Logs:An Explosive Return
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| RL Date: 29 May, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Farideh, Itsy, R'van |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The pirates return to High Reaches for the winter. It doesn't-- at first-- go to plan. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Giorda/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, Laine/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: You forgot the all important theme music for this scene! |
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| It's been a fairly miserable trip from High Reaches Hold, with the road between Hold and Weyr by measures snowed, muddy and uneven. Still, better than going dragonback, even if by the end of the trip Drex's swearing at each unsteady bump has reached sea-storm level proportions. Winter has officially arrived by the time the group arrives at the Weyr, with a few other crew of the Pirate Queen II returning with them to renew acquaintances made during their enforced shore leave. Drex seems heedless of the snow in his joy to be out of the cramped wagon, yelling something incomprehensible that is probably intended to announce their arrival. It draws a few odd looks, but most people who are out and about in this weather are busy travelling to somewhere else, somewhere warmer. "Next winter, we'll go to Ista," announces Itsy, shaking snow off of her ever-present hat, heedless of the mess she's making-- or that she may be accidentally sending it in Drex's direction. Still, she's plainly as glad to be out of the wagon as Drex is, stretching short legs with a few well-placed stomps of her feet, then turning to regard the bowl around her levelly. Her, "Good to be back?" is uncertain, and unconvinced. She's not glad to be back, not really. That gets her a look from Drex, a grunt of displeasure, though whether it's from discussion of Ista, i.e. not High Reaches, or the snow she's displacing over him isn't clear. "Maybe," is all he says, instead. "S'long as we aint stuck in a box for that long. It makes our ship feel huge." There's a kind of tension in his posture, a restless energy that he can't quite displace, and makes him shift his feet back and forward, like they're still on the deck of the Pirate Queen II. "Yeah," he says, if somewhat unconvincingly. "Thought they'd be..." he's not sure, but whatever it is has him frowning at the surroundings. "We'll sail to Ista," is Itsy's answer to all of that, somewhat imperious despite the crooked smile she aims at the other man. "By then, that girl of yours can come to us; we won't need to come back to this dump, not for anything." She's blithe about it, and even about the lack of welcoming committee; her gaze sweeps their surrounds, hands digging more deeply into her pockets. "Where're we headed now? Guess that Giorda person'll want us put to work again." She sounds quietly morose about that possibility; such a come-down! There's a slow frown that forms on Drex's face as Itsy speaks, and it's not about Ista so much as the words that follow. "I thought you wanted to come." It's on the verge of accusing, eyes narrowing marginally. "Aint forcing ya. Thought you might want to see that girl again." Either he can't remember her name, or he's playing it casual. With an uncomfortable shift of his shoulders, now, he glances at the caverns, frowning. "Guess." He's not so thrilled about that, except, "We know a goldrider now, though. Maybe you can become her assistant. Do her hair." That makes him chortle, abruptly. Itsy's grumpiness is probably exacerbated by the trip here; and by such premature separation from her baby (which is to say, The Pirate Queen II). "Not like I wanted to stay at the Hold all winter long," is her answer to Drex, as her arms cross, partially flattening the bulk of her coat. "Better here than there." Beat. "I'd do her hair. Make it pretty like mine, and then she'd not have to waste time with it the rest of the time." It makes perfect sense! "Maybe she can hide us out and we won't have to work at all." Drex is clearly bemused by Itsy's answer. "Thought you'd want to hang out with your Lord and his dog." But the grumbling passes quickly as he snorts abruptly. "Hide us where? Under her skirts? Maybe you're happy to spend all winter doing her hair. I'll just do her." Well, yes. Such talk has become the norm on the Pirate Queen II; he hasn't had a Turn yet to moderate his boasting pirate talk back to something likely not to get him punched or worse. Anyone for miles around can likely see the bright yellow knit cap on Farideh's head, with its floppy pompom that bobs when she walks. She's moving at a slow rate across the bowl, from the lower caverns, hugging a hefty pile of books and hides to her chest. Her eyes are lowered to the ground in front of her feet, her chin resting on the tallest set, but she's alert enough not to bump into the people that walk into her path; once she even stops altogether to offer a smile and a nod to a