pull his hair away from the sides of his face, but only results in making it more of a tangled mess. Jolasek is oblivious to Miniyal's disapproval to his presence. Instead, he seems to make himself more comfortable...by putting his muddied boots up on another pair of rocks. And he's silent again, simply regarding both of them and waiting for another to speak.
"Then why'd y'come out here innit?" R'vain asks his question of the sky and, when he's done, lets his jaw hang loose for a moment after, gathering up a slow mouthful of rain to swallow. "You want t'get away from it all too? I told 'er she's got t'go farther." If Miniyal will not participate in conversation, the Weyrlingmaster will simply speak about her in the third person. His tone is gamey, a little sweetened, and those details are probably purely for her enjoyment. "Even offered a ride."
Now he's inviting other people to sit? The nerve of the man! She was here first! The fact she's internally reverted back to about ten or twelve is probably escaping her. Instead she sits and sulks quietly while the other two sit and potentially converse. If she had fur it would bristle, but since she doesn't she can only turn a glare upon R'vain. It is so not fair. Even if she said anything it would be twisted and would be all wrong. Still, it's going to be done. Jolasek is looked at again, measuring him up. Nope, no clue still about him. So, she just glares at R'vain more darkly. "Polite people would go sit somewhere else after someone said they wanted to be alone."
Jolasek simply shrugs his shoulders to the Weyrlingmaster's question, "Because I can." he says, tilting his lower jaw out a little, making him seem like some rebellious child. He then chuckles dryly for such a short span of time its more like a series of light coughs. The stablehand only gives R'vain an uncertain sideways glance as he looks to Miniyal again when the Weyrlingmaster refers to 'her'. His smirk widens, "In a sense, yes." he says after a moment, his gaze now moving fully to stare back at the head of records as she measures him up. And he seems to sit up a little straighter when she does. Tense? Maybe. He ignores her last comment though. Instead, he decides to simply blurt out, "I'm a stablehand here. I'm always wandering, so not necessarily escaping." Or so he says.
"No one said she wanted t'be alone." It takes the Weyrlingmaster only a moment to give their conversation thus far thought enough that he is able to say this with utter certainty and a cocky grin to boot. He raises his head up a bit so Miniyal might get a glimpse of that grin while she's glaring at him. "You /did/ say it was quiet, so I s'pose we should be quiet. But instead, why don't y'tell me why you're tryin' t'get away so bad? I mean, if /you/ need /peace/--" His shoulders wriggle in a wet-leather-enhanced shrug. "I'd figure that's all y'get all day in that hide-room." -- Then he takes the moment's time to turn a one-eye-narrowed look on Jolasek and ask, "Y'got somethin' to escape from? I wouldn't be goin' toward-- " A moment's thought. "Balen. Better y'go inland, if you're set t'run away."
Eyes rolling, Miniyal glares harder at R'vain. If there were any God on Pern now is when she would be able to start fires with her mind. Turning soaked weyrlingmasters into nothing but ash. Alas, there is no God on Pern and so she remains here, trapped with two people. Which is not really trapped, not here when she can get up and walk off whenever she wants. But, it is the principle of the matter! And she will not back down from principles. "Most people do not come out somewhere in the middle of a downpour when they are looking for conversation and company," she points out ever so evenly and calmly. At the last comment, directed to Jolasek, she turns to look, wondering indeed if he's fleeing or something. That could be interesting. And distract from her.
Jolasek had remaind silent until he started to laugh. And he laughs for quite the time, pointing a finger silently at R'vain while his expression is screwed into a wide grin. "I've already "run away"--if that's how you want to put it." the stablehand says after catching his breath. "I ran here." he says next, then suddenly seems to regret his odd reaction and what he has just said. Spoke and reacted before thinking again and too late to take it back. "If you really, so desperately need to know, I got curious, okay?" he mutters in reply possibly both to R'vain and Miniyal, almost seeming to pout now as he knocks the tip of his boot against the rock in front of him in a slow, monotonous beat. From oddly amused, to unnerved, Jolasek goes back to being silent and 'not talking'.
"I was heading back in from a downpour," replies R'vain to Miniyal. So he, legitimately, might have been looking for conversation and company. And look! He's found it. So convenient. But then he's being laughed at, which does not earn a lot of brownie points. The Weyrlingmaster shoves himself up with a paw splayed behind himself on the rock, then swings his feet down into the mud, tall grass slapping at his boots. "Run away t'join th'Weyr? Where from?" Thick arms cross over his chest and he watches the younger man with steady stare, expectant.
