Five minutes' worth
Who: Jensen and Laelle
Where: Bowl by the Lake
What: While the Weyr goes on partying to celebrate the Turn's End, Laelle goes on meeting people, changing each time like a little chameleon. Even I am beginning to wonder which one is the real her.
The celebration continues on in the Weyr's main cavern despite it all, but some have taken off to more relaxed activities if even for a moment. Jensen, Captain of the guard, has just stepped out to do that very thing. He stands on the shore of the lake currently, dressed in an outfit that suits him but one he doesn't look at all comfortable wearing. In one hand he holds a steaming mug; the other rests with the ease and familiarity of turns on his knife's handle. In this manner of straight posture and quiet solitude he stares and thinks.
While the snow of the bowl is almost always covered in footprints of some sort, the freshly fallen drifts show only the freshest of prints and currently a pair that are very new indeed are visible heading off along the lake's edge. They certainly belong to a woman, a woman in heels and heels particularly unsuited to snow. In the darkness, the figure they belong to is retracing her steps, approaching the Captain with her arms hugging herself tightly. She's dressed in white with a black shawl wrapped about her shoulders, the achromatic scheme making her a likely party-goer. Her steps are careful, almost mincing.
Jensen takes a deep breath somewhere in there, the breath of a man who's trying to re-acclimate himself to the excitements of life, well, here. He sips from his mug and winces at either the taste or the temperature, though the wetness he leaves behind on his upper lip is left alone, which might suggest it's too bitter to even be worth wiping away. Laelle's slow and careful approach isn't realized at first. It takes him a moment to catch her out of the corner of his eye. When he does he gives her his full attention, watching with a calm sort of curiosity manifesting itself in the lifted eyebrow. A small gust of wind blows hair into his eyes. "Hi there." He breaks the silence.
Laelle is too busy watching her footing to realize that she's not the only one along the rim of the lake. With the blanketing of snow and the shroud of night, sights and sounds are limited and unreliable. And yet by the time the man speaks, she's easily close enough to hear him. For all that his presence was unexpected, the tall, slim young woman exhibits no sign of surprise. She lifts her gaze and look at him. "Evening," she returns, slowing to a stop about twice as far from Jensen as might be normally dictated by two people meeting.
Jensen's grin appears promptly when he's greeted. It's a boyish thing that crinkles his eyes at the corners. "Evenin'." 'Cause repitition is important. He taps his forefinger against his mug as if there's something else he's dying to say, but instead he just ends up nodding and looking away. "Mighty fine party in there. With the food'n the music'n the... men knockin' each other in the face." Indeed.
Laelle's expression is steady and unmoving, but her eyes watch his smile, they see those crinkles around his eyes. She is still but for the intermittent shivering against the cold. Surely she's underdressed for the weather. For a moment it seems she'll not answer him, but then a smile slips onto her lips. "The food and music we have back home," she replies, her voice richly wry.
"You can color me downright tickled 'bout our bein' able t'bring you somethin' new." Jensen turns again to put that grin on her, though this time it's a close-lipped affair that curves his mouth so wide. "Reckon that's enough witty banter t'get us both through the introduction bit. My name's Jensen."
Jensen's remark of witty banter has one of Laelle's arched brows lifting, the arch deepening. There's some spark of amusement in her eye and she closes the extra distance between them with a leisurely step. "Laelle. Of Nerat," she tells him. She pauses, then asks, "Does this mark the end of witty banter or is their post-introduction quota to fill as well?" Again, there is cool humor in her voice.
Jensen inclines his head in that odd 'thanks for your name' sort of way. He looks like he might say something else utterly cordial but that last snip of hers catches him off guard. Sass is ever a welcome attribute for a woman to have, though, and so he just replies, without missing another beat, "'Nother five minutes' worth is usually acceptable." And then he's lifting both eyebrows at her and sipping long and thoroughly from his mug again. Siiiiiip.
Laelle gives an odd nod of her own which might have an air of pleased acceptance about it. There is a sense of a smile still there on her face, even if no true trace of it can be found. "You were going to say something?" she asks, attempting to draw out what ever cordial comment was left unspoken.
Jensen grimaces just a little - tea, gross - but smoothes his face out in time for when he gives her a somewhat bemused look. Huh? He was going to say something? "Really? Huh. Was I?" He makes a different, uncertain face, eyes her narrowly.
"Don't think so. But if I had been, think I mighta gone with somethin' like... What're you doin' out here when the party's been in there?" And he jerks his chin awkwardly. Living cavern, ya know.