familiar face. But it's easy to tell, as she's shuffling through the quickly melting snow, that her mind isn't on the pair of pirates nor does she immediately notice their presence, until she's right upon them. It's then, with eyes flicking up from the mushy earth, that she comes to an unexpected and complete halt. Words are a little harder to put together, as they are. "Don't think they hire whores in this place," says Itsy, blandly, arms crossing just a little tighter as, scowling, she turns her gaze from Drex and towards the distant bowl wall. Really, she doesn't seem to know where to start, so it's probably for the best that Farideh's yellow hat catches her attention, eventually coalescing into Farideh herself. Drex will have to notice her for himself; Itsy simply stares, watching in silence until the goldrider comes to that halt. "No?" Drex seems surprised. "They do in Ista. Figured they were just a little less... obvious about it up here. Not the worst job in the world," he's grinning, and even elbows his Captain, though it likely has not much effect through the thick coats of both of them. His brow furrows at the look on Itsy's face, and it's only when he follows her gaze that he finally spots Farideh, too, huffing out a sharp breath. His expression is odd, too: kind of relieved and uncertain and delighted all at once. In that silence, he takes one, two, three steps, hurrying towards Farideh with the intention of lifting her up into a bearhug, books and hides be damned! The goldrider's eyes keep moving back and forth between the two, with obvious shock and confusion, but the moment Drex starts coming towards her, she opens her mouth -- maybe to protest -- but nothing passes her lips as she's lifted into a hug, except a squeak of surprise. By the time he puts Farideh down, if he does, her cheeks are flushed with color and most of her books and hides have fallen to the ground. Later, she can worry about their conditions; now, she simply looks flustered and stunned speechless by this unforeseen turn of events. Itsy maintains her silence throughout the Drex-and-Farideh hug, the lifted lines of her eyebrows disappearing into the brim of her hat, though the crooked smirk at her lips is obvious enough. "He didn't tell you," she assumes, mirth audible. "We're stuck for the winter and you need to help us. 'sides, he wants back in your bed; it's pretty much all he can talk about. I even bought a ribbon." Hello, Farideh. It's nice to see you. Oh, Drex'll put her down, eventually, though not before that squeak of surprise has the scruffy-looking pirate laughing delightedly. He'll definitely need a hair cut, or something. It's Farideh's obvious flustered expression that makes him, finally, stop and take stock of her, earning the sailor's sudden shift of expressioon from joyful to frowning uncertainty. He glances over his shoulder at Itsy, because, well, she's a girl, surely she knows why Farideh is acting all weird? Right? Except, "You aint helping, Cap'n," he growls at her instead. Even if it's all true. Once her feet are back on the ground, and she needlessly runs her hands over her coat, Farideh bends down to start retrieving her things; inanimate objects are much easier to deal with than people, anyway. "Stuck? Help you," certainly has the earmarking of unraveling anger. "You two didn't even say goodbye, you've been gone for almost five months, and now you stroll in and expect me to--" Barely controlling her temper, she stands back up and gives both of them pointed stares, her mouth pressed taut. "Don't you have anything to say to me first?" Itsy shoots Drex a glance in the wake of Farideh's temper, as if to tell him that this is all his fault. "You were kinda busy," she points out, a little lamely. "And Devaki was in a hurry. I wrote to you!" And such a fine letter it was, too. "But whatever. Drex'll bat his eyelashes at Giorda and we'll be fine. We don't need you." "Uhh." Drex looks, frankly, at a loss, when met with the expectation of saying something, since he's clearly cognizant there's a specific thing she's expecting him to say, and he has no idea what it is. He gives Itsy a look, and it's hard to tell whether he thinks she's helping or hurting. "I said goodbye. We did, before--" and then he's coughing, and there's a fluster of color beneath his tanned features at the memory of the hatching day. "She means, we missed you. I missed you." He bends to collect one of those wayward hides, adding it to her pile. Clearly, he hasn't been taught that boys are supposed to carry a girl's books. "I got you presents, too." "You wrote that you would let me know when you made it to port," Farideh points out to Itsy, sourly, leaning to look at the redhead from around her much taller companion. "This is not letting me know that you made it back and--" She sighs, dusting off some of her belongings. "Giorda isn't the Headwoman anymore. Jounine is." She does not, however, indicate whether Jounine would be more accommodating than her predecessor, though she does slant a narrow-eyed