Laughing and talking and all of this is only setting Miniyal more on edge. She scoots farther back on her rock and pulls her knees up to her chest. The hem of the dress is pulled down over her feet and she wraps her arms around her legs and huddles. At least the conversation can carry on without her now. Sitting in the rain and being miserable she doesn't even listen now. Clearly she doesn't need to be here. But she remains. Her spot. There will be no fleeing.
Jolasek at first doesn't seem to want to look at R'vain but after a moment he does, scowling slightly as he does. "As I said, technically not 'running away'. Came here with my father. From Keroon." the stablehand replies, seeming more on edge as he speaks. "Is that a problem?" he adds in, glancing to Miniyal as she seems to withdraw on her rock. "Not that it matters." is then muttered half under his breath. In a bid to avoid further questioning from the Weyrlingmaster for now, he tilts his head up slightly in a motioning gesture in hopes of getting the head of record's attention. "I've seen you before. Vaguely remember, but I'm sure." And that's all he says for now. Creepy? Maybe.
"Oh, I understand." R'vain clearly does not entirely /believe,/ but he understands. "No, no problem. How long you been here?" A glance at the huddled lump that Miniyal has become, when Jolasek addresses her. "That's Miniyal," R'vain offers helpfully. "She works in records." Even more helpful. "Pretty much th'expert there, th'weyrlings say." Complimentary, even. Something bad must be coming. The bronzerider grins widely, showing far too many far too pretty teeth.
Miniyal blinks and pushes her hair back, wiping rain from her eyes as she peers at Jolasek. "I was born here," is her answer. From that he can infer all sorts of things. Like, of course you've seen me you idiot I've always lived at the weyr and most people have seen me. Or maybe it's just the shortest sentence that can be said to fulfill the requirements of polite conversation. Well, she could have used fewer words probably, but these words seemed perfect. R'vain's words are given nothing. No twitch, no nod, no glare. He is now a burden to be borne silently.
Jolasek relaxes a little once R'vain asks a question that isn't too...prying? In any case, the stablehand doesn't seem as uptight as before. He meerly shrugs his shoulders again, his wet clothing clinging tightly in protest to such movements. "Awhile now. Long enough not to remember, actually." Long enough to miss home? Nah. He gives a half smile, half smirk to Miniyal at her answer. He snorts softly, "Obviously, but I was looking more for a name---Miniyal." he says sarcastically, filling in the blank after a helpful hint from R'vain. "Oh, now I see. Why, thank you." he says to R'vain, although honestly he's being a touch sarcastic himself. "Seeing now as he's gone and introduced you...but not himself, I'll throw my name into the mix. Jolasek, stablehand as you already know."
R'vain snorts. He has the nose for it. And he shakes his shoulders in a massive shrug, then lifts his paws to fling water off of his shoulders. This gesture is not, by any means, designed to draw attention to his knot. Certainly. "R'vain," he says after he's done posturing. "Weyrlingmaster. Ruvoth's." His upper lip curls, deepening the trench below his nose, making a fine and age-betraying crease appear in his cheek. "Wet met," precisely pronounced, "Jolasek."
Eyes narrowing at Jolasek, it is his turn to get the stare of death. And does he ever get it. Miniyal is used to staring down people who do things untidy or wrong in the records room. The full force of it rests upon him for a couple of minutes. Before she realises that it is really not working and lets it drop, defeated again. Stupid people. Invading her space. She slides forward some and looks to be deciding to flee after all. Her feet touch the ground and she sits for a moment still, quiet.
Jolasek raises a brow for a moment and then chuckles dryly. "Wet met, R'vain. As you put it." Only then is he aware of Miniyal's stare of death. The stablehand seems amused at first, staring back. Eventually though, he either grows unsettled again or clues in that he's annoyed her now. "Leaving?" he says to her with a little amusement. "And so soon after we finally introduced ourselves?" One hand raises to scratch at his chin idly as he regards the Weyrlingmaster for a moment. "A Weyrlingmaster, eh? How's that working for you?" Jolasek asks somewhat out of the blue.
