Logs:A Friendly Reception
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| RL Date: 1 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, M'kris |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh ventures to Monaco. M'kris is there to make her feel... welcome. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| Month six is winter, down on the southern continent, though 'winter' is a relative concept for Monaco; it never really gets cold, though storms increase in frequency and power, forcing the weyr's wings into action. Today, however, is nothing but lovely: blue skies, warm-but-not-too-hot sun, and a fresh, dewy gloss over the jungle greenery. From the air, Monaco appears nothing but prosperous: well-fed dragons sunbathing in the clearings that make their homes (no stone weyrs here!), fruit growing from trees, and healthy herds clustering in the shade and around tranquil pools. Both Evielth and Zaisavyth are in resident, this afternoon; so too is M'kris' Feyzeth, the bronze lingering not near his two-times mate, but out upon the expanse of golden beach just beyond the collection of weyr buildings. Roszadyth is polite, too polite to intrude upon the Monacoans -- whom High Reaches is already known to have tensions with -- without announcing herself first. Her scintillating, golden shades reach out to the senior queen and the watch dragon, and even to the foreign bronze down the beach a ways from where she lands. Farideh dismounts without such reservations, and eases herself down to the golden sand below, to rid herself of helmet and gloves, and stare, with one hand shading her eyes, towards the lush greenery uphill. She doesn't spare the Weyrleader's dragon a glance, and after giving Roszadyth a last look and straightening her blouse, she makes for the jungle foliage with something -- someone? -- in mind. Evielth's interest is cursory at best; she acknowledges Roszadyth, plainly dismisses her as 'not-a-threat' and then returns to her sunny slumber. Feyzeth, on the other hand, opens his eyes to watch the new arrival, the starkness of his thoughts not so much intrusive as merely present; alert and aware. Those slowly whirling eyes consider Roszadyth with unobstructed interest, turning only briefly upon her rider... and then turning back. (Creeper.) His rider, for the moment, makes no appearance. The path Farideh takes from the beach into the verdant jungle is straightforward, and from there she follows the well-trod pathways on her way to-- wherever, glancing expectantly at everyone that passes, only to earn bemused stares in return. It's probably not normal that High Reachian weyrlings wander through the southern continent Weyr, on an obvious quest for some unknown objective, wearing such nice leathers to boot. And Roszadyth, she's looking back, but not in the same way; with resolved curiosity that does not send her closer, however intriguing a foreigner may be. Sure, the Monacoans notice Farideh, but no one makes any move to interrupt her... or even to speak to her. Until, abruptly, there's a tall man on either side of her, rather penning her in, and in front of her? Another tall man, this one readily identifiable even without the Weyrleader's knot. "And what do we have here?" he drawls, as the men on either side of Farideh more closely invade her personal space, as if on some unspoken queue from their leader. Slow on the uptake, Farideh is, and it takes her a few seconds to realize what's happening when the men start to fence her in; she slows and then comes to an abrupt stop. Her eyes fly all around, noting each face without recognition, until they settle on M'kris, and her lips thin. "High Reaches' duties," she says stiltedly, if politely, catching herself from that embarrassing curtsy; this isn't Igen, after all. "Farideh," she says, her eyes flicking uneasily to the man on her left, "Roszadyth's." "High Reaches' little queen," smirks M'kris (and not a nice smirk; there's definite venom layered beneath the lazy drawl of his voice, most especially for 'High Reaches'). "I think she might be a spy." The men on either side of her make no further move, but their presence is difficult to miss; M'kris now casts the young goldrider an appraising glance, dark-eyed gaze sliding up and down her figure. "And what brings you to my Weyr, little queen?" Farideh's chin lifts, stubbornly, at the snub to High Reaches, though she doesn't rise to the bait initially, and (somewhat) keeps her cool in the face of her lose-lose situation. "A spy? Hardly," she replies, not bothering to look at the other men, as she stares up at the Monacoan Weyrleader. "I came for a friend and the weather. It is much improved over that up north and--" She falters and frowns, her cheeks only turning slightly pink. "We were meeting here and taking off, so I should be out of your hair in no time at all, Weyrleader. My apologies if I caused any confusion," blatantly not acknowledging the tension, out loud. M'kris presses his lips together, and then smiles. "No," he says. "No, I don't think so. Oriane's got a bug up her ass about playing nice with people, and maybe that's what we'll do, eh? You and me. It wold be rude to visit and not pay your respects, little queen. Shells, maybe we could--" There's something in his expression, something difficult to quantify-- "Have you to stay for a few sevens. You could learn something." From him? Maybe. His goons have taken another step closer to Farideh. "Your Weyr cost me a wing. And killed off our gold. Maybe it's time we had another in return." "What?" is asked stridently, her voice rising as her face pales; she obviously thought her ruse would work. "I can't stay. I'm a weyrling and-- no, no, I--" Farideh swallows down her protests and simply shuts up to let him finish, and then she tries to appeal to whatever sense the Monacoan likely doesn't have. "While, I appreciate the opportunity to learn from your expertise, I think-- and wouldn't you agree?