Pretty Adorable

Western Weyr - Lagoon Shore

A sandy beach running along the edge of the lagoon, between the sparkling waters and the bowl. Sometimes riders and dragons are seen playing in the water nearby or a dolphin can be seen cavorting. At other times seacraft can be seen coming in under the arch to dock. The lagoon is large enough to fill a quarter of the length of the bowl. A path winds out along a ledge out to the docks to the southwest, the lagoon to the west and the bowl to the east.

Late evening at the end of a cloudy, breezy summer's day sees a mostly empty lagoon, while folks are enjoying post-dinner entertainment elsewhere - like in the Tiki Lounge, which stands beacon-like and vibrant at the other end of the sweeping beach. Rou'x is closer to the docks, wandering along the sand in a gait made somewhat awkward by the ungainly bump of her belly; there's certainly no denying she's pregnant. No way for her to hide it either, and she's given up trying; it sticks out from her shirt like a sore thumb, over which rubs her hand gently as she meanders along, looking down at the sand in front of her.

And there's Rhabel. The teenager was already occupying the sands of the beach, dressed down to little more than a pair of what appear to to be swimming shorts, when Rou'x's cutely pregnant self decided to show up. Initially the teenager doesn't see her, though this could probably be attributed to the fact that he's got swatches of multi-hued cloth laid out all about him and he's doing his best to… sew something or the other together. It's luck alone that has those green eyes lifting up to settle on Rou'x, though they settle more on her belly than anything. He watches her move along for a time, until she's close enough for him to speak without raising his voice. "You're without Keely," he says softly, and then those eyes go back to his work. "What color do you like more?"

Rou'x looks up when Rhabel speaks, snapping out of whatever train of thought she was having the peer curiously at the moody teenager with his fabric. "You ain't got Thei with ya," she says softly, followed by a sigh. "We ain't glued t'gether, none've us." Shrugging her shoulder gently, she looks down at the scraps, angling herself awkwardly to be able to look down without bending too much. "I dunno. Depends what it's for, I s'pose? I'm more kinda into, like, browns n' stuff. Mebbe purple, or gold or whatever, but it's all dependin' on what you're wantin' it for."

Rhabel's lips curl faintly at the corners, as if Rou'x's comment of not being stuck together offers him some distant source of amusement. "I think if Ir'e had his way, I'd never be able to leave." When Rou'x is trying to see without bending, the bookworm sets aside cloth and needle temporarily to hold up both of those calloused hands for hers. He is offering her support, you see, so that she can depend on his strength to lower herself to the ground. "You can sit," is his form of an invitation, and it's followed shortly thereafter by a brief pause and awkward silence. Depends on what they're for, eh? The teenager's gaze does finally fall away from the pregnant woman, and without any change in tone, "They are for the babies." … Yep. More awkward silence.

It's not a pretty sight as Rou'x gets to the ground, but she does so with Rhabel's help! And she nestles her big butt into the sand, leaning a little towards him to see the fabric. "For the babies." Her nose wrinkles as she repeats him, looking over the material, then reaching out to run fingers over some. Cocking her head to the side, she looks curiously at Rhab. "Do babies need fabric? I ain't gotta clue. Kee's the one doin' all the baby-like stuff."

"I think everybody needs fabric," Rhabel says, very matter-of-fact. "It's what we dress ourselves in." But then he's picking up his previously discarded work, and holding it out for Rou'x's inspection. It appears to be an odd kidney-shape— or the /start/ of an odd kidney shape anyway. "When I was younger, I had a stuffy that went with me everywhere. It was made for me by my Mother's Mother, and I think somehow that offered me more comfort than just… any stuffy." If Rou'x takes the beginnings of mysterious animal away from him, Rhabel allows it. If not, he's setting it back on the ground so that he can finger other pieces of brightly colored swatches. "I thought I could do different colors, since I don't know their gender yet."

"I'm brewin' a boy," Rou'x says with soft certainty, leaning in towards Rhabel and gently taking the beginnings of the stuffy from him. As she looks from it to its maker, she gives the teenager a warm smile. "An' he's gonna love this. You're pretty adorable, Rhab. I c'n see why Thei's so hung up on ya." The plushie-to-be is pressed back into his hand, and she leans in a little more to bump her shoulder off his. "D'you think he might like blues? My littl'un? Y'could maybe put his name on there too, if y'want to?"