The Weyrlingmaster stands, beating Miniyal to that punch. Maybe there's a reason. He's glanced at her, read her body language, made out of it the obvious and nodded once to himself. Now he's headed for her, her and her rock. But his approach doesn't seem to have to do with her, per se; what he's doing is arranging himself so he faces Jolasek without the woman between them. With, in fact, the woman off to his side a bit. "Ain't much I can imagine would be worse," replies R'vain, his ruddy brows drawing low toward his eyes in the middle. He might look angry until he sneers. That rather spoils it. "'Cept maybe working in th'stables."
Nothing is said as the rock is abandoned. Nothing really needs to be said, yes? It's clear Miniyal is ceding the field to the others and has allowed herself to be chased off despite what she had planned. There is no dignifying what was said with a response. Instead there is a tug of her jacket, not that the soaked item will do much but cling to her like the rest of her clothes. Head up she doesn't waste time with farewells. Just heads off, slipping in the grass until she finds a path and then nearly sliding in the mud of said trail. Still, she is free it seems.
Jolasek watches as Miniyal begins to leave and keeps watching her for some time, a rather confused expression coming over his face for that time. He then shakes his head, sending his tangled hair into more disarray as he does. Now his attention slowly goes back to R'vain. And then he says that wonderful string of words that has the stablehand suddenly tense up, but not in nervousness, now more like annoyance. Must everyone make jibes about his position? His jaw is clenched shut, but eventually he begins to speak, only to stumble on a witty remark. So, instead he folds his arms across his chest. "Well said. But I'd rather be a stablehand then babysitting." he mutters, smirking. "What's so high and mighty 'bout being a Weyrlingmaster anyhow?"
"Hey, don't forget-- you need a ride off t'somewhere remote, I gotcha covered," hollers out R'vain, hardly content to allow the records worker to leave in peace. He even raises up a hand to wave after her, to emphasize his generous and jovial nature. Then he turns back to the stablehand, inflating with a great breath sucked in through flared nostrils, and paces a bit closer to the other man. "Don't rightly believe I said there was anything," replies the rider, voice rough, and draws his tongue over one tooth with an audible tchk. "But if you're after th'advantages I'd say th'best of it is putting the wings' and Weyr's next leaders out t'trial. Why d'you care, runner-boy?"
Where: Clearing outside HRW
When: 16:26 on day 24, month 4, turn 2 of the 7th Pass
What: Downpours are the perfect time to get out for a walk. Except this time.
8/28/2006
At High Reaches Weyr, it is 16:26 on day 24, month 4, turn 2 of the 7th Pass.
It is currently mid-spring. The only word to describe a spring day such as this one is soggy. Rain falls in a constant shower of silver from the skies above, sometimes retreating into a misty drizzle, sometimes strengthening into a downpour that threatens to soak anyone who ventures outside.
The rain isn't exactly conducive to exploration. Which, perhaps, explains why one finds a particular person out and about. The ever social and charming head of records is slogging along towards a small outcropping of rocks. She's managed to keep herself partially dry simply by throwing on a jacket. But rain still drops from her hair and the hem of her dress is soaked and creeping upwards in wetness. Still, no one is about and while it's not something that is anyone's business, even Miniyal sometimes gets cabin fever and wants to be outside. Which leaves her hear, stumbling along and finally letting out a quiet stream of curses as she hikes up the hem of her dress to just under her knees to make the final leg of her journey a little easier.
The racket of boots on wet soil, rattling pebbles and skittering stones, is not unique to Miniyal. Similar sounds come from up the trail, though maybe a little louder, punctuated by the thuds of a particularly heavy gait. So it should be no surprise that the person who emerges from the tree-lined mountain path is a large one. Likewise it should be unsurprising that it is a /wet/ one. R'vain's hair is too short to plaster to his head, but the wet makes it seem spiky, more like the pointy leaves of bright red plants sprouted from his skull than hair at all. His jacket does less than Miniyal's to keep him dry-- he hasn't even closed it up the front-- so the front of his shirt's a wet clinging mess, and his leathers are dark and sodden where they tuck into his boots. But he stops a few feet into the clearing and, apparently unaware that he's not alone there, tips back his head and lets the rain wash his face. The grin, unfortunately, seems fast.