"Just escaping the crowd," Laelle answers without hesitation. "And you?" She eyes that tea, considering the shift of his expression. "I probably should have found myself a jacket but I didn't expect to be out here long." She adjust the shawl around her shoulders, but the movement just lets more cold air in and a shiver runs through her, shuddering up her bare neck to make her chin shake and her teeth chatter, for which she gives a brief but apologetic smile.
"Yeah." About the jacket. Jensen is watching her rather carefully at this point in the conversation because hey, she's a lady and hey, she's cold. The gentlemanly thing to do in this situation would be giving his jacket up. He doesn't. "Uh. Same." Crowds, darn crowds. He's distracted, or else his answer would be more detailed. He hands her his cup. "Take custody o'this for me, darlin'."
Laelle doesn't seem like she expects the jacket at all. She doesn't even look at it. Instead her watchful eyes are on his face. Her lashes narrow slightly at the hesitation in his explanation, that noncomittal 'uh', those signs of distractions. By the time the cup is offered, she is wary and eyeing it distrustfully. "What is it?"
Jensen's brow furrows, but not enough to make him look angry. Just somewhat, well, /impatient/. "It's a steamy cup o'do what the nice man asks. C'mon, I ain't sayin' drink up."
Despite the furrow of his brow, there's something in Jensen's words that teases a hint of a grin back onto Laelle's lips. Her eyes flash. "Why?" It seems that now she's just being difficult. Plus she doesn't look entirely eager to stop hugging the scant heat into herself long enough to take the cup. She does though, perhaps to satisfy that curiousity. A thin, long-fingered hand reaches out for the mug.
Jensen drapes the overlarge article on those presented shoulders with all the ceremony of someone tossing a sack of potatoes, but he arranges it a moment later with great care, making sure it settles right. From behind her his smirk is safe from being seen, but his voice is still blandly amused enough to give him away. "Ya know, I thought there mighta been somethin' missin'." And then he's done and bringing his hand around in front of her, presumably for his cup's return. "But I think the not currently in labor thing suits you just fine."
"I have to agree," Laelle says as she turns, the smile stronger, though still wry. "Won't you be cold now? Or are you going back in?" she asks. Her fingers flex on on the warm cup, hesitating to give it up. She tucks her head down to breath in, taking in the scent of the tea steaming in her hand and that of the jacket that has already helped to sooth her shivering. However, she does pass the mug back to him.
"Ah, no. No, I'm stayin' out here for a time." Will he be cold? Jen doesn't give a yes or a no. Either one would dig him into a hole, so he'll just stand there and try not to look like the gust of wind that just hit him was no big deal. He diverts his own attention and energy into reaching out to get his mug back. Once in hand, he sips from it again and looks out at the lake. "So how d'you hold ol' Reaches in regard?"
"Cold," Laelle returns easily, her own gaze slipping lakeward as his does. She rolls her shoulders in the jacket and tugs it tighter around her. "My impressions are of Caucus, more than the Weyr as a whole. It seems..." she pauses there, her dark-rimmed eyes narrowing over the water and then turning to size up Jensen with a sidelong glance. She decides to finish the thought. "Turbulent."
Jensen's grin is quick and gentle. Fond, even. For all that he's ended up in the Weyr purely through fate, she's home. And she's a home with a temper and a whole pile of troubles he's had to deal with in the past turn and more. He loves her dearly and it shows. "Turbulent. Think I've heard worse said." A pause engulfed in silence follows. "I got used to it. Don't reckon you'll have much trouble."
A breath released through her nose is Laelle's non-committal response to his first comment. She turns her eyes back towards the caverns and the party within. "You're not a native, then? How long have you been here?" She looks over him again as if hunting for some physical sign of his turns at the Weyr.
Jensen bears nothing. No knot, no badge or anything else, no territorial colors. Just fancy clothes and a frozen expression when he takes another mouthful of tea. "I was born just outside the Hold." He turns a grin on her. "So yes and no. Been here, /here/, near two turns now."
Laelle nods then falls still. She has no returning small talk for the man, just her quiet, thoughtful stillness. And then she moves, unfolding her arms from within the jacket to slip out of it and pass it back. "Here. Thank you, but I should be heading in. And you should have it in case you run into someone with a baby half-out." Her brow cocks for that, the wry smile returns, even as she moves to leave.
Jensen might look a little confused by her sudden excusing of herself. And they were having such a nice conversation. But he reaches out for his jacket anyway, lifting an eyebrow of his own at her and tipping his head again. "Right y'are." He doesn't put the jacket back on, not yet. He's watching her intently, waiting for her first to go for whatever reason.
Laelle takes the first few steps away without turning, steady on those heeled shoes even backwards. She uses the last few moments to meet Jensen's gaze, not shying from the manner in which he watches her. Her eyes flash and she turns on a toe before heading back along the well-trod path to the living cavern.