"How are you sure?" Rhabel asks, but he sounds… bored. It's his eyes that give any real indication as to his true curiosity, when they glance over Rou'x, when they settle for maybe just a second too long on her stomach, and then fall away. It's the word 'adorable' that has him straightening just a bit, and there's anger that flashes across his face briefly before burying itself away beneath all that endless nothingness. "I'm not a woman," the teenager says only then. "I don't think adorable was the word you were looking for, Rou'x." But then she's mentioning blues, and he's looking thoughtfully over his collection and picking out a few of the hues he enjoys. It's the mention of a name that gives him pause, right in the middle of picking another swatch, and turning those green eyes onto her. "What is his name?" Notice he doesn't argue with Rou'x's gender choice. Mothers /know these things/.

Rou'x's brown creases in a gentle frown, and she pouts at Rhabel. "Y'can be adorable no matter what y'are. It's a compliment, Rhab. It ain't a word I use often, n' it fit you right then, alright?" She shifts her weight on her amply-padded rump, leaning back with her hands planted in the warm sand. Sighing softly, she lets her gaze rove out over the lagoon towards the arch; and while she knows that she's being looked at, she doesn't return it in any way. "Theroux. I'm gonna call him Theroux. Ir'e din't tell ya that?" /Then/ she looks at the younger man, her brows knit in surprise. "Mebbe he don't like it so much, so he din't wanna say nothin'."

The teenager will not argue with Rou'x about what adorableness is. He is quite sure the word is better suited to women, and he is very far from one of those. "Theroux." Rhabel repeats the name, and oh, there is something quite /sad/ in that look. "I think he said something about it." His abandoned work is retrieved, pulled back into his lap, and for a time he simply works in silence. It's not until after he's stabbing himself in the thumb with his needle, and bringing the pricked finger to his lips, that those green eyes go back to Rou'x again. "Don't tell Ir'e," he says suddenly, and then elaborates by gesturing towards his activites. "I don't want him to know. You knowing makes it easier, though. You can say you commissioned them." Yes, he's going to pull you into his WEB OF LIES. "And Ir'e would have told you if he didn't like the name, Rou'x. He's an idiot."

"Why ain't y'gonna tell Ir’e you're makin' his tots summat?" Rou'x's frown deepens a little, and she cants her head to the side a tad more to eye Rhabel. "Y'know, you're damned confusin', Rhab. I jus'… don't getcha. Not at all, really, n' I reckon it's mebbe hormones or some shit but I've never wanted more'n now t'just…" She reaches up as if to brush a hand over his hair, only she stops herself at the last moment, leaving her fingers hovering an inch or so from touching him. "Y'make me wanna just holdja. Sorta… cutely. I dunno. It's bloody weird, ain't it?"

Rhabel's manhood is just being insulted left and right today, isn't it? "It doesn't matter why, Rou'x. I'm asking you not to." And then he's being told he's damn confusing, and Rou'x's wanting to just… The teenager is expecting a hit, because his and Rou'x's 'relationship' tends to be rather volatile at best. It's why Rhab's turning his head fully to face the woman when her hand comes up, though if her hovering fingers give him pause or cause him confusion, there's no indication of that in his face. He simply stares after her in that empty, emotionless way, and doesn't bother moving her hand in one direction or the other. "You're pregnant," he says, as if this explains everything. "Every woman about to become a mother does that." Only now does he reach up to grab her 'round the wrist, and his grip is gentle, gentle, when he pulls her arm down, and then relinquishes his hold. "Don't waste your energy." And just to change the topic, the teenager is motioning toward swatches again. "You never picked any out for… Theroux."

Looking down at her hand when Rhabel lets go, Rou'x wrinkles her nose and bites down on her lip. Silently, she then points to a couple of swatches, before giving the sewing-boy a puppy dog eyed-look that's all hurt and stuff. "Y'don't hafta be all purposely cold n' stuff, Rhab. I'm /tryin'/ t'be friendly. Ain't it good enough for ya that I'm makin' an effort when I don't gotta do nothin'?" She leans as far forward as she can, hunching over her babybump with her arms wrapped around knees drawn as high as they'll go.

Rhab collects the dictated pieces, and then is on the receiving end of… puppy eyes? It actually gives the teenager pause, and has him staring after Rou'x for a time before she speaks again. There's no emotion, no gentleness, nothing to ease the pregnant woman's clearly troubled mind. Rhabel has never been good at this comfort thing; as a matter of fact, that bookworm seems to have a knack for making everything worse. "I never asked you to try and be friendly, Rou'x. If you hate me, then hate me." Pause. "I thought we were being civil for Ir'e's sake anyway. Why are you putting forth any effort when he isn't here?" Clearly there is a big gaping hole of misunderstanding that is about to go down, but the teenager seems not to notice the metaphorical foot he's just put in his metaphorical mouth, and instead drops his gaze back to his work. Sew, sew, sew.