Situational awareness is an important trait for a recordskeeper. At least one who likes to scurry off and hide when the sounds of footsteps can be heard. Even over the rain then, Miniyal hears the sound of approaching feet. Just as she's reached her destination too, more's the luck. She stops before seating herself on one of the larger rocks. While still wet at least it won't cling like grass and mud which there is plenty of out here. Her head tips up and she looks towards the noise, blinking the rain from her eyes and then lifting a hand to shield them and gaze over. Oh. Him. Unseen, the desire to flee flickers across her features, but he is quite in the way so she lets that thought go. Besides, she was here first! There will be no fleeing. Instead she sits down upon her rock and lets her dress fall back down to cover her up, pulling wet boots up under the hem. Whatever she was going to do, if anything, out here alone, with company she just sits and stares off at nothing at all.
R'vain's grin widens into a yawn. Maybe inadvertently he sucks down a few splotty raindrops while yawning, but more's the pity he doesn't choke. A little rough cough and a clearing of his throat and he's done with his stretching. He scrubs a hand over his head, sending a fine spray of rainwater flying from spikes springing back up in his fingers' wake, then shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and starts downslope out of the dirt from the ancient track into the meadow. Wet grass plays about his legs, swatting him as he walks, and even after he catches sight of the figure on the rock he keeps on moving. His path will take him nearby past her. No need to alter his gait. But as he closes in the shapeless dark-clad lumpenness of her becomes familiar enough for recognition and, alas, he does remember her enough to sail out a wave and a, "Gorgeous day f'a sit," before shoving his hand back into his pocket and coming to a stop a couple paces away.
Miniyal's gaze went anywhere but towards the man moving along down the path and such. Other than a few cautious looks to be sure he wasn't going to get too close. Which he did, damn the man! One hand lifts to brush rain soaked hair off her face. The attempts earlier to tie her hair up are pointless now and she's giving a savage yank at it all to let it tumble down into a sodden mess as the words greet her. Shards. He's talking. Lifting her head and giving one more push of her hair just so she doesn't look like some Japanese horror movie child there's a quiet sigh and a lift of her shoulders. Manners are bred into her no matter the rank of her parents and she inclines her head a fraction. "It was quiet," is her reply. Barely the hint of 'so leave' in her words.
R'vain stands a few paces away from Miniyal, who is seated upon a rock. The Weyrlingmaster is-- like his apparent companion-- soaked. His hair is spiky from wet; his leathers are dark at the shoulders of his jacket and where the trousers tuck into his boots, and since he does not apparently have the sense to button up his shirt is wet and clinging to him down the front. He has a jovial grin on, maybe a little bit toothy for some peoples' taste. Like, maybe, for Miniyal's, because she doesn't look too pleased. "Still is," says the bronzerider, and ambles toward a rock a conversational distance from the woman's.
Ack. Sit? No, no. He cannot sit. That would be wrong. Shaking her head, Miniyal looks about to say something, you can tell because her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. It's not until she realises she's looking like a fish that her mouth snaps closed. There she sits, watching her 'companion' cautiously. Finally, when it seems he's not going to be leaving she lets out a louder sigh. "Not if people talk," she points out, only mentally adding a 'duh' after that.
R'vain, immune to fish-lipped expressions, sits on his chosen rock, pulling a boot up so his knee's bent; he leans an elbow up top of it, hand draped down over on the inside. "Well, we won't talk, then," replies the bronzerider through some wicked riverbed gravel, a brow twitching. "We'll just /think,/ how's that?"
And there's rain falling. Rather a lot of it. Rain, rain, rain.
Miniyal's expression shows a lack of amusement at the situation. Maybe the rain has her annoyed? Of course, she wouldn't be out here if she were really bothered by it. Would she? Who knows what lengths she would go to to get away from something or someone. But, since she cannot avoid everyone she just stares at R'vain. "Well, I can manage that," she replies all soft politeness. "If you think you can?"
"Sure." R'vain /sounds/ so amicable. But then he's leaning forward a little, flicking his fingers, and leering. Sure, it's quiet. He doesn't even let his wriggling fingers hit his leathers, so there's not even a few little taptaps to add to the loud patter of the rain. His grin just keeps getting wider and more crooked, though, and his eyes glitter-- when he's not blinking them against the rainwater running rivulets down his forehead, or tipping his head back for a swallow of rain.
What is it about someone who can infuriate even when doing what they say they will? It's probably just R'vain. The man is insufferable and it's not like Miniyal would forget their other meetings. It's not as if they went well, now is it? So she sits there, but any relaxation in her posture just slips farther and farther away. Like his merely being there is horrid enough to ruin her day. Pouring rain? Not as bad. She sits there letting it soak her to the bone, hair a plastered mess that she tries to push off her face once more. The silence other than the rain isn't even the sort she likes it would seem. Because moments pass and then she finally mutters, "You could go somewhere else," all tense now like she's had no break at all.