-- that an arrangement between our Weyrs, between me and your-- Mirinda, would be beneficial for us both." More conversational, "Irianke has been saying she wants me to meet other, young, aspiring goldriders from other Weyrs." Denial, definitely, without acknowledging the encroaching henchmen. "Our history has been unfortunate." Bully that he is, M'kris plainly enjoys Farideh's discomfort; there's that smile on his face to show it, that smugness and self-satisfaction he makes no effort to conceal. "Irianke," he says, now. "Now there is an ass I wouldn't mind tapping. No, little queen. You're in my Weyr now. And in this Weyr? What I say goes. We're going to go get a drink." And that is when one of the goons reaches to grab for Farideh's arm, just to make sure she doesn't get away. Finally, disgust shows on the petite goldrider's face, at his reference to Irianke, and the only thing that keeps her from giving forth a scathing tirade is his forced proposition and that goon grabbing her arm. She blanches, giving her arm one jerk to try and free it, but it's obvious she doesn't have the strength to fight anyone, much less someone so much larger than she. "Fine, fine-- if you want to have a drink," Farideh intones, haughtily, lifting her chin higher and holding her posture rigidly. "You don't have to drag me. I'll go. I can't promise you'll be a fan of the conversation, sir." "Who said anything about 'conversation'?" is M'kris' reply, though he leaves no particular gap for comment: he turns upon his heel to lead the way, and those goons? They may not frogmarch Farideh, nor even lay another hand on her, but they're certainly inclined to crowd her way down the path towards the isolated hug that is their eventual destination. Plainly a retreat for M'kris and his wing, it's plainly not a place women see all that often: not clean, not tidy, and certainly not well-designed. M'kris, pouring drinks into dirty glasses, says, "So, little queen. Will it be yours or hers that goes up first?" There's not much room for Farideh to do anything other than follow, wearing an insolent expression, in the wake of Monaco's Weyrleader. She lets her feelings show on her face, from anger to revulsion, the latter of which lingers long after they've arrived at their destination; especially when she watches the bronzerider pour drinks into those dirty glasses. "Does it matter to you?" she fires back, her lips curling in repugnance, her eyes following his movements with open dislike. "No," says M'kris, thrusting one of the glasses at Farideh. Plainly, she's free to sit anywhere she likes (M'kris takes a chair that has obviously been designated as 'his' in this boys-only clubhouse). "Why the fuck would I care what happens at your Weyr? Feyzeth's pretty good at catching Evielth, and that's all that matters to me." But he's studying Farideh. "Politics are boring. Pretty, angry girls are not." A particularly miffed look is given the bronzerider's lackeys before she seats herself delicately on the end of a chair, and pointedly doesn't accept the proffered drink. "I doubt a man of your middling intelligence could fathom the intricacies of politics, especially if this is your idea of playing nice," Farideh replies with a tight smile, her eyes much colder by comparison. "What? Do you plan to drag me off to your bed and have your way with me? You're uncivilized." M'kris' shrug seems to suggest something along the lines of 'suit yourself' and, certainly, he drains Farideh's glass without further comment. "I'm being perfectly nice," he tells her, with another of those smiles. "And perfectly civilised. You're imagining things. Do I frighten you?" "No," while readily supplied, lacks the confidence and surety of a truthful statement; no matter how much Farideh's chin lifts or her eyes never waver from M'kris. Plainly, that answer pleases M'kris, whose smile broadens, so smirky and sure. "Oriane thinks you're not worth paying attention to," he says, then. "That you are..." So self-satisfied. "Harmless. She'd have your Roszadyth rise first, if she could. Send in a dozen Monacoan bronzes to tilt the balance. And here you are... saving me the trouble of pushing Mirinda at you. Tell me, little queen: are you looking forward to it? All those bronzeriders pawing at you, getting close. You like it, don't you. Liked it when my boys here got close. Like it all." They're still there, those riders of his. Still close. "Oriane can think what she wants to. She can think--" Farideh's lips press tightly enough that her mouth turns white. "That I'm harmless. I don't want anything from you, with your Weyr, but you can send in five hundred Monacoan bronzes, it wouldn't matter. Cadejoth has only lost the one time and by a fluke. Try, if you want," she says, not quite smug. His assumptions about Roszadyth's upcoming flight earns a stiffening of her whole body, her jaw clenching. "You're insane." "So it'll be Cadejoth, then," says M'kris, almost triumphant except that he's far too busy being amused by Farideh's reaction, her smugness. And yes, that stiffening, too. "Am I? It's the truth. You'll want it. You'll want it bad. Maybe I'll even show up... maybe we all will. Spill some High Reaches blood in the process, make a little mess... we do what we want, little queen. We take what we want. And you are in my Weyr." His pause is only for a moment or two. "Voluntarily. Maybe you should leave before..." Anything could happen! "You're a joke-- you're disgusting and--" Farideh's lips press again and she squeezes her eyes shut; maybe wishing she could be anywhere else. "Stay away from my Weyr," is what she chooses to say, in an almost-growl when her eyes open again. "Yes, I should-- go. You've wasted enough of my time today. Go fuck yourself." And on that note, she tries to stand, if none of his looming goons will come to stop her, her posture still rigid. "I hope we never meet again." No one moves to stop her; no one even really moves. But their laughter? That will likely follow her for quite some distance. |
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Comments
Edyis (19:24, 1 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Good lord Farideh. Bubble wrap. Bubble wrap and packing peanuts.
Lilah (20:32, 1 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
SHOULD HAVE PUNCHED HIM.
Lilah'll punch him for you, ok? Then Farideh and Lilah can get along!
Alida (00:00, 2 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Tsk-tsk, Fari. Alida taught you better. Come back to her and brush up more on self-defense. That said... Ick-ick-ICK! Best not to punch the nutbag Monacoan WL, though I share Lilah's sentiment. Maybe knife him, instead, after claiming (with full honesty) that you feared for your life? ;)
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