"Cos bein' a bitch is too damn tirin', alright? I got plenty other shit t'deal with, without havin' t'give my baby's father an extra helpin' o' /crap/ just cos he ain't capable of bein' nothin' but a cock. Y'know what I mean?" Rou'x glances at him briefly - well, glowers, more like - before turning her honey-coloured eyes back towards the arch. "If you're gonna be takin' a part in raisin' the baby I'm carryin' that your /weyrmate/ put in here, then you're gonna buck up n' start bein' nicer."

Emotions! Too many of them! This is why it's a damn good thing that Rhabel weyrmated another man. Woman are like getting hit repeatedly by a bus, and never being able to dodge. "Ir'e is good to you," Rhab says, bored, dismissive, in defense of his weyrmate. "I told him that you two should have an actual relationship, for the child's sake. You turned him down?" Yes, those green eyes study Rou'x's face for a moment, and then return to his own hands and their work. "I'm not taking part in either of the children's lives. They are yours, and they are Ir'e's, and they are Keely's, but they are not mine. When Ir'e has them, I'll go."

… what? That whole relationship bit has Rou'x blinking at Rhabel, looking very confused. "Whaddya mean, I turned him down?" She echoes his tone of voice; not especially well, given her thick accent. "He din't do nothin' of the sort, or I woulda remembered." The bit about him leaving when the babies come has her reaching out to slap her hand across his upper arm, leaving her fingers stinging. "The fuck you will, y'selfish bastard. You're fuckin' well stayin' here, n' livin' in Keely's wannabe happy home wi' Ir'e n' her n' the babies." Notice there's no mention of Rou living in domestic bliss?

"When you were talking about giving yours up… Everything smoothed over so I figured you two had an arrangement." Yes, Ir'e. Your weyrmate /did/ think you were finding time to sneak off and play a little hanky-panky with RouRou. It's one reason why he's been avoiding the homefront so often. And then, there it is. He's getting slapped, on his upper arm, and the motion has him stabbing that needle into his thumb again. He doesn't have any real reaction to the pain either in his arm, or in his abused finger, but he is bringing that finger back to his mouth. Here come the names! And the torrential downpour of everything about Rou'x he's associated with her: anger. When the woman has had her say, and when he's finally pulling his smarting (and slightly bleeding) finger away, he's focusing on the one small detail that Rou'x left out. "Where will you be?"

"We damned well don't have an 'arrangement'." Rou'x's a little more emotional about it than she probably should be as she glares daggers at Rhabel - but then, he's always been clued up about her feelings for his weyrmate. His question, however, makes her cringe, and she looks away with her lips pursed. "I've got a fuckin' /wing/ t'run, Rhabel. I ain't got time t'play nursemaid n' nanny to some little thing that ain't meant t'be mine." Huffily, she tries to push herself up to her feet for the beginnings of a fabulous storming-off… only she's too awkward about it with her big belly and ends up failing like a stuck turtle.

Rhabel watches the rise, and the fall, and doesn't bother to help the poor pregnant woman up when she finds herself stuck in the sand due to her own body's current predicament. "Why?" the teenager asks suddenly, only then, as green eyes take in such awkward movement. "You both like each other, why don't you have an arrangement?" And now Rhab moves to his own feet, and the bookworm moves to stand over Rou'x, holding out both hands for her to take as leverage. "You're just as selfish as me if you're going to leave Keely alone, Rou'x. Your wing duties are just an excuse to run."

Rou'x's grudging as she does it, but to get her big butt off the ground she's got no choice but to accept the help offered to her. She's not light, either, so he's got to work to help her up! "He don't /like me/, so stop /sayin'/ it." Sulkily, she dusts the sand off her backside, careful not to get it on the fabric. "My wing duties're my /responsibility/, as given by the Weyrleader, n' I ain't leavin' Kee /alone/. She's gonna have /him/, n' that ain't alone, y'goddit?" The brownrider turn away then, and is half a step gone before she looks over her shoulder to add, "An' you tell that boy've yours t'come by if he wants an 'arrangement'. I'll blow him better'n you can /any/ day, n' he knows that shit too." With a final wrinkle of her nose she sets off again, headed towards the living caverns.

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