Logs:Adventure Time!
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 22 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, N'rov |
| Involves: Ista Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two strangers meet at the Istan docks and an adventure ensues. |
| Where: Ista Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
  |
| It's hot and getting hotter, Rukbat hanging overhead and burning the ocean to a mirror of gold. With the fishing boats still out, the dockyard isn't so much quiet as quieter. At least the breeze has picked up again. Several piers upwind of where they'll dock and the concomitant fishy smells, a light sailboat's still moored, as are a couple others; this one, though, has a man sitting on its side, bare feet dangling, going through the contents of the hat that should have been protecting his now-bare head. Something catches the light: seaglass, or a shiny stone. Farideh doesn't stand out at the docks with her usual visiting finery or her fancy, new knot-- mostly, because she's not wearing them, opting for a simple white blouse and linen trousers instead, with no trappings to speak of. She's been dockside for the better part of an hour now, but has spent it in the company of a couple of seacrafters, who she now parts from with a smile and seemingly pleasant words. However, when she turns away, and the seafarers go on their merry way in the opposite direction, her brow furrows and her mouth takes a sharp downturn. Absentmindedly she meanders from the shelter of the outlying structures towards the piers that stretch towards the water and the ships thereabouts, her boots thudding noisily against the wood slats. Initially, she doesn't notice the dark-haired man and his hatted treasures that she's wound up by, but she's definitely a fickle, noisy thing, and her hazel eyes are soon drawn to the glint on glass-or-stone. The first sounds of her footsteps get a glance, that's all, one that may not identify her but must note her lack of secrecy; it's when she winds up his way that gray eyes lift... with one hidden by green glass, held up like a monocle. The other brow rises, and his baritone is deep. "Yes?" Caught. A skeptical, wide-eyed glance is given their immediate vicinity, before Farideh's gaze falls squarely back on the man in the boat. "I-- I was just-- I'm sorry. I didn't see you there and then--" Her cheeks take on a faintly rosy hue. "I thought-- it was--" She pauses again, and rolls her eyes towards the sky. "I'm not making much sense right now. I didn't mean to interrupt you, regardless. Whatever you're-- a fisherman?" Fishing for pretty green rocks? That brow stays up, demandingly, until she blushes; the man's got a grin lurking somewhere in there, and now it begins to emerge. "Very important work I'm doing, let me tell you. No, no fish here. I like to eat them, but they smell." His accent's mixed, like he's been to a lot of different places, mostly the southern side of things but a bit of Ista, too. "Looking for some?" Only gradually does the pinkness of Farideh's cheeks recede. "It seems awfully inconvenient to do your work at the docks then, if you're opposed to-- the way fish smell," with a pointed scrunching of her nose. "No. I was looking for--" Her eyes slant to the side, out towards the ocean. "A ship. It's still out there somewhere, and I'm," with her focus returning to N'rov, "just waiting." "It does, doesn't it," N'rov agrees, without immediate explanation other than the deepening of his smile. Though, his hat's small collection also includes shells, several spiraled, a few more pieces of seaglass, and a paper message half-hidden beneath them all. "Which ship? Tide's not coming in for hours yet." His response earns an immediate, narrow-eyed, incredulous stare. "Then why do you do it?" Farideh asks, bald-faced, without a shred of chagrin for being so bold; they are strangers after all. When it's her turn to answer his question, she skirts around a real answer. "No? I doubt I'll stay around to wait. Ships tend to stay in port for longer than a day, don't they?" Nor is N'rov in any way above making her wait. His brows tilt up a fraction (of course, so does the curl of his mouth) and all he says is, "Depends on how much of a hurry they're in." His shrug acknowledges that's not the most helpful, though at least it's genuine; after a moment he explains, busy fingers getting back to sorting, "Weather, cargo, summer-sickness," there's a cheerful thought. "Know a man who'd hold onto a message, though." "Are you saying I should trust just any stranger with my secrets?" Farideh queries back, not without a little stubbornness in her otherwise even tone. "Are you saying you have," important, "secrets?" N'rov grins openly at her, and sets a handful, perhaps two-thirds of his finds on the edge of the boat, right against the raised edge that should keep them from going overboard while docked but still out of the way of those going in and out. The rest, he drops into the pocket of his shorts, and last he turns his hat upside down over the water between them, tapping it so any lingering dust flies out. "'Dear sailor,'" he says while he's doing all that. "'I was here, now I'm gone, I left this note to carry on. See you next time. Love,'" he lifts his brows at her, 'love?' "'Me.'" Speaking of notes, the one that had been in his hat has disappeared, though the 'monocle' is sitting there on the deck, glinting greenly. "Doesn't everyone?" is asked back, still with that stubbornness. "I have secrets, you have secrets, that guy sleeping through his hangover back there," jerking her thumb, "has secrets." Farideh watches him shuffle and empty out his treasures silently, but does eventually cross her arms loosely over her chest. "One-- why does it have to be a sailor? It could someone traveling on the ship. Two-- why does it have to be love?" She's giving him a disgruntled stare, because maybe he's hit too close to the actual truth. "One doesn't have to equal the other." N'rov looks, squinting against the sun. "Old Fedrik? At the bottom of his bottle," he says, not wholly as though that's unfamiliar. He tips his hat onto his head before he looks back at her: no more squinting, just appraising gray eyes. "One, because most people on a ship are sailors. Two, because..." here he twists back for what proves to be a shirt that he proceeds to shrug into. "First, you didn't seem like you just cared about cargo, though I suppose if you were really fond of fish that might be different." That's another grin. "Second," he's not bothering with the buttons, just sliding off the side if she's left enough room, the easy thump of the landing turning into footsteps, not yet his but the man heading towards them from the shore. "Some people, strange people, "don't break out in itches on saying 'love,' to their sweetheart or their parents