look at Drex. "Presents? What kind of presents?" Interested, totally; predictable, definitely. "But-- you know we made it back." Itsy is bewildered. "Because we're here. And it didn't seem useful to write when--" When they were going to be here. The change in Headwoman is information filed away without comment; Farideh's reaction to the possibility of presents is... well. "He's going to put a ribbon around his dick for you," she comments, blandly. Boys. Drex doesn't seem that upset, or indeed, that interested in the change of Headwoman. "Yes, lots of presents," he latches onto that, because that seems to get the best reaction. "But uh, you want me to give them to you out here? In front of everyone? Don't you, you know, get a place and an office and whatever, somewhere warm? My nuts are freezing... off," he snaps off the last words, as if suddenly realizing he's probably oversharing. Speaking of oversharing, "Itsy! For fuck's sake." Way to spoil the surprise! "I would have appreciated the warning," is all Farideh says, letting the subject drop in the face of the much more troubling topic of Drex's presents. "Are you both addled in the head? We're in the middle of the bowl, where anyone can hear, and I'm--" She snaps her mouth shut and adjusts her armload of reading material. "Not that what we do between ourselves is any of your business," she points out, huffily, to Itsy, "but it's not even allowed. I'm still a weyrling. And it's-- it's--" She takes in a noisy breath, lets it out, and glares at them both. "You're both still as crude I can see." Five months at sea have done nothing for manners, plainly; Itsy is utterly bewildered by all of this, and shoots another glance at Drex. He, too, is bewildering: what? What? "Told you we should've gone to Ista," she says, moody to the point of obvious irritation. "She's too high and mighty for you, Drex. C'mon. Let's go inside and find somewhere to doss down at least. Leave her to her fancy goldrider shit." The goldrider's words earn increasingly furrowed brow from Drex, very swiftly becoming a dark look as he folds hands across his chest. Instead of responding to Farideh, he replies to Itsy: "I told you she wouldn't care about a pair of grimy sailors. Too important, now. Maybe we should go to Ista," he concedes, stomping over towards Itsy, habit making him fall into step with his captain all too easily. "Half the crew've gone to ground and the water'll be mostly frozen over, but maybe we can scrounge up enough..." There is light snow and heavy angst on this winter's afternoon, as Farideh faces off against Itsy and Drex. Tension fairly rolls off the weyrling, who is standing still clutching a pile of semi-dirty books and hides in her arms, her jaw set as she glares at the sailor pair. "Since when is it high and mighty if I don't want every rider who knows my name and my face within hearing distance to know who crawls between my legs at night--" One arm flings out at the end. "I doubt Ista will want you, either!" Really, she's working herself up into a nice tizzy at this point; all they need is a catalyst. Is news of the sailors' return spreading, or is Rafe just that lucky, to wander past now? Raised voices around Farideh aren't exactly unheard of, after all. He stops a few feet back from her, peering around her to the people she's yelling at; his mouth's pulling up into that familiar smirk--now that someone else is the target of her anger. "Is this a bad time to say hi?" "Never seemed to bother any other goldrider I ever heard of," points out Itsy, who-- let's be fair-- only really knows about Irianke and Azaylia before her. But mostly... mostly she's still bewildered and getting annoyed, her voice raised to carry. "Fuck this," she adds, half-turning in a way that implies she's gesturing towards Drex to follow her, only there's R'van, and-- she scowls at him, too. "You're all fucking crazy," she declares. "Let me guess, she's fucking you instead, now, and that's what all this is about." Drex is willing to trail after Itsy, right up until she draws attention to R'van and the words that follow. "What?" He's more shocked than believing, though it does make his gaze flicker towards Farideh, suspiciously. His jaw tightens, and he takes steps in the weyrling bronzerider's direction. "Aint true, is it? Thought you liked guys." At the sound of R'van's voice, Farideh's head whips around so fast it's surprising she doesn't snap her neck. "Yes," is her sickeningly-sweet answer for her fellow weyrling. "We're talking." Talking is the understatement of the turn, but she's sticking by her statement, turning her focus back to Itsy, her chin lifting a fraction. "No one has the poor graces to talk about their sex lives out in the open like some common-- some-- ugh." That frustrated sound is followed by a disbelieving, humorless laugh, as she glances from Itsy, to Drex, and more grudgingly, to the bronzerider. "Him? And me?" "I'm not having sex with anyone," Rafe answers promptly, once Farideh has made her distaste in discussing it