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Spin Like a Top; tag Kestrel/Yithel!
Topic Started: Sep 1 2011, 07:33 PM (177 Views)
Charm
Candidate
It was far too hot for Jayrel's taste. He supposed he was used to it, given that he'd lived in this area since he was twelve, ever since he'd taken up glasscrafting and moved to the Glasscrafthall, but that didn't make it any more comfortable. Just stepping outside was enough to make his hair droop! He'd just had to cross the Weyrbowl to get back from the Infirmary, where he'd had chores, and he was ready to collapse and not move till dinnertime. Candidacy was great and all, but he could really do without the chores. Jayrel made no secret that he would rather not do work of any kind, unless it involved molten glass. That he liked doing. Anything else? Lifting or cooking or cleaning or fixing? Thanks, but no thanks. Other people could take care of that. You know, people who liked that sort of thing.

Swayed to a drowsy state of mind by the heat, the journeyman stretched out on one of the couches in the common room. There were several candidates scattered about, trying to escape the heat, and an entering candidate shot Jayrel a dirty look for taking up an entire couch. The glasscrafter shrugged at him and didn't move, and the candidate swept away. Lacking the energy to do anything particular engaging but unwilling to sink into a bored stupor like the candidate across from him who appeared to have been hypnotized by a loose thread on his shorts, Jayrel pulled a small box from his bag. An advantage to being a glasscrafter was that you got to make yourself little trinkets, and the candidate had recently finished making a tinted glass top, which he now took out and gave an experimental spin on the side table next to him.

It spun well, and he watched, pleased, as it whirled around the table before toppling gently on its side. He spun it again, watching the colors inside blur together. It seemed to him that a lot of people lived like the top - spinning and spinning, always in motion, because if they stopped, they'd fall, and shatter if nobody caught them. Perhaps he did that, too - kept spinning and hoped he didn't reach the edge of the table and topple off. Heh. Very poetic, he thought to himself, a little unwilling to pursue that thought any further; he'd much rather continue living his life without thinking too hard about it. Thinking always seemed to get you somewhere you didn't want to be. Besides, what sort of person looked at a top and thought about the intricacies of human behavior?

The bored sort, apparently.

In his moment of inattention, the glass top swung left and teetered on the edge of the table. He made a grab for it but missed, and it fell to the floor; he held his breath, panicked, but the table was not high up and, thankfully, the top landed without shattering, merely rolling a couple of feet out to the middle of the floor and resting there. Shells. Now I have to pick it up. Jayrel stared at it there, reluctant to perform any actual movement to retrieve the top. Maybe someone would passby and they could get it for him. Yeah. He'd hold out and hope for that.
[align=center]Journeyman Glasscrafter Jayrel of green Vesyth[/align]
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Kestrel
Candidate
It was so sharding hot here. Yithel felt like she was wilting. She was already burnt, and probably would be peeling soon. Her cheeks were flushed in a way that did not look pretty, and even with her hair tied back, stubborn strands clung to her sweat sodden neck. And she smelled bad. This really was just a winning combination of characteristics. She was sure that she must have looked like an absolute angel. Not that anyone else looked much better, but at least the other Candidates were somewhat more used to the heat. Ista got hot, true, but Yithel hadn't lived in Ista for Turns. The Harper Hall was in a considerably cooler climate. It was almost enough to drive her into thinking of going back home. Almost. But dragons were still a big lure.

Doing laundry certainly hadn't helped the heat. The water just produced humidity. Yithel couldn't tell if she was coated in sweat or water at times. Her hands had pruned up dreadfully. Part of her mind had cried out at the injustice- how would she play with hands like these? Then she had remembered that playing an instrument was no longer part of her daily life, and while she could always pick up one in her limited free time here, she was by no means required to. She could not tell as of yet whether or not that was a good thing. It was just... different. It wasn't her most intelligent observation, but comparing Weyr life as a Candidate and life as a Harper was almost impossible. They were just too... Different. That was an awful word. Yithel wrinkled her nose, trudging back to her new home, hoping that she could just collapse somewhere without a sound and cool off.

