Who

Roslin, Threvobek

What

Threvobek meets Roslin and isn't supposed to.

When

It is the twenty-eighth day of Winter and 40 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

Where

Igen Weyr Lake Shore

OOC Date

 



Lake Shore

Sprawled out beyond the Weyr proper's hustling activity and ambling roads, the cool, blue paradise of the Weyr lake promises escape from the oppressive hammer of Igen summer's cruel climes; the asymmetrical, sandy white shores hook delicately around the deceptively still waters running deep and sure, greedy peninsulas reaching white fingers stretching in crooked lines towards its center. A sturdy shack, weather-beaten and brown as cured leather, resides in isolated splendor upon one such finger, screened shelving offering a variety of brushes and fragrant oils housed in colorful tureens. Out beyond a small and dusty paddock ringed by a white fence, a long rocky pier stabs out into the lake, providing a panoramic view of the Weyr itself, while the southern shores provide varied shrubs and grassed for the massed herds in their pens.


Seated all by herself in a cross-legged position, Roslin idly tosses little pebbles into the water, watching the ripples until they fade into nothingness before throwing the next one in. She pauses, briefly, to push her hair back out of her face before resuming her stone assault on the water. The girl doesn't seem bothered by the weather, though she's bundled up slightly, nose and cheeks tinged pinkish from the cold.

It is a pretty quiet day as far as movement and people are concerned. Thread isn't scheduled and there are those children drawn to the rocks shelled in ice. Threvobek, a native of this land of ice and fire, still has moments he thoroughly enjoys it. Threading himself between a game of Catch the Wherry, he spots someone unfamiliar and directs appropriate steps to Roslin's patch of solitude. "Pardon me, but you seem out of place." Voice light and vaporizing. He's got rudimentary clothing on, at least two layers visible.

"Excuse me?" The comment seems to catch Roslin off guard, pulling her out of her mind-numbing throwing motions as she blinks up at him, forehead wrinkling up. "Not quite sure what that's supposed to mean. I live here. I'm not from here," she rambles, looking back out to the water as another pebble is tossed in, this one with a little more force than previously before looking back to Threvobek, still confused. "Out of place?"

Threvobek sees how much distance the girl has in her arm, watching the last throw skip a little before it's swallowed by the deeper water. A shoulder lifts and drops. "I don't see very many girls by themselves," happiest in numbers, like wherries. "Definitely not a popular practice outside the Weyr for obvious reasons. And your throwing seems very… lackadaisical." Because people should throw rocks with GUSTO. Reading a little into Roslin's comment, "do you need a friend?" He's going there.

The question makes Roslin's lips tug into a frown, swallowing before she chucks another pebble in, trying to put more of that GUSTO into it, if only to prove Threvobek wrong. But, after a few silent moments, "The last time I had a friend he started sleeping with my mother." So having friends, at least of the male variety, hasn't worked out so well for the girl, which is why she's eyeing him curiously, intently. "You don't have any plans to sleep with Linny, do you?"

Two sets of eyes watch that stone sail into the lake. Threvobek folds his arms loosely across his chest to safeguard body heat and form some stance of greater approval. When Roslin finishes talking he quickly looks back to the girl, attention gained. Well damn. They're not supposed to be crossing paths, but it's a small Weyr. "That's a frank thing to ask." Bloody oldtimers. "No plans." He sounds sincere. "We're vastly different creatures, she's like a race runner and I'm a ox. Sure, we both eat grass but the similarities end there."

"A race runner." Roslin snorts, amused with the idea of comparing her beautiful mother to a runner. "She's terrified of them, you know. Runners." Idle knowledge shared for no real reason other than conversation. "You can sit, if you want." Now that Roz knows he has no plans of bedding her mother, he's welcome to keep her company should he choose to. "Got some extra ones to throw," she offers, opening up her hand to reveal the rest of the pebbles doomed to drown in the water at the hands of one of them. "I'm Roslin."

Threvobek readjusts his footing so that when he does the sharp nest of rock and frost underfoot rub. He likes that sound and does it again on purpose. Behind them both the Weyrbrats pant under their multitude of layers, some have already stripped off their hats and all but one have no gloves. Rev stoops by Roslin and extends a hand to gather a stone of his own. It's not been exposed to water long and still has all of its sharp edges. Meeting her eyes, the teen grins smoothly. "And I'm not supposed to be talking to you." He lets the stone fly, trying to skip it several times.

"What?" Hand slowly curls back around the rocks, pulling the hand back to rest in her lap, as Roslin continues to look back up at him with that confused expression on her face. It's almost cute, the way she wears it. "Why aren't you supposed to talk to me? Who said?" Threvobek doesn't look familiar, nor does he look like he's shady and sketchy and someone she should stay away from. But then another question needs to be posed- "If you aren't supposed to be, then why are you?"

It fell a little short and wobbled on the third skip and sunk before the fourth. Threvobek counts it as a trivial loss and tries to purloin another but Roslin's open hand is gone. "Your dear mother did when I met her the first time. I don't fault her a bit. I'm disobeying because you're cute and because I didn't know it was you I should have been avoiding. Kinda want to see what she'd do and if you're worth it. So you can tell her if you want, but I aint staying anyway." He stands back straight up. Chores.

Roslin is lucky that it's cold outside and her cheeks are already a shade of red, because when he declares her cute, she can feel the warmth spreading within her cheeks, dropping her gaze to watch her hand shift the pebbles around. But then her eyes snap back up to him, narrowed just a bit. "You're leaving already?" No doubting the disappointing ringing in her tone, despite attempts to sound casual about it, but she follows it up with a more mischievous smirk. "Was kinda hoping if you were going to disobey her, you'd really make it worth it."

Threvobek has no gloves either, but his hands always seem to have enough heat. They turn up as he holds both palms out in front while walking backwards. "Day isn't over yet, is it?" His grin doesn't have Roslin's degree of mischief but there's equal amounts of steam in his breath. All that hot air. The stablehand fully retreats from the lake, but the kids are still here to giggle behind Roslin and shriek now and then like wraiths on stimulants.

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