or their cousin or their best friend." He looks down at her before turning shoreward. "Believe it or not." Old Fedrik gets her squinty-eyed stare next, but he's a lost cause. "I could be waiting on a fine piece of hand-crafted furniture from southern," Farideh points out, weakly, unhelpfully. His ascent has her taking a half-step backward; it's one thing to be above, another to be below. "I don't, but--" Her whole face scrunches up, comically, when he turns shoreward, but then she's tipping her head to the side, to try and see what he's looking at. "I don't know you, and it's hard enough admitting things to people you do know, as it is." "You could," N'rov amiably allows; she could be waiting for a chunk plucked from the Red Star, and he might go along with that too. Their visitor, or perhaps host, is a smiling, strongly-built man dressed much the same as he is, but with a few more buttons and a beard and a sack over his shoulder. "Funny, I find it's easier when you'll never see them again." He hails the arrival and adds before starting towards him, "Lunchtime. Juli's got a good spread up and over in the shade." "That must be terribly opportune for you," Farideh says. "If I had a proper w--" That thought remains unfinished, as her mouth snaps shut with a clack of teeth; it's his companions nearness that shuts down her prattle and forces a smile in place of argumentative words. "Are you inviting me to lunch?" is her dubious response, almost hesitant. N'rov glances abruptly back, and with something like surprise; after a moment he decides, "No, I'm going to eat in front of you while you starve into all big eyes." Which is to say, "Yes, you can come; yes, you can have some." If she sticks around; he's headed up to meet his friend, shipmate, trading partner, whatever and in their easy clasp of hands, the note passes: not surreptitiously, but not keeping it out longer than needed. Busy talking, they might not even notice if anything left behind were to disappear. "That's not what I--" Farideh frowns, but remains where she stands, on the pier, when he starts to walk away; she's obviously having some kind of reservation, with or without an audience. "Two full moons," she mumbles under her breath, wiping her hands against her pants, and then sets out for the two men, her irritation giving way to a politically-polite expression. By then, they're done; the newer arrival greets her with a nod, a little uncertainty in his dark eyes, but steps back to let her go past before heading for the (his? their?) boat. N'rov waits for her to catch up before moving on, slowing into a stride that's easier to match. They might just be walking in the same direction, though Juli's place won't prove to be far: across a patch of beach and into the jungle, significantly cooler there. "Quite a thunderstorm last night," N'rov says while he's at it. The bearded man receives a polite nod at first, and she remains silent as they move in the right direction. "Was there? I'm not from here," is Farideh's response, whether the statement was meant for her or not; she's warily eyeing the path they've chosen, from docks to beach to jungle, but voices none of her qualms out loud, even if they show on her face while her eyes rover hither-and-yonder. He grins. "Would be hotter without it, that's all." There's no asking where she's from, how she got here quickly enough not to notice, any of that. There also aren't, if N'rov's occasional glance notices those qualms, any little reassurances. There is, just off a spur of the path... a ship. Which shouldn't be unusual, but it's wedged more than half into the jungle with just its bow sticking out over the beach and a couple doors cut into its side. The vegetation shows signs of having been hacked away from it at intervals, but could use another cut sometime soon. From here and there come the sounds of people talking, of cutlery against plates and the occasional calls that this or that is ready to be picked up or delivered. N'rov doesn't bother hiding a smile as he looks over at her, checking for surprise. A suspicious slant of hazel eyes is given N'rov, but she's apparently not suspicious enough not to walk through the Istan jungle with a pair of strange men. She comes to a complete stop when she sees the ship perched there, in the middle of the jungle, her eyes widening to unnatural proportions; luckily, her mouth doesn't drop open too. "What--" Her eyes fly to N'rov again, her eyebrows pulled harshly together over confused eyes. "How--" Coherency in the face of surprise isn't her strong point. "I wasn't expecting-- it's-- a ship." This grin is sudden, a brilliant gleam that's all the way to his eyes. "A crashed ship. Promising, no?" N'rov nods her towards the jungle-side ground-level entrance. "The way I heard it, they didn't trust the wood to re-timber it, but for this, it's perfectly fine." And if he'd wanted confirmation she really wasn't from around here, that would be it. "Promising," is dubious at best. "Is it--" Farideh takes a step in the direction he's indicated, but glances towards N'rov instead. "Is it yours? Or your friend's? I've never-- I've been to Ista plenty, but I've never seen--" She inhales on the end sharply, and keeps walking, this time inquisitive about the ship-turned-dining hall. "Different friend." N'rov reconsiders; "Friend of a friend." He enters behind her, neither particularly close nor abandoning her. Inside, the entry's clean, no glows wasted on the aged wood walls and the bench given the diffuse sunlight coming in from beyond a double-wide walkthrough. Out there looks to be a buffet there as well as seating, with shutters that when open would have sunk the boat were it still sailing but now serve to keep the place relatively airy, capable of being shut for storms. "What's your speed: out there, on the beach," presumably in the shade, "or up top?" This, with a nod to the narrow set of stairs in the shadows. Undoubtedly, everything the man says penetrates, but Farideh is too busy staring at everything from their way to the door, and within. She looks impossibly overwhelmed by the idea of a ship in the middle of the jungle, serving up a buffet for residents. Her gaze falter on N'rov, her lips pulling into a quick, pensive purse, before, "What's up there?" However impossible it would seem, there are more surprises! And her eyes flick towards the staircase with unconcealed interest. N'rov's, "Tables," is dry but amusedly so. "People. The odd renegade dancing with the mast." It isn't a fancy place, but evocative of being just what it had been, a working ship: that and what it is now, a working mealhall, a waystation for locals. "Look around if you want; I'm going to get some food." Here and there are carvings in the old wood, some of them possibly by a crafter's hand, others having more to do with a sailor's vernacular. A