Where: Bowl by the Lake
What: While the Weyr goes on partying to celebrate the Turn's End, Laelle goes on meeting people, changing each time like a little chameleon. Even I am beginning to wonder which one is the real her.
The celebration continues on in the Weyr's main cavern despite it all, but some have taken off to more relaxed activities if even for a moment. Jensen, Captain of the guard, has just stepped out to do that very thing. He stands on the shore of the lake currently, dressed in an outfit that suits him but one he doesn't look at all comfortable wearing. In one hand he holds a steaming mug; the other rests with the ease and familiarity of turns on his knife's handle. In this manner of straight posture and quiet solitude he stares and thinks.
While the snow of the bowl is almost always covered in footprints of some sort, the freshly fallen drifts show only the freshest of prints and currently a pair that are very new indeed are visible heading off along the lake's edge. They certainly belong to a woman, a woman in heels and heels particularly unsuited to snow. In the darkness, the figure they belong to is retracing her steps, approaching the Captain with her arms hugging herself tightly. She's dressed in white with a black shawl wrapped about her shoulders, the achromatic scheme making her a likely party-goer. Her steps are careful, almost mincing.
Jensen takes a deep breath somewhere in there, the breath of a man who's trying to re-acclimate himself to the excitements of life, well, here. He sips from his mug and winces at either the taste or the temperature, though the wetness he leaves behind on his upper lip is left alone, which might suggest it's too bitter to even be worth wiping away. Laelle's slow and careful approach isn't realized at first. It takes him a moment to catch her out of the corner of his eye. When he does he gives her his full attention, watching with a calm sort of curiosity manifesting itself in the lifted eyebrow. A small gust of wind blows hair into his eyes. "Hi there." He breaks the silence.
Laelle is too busy watching her footing to realize that she's not the only one along the rim of the lake. With the blanketing of snow and the shroud of night, sights and sounds are limited and unreliable. And yet by the time the man speaks, she's easily close enough to hear him. For all that his presence was unexpected, the tall, slim young woman exhibits no sign of surprise. She lifts her gaze and look at him. "Evening," she returns, slowing to a stop about twice as far from Jensen as might be normally dictated by two people meeting.
Jensen's grin appears promptly when he's greeted. It's a boyish thing that crinkles his eyes at the corners. "Evenin'." 'Cause repitition is important. He taps his forefinger against his mug as if there's something else he's dying to say, but instead he just ends up nodding and looking away. "Mighty fine party in there. With the food'n the music'n the... men knockin' each other in the face." Indeed.
Laelle's expression is steady and unmoving, but her eyes watch his smile, they see those crinkles around his eyes. She is still but for the intermittent shivering against the cold. Surely she's underdressed for the weather. For a moment it seems she'll not answer him, but then a smile slips onto her lips. "The food and music we have back home," she replies, her voice richly wry.
"You can color me downright tickled 'bout our bein' able t'bring you somethin' new." Jensen turns again to put that grin on her, though this time it's a close-lipped affair that curves his mouth so wide. "Reckon that's enough witty banter t'get us both through the introduction bit. My name's Jensen."
Jensen's remark of witty banter has one of Laelle's arched brows lifting, the arch deepening. There's some spark of amusement in her eye and she closes the extra distance between them with a leisurely step. "Laelle. Of Nerat," she tells him. She pauses, then asks, "Does this mark the end of witty banter or is their post-introduction quota to fill as well?" Again, there is cool humor in her voice.
Jensen inclines his head in that odd 'thanks for your name' sort of way. He looks like he might say something else utterly cordial but that last snip of hers catches him off guard. Sass is ever a welcome attribute for a woman to have, though, and so he just replies, without missing another beat, "'Nother five minutes' worth is usually acceptable." And then he's lifting both eyebrows at her and sipping long and thoroughly from his mug again. Siiiiiip.
Laelle gives an odd nod of her own which might have an air of pleased acceptance about it. There is a sense of a smile still there on her face, even if no true trace of it can be found. "You were going to say something?" she asks, attempting to draw out what ever cordial comment was left unspoken.
Jensen grimaces just a little - tea, gross - but smoothes his face out in time for when he gives her a somewhat bemused look. Huh? He was going to say something? "Really? Huh. Was I?" He makes a different, uncertain face, eyes her narrowly.
"Don't think so. But if I had been, think I mighta gone with somethin' like... What're you doin' out here when the party's been in there?" And he jerks his chin awkwardly. Living cavern, ya know.