Jolasek is muttering under his breath, the stablehand also soaked, which is nothing new. Neither is the fact that some areas of his clothing appear slightly muddied. For whatever reason he's out here, is to his knowledge alone as he moves down the side of the slope to the clearing. And while he cannot hear the conversation between the Weyrlingmaster and the Head of Records, he does spot them off to his side a little and hesitates. As the rain continues to fall, Jolasek goes to move in what he hopes is undetected by the pair, only to have his one foot slide on the slick grass. He doesn't fall, but he does some sort of weird half skip, flailing movement that, helpfully, lands him right side up at the end of the slope. For a second, he doesn't move, the rain soaking him through as he glances back at the offending slope.
"I thought we weren't talking," replies R'vain. But he's had his way, his point is made, and he /did/ go up the mountain and come back down for some purpose other than to try to inspire Miniyal to invent dirty things he might be thinking and think about them herself. So he stretches back onto the rock, puts his arms up behind his head, and lets the sky pour out onto him. A little sigh, contented, and if the head of records were to look his way now she'd at least find that his eyes have closed. But then there's that sort of splutchy muddy slippy sound out there in the grass somewhere, and the Weyrlingmaster half-rolls onto his side, puts an elbow under himself, and props up his head for a look around. Maybe he sees Jolasek, or maybe he just sees shapes in the downpour, but his eyes search the meadow, keen.
"We weren't," is said through gritted teeth. The truth is, Miniyal doesn't even want to know what R'vain was thinking and spared that no thought. She does looks annoyed, but she always does around him. The falling noise distracts her and she turns her head to look off as well, trying to see who or what is invading her space now. /Her/ space. She was here first and now all of this. It doesn't matter that she cannot see whom it is stepping in now to bother her time further. A quiet curse of annoyance and she undoes her coat some to pull it up over her head slightly. at least enough to cause the rain to drip off of it and not all over her face.
Jolasek squints a little from the rain water dripping down his face. His hair is pretty much a matted mess and he doesn't look to pleased himself as he looks back towards the clearing just to see the Weyrlingmaster move and in his direction, then the Head of Records. The stablehand curses now, shaking one leg in an attempt to free his boot from clinging mud in order to properly walk rather then slide around. At first, he seems to turn in the opposite direction, but his path changes and he slowly, almost hesitantly moves closer. He doesn't say anything yet, he just approaches through the rain, somewhat hunched over as he pulls his light jacket up more around his neck.
"Well, c'mon over if you're comin'," mutters R'vain, enough under his breath that it can be neither invitation nor command, so remains a rhetorical remark on the situation largely for the benefits of himself and Miniyal. He raises up the hand he's not got his head propped on, though, and sketches out a wave for the approaching youth. After that, a glance back at the head of records and a grin, then a weird shrug that doesn't work so well since he's laying like he is. "You want t'get away from people, let me know and I'll take you someplace farther sometime."
More company. This is why finding a secluded spot is important. It's like a radar. If one person shows up soon enough others tromp out and you're left with. . .people. Lots of people. Ok, maybe to anyone else /two/ people is not lots of people, but Miniyal is not exactly normal and we do all know that. "Oh, thank you," is said under her breath to R'vain at his offer. Again with the gritted teeth, but she will speak politely if it kills her. Here? It very much might, but she will not sink down to his level. Instead she watches the approaching person with a scowl. On the bright side, maybe he will save her from the weyrlingmaster's attention.
Jolasek catches a glimpse of the wave as he approaches, still squinting a bit in the rain as he carefully makes his way over now. The stablehand has no idea that Miniyal is scowling at him, at least not yet. In fact, Jolasek has no idea who he's about to run into or what he's about to get into. The stablehand is good at just...appearing in the middle of things. Finally, when he's close enough, he gives a faint nod and an even fainter smile. "Odd place and time for a bit of chatter." he says in a low tone and rather bluntly. He then shakes his head a bit, either in annoyance to the rain or to a passing thought. "Sorry if I'm barging in, though."
"Hey, it's an offer." R'vain flips over a hand and shows the empty palm to Miniyal, not that she's paying him any more mind than she has to. He turns his attention to Jolasek when the stablehand speaks, and splits a cheshire grin for what he says. "We weren't talking," replies the Weyrlingmaster, though clearly they were. Pushing himself up so he's half-sitting, leaning deep into one hand that props him up, he adds, "Have a sit and don't talk with us. Miniyal's tryin' t'get away from it all, so I figured I'd keep her company." He's /so/ nice.