short, distracted nod is given to N'rov, before Farideh's moving off and away, examining the collection of tables, chairs, and assorted people in the renovated ship. She pays special attention to those carvings, even brushing her fingers over a few interestedly, but noticeably, she's moving closer to the stairs and whatever lies at the top. When she actually gets to the stairs, she simply stops and waits, letting her eyes search the interior before they seek out N'rov. One not-plate-but-platter, two glasses, a pair of cloths: that's what he returns with, and it's only one glass of something pale that he hands her. N'rov could lead the way elsewhere (whether she follows being another story) but he chooses upward if she doesn't choose first, before or after makes no difference. Upstairs is shady, a berry vine trained to grow up what's left of the promised mast but the only renegade in sight. The prow extends out into the sun, but he navigates the little tables for a bench where it's cooler instead. In this case, it's Farideh who takes up the rear, keeping a couple steps behind, and staring, still, at everything they pass on the way up. "How does--" Her brow furrows as they top the landing. "This is-- extraordinary?" She follows, trying not to goggle overmuch, and waits for him to sit, before she plants herself down on the same bench. "It's unexpected. A ship. In the middle of-- and serving food of all things," she says, quieter, finally settling over-bright eyes on the bronzerider. Flatbread, fruit, cheese, sliced meat, pickled this and that: the food's not fancy either, but it's fresh and apparently N'rov's sharing. Also, enjoying her astonishment, given his grin; "Normally running around's a bad thing," he says after a bite, his tone agreement. "Did you grow up here? Is that how you know about-- this?" Farideh is too distracted by the whole premise to be disgusted by sharing food with a stranger; besides, he's been harmless thus far! "I would have never known, or figure out--" She shakes her head, shaking her head ruefully, before popping a piece of fruit in her mouth and chewing reflexively. If there's any poison, clearly N'rov's already built up his tolerance, because he's eating with easy appetite. When her question arrives mid-mouthful, he shakes his own head; afterward he diminishes his discovery with, "I was just heading along the shore and then there was this boat," there's his grin again and suddenly boyish this time, "so I had to explore. Couldn't help it, and if it was all shuttered up, all the better. It did make for a surprise when Juli poked her head out and yelled to come back later, but she hadn't had her klah yet," he'll forgive her. "You like exploring?" Cheese is nabbed next between fingers, while she listens attentively to his tale of how he stumbled upon the ship-in-the-jungle. "Juli? That's who owns it? Is she-- was she a sailor? Was it her ship?" Before Farideh can take a bite out of the cheese, she smiles ruefully and answers, "I don't much have time for it now-- not now-- but I used to." A beat. "I mean that I do-- just--" She shrugs one shoulder, and nibbles on the end of her chunk of cheese, though her eyes are studying him curiously. She's curious, and he's curious, or maybe he is curious in a relaxed sort of way. He doesn't move to pin her down, for instance; N'rov just gives her, "Things change," and an easy shrug, despite the glint in his eye. As for the proprietor, "Juli... let's just say it's the closest she can get without getting seasick." He glances briefly down the boat as though he might see her right now, but no; back to Farideh, "She has an eye for what people want to eat, I suppose, and how they want to eat it. She's having her son do more of the cooking these days, though he's got some ideas of his own." "Things change," Farideh allows. "I used to want to do that when I was younger-- just travel around Pern, unattached, exploring places, having adventures." It's her turn to speak dryly, but then she quirks a curious brow at N'rov. "An interesting acquisition, then. You don't like what her son thinks of the menu?" Obviously, she has no prior experiences, other than what their meal consists of now. "I'm impressed they can keep this place as well-hidden as they can." That has N'rov giving her a second look, with a different sort of surprise. He gives her back something true, "Same. I wound up running away from home a few times, too." But for their location, he shrugs. "It's more, and keep in mind this is secondhand, whether it's supposed to be about keeping to the heart of what the place is really about, whatever that means. Or if it's about keeping it all the same or just change what you're going to change and do it fast. Give people what they think they want, or what they don't know they want, you know?" He rubs his neck. "It just sounds like a headache to me." His surprise seems to startle her too, and his words spark another flush of color in her cheeks. "You-- ran away? I--" Farideh fiddles with the remnants of the food in her hand, glancing down while she does so. "I did, too," she admits, lifting her face with a half-smirk that's part self-deprecating. "I wasn't meant to be an adventurer in the end." Another shrug, and she's shifting to consider what's left on the plate. "No. It's a headache, keeping up with the supply and demand, and constant wants, and so-and-so wants more salt and so-and-so wants less spice and-- you can't make everyone happy every time," is said cheerily, as she picks out another couple pieces of fruit. Something about that half-smirk leads to a more full-fledged one of N'rov's own, several moments before he's glancing off the side of the boat and sitting back with a low laugh. His gaze returns to her as she talks; he listens before, "You got that right." It's all too wry. "Except the first part; maybe you weren't meant to be an adventurer, but that doesn't mean you have to stop adventuring. Right? It's Interval." The laughter is infectious, ingraining itself in a widening smile on her face, if not in an actual laugh. "It gets harder and harder, all the time. Things like this-- even things like this. Responsibility, time constraints-- and I find myself dreaming of my bed more days than I do of exploring all corners of the world," Farideh says, only losing some of her amusement throughout her speech. "Do you? Still explore?" N'rov's nodding, supplying a rueful, "Complaining," right there at the end of her list with not a beat missed. "Yeah, I try to," he says after. His accent's slipped a little further south, a little less Ista, his answers less filtered. Just a little. "Only, like you said, more responsibilities and that means not getting gone as often as I'd like, or as far that I can't get called back. Top that off with keeping up with my people," and he shrugs open-handed: what's a man to do. "Complaining--all that complaining. Sheets aren't white enough, that one's too windy, or there's someone they don't like minding their own business and--" Farideh cuts herself off with an abbreviated laugh. "Are there any places you'd recommend? For a sometime-explorer, when-I-have-time explorer? I know quite a few places at Igen, but not-- many others." "Someone minding their own business?" N'rov has to laugh right out loud at that, deep and carrying. He doesn't look around for stray glances, either, instead eyeing her assessingly; not just that Igen's not a morning's walk away, but more, "Have you gone back behind the waterfall, over here?" as though it seems likely, and yet. "It happens," Farideh laughs, adamant, despite the amusement. "The waterfall here? At Ista Weyr? No. I don't think-- no. Why? Is there something behind it? An underwater cave? A treasure trove?" Her eyebrows lift, an unspoken question written all over her face. "You won't drown. But the treasure may or may not have been stolen," N'rov admits nothing, even if it comes with a meaningful glance to the side. "Treasure can always be stolen back," Farideh announces, confidently. "It's just a matter of figuring out who," with a sideways sweep of her eyes, to N'rov, "and where. Some people like the challenge." She takes a bite out of one of her fruit pieces, and briefly squints her eyes at him, all apprehensive like. "Some people," and N'rov's still grinning when he reaches for one of those pieces, quickly, "do like taking that on." "You wouldn't happen to have any clues? A treasure map?" Farideh's openly laughing at him, even if she's not actually laughing; it's all in her eyes, before she aims for a frown when he tries for one of the fruits. "Five minutes and a hide," N'rov makes sure to showily eat the fruit before he continues, "and a bribe," there's that gleam in his eyes, "and I might." "Where am I supposed to get a hide out here? On a--" Farideh's voice trembles with laughter, and she takes a moment to press her knuckles into her lips, to try and end it; only after she's gained some semblance of control does she continue. "A ship. What kind of bribe?" She's not, but she should be, wary. "Hmm." N'rov, thinking, thinking so hard and so dramatically that, for a few seconds, he has to shield his eyes. (If it means that his conferring with Vhaeryth on a deeper level doesn't risk getting caught... isn't that convenient.) When he looks back at Farideh, it's slowly, between hat and lowering hand. Conspiratorially. "I can find a hide. For the right bribe." His gaze roams over her, and he reaches for, "Fruit." "You want fruit as a bribe?" Farideh sounds disbelieving, but she's happy to hand over the goods if it means getting the details. "You could have asked for marks, or a letter of recommendation or, all of my worldly possessions." But, it's far easier to give up since it's not exactly hers, and so she shrugs, before giving him an expectant stare. N'rov's brow lifts even before the letter of recommendation, which surely should have done it all on its own. "Maybe I should rethink this," he says drolly. "Just how expansive are your worldly goods? Small enough to carry or would I have to get a cart?" Not that he's not starting to eat it up, the rest of the fruit that started out his, all but for one of the larger pieces that he leaves on the platter. "No, you set the terms. You can't take it back now. No one likes a take-it-backer," Farideh laughs, giving her head a tiny shake. "You'd need about five carts for that, and it's mostly clothes and uninteresting things. Unless you like to wear dresses and ribbon-trimmed hats." She doesn't make any move to take the last piece, but her expression would suggest she's contemplating something, even if it's not him. N'rov grunts. Which is not the same as admitting truth. So what if the grunt is a little more exaggerated than it has to be, and doesn't do the greatest job of concealing a smirk. "No, you can keep them. Especially the hats." He tugs his down, as though saving it from any beribboning; perhaps that's what she has in mind. Farideh takes the grunting sound in stride, but his vehemence about her hat collection gets him a sideways, speculative glance. "What's wrong with hats? You're wearing one. They can't be all that bad, and they keep you from-- burning." But, back to serious issues. "Where can we find hide for this? Do you think Juli has some to spare?" N'rov would undoubtedly like to think it simple firmness, but as it is... "Just the ribbons," he's quick to assure. "Besides," he looks down his nose and makes the next syllables mince even if his pitch stays low, "I don't believe your colors would suit." In response to Juli, "I'll ask. Are you done?" There's still that last fruit left, and a slice of cheese, though he steals the latter before sliding forward, all set to stand. A sigh precedes an almost-sad, "No. They wouldn't." Farideh glances down at the plate, and since there's only the one, snatches it up before rising to her feet. "I'm ready to go, whenever you feel like leading the way," she tells him, then stuffs that last bit of fruit into her mouth to hide her burgeoning smile. N'rov snaps his fingers: too late! quite as though leaving it were accidental; he takes the platter sideways, finishes his drink, and takes Farideh's glass as well if she's abandoned it. Though he nods to point out the view off the bow when they get closer to the stairs, that's his only pause before clattering down the stairs. From there, he's crossing into the main eating hall just long enough to head to the back; she can follow him if she likes or, well, he's bound to turn back up sometime. Or, she could quite literally abandon ship. Once both of them are up and on the move, Farideh is quite literally N'rov's shadow throughout the whole exiting tour, staying close to the taller man and pointedly silent. As when they entered, she takes the walk through the main hall to admire the furniture and the carvings in the out of place ship, her curiosity not in the least bit concealed on her face. He tilts a brow at her as he glances back, part of his quick smile showing, and from there checks less often to see if she's gotten sidetracked; it's off to a busy and spicy-smelling kitchen, flattening against the hallway once to let an a man go by with high-piled trays. Juli proves to be a brisk woman who busses N'rov on both cheeks before releasing the poor bronzerider and giving Farideh a warm smile. Apparently it's busy, the busiest time of the day, and why can't he come around in the mornings? and fine, she'll see what she can give him; whatever it is that he discreetly hands her might not hurt, and then she's bellowing instructions to someone else. In the breather, this time N'rov does look back at Farideh, to see how she's managing now.