"Just escaping the crowd," Laelle answers without hesitation. "And you?" She eyes that tea, considering the shift of his expression. "I probably should have found myself a jacket but I didn't expect to be out here long." She adjust the shawl around her shoulders, but the movement just lets more cold air in and a shiver runs through her, shuddering up her bare neck to make her chin shake and her teeth chatter, for which she gives a brief but apologetic smile.
"Yeah." About the jacket. Jensen is watching her rather carefully at this point in the conversation because hey, she's a lady and hey, she's cold. The gentlemanly thing to do in this situation would be giving his jacket up. He doesn't. "Uh. Same." Crowds, darn crowds. He's distracted, or else his answer would be more detailed. He hands her his cup. "Take custody o'this for me, darlin'."
Laelle doesn't seem like she expects the jacket at all. She doesn't even look at it. Instead her watchful eyes are on his face. Her lashes narrow slightly at the hesitation in his explanation, that noncomittal 'uh', those signs of distractions. By the time the cup is offered, she is wary and eyeing it distrustfully. "What is it?"
Jensen's brow furrows, but not enough to make him look angry. Just somewhat, well, /impatient/. "It's a steamy cup o'do what the nice man asks. C'mon, I ain't sayin' drink up."
Despite the furrow of his brow, there's something in Jensen's words that teases a hint of a grin back onto Laelle's lips. Her eyes flash. "Why?" It seems that now she's just being difficult. Plus she doesn't look entirely eager to stop hugging the scant heat into herself long enough to take the cup. She does though, perhaps to satisfy that curiousity. A thin, long-fingered hand reaches out for the mug.
Jensen drapes the overlarge article on those presented shoulders with all the ceremony of someone tossing a sack of potatoes, but he arranges it a moment later with great care, making sure it settles right. From behind her his smirk is safe from being seen, but his voice is still blandly amused enough to give him away. "Ya know, I thought there mighta been somethin' missin'." And then he's done and bringing his hand around in front of her, presumably for his cup's return. "But I think the not currently in labor thing suits you just fine."
"I have to agree," Laelle says as she turns, the smile stronger, though still wry. "Won't you be cold now? Or are you going back in?" she asks. Her fingers flex on on the warm cup, hesitating to give it up. She tucks her head down to breath in, taking in the scent of the tea steaming in her hand and that of the jacket that has already helped to sooth her shivering. However, she does pass the mug back to him.
"Ah, no. No, I'm stayin' out here for a time." Will he be cold? Jen doesn't give a yes or a no. Either one would dig him into a hole, so he'll just stand there and try not to look like the gust of wind that just hit him was no big deal. He diverts his own attention and energy into reaching out to get his mug back. Once in hand, he sips from it again and looks out at the lake. "So how d'you hold ol' Reaches in regard?"
"Cold," Laelle returns easily, her own gaze slipping lakeward as his does. She rolls her shoulders in the jacket and tugs it tighter around her. "My impressions are of Caucus, more than the Weyr as a whole. It seems..." she pauses there, her dark-rimmed eyes narrowing over the water and then turning to size up Jensen with a sidelong glance. She decides to finish the thought. "Turbulent."
Jensen's grin is quick and gentle. Fond, even. For all that he's ended up in the Weyr purely through fate, she's home. And she's a home with a temper and a whole pile of troubles he's had to deal with in the past turn and more. He loves her dearly and it shows. "Turbulent. Think I've heard worse said." A pause engulfed in silence follows. "I got used to it. Don't reckon you'll have much trouble."
A breath released through her nose is Laelle's non-committal response to his first comment. She turns her eyes back towards the caverns and the party within. "You're not a native, then? How long have you been here?" She looks over him again as if hunting for some physical sign of his turns at the Weyr.
Jensen bears nothing. No knot, no badge or anything else, no territorial colors. Just fancy clothes and a frozen expression when he takes another mouthful of tea. "I was born just outside the Hold." He turns a grin on her. "So yes and no. Been here, /here/, near two turns now."
Laelle nods then falls still. She has no returning small talk for the man, just her quiet, thoughtful stillness. And then she moves, unfolding her arms from within the jacket to slip out of it and pass it back. "Here. Thank you, but I should be heading in. And you should have it in case you run into someone with a baby half-out." Her brow cocks for that, the wry smile returns, even as she moves to leave.
Jensen might look a little confused by her sudden excusing of herself. And they were having such a nice conversation. But he reaches out for his jacket anyway, lifting an eyebrow of his own at her and tipping his head again. "Right y'are." He doesn't put the jacket back on, not yet. He's watching her intently, waiting for her first to go for whatever reason.
Laelle takes the first few steps away without turning, steady on those heeled shoes even backwards. She uses the last few moments to meet Jensen's gaze, not shying from the manner in which he watches her. Her eyes flash and she turns on a toe before heading back along the well-trod path to the living cavern.