"Yes, so it was," Miniyal answers because it seems as if an answer is called for. Jolasek is looked at when he speaks and she tries to place him, but when after a moment she cannot she just flicks hair from her face and tugs her coat back down and around here. She will sit here and freeze in the spring rain before giving up her spot even if she doesn't want to be around anyone. Which she doesn't, but this is getting ridiculous. How can people not see she was here first? R'vain gets a glare at his final words, the venom enough to put a man down. Well, a normal man. Not a pickled one.
Jolasek looks oddly confused for a moment at R'vain's response. "But you're talking now, so how are you not?" he replies with a bit of a smirk. He keeps his attention focused on the Weyrlingmaster even as he accepts the offer to sit by moving to the nearest available spot. The stablehand then looks over to Miniyal as he sits silently, 'not talking' as the Weyrlingmaster so put it, a brief moment of recognition passing through his thoughts, making him look ready to say something to her. Then its gone, as is his focus on her and he simply glances between the two while ignoring the rain.
R'vain, at the end of that, grasps that Miniyal is looking at him. So he looks back with his most winning, most wolfish of carnivore grins and a waggle of ruddy brow. "We weren't talking," the rider reiterates after a moment, returning his attention to the other man. "About not talking. But th'rain feels good, don't you think? Relaxing." And he unprops himself then rolls over onto his back again, putting an elbow up beneath his head as a pillow so he can stare, eyes twitching against the falling drops, into the rain.
Miniyal snorts loudly in response to the words spoken by the new arrival. Of course they are talking now. Because /someone/ was, well, hrm. Well, he was sitting there. But it's the principle of the matter. He was sitting quietly near /her/ rock. Which is so not fair. Although when is on his back she can't help but glance over, probably hoping he drowns. The new arrival at least isn't having murderous thoughts thought about him. For now. And in all of this there is just nothing at all said out loud. Annoyed silence speaks for her instead.
Jolasek isn't sure what to make of this pair and its apparant by the confused frown that follows R'vain's last comment. The stablehand has to think for a moment before replying with a crooked smile. "Relaxing and miserable." he says, lifting one hand up to pull his hair away from the sides of his face, but only results in making it more of a tangled mess. Jolasek is oblivious to Miniyal's disapproval to his presence. Instead, he seems to make himself more comfortable...by putting his muddied boots up on another pair of rocks. And he's silent again, simply regarding both of them and waiting for another to speak.
"Then why'd y'come out here innit?" R'vain asks his question of the sky and, when he's done, lets his jaw hang loose for a moment after, gathering up a slow mouthful of rain to swallow. "You want t'get away from it all too? I told 'er she's got t'go farther." If Miniyal will not participate in conversation, the Weyrlingmaster will simply speak about her in the third person. His tone is gamey, a little sweetened, and those details are probably purely for her enjoyment. "Even offered a ride."
Now he's inviting other people to sit? The nerve of the man! She was here first! The fact she's internally reverted back to about ten or twelve is probably escaping her. Instead she sits and sulks quietly while the other two sit and potentially converse. If she had fur it would bristle, but since she doesn't she can only turn a glare upon R'vain. It is so not fair. Even if she said anything it would be twisted and would be all wrong. Still, it's going to be done. Jolasek is looked at again, measuring him up. Nope, no clue still about him. So, she just glares at R'vain more darkly. "Polite people would go sit somewhere else after someone said they wanted to be alone."
Jolasek simply shrugs his shoulders to the Weyrlingmaster's question, "Because I can." he says, tilting his lower jaw out a little, making him seem like some rebellious child. He then chuckles dryly for such a short span of time its more like a series of light coughs. The stablehand only gives R'vain an uncertain sideways glance as he looks to Miniyal again when the Weyrlingmaster refers to 'her'. His smirk widens, "In a sense, yes." he says after a moment, his gaze now moving fully to stare back at the head of records as she measures him up. And he seems to sit up a little straighter when she does. Tense? Maybe. He ignores her last comment though. Instead, he decides to simply blurt out, "I'm a stablehand here. I'm always wandering, so not necessarily escaping." Or so he says.