Seeing that, he gives her a fractional nod (it'll all be over soon!) and though N'rov hadn't seemed inclined to stall anyway, and they certainly were busy... he's quick to complete the exchange for not just a hide but a sack, and get her out there. Out the other door is the beach, the far side of the grounded ship that's in shade and has a few people eating more casually on blankets. He checks on Farideh, looking to see how she makes the transition before getting back to the path: better? It's definitely relief that smooths the creases and lines that were marring her face minutes previous, and when they break through to outside, she seems downright pleased. Her sigh isn't softened, but loud and gusty. "Did you get everything?" Farideh asks, glancing down to his borrowed sack and back up to his face, while her fingers steal their way shallowly into her trouser pockets. She'll follow where he leads without question-- which is dangerous, really. "More than," N'rov assures, deadpan of voice but not the brief-curling smile, and hoists the sack over his shoulder; the way he carries it, it doesn't seem heavy, but would it? Once they're into the jungle, a few strides along a different path, "Was it the noise, or all the people?" He glances down at her, leaving the list non-exhaustive. "We should send her a nice thank you note, or a fancy cake," Farideh suggests, of their generous benefactor. She keeps close, and her eyes rove the foliage, taking note of this large tree or that flowering, fragrant plant on their way. "The--" Somewhat ashamed looking, she makes a face and glances away. "It's always strange to me, to see the back." "I'm sure she'd like that," N'rov agrees gravely, after a beat of silence but not a missed step; he does glance at her out of the corner of his eye, though. "The 'back'?" The foliage is thick, with lianas climbing from branch to branch above them; now and again an avian calls. The bronzerider's walking right by plenty of opportunities to be dangerous, what with the helpfully sturdy trees or the patch of stinging plants just beneath the flowering ones, but maybe they're too close to civilization still. "The people who make the world go around. In the back." Farideh's eyes flick to N'rov, expecting a reaction. "The real ones. Lord Holders don't dust their own rooms or cook their own food," she says in a faux-pleasant tone, but after that, falls quiet again. "Is it far?" is the only question that breaks her silence, paced once they get farther in the thick of the verdant jungle. N'rov gives her one: a second glance that holds surprise if not astonishment, chased by more personal speculation and then a quick grin. "All right, I can't say I'm not curious," he says, even though surely he could. Surely he could, also, ask. "It seems longer because we're zigzagging up to the top of the plateau; it's that or," he clears his throat. 'Spoilers.' "I might judge you if you weren't." Farideh's expression turns judicious as she continues on, mulling on the subject for a short span before starting with a resigned, "You might say that my family is important. Important enough that my experiences are colored by-- a different type of relativity. The back being strange. I'm getting more and more used it, but it just-- I don't know what to say, or do. Thank you?" She glances back over her shoulder, at all the ground they've passed. "As long as we get there before it gets dark." N'rov doesn't stifle his chuckle at that one; he falls into an easy silence as they climb, as she explains. "Definitely," is easy to assure. For earlier, "Thanks.. . is good, yeah." This chuckle is all but silent; he could leave it there, but instead he pulls off his hat, running a hand through his short hair before replacing it. Then he can give her back, "It's not something I ever had to work at, I suppose. Younger son, generous cooks, running through and maybe not getting in the way as much as I could've." Farideh doesn't take offense at his laughter, but she does blush again, looking up the path. "It's just not something you think about-- your life is what it is, but there are people who work for it to be that way. And then when you see them-- how do you see them? How do they see you? It's not something comfortable, now, not when they're not--" Her lips press together and she grows silent once more. "Are you getting in their way," N'rov supposes. There's getting to be stronger light again, filtering through the trees. As he swings the bag over from his shoulder, pulling out from it a clean cloth of the type they'd had for their hands before, "It's a solid question. I have to think it's hard when you're feeling self-conscious, or conscious of them and yourself, and not just doing." He moves the bag back. "People say to 'act natural,' but... that's not always so easy." "It's not-- as much that, as--" Farideh looks stumped; speechless. "Working alongside, with them, what they say, they're-- no one enjoys being seen as the help, less than by their appointed leaders, and then I can't help but think, what do they think of me now? Even if-- they don't know me. It doesn't have sense," she says, paling, but his words bring a certain spark back. "Self-conscious." N'rov looks... bemused, and while he can't not be a little amused, most of that's lurking far more deeply than it would have done earlier this afternoon. Pausing before they step into the strength of direct sun, "What do you think they might think? I mean, what kinds of things. Whether it seems likely or just," he grins briefly, "in your head anyway." "They might want to smother me with a sack of rice, or--" Farideh takes a peek over, to see how N'rov responds to that, though her own face reflects nothing but doubt. "Disappointment? Irritation? Shame? That I don't belong back there. That I should be-- I don't know. It's all so-- strange. It's perception, I suppose." "Rice?" N'rov inquires with interest. "Not... I suppose wheat's not as dear as it used to be, but it still might feel that way, and nuts probably give too much airspace." He shrugs his hands into his pockets, presumably-shells rattling in one as he curls his fingers. "If it helps, I suspect people just don't care that much. To be practical about it." "Rice is always at hand, and is less likely to seep through the bags than flour. Nuts--" Farideh can't help it: she laughs, her eyes crinkling up. "What a nightmare." Laughter still plays around the corners of her mouth when she sobers enough to speak more coherently. "I suppose you're right, but that's doesn't make it any less uncomfortable-- for now." He grins right back at her. "I was thinking unground anyway. Flour, that would be a mess." N'rov glances over the last of the path to the plateau that this route had intercepted, and shakes the cloth dramatically over his palm, eyeing it and then the surrounding landmarks. "How long's it been?" he asks before adding, "Quarter-turn to your right," in a follow-the-map voice.