Drat. There was already someone stretched out on the couch she had her eye on. Did he think he had superiority, just because he had been a Candidate for longer than she had? Did he really think he could just take that whole space up and leave no room for her? Did he /know/ who she was? It was very safe to say that Yithel was in 'a mood', and that mood was not a good one. It was also safe to say that Jayrel probably had no clue who Yithel was. It was hard for her to become well known when all her time was spent doing chores, or touching eggs, or doing something else. She had had no time for friends yet. Hard work was grand, but the lack of anyone to talk to was like to drive her insane.

Too tired to actually complain, Yithel's eyes caught on the top Jayrel was spinning. She was instantly entranced, caught in childlike wonder, her wide blue eyes growing even larger as it spun around and around. Maybe it was just because she needed some rest, but this was fascinating. The way the colors blended, the smoothness of the motion... It was pure poetry! It was as beautiful as some dancers Yithel had seen once, swirling around a Gather dance floor. More beautiful, even. This sublime movement was the stuff of songs. Maybe she would compose a ballad to this top, and thus find her fame that way. Or maybe not.

Then the top hit the edge of the table, teetering. Was it going to break? Half of Yithel hoped it would. Something that beautiful should be shattered, as poetic justice. The other half wanted it to live on another day. Then again, it was in possession of that insufferable creature who was taking up the napping space she had marked as her own. It may have been uncharitable to wish a broken trinket on him, but he was in her space. Her territory!

The top didn't break. That was a relief. It did roll away from the young man on the couch though. Man... Woman... Close up, it was difficult to tell. No, no, he was definitely a male. Just feminine in appearance. Scooping up the top, Yithel eyed him once more, before a half grin slowly spread across her face. Look who had the power now! If he wanted his toy back, he was going to have to give up some of his space.

"I'm holding your top ransom. The price is a seat on that couch, and your name." She held the top up to her eye, examining it more closely. "And the name of whoever made this. It's a pretty little trinket." Off handedly, she added, "Candidate Yithel, by the by, and new here. And exhausted. And very much wanting a seat, thank you very much."
Candidate Yithel
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Charm
Candidate
It seemed the stars were in his favor today. Barely a moment passed before someone bent down and kindly picked up his top for him. It was a girl, sweaty and sunburnt, just back from chores, looked like. He didn't recognize her, but that didn't mean much; he was new enough himself that she could be a newbie or an older candidate and he wouldn't have known. She had a deer-in-the-glowlight sort of look about her, with those too-large blue eyes, but it was cute in a way. It occurred to him that her face looked a little like the top she was holding - delicately precious, like spun glass; you wanted to hold her, to keep her safe, but not too hard lest she break. Well. You. Not Jayrel; he had no particular desire to hold any part of her. She was cute enough, but there were too many curves and not enough masculine muscle. You understand.

Pleased to have someone to do his work for him, he waited for her to hand it over. She didn't. His eyebrows raised in response to her conditions, and he laughed shortly. What a difficult decision! His toy or his stretching space? She should know not to press such hard choices on people during this heat - they might faint! With a defeated grin, he acknowledged the hours that had gone into making that thing and swung his legs down, making a space for her. "All right. You win." She gave him her name, and revealed that she was in fact new here. Cool. Always nice to meet someone newer than he was.

"Jayrel, at your service," he introduced himself, gesturing widely as if he were bowing, which he had no room to do but might have done had he been standing. What? Theatricality. It was in his nature. He had to overdo things. It was more fun that way. "Candidate, and " - here he plucked his top from her hand - "glasscrafter. Thanks for the compliment, dear, it took hours to make. I can't say I appreciate that it was held as a ransom, but I suppose, in light of the heat and the lack of seating space, I can forgive it." He winked, to show he didn't really mind all that much.

"So." He automatically made to prop his feet up, realized there was nothing to prop them on, and settled for folding them so he was sitting cross-legged on his side of the couch, arms stretched behind his head. "What brings you to this insufferable desert? And don't give me the obvious answer," he added, smirking. Anyone could say "to Impress," but there was always a reason behind it. Always a story.
[align=center]Journeyman Glasscrafter Jayrel of green Vesyth[/align]
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