"No one said she wanted t'be alone." It takes the Weyrlingmaster only a moment to give their conversation thus far thought enough that he is able to say this with utter certainty and a cocky grin to boot. He raises his head up a bit so Miniyal might get a glimpse of that grin while she's glaring at him. "You /did/ say it was quiet, so I s'pose we should be quiet. But instead, why don't y'tell me why you're tryin' t'get away so bad? I mean, if /you/ need /peace/--" His shoulders wriggle in a wet-leather-enhanced shrug. "I'd figure that's all y'get all day in that hide-room." -- Then he takes the moment's time to turn a one-eye-narrowed look on Jolasek and ask, "Y'got somethin' to escape from? I wouldn't be goin' toward-- " A moment's thought. "Balen. Better y'go inland, if you're set t'run away."
Eyes rolling, Miniyal glares harder at R'vain. If there were any God on Pern now is when she would be able to start fires with her mind. Turning soaked weyrlingmasters into nothing but ash. Alas, there is no God on Pern and so she remains here, trapped with two people. Which is not really trapped, not here when she can get up and walk off whenever she wants. But, it is the principle of the matter! And she will not back down from principles. "Most people do not come out somewhere in the middle of a downpour when they are looking for conversation and company," she points out ever so evenly and calmly. At the last comment, directed to Jolasek, she turns to look, wondering indeed if he's fleeing or something. That could be interesting. And distract from her.
Jolasek had remaind silent until he started to laugh. And he laughs for quite the time, pointing a finger silently at R'vain while his expression is screwed into a wide grin. "I've already "run away"--if that's how you want to put it." the stablehand says after catching his breath. "I ran here." he says next, then suddenly seems to regret his odd reaction and what he has just said. Spoke and reacted before thinking again and too late to take it back. "If you really, so desperately need to know, I got curious, okay?" he mutters in reply possibly both to R'vain and Miniyal, almost seeming to pout now as he knocks the tip of his boot against the rock in front of him in a slow, monotonous beat. From oddly amused, to unnerved, Jolasek goes back to being silent and 'not talking'.
"I was heading back in from a downpour," replies R'vain to Miniyal. So he, legitimately, might have been looking for conversation and company. And look! He's found it. So convenient. But then he's being laughed at, which does not earn a lot of brownie points. The Weyrlingmaster shoves himself up with a paw splayed behind himself on the rock, then swings his feet down into the mud, tall grass slapping at his boots. "Run away t'join th'Weyr? Where from?" Thick arms cross over his chest and he watches the younger man with steady stare, expectant.
Laughing and talking and all of this is only setting Miniyal more on edge. She scoots farther back on her rock and pulls her knees up to her chest. The hem of the dress is pulled down over her feet and she wraps her arms around her legs and huddles. At least the conversation can carry on without her now. Sitting in the rain and being miserable she doesn't even listen now. Clearly she doesn't need to be here. But she remains. Her spot. There will be no fleeing.
Jolasek at first doesn't seem to want to look at R'vain but after a moment he does, scowling slightly as he does. "As I said, technically not 'running away'. Came here with my father. From Keroon." the stablehand replies, seeming more on edge as he speaks. "Is that a problem?" he adds in, glancing to Miniyal as she seems to withdraw on her rock. "Not that it matters." is then muttered half under his breath. In a bid to avoid further questioning from the Weyrlingmaster for now, he tilts his head up slightly in a motioning gesture in hopes of getting the head of record's attention. "I've seen you before. Vaguely remember, but I'm sure." And that's all he says for now. Creepy? Maybe.
"Oh, I understand." R'vain clearly does not entirely /believe,/ but he understands. "No, no problem. How long you been here?" A glance at the huddled lump that Miniyal has become, when Jolasek addresses her. "That's Miniyal," R'vain offers helpfully. "She works in records." Even more helpful. "Pretty much th'expert there, th'weyrlings say." Complimentary, even. Something bad must be coming. The bronzerider grins widely, showing far too many far too pretty teeth.
Miniyal blinks and pushes her hair back, wiping rain from her eyes as she peers at Jolasek. "I was born here," is her answer. From that he can infer all sorts of things. Like, of course you've seen me you idiot I've always lived at the weyr and most people have seen me. Or maybe it's just the shortest sentence that can be said to fulfill the requirements of polite conversation. Well, she could have used fewer words probably, but these words seemed perfect. R'vain's words are given nothing. No twitch, no nod, no glare. He is now a burden to be borne silently.