He grins right back at her. "I was thinking unground anyway. Flour, that would be a mess." N'rov glances over the last of the path to the plateau that this route had intercepted, and shakes the cloth dramatically over his palm, eyeing it and then the surrounding landmarks. "How long's it been?" he asks before adding, "Quarter-turn to your right," in a follow-the-map voice. "A sorry mess," Farideh agrees, but falls quiet after, to simply walk and keep an eye on their surrounds as they move through the jungle on the path he leads them. "Hm? How long since-- I've thought that way? Or been to Ista last? I suppose, it's been-- at least a few turns now. I used to be happily oblivious. And to Ista-- not much time past. I enjoy the summers here, better." His directive has her looking up the path inquisitively. "There?" "Felt that way," N'rov confirms, but he has a quick grin for her supplying more than requested. "Right. Or rather, a little bit to the right," he holds out his arm and sights along it like a farviewer, "and keep going straight." There isn't much path left to go, just a few strides, before breaking out onto the plateau proper and all that sun. Now that they're upon the adventure, Farideh's starting to look antsy, as she glances from N'rov to the place that he indicates with his arm. "A little bit to the right," she says, frowning, squinting at first, and then she sighs, somewhat with relief, as they come out onto the plateau. "You're as comfortable in there," pointing back to the jungle and all that foliage, "as you are on a boat and in a-- a--" Whatever it was back there. "Boat?" N'rov suggests, helpfully. That grin's in his voice, too. Now that they're on the plateau proper, he consults his white cloth as though it had a particularly expansive map that just happens to be written in invisible ink. "Verge the same to the right," he intones, following it with a shrug that's a little rueful. "I like to poke my nose into a lot of things," he admits pretty openly. "Part of that is knowing how to get around. Travel, like we were talking about." "Boat?" N'rov suggests, helpfully. That grin's in his voice, too. Now that they're on the plateau proper, he consults his white cloth as though it had a particularly expansive map that just happens to be written in invisible ink. "Verge the same to the right," he intones, following it with a shrug that's a little rueful. "I like to poke my nose into a lot of things," he admits pretty openly. "Part of that is knowing how to get around. Travel, like we were talking about." Curious, Farideh cranes her neck to take a gander at his map, only to draw back with irritation; map, indeed. "Are you sure we're going to right way?" the brunette wants to know, giving N'rov a suddenly suspicious stare. "Are you a harper, then? A jack-of-all-trades?" Surprisingly, she's genuinely interested, it would appear, in knowing this much about the stranger-turned-tour-guide. "You would have me convinced you're as comfortable here as you are-- at a big holder wedding." "I'm sure," N'rov assures, eminently affable now. "But you can go a different way if you like. I won't stop you." One brow goes up, and down and up, as though daring her... but he doesn't say to what: to go any which way, or try the adventure route? "The question is, do you see me at a big holder wedding as one of the celebrants, or behind the scenes." "I would most certainly get lost." Farideh is confident on that score, and she's press his knowledge anymore. "Is that a trick question? I-- would say celebrant, but--" She tries for a subtle scrutiny out of the side of her eyes, but she's not subtle enough. "You knew your way around the kitchen back there. You seemed comfortable, but you--" Pressing her lips, she gives it time; she thinks. "'But.'" N'rov doesn't hurry her in the least, gray eyes laughing, except for where he reaches for her shoulder so as to lightly angle her to keep walking at the same time. A sigh is wrenched from the young woman's lips, her feet moving with the prompt to go in that direction. "But-- you are at ease in any situation. You might prefer to be behind the scenes instead of celebrating with the wedding party," Farideh explains, walking the way he guides. "Pouring the wine," N'rov offers rather than answers. His easy strides keep pace, staying to the side to adjust the angle if need be. "Dressed nattily, smiling at the matrons in their pearls." "A wine pourer, how original," is dry. "More than dressed up in jacket and shine? Mingling with the who's who of wherever you've shown up?" Farideh isn't looking at N'rov anymore, and instead focuses on where he's leading her. That would be into the Bowl and towards the caverns, dark mouths that promise shade against the sun, though there are several that might be chosen from. "I do provide myself on originality," says the man who's dressed as anything but, though the experienced eye might note that his garb's been cut to measure. "I might like dancing. In fact, I'm almost certain I do." "You like dancing and boats? How mercurial of you," replies Farideh without wit or malice, almost but not quite digging in her heels as they get closer to those dark caverns; slowing them down by a decent measure. "Do you dance often? It is strange, that a man with sea legs feels comfortable enough on land to enjoy dancing," she muses aloud. " "But not dancing on boats," N'rov provides, lest she think the worst of him. "Nor generally outside of Gathers. I also favor music, so you needn't fear my breaking out into one-two-threes en route." He eyes her and her slowing down; more seriously, checking for delicately dewy perspiration or just plain sweat, "Overheated? It's not much further to inside." Which reminds him: "'When tunnels dark you see, take the one that's numbered three/ from the right, that will set you tight.'" "No? Why not on boats? If the boat is dock, and there is a party on the boat, with proper music and all--" Farideh's barely concealing the laughter in her voice by the end. "It's refreshing to find someone who doesn't count their steps so elementally." Her head cants, to the side, to where she can try to glance back at him and up. "No. It's fine. It's--" She's saved from a serious answer by his riddle, to which her nose wrinkles. "Riddles. I'm no good at those. Will we have to drink one and eat one? Fall down the hole?" "That would be looking ahead," N'rov says loftily. "Go on, tunnels. Look that way," he points the way they're going, "and guide us. So I don't have to think about dancing on a boat. Though I suppose if it were a big boat, a proper ship with improper music, and somehow people actually danced in time so it didn't pound like the whole thing was falling down..." he still sounds dubious, the more so for any more would-be laughter he can get. "Tunnels," sounds stricken. "That way?" One more, to confirm, before she sets off, looking completely uncertain and anxious about what they'll meet along the way. "It would have to be a big boat to hold all of those people, to stomp around, but what would constitute improper music? An apprentice without a tune, beating a flat drum?" Farideh is also dubious. Well, that's not fun. N'rov's not a proper kidnapper; not only has he failed to garotte her with the cloth or his belt or the sack cords, he also says, "You're not looking well," and makes to sweep off his hat and drop it off on her instead. Because she's anxious from the heat, it's got to be. "No, that would be horrible music. Although after enough rotgut, maybe anything would do... no, it would still be horrible." "You don't--" Farideh suddenly has a hat, and she's completely flummoxed. "You don't have to give me your hat. You're taller and closer to the sun, so you'll need it more," she points out, quite helpfully, but being that she's leading, she only drops the suggestion instead of dropping the hat. "I've heard that before-- rotgut. Is it as awful as it sounds? I hear it is, and undeniably, I'm not in a hurry to try it," she rambles, as they get nearer. "You'll give