Linden, Roslin

OOC Date



Summer in Keroon - what could be better? The wide open plains, the desert in the distance, the red mesas casting their long shadows as the sun begins its downward sink towards the horizon. Swimming, riding runners, exploring the plains, it's a perfect escape for a young boy and his older sister. And D'ren as well, who has really enjoyed spending time with his parents during these weekend getaways. At the moment D'ren and his father are sitting in chairs that look out across the vast plains, while Linden scampers along through the tall grasses, waving a stick he found like a sword.

Meanwhile, Roslin is collecting wild flowers, being rather selective and picky in which ones make it into her bouquet and which ones don't. But she's always careful to keep an eye out for her brother, even calling out to him, "Be careful with that stick! If I get hit with it, you're in big trouble!" As much as she loves her little brother, she's not about to allow herself to get hurt because of him. And so she continues to pluck, pluck, pluck flowers, standing up straight occasionally to see where Linden is at.

Linden turns around at his sister's call and bounds over to her, waving his stick so it /almost/ touches her. "Doesn't hurt, see?" he asks, tapping it against his foot. "Doesn't hurt! Why're you pickin' /flowers/. Can't play with flowers." His nose wrinkles at what he thinks is a complete waste of time.

"And you can play with a /stick/?" Roslin retorts, wrinkling up her face at the thought of it. Ah, the classic case of girls and boys not understanding each other and their chosen play things. "I'm picking them for Mommy. I don't know if they'll make the trip home, but I figure it'll make her happy. I'm sure she misses us."

Linden exhales in little boy exasperation. "Flowers don't go between!" he argues. "We saw Mommy /yesterday/. C'mon, Roslin, let's plaaaaaaay," he whines, poking the ground with his stick. Jab, jab, jab. "Mommy is good, she's got Kae! C'moooooon. Flowers are stupid."

"Shut up!" Roslin snaps, her expression turning into one of their mother's when she's angry, eyebrows drawn together in anger as she stares at Linden. "I'm picking flowers. Go and play with your stupid stick." And she gives his stick a little kick to try and get it away from her, still wary that she's going to get hit in the head with it, but then her attention goes back to the flowers. "Maybe I'll give these to Poppa, then," she adds belatedly, obviously thinking about who should get the bouquet.

Linden frowns at his big sister, pulling his stick out of the way of her kicking. "Don't kick my stick!" he argues. "Your flowers are boring. And don't say shut up, that's a mean word." He gives his sister a pouting look and turns around, swishing his stick against the waving grasses.

"Shut. Up." Roslin's not about to be yelled at by her younger brother, and so when he turns around, she sticks her tongue out at his back, in true mature fashion. "I bet Grandpa will like my floweres," she comments. "Flowers make people happy. Sticks just hurt people." Nope, she's not letting this issue go so easily.

Linden sighs, turning around and waving his stick. "It's just play, Roslin," he protests, with his little boy pout. "I'm not gonna hurt anyone." How could she think that of him? He scratches the stick in the dirt, making an 'L'. "Don't say that word. It's bad."

"It's called an /accident/, Linden. You could poke my eye out." And just mentioning that possibility, Roslin reaches a hand up to rub at an eye, keeping a firm hold on her bouquet with the other. "Since when did you become so sensitive? I've heard my Daddy say worse words. I've heard Mommy say worse. And Il'ad definitely says worse." But Roslin doesn't tell him to shut up again, sitting down in the grass to reorganize her flowers.

Linden sighs, "I wouldn't," he says, continuing to scratch in the dirt. "Wouldn't hurt you, Roslin," he says, looking at her with a hurt expression. Then he bristles. "I'm not sensitive!" he argues. "Just don't like you bein' so /mean/ to me."

"I'm mean to you because I love you." That's at least Roslin's logic in all of this. "If I didn't love you, I would just ignore you. But I don't want you coming over here and teasing me about my flowers. It's not nice either." With that said, she starts selecting some blades of grass to put in her bouquet as a filler. "You excited for the new baby?"

Linden clearly disagrees with his sister's thoughts on 'love' and meanness, still scratching in the dirt. He shrugs, not giving a verbal opinion about the baby. He's five! /He/ is still a baby.'

Or at least she's still /the/ baby, for right now. Roslin glances up at him, unsure what to think about his silence, and finally, she offers up a shrug of her own, but she follows it up with, "I hope it's a girl. I want a sister." Maybe putting that out there into the universe will help make it happen. A girl can dream. "What're we gonna do tomorrow?"

Linden shrugs again, scratching in the dirt with his stick, meandering closer to his sister. "Another girl?" He frowns. "Want a brother. So we can /play/." Instead of picking stupid flowers. he does, though, stoop to pick up one and offer it to her to see if it's good enough for her bouquet. Then he perks up. "Go ridin! with Daddy and Grandpa!"

"Well, I already /have/ a brother, so I want a sister." Seems reasonable to Roslin. The little girl looks at the offered flower and it passes inspection, so she accepts it into her bouquet. "Thanks, Linden." The mention of riding gets Roslin to perk up, too, but this time, she's got a smug look on her face. "I overheard Mommy talking to Il'ad, and she says that she's gonna be buying me a runner soon. From her friend. Mirror? I think that's her name."

Linden looks /instantly/ jealous. "/I/ want a runner!" he protests. "I'm a way more betterur rider than you!"

"You're too young," Roslin replies dismissively, that smug look growing even more since she knows that /she/ is a lot older and much more mature than he is. Totally. "Plus, you can ask Poppa to bring you here whenever you want so you can ride. I can't. So I'm gonna have my own runner at the Weyr. I guess you can ride it. Sometimes."

Linden sighs loudly. "It's not /fair/," the little boy protests, a brief flare of temper causing his cheeks to darken. He throws his stick down and crosses his arms with a big pout.

"See! You're a baby." Ah, don't you just love it when someone acts in the exact right way to prove your point? "Maybe when you're six and a half, Mommy will get you one, but probably not. I'm the favorite. I have three daddies. I'm the special one." Roslin's thankfully still seeing that in a positive way.

Linden looks at Roslin and pouts, shaking his head. Bending to pick up his stick, he swishes it at the grass and starts to walk away, back towards his father and grandfather.

Roslin once more sticks her tongue out at Linden as he walks away, and then she, too, stands up, but this time it's to continue on her quest to find more beautiful flowers.

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