Jolasek relaxes a little once R'vain asks a question that isn't too...prying? In any case, the stablehand doesn't seem as uptight as before. He meerly shrugs his shoulders again, his wet clothing clinging tightly in protest to such movements. "Awhile now. Long enough not to remember, actually." Long enough to miss home? Nah. He gives a half smile, half smirk to Miniyal at her answer. He snorts softly, "Obviously, but I was looking more for a name---Miniyal." he says sarcastically, filling in the blank after a helpful hint from R'vain. "Oh, now I see. Why, thank you." he says to R'vain, although honestly he's being a touch sarcastic himself. "Seeing now as he's gone and introduced you...but not himself, I'll throw my name into the mix. Jolasek, stablehand as you already know."
R'vain snorts. He has the nose for it. And he shakes his shoulders in a massive shrug, then lifts his paws to fling water off of his shoulders. This gesture is not, by any means, designed to draw attention to his knot. Certainly. "R'vain," he says after he's done posturing. "Weyrlingmaster. Ruvoth's." His upper lip curls, deepening the trench below his nose, making a fine and age-betraying crease appear in his cheek. "Wet met," precisely pronounced, "Jolasek."
Eyes narrowing at Jolasek, it is his turn to get the stare of death. And does he ever get it. Miniyal is used to staring down people who do things untidy or wrong in the records room. The full force of it rests upon him for a couple of minutes. Before she realises that it is really not working and lets it drop, defeated again. Stupid people. Invading her space. She slides forward some and looks to be deciding to flee after all. Her feet touch the ground and she sits for a moment still, quiet.
Jolasek raises a brow for a moment and then chuckles dryly. "Wet met, R'vain. As you put it." Only then is he aware of Miniyal's stare of death. The stablehand seems amused at first, staring back. Eventually though, he either grows unsettled again or clues in that he's annoyed her now. "Leaving?" he says to her with a little amusement. "And so soon after we finally introduced ourselves?" One hand raises to scratch at his chin idly as he regards the Weyrlingmaster for a moment. "A Weyrlingmaster, eh? How's that working for you?" Jolasek asks somewhat out of the blue.
The Weyrlingmaster stands, beating Miniyal to that punch. Maybe there's a reason. He's glanced at her, read her body language, made out of it the obvious and nodded once to himself. Now he's headed for her, her and her rock. But his approach doesn't seem to have to do with her, per se; what he's doing is arranging himself so he faces Jolasek without the woman between them. With, in fact, the woman off to his side a bit. "Ain't much I can imagine would be worse," replies R'vain, his ruddy brows drawing low toward his eyes in the middle. He might look angry until he sneers. That rather spoils it. "'Cept maybe working in th'stables."
Nothing is said as the rock is abandoned. Nothing really needs to be said, yes? It's clear Miniyal is ceding the field to the others and has allowed herself to be chased off despite what she had planned. There is no dignifying what was said with a response. Instead there is a tug of her jacket, not that the soaked item will do much but cling to her like the rest of her clothes. Head up she doesn't waste time with farewells. Just heads off, slipping in the grass until she finds a path and then nearly sliding in the mud of said trail. Still, she is free it seems.
Jolasek watches as Miniyal begins to leave and keeps watching her for some time, a rather confused expression coming over his face for that time. He then shakes his head, sending his tangled hair into more disarray as he does. Now his attention slowly goes back to R'vain. And then he says that wonderful string of words that has the stablehand suddenly tense up, but not in nervousness, now more like annoyance. Must everyone make jibes about his position? His jaw is clenched shut, but eventually he begins to speak, only to stumble on a witty remark. So, instead he folds his arms across his chest. "Well said. But I'd rather be a stablehand then babysitting." he mutters, smirking. "What's so high and mighty 'bout being a Weyrlingmaster anyhow?"
"Hey, don't forget-- you need a ride off t'somewhere remote, I gotcha covered," hollers out R'vain, hardly content to allow the records worker to leave in peace. He even raises up a hand to wave after her, to emphasize his generous and jovial nature. Then he turns back to the stablehand, inflating with a great breath sucked in through flared nostrils, and paces a bit closer to the other man. "Don't rightly believe I said there was anything," replies the rider, voice rough, and draws his tongue over one tooth with an audible tchk. "But if you're after th'advantages I'd say th'best of it is putting the wings' and Weyr's next leaders out t'trial. Why d'you care, runner-boy?"