it back." N'rov, supremely confident. As for the rotgut, "It is. Does the job when you're pissed at the world, but there are better things to get a hangover from. In a pinch, it's also not half bad for cleaning buckles and glass, if you've got any. Dilute it in a one-to-twenty ratio..." he grins at her. "Kidding. Mostly, anyway." There's more activity where they're going than the majority of the plateau, but not nearly as much as the clusters closer to the main living cavern and infirmary; some low grass even still manages to survive. Inside, a tunnel connects to other tunnels, the floor flat and smooth. "You seem awfully sure about everything for never having met me before, never having trusted me with your belongings before. I could be a hat thief," Farideh answers, but her fingers reach up to test the brim, bending it down to better cover her eyes. "Is that when you drink it? When you're pissed at the world?" It's mild curiosity, given how much they know about each other; which is zero. She sighs softly when they finally get to that tunnel, glancing at N'rov with uncertainty. "Here?" "That's true." N'rov eyes her sideways, narrowly, even if he does have to lean some to look under that brim. "You could. Maybe I have confidence in my ability to get it back. Maybe I never liked that hat anyway and I'd kick something, how's that? ...And yes, here." He eyes the cloth. "Ten paces in. Then there is a 'Y.' Take the right branch. Then I'll tell you the rest." Including his drinking habits. "You gave me a hat you didn't want?" Farideh sounds appropriately aghast at the notion, but it's followed by a bubbly laugh. "It's much more likely that you don't give a damn about this hat," she has, giving the top a pat, to signify how unappreciated said hat is. It's not long after his direction explanation that she peers at him suspiciously. "Where are you reading that? The cloth is--" She frowns, but keeps moving, despite her protestations. "Hey. Don't hurt my hat." Evidently N'rov likes it, or the laughter, enough to defend it. He'll even point at his palm and assure, "It says so right there," even if he doesn't leave it out for long. What if Farideh could decipher it and realize that he really was leading them into the pit of doom?! "Anyway, I'm not much for the rotgut these days," that last's just a little flat but short-lived so, "given the choice. My first experience with it, though... imagine a handful of boys raised on their elder brothers' stories, whose fathers locked up the good stuff a little too well." "Your hat is safe," Farideh assures him, pluckily. She tries to get a glance at his map, but it's so hastily withdrawn that she evidently doesn't get a good enough view if her pout is any judge. "No, I suppose not. Fancy men who dance on large ships to improper music-- would they drink wine? Something else?" She listens as she walks, and only turns her head to look at him when he's finished with his tale. "What a pity-- did you throw up? The first time I had alcohol-- I spent the next day in bed."
"Iced drinks. Very cosmopolitan." Normally, being nudged around might make Farideh angry, but since he's technically leading the way, she doesn't seem to mind. "Your uncle must have enjoyed that a little too much-- your misery," she says, sounding highly sympathetic for the young man with a hangover, and his brethren, who were forced into exercise. "I was the right age. Old enough to attend the late night parties, old enough to have a glass of wine. I was fifteen and it tasted horrible, but I drank the whole thing and the day after--" She winces at the memory, then shrugs. "Certainly, you had it worse." "Nah, we were pains in the... neck, probably did us some kind of good," N'rov says, though after another flash of grin for her sympathy; listening in, he takes the directions without much thought at first but then with increasing care, nodding to anyone they encounter as though he has a perfect right to be here but definitely not encouraging interruption. Though... "One glass of wine?" He considers her. "Did you learn to never drink more than you're ready for?" Farideh questions, thoroughly amused. "One glass of wine," she confirms, following in his lead, though she doesn't acknowledge anyone they come across except for occasional, curious glances. "I was even shorter and a lot skinnier, and without practice--" Her shoulders lift and fall. "I remember the tiniest bit of light coming through the curtains felt tragic." He laughs. "That it's a wise idea not to, maybe," N'rov says. For the tragedy, he puts his hands in front of his eyes (fingers criss-crossed, so he can see) as if to ward off further such awfulness. "How long did it take you to try it again?" "A couple months, I think. It's hard to resist, despite bad experiences, when everyone else is always doing it too." Peer pressure-- the worst! Farideh's smile widens, showing a fair amount of teeth. "And you? How long before you got your hands on it again? Ever?" "At least a couple sevens," N'rov has to admit, untwisting the cloth from his little finger and swinging his hands back down. "We took it slower that time... probably didn't hurt that we could get less." He shrugs in good humor, going silent until an elderly woman has ambled by in the other direction. Then he lowers his voice just a fraction: "Snag the next glowbasket you see, would you?" "A couple sevens," Farideh laughs. "I don't know if you learned enough." Through her laughter, she gives both him, and the elderly woman who crosses their path, a questioning stare. "A glowbasket?" She sounds as unconvinced, but it's not much farther on that she spots one and moves to claim it, glancing back over her shoulder as she approaches. "What do we need one for?"
"But why--" Farideh settles an incredulous stare on him, and yet she seems willing to wait and see for herself, which happens much too soon. She all but stops in her tracks when he disappears, her eyes widening in surprise. "Um-- hello? Where did you-- go?" "Over here." It's hollow and, perhaps, not the most helpful; at least, if there's a smirk to go with it, it's more or less hidden. "Walk forward two paces and then look back at the wall Where I was." Where there's a crevice in the wall, its barely-there tunnel doubling sharply back. The entrance isn't normal height; he would have had to duck. "Now you're leading me into dark passageways," Farideh says, taking the steps necessary to get to the opening in the wall. She pauses with her hand on the wall, takes a sharp inhale, and then moves through, sliding along the wall and holding up the pilfered glowbasket warily. "But you have the light," and the grin is audible. At least, past the entrance, the passageway opens up somewhat; that doesn't mean it's not mostly dark but for the patches of wild glows, though, nor that it doesn't twist around, nor that there's not dust. "Want to go first?" The footing's not great either. Cautious expression and all, Farideh jerks her head in affirmation, moving to take the lead, where she can hold the glowbasket above her shoulder to light the way. "I suppose, it's natural," she says, her eyes sweeping over what she can immediately see in front of them, from dust to changes in the actual passageway. There are even footprints, if not necessarily recent ones; there are simpler ways for weyrfolk to get to where they're going, after all, even if that's less of an adventure. N'rov follows her, careful where he sets his feet; he keeps the hand with the cloth above and before him, to try to warn of any upcoming low places that would smack him while she'd get past just fine. "I'd think so, yeah. Haven't been here in a long time." It could have caved in! "How long has it been? Does it even exist anymore? What if it was all cleared away and replaced by a-- a-- harper classroom," is aghast. "I hope-- there's not a dead end." Farideh's eyes flick to N'rov in the semi-dark, noting the hand held up high and the way he doesn't seem worried at all. And really, the hat on her head in superfluous at this point.
Though it does keep the dust off her hair, and the... are there spinnerwebs? Just because they haven't been attacked by crawlies so far doesn't mean they can't be lurking. Perhaps N'rov's real job is that of spinner-whisperer. Regardless, he gives Farideh a steady look. Of her surmises, "There are a couple," he explains. "Just not where we're going. I don't often count classrooms high on the adventure scale," though the brief amusement in his tone does admit the odd exception. "We'll be fine. Are all classrooms that horrifying, or just the harper kind?" At the moment, Farideh isn't envisioning spinners dripping down the walls and into her hair, but who knows when that could change. "All of them. I will be happy if I never have to enter another classroom again," she supplies, without rancor, steadily moving through the passageway, relying on N'rov's superior knowledge to bring them out the other end safe. "So?" "'So?'" has its own, genuine question. "No, no classrooms. Not even," intoned closer to bass, "the classroom of life." With that assurance, N'rov pauses behind her to check a side tunnel; starting up again, rock slips underfoot and he has to catch himself. The tunnel keeps twisting; it isn't safe for him to stay too far behind. But, "Hear that sound?" N'rov's odd choice of words gets him another laugh, but his pause and the subsequent question has her pausing as well. Farideh shifts, leaning in, head tilted towards the noise. "Water?" she asks, questioning at first, and on the end, catching with breathless excitement. "It's up there?" But she's already moving, quicker, holding the glowbasket higher. "Water," N'rov confirms with a quick grin: water, and lots of it. They have to navigate the rest of the tunnel, though, and at the very last the ceiling is quite low: low enough that even Farideh with her glows might duck. There, though: the cavern begins to widen, the ceiling heighten, towards the pounding sound of the waterfall and its tumult of liquid light. The end being in sight -- or earshot as it were -- quickens Farideh's step, and even when she's ducking at the end of the tunnel, she's doing so quickly and smoothly, coming onto the waterfall cavern with her eyes alight. "Wow," is all she manages to say at first, letting the glowbasket drop by her eyes as she takes in the venue. N'rov drops lower to get through the resultant darkness, until he turns the corner and... there it is. Careful of the increasingly slippery rock, he walks forward enough to stand straight and just watches it for long moments, gray eyes reflecting it in silver, before glancing over to catch the rest of her reaction. "I've always seen it from a distance, not up close like this," Farideh informs him, distractedly. She watches the water cascade for longer than she should; a waterfall is a waterfall after all. "It's-- magnificent?" Hazel eyes lift from the splashing, misting water to N'rov. "You certainly know all of the exciting places around." The slight bow he sketches her might demur, but not too much; he has a grin, open and pleased. What fun is it, after all, to get too jaded? N'rov pitches his voice to carry back to her, "Adventure." "Adventure," she repeats, quietly. "But the question is--" Farideh glances down at her feet when she walks, careful of how tenuous the ground is this close to the waterfall. "How many other people how it's here? Is it a well-guarded secret?" "That I don't know." N'rov keeps an eye on her, her and those slippery rocks. And his hat. "I think the outside stairs, they're better known but tricky to get through, wet and all. Are you going to put a hand into it?" "It's still a great story to tell, and a--" Farideh looks back at N'rov, laughter imminent. "Crazy, strange path to lead people on. I don't know if I could remember it." She is progressively walking closer to the falls, but his question catches her off guard. "I suppose. Should I? I don't want to fall in, either." Because the hat. "A better story if you can't. 'It was so twisty and windy,' and all, even give yourself a blindfold if you want." And him a mustache? "Give it a try," Nr'ov encourages. "Crouch lower if it'll help, hold onto a rock or something, but I figure it has to be done." "A better story if you can't. 'It was so twisty and windy,' and all, even give yourself a blindfold if you want." And him a mustache? "Give it a try," Nr'ov encourages. "Crouch lower if it'll help, hold onto a rock or something, but I figure it has to be done. There might even be a path underneath." "We fought off ten men on the way and found their buried treasure underneath?" Farideh's eyes crinkle from the force of her smile, but she does as he says and slowly bends into a couch next to the water, holding out her hand towards spray. "Another path-- underneath?" From the waterfall and back, she frowns. "Only if you go first." "Exactly." N'rov experiments with holding his hand in there too, though he doesn't fully crouch so much as drop a little lower, experimenting with the lighter spry and moving into the heavier like someone riding for the first time and sticking their hand out into the air. "Are you ready for a shower?" He eyes her, one brow tilted up: can she take it? Can his hat? "A shower?" Farideh pulls her hand back and angles her chin up, staring at N'rov for a short minute before she slowly stands and sighs. "Fast and painless?" she asks, squarely her shoulders as her gaze slides towards the fall of water just beyond. "If you don't fall," N'rov can only hope, knotting up the sack and grandly rolling up his sleeves. Right before walking through the downpour, he tips her the absolutely required words, and a grin: "'Hold onto your hat.'" One hand flattens on the top of the hat to secure it in place atop her head and Farideh exhales loudly, managing to get in a tight smile to N'rov just before she squeezes her eyes shut and takes the plunge-- or shower, moving through as fast as she can without falling. And on the other side, she's drenched. She's drenched, and N'rov's applauding. He's drenched too, of course, but still. There aren't that many steps left back to relatively solid, relatively dry land, so if anyone's going to push anyone else into the pool, they'd better do it now. Drenched-Farideh is not quite as nice as dry-Farideh, and the applause garners a perturbed expression as she shakes the remaining water from the brim of their hat. "Look!" she says, pointing over there, except if he looks, she tries to accidentally bump him into the pool; who's laughing now! 'Their'... what?! Because of course N'rov's looking, and then falling, and reaching to try and topple her in before it's too late. Later there can be drying off, laughing, if only thanks to the sun; later they can go their separate ways, still unnamed. Right now is for revenge. |
Leave A Comment