known. "I'm too busy for that, unfortunately, between Vadevjiath, smithing, and now being wingleader. Maybe once we get our weyrs in another month or two. How was your trip? I'm assuming your new ship was finished." He carries on like it's a perfectly normal conversation, and entirely ignores Farideh for the time being. "He," Rafe, "fucks guys?" News to Itsy, not that it seems to bother her any; it's not as though she was interested in the first place. Snow is gathering on the brim of her hat again, and by the expression on her face, she's utterly lost... and absolutely ready to be finished with everyone here, probably Drex included. The fists at Drex's sides uncurl, slowly, though his obvious jealousy doesn't quite dissipate despite Farideh's reaction and R'van's assurances. Probably because, "What do you mean, maybe in a month or two?" and now, he's looking at Farideh, likewise, accusingly. He'll leave the pleasant discussion of their trip for another time. "Aye, so he said." Or Drex assumed. Or whatever. Nothing about the situation is funny - not a damn thing! But suddenly Farideh is laughing, softly behind the hand be presses against her mouth at first, and then louder as she dissolves into giggles that she can't quite hide. She doesn't even give an excuse for her laughter, or look at anyone in particular so the blame can be laid at their feet. Maybe all the pressure and stress finally got to her! Maybe she's had a psychotic break! No one will know until she stops laughing, which she hasn't, yet. "He does not," R'van corrects Itsy with a small shake of his head; he doesn't sound offended, though. In fact, he's easily the calmest of the lot, though he has only just arrived. "I have not, and I probably will not, though--I'm not sure I believe in 'never's." Then, to Drex, he adds, with a tilt of his head, "I thought that was self-explanatory. In a month or two, when we have the privacy of our own weyrs rather than the barracks--." And Itsy? If she was lost before, now she's doubly so. R'van's correction goes by without comment, and whatever exchange R'van and Drex have doesn't even seem to be noticed: she's watching Farideh, and when the goldrider finally explodes into laughter that, it's as if it is an inevitable conclusion. "Reckon they'll hang us for breaking their goldrider?" she wonders. Apparently Farideh's laughter is enough for Drex on top of R'van's implacable calmness. His expression might well decry fuck that noise as he turns on a heel and stomps towards Itsy. "Fuck if I know, or if I want to find out," he growls. "Should we try and find the wagonmaster to take us back?" Farideh doesn't stop laughing even as everyone else talks, or doesn't, though when Drex starts asking Itsy about wagonmasters she holds out a hand, getting out a stilted, "wait". She tries to calm herself down, truly she does, but it takes a few trials of stopping and starting all over again, until she's only twittering between words. "You're both-- R'van is--" Another calming breath. "R'van isn't gay, he's just insufferable," is perfectly upbeat. "And you're mad because I don't want to talk Drex's--" She draws an imaginary circle in the air, directed towards Drex's pants front. "You show up within a letter, without announcing yourselves, without an apology for running off, without so much as a hello, Farideh, how have you been? sorry we had to run or a bouquet?" Now, she makes a face, and semi-turns to sweep R'van with a glance. "Well?" "Well?" Rafe repeats, turning a blank look at Farideh before he makes an encouraging motion to her. "Please, no, continue. All fair points so far." Itsy's, "Yes," aimed at Drex, is only partially forestalled by Farideh's words. "We only just got here, and you were mad with us before we even had time to say hello," she says, grouchily. "You knew we were going to leave, and you weren't exactly around to say goodbye to when we left." SO THERE. With arms folded across his chest, Drex stands resolutely next to Itsy with a nod for his captain, grunting at Farideh's words. "You aint apologizing for Impressing, I aint apologizing for doing something you knew we were going to do, what we are born to do, and what we will always do." Her words about R'van have him staring hard at the bronzerider for a moment, taking in the perceived deception with a tightening of jaw. "I guess we're going to air it all out, then," Farideh says tightly. Had the circumstances been different she might have been suspicious of R'van's encouragement, but her irritation and weariness is saved for the sailors. "I was around. Impressing a dragon doesn't close you off from visitors. Did either of you even try? You could have written a letter then, and--" Now, she's turning on Drex, accusing. "You said you were ok with me Impressing. Why do I have to apologize? We talked about it." She makes another face, her arms tightening reflexively around her books and hides. "What do you want me to apologize for?" R'van still seems faintly like he's enjoying it, that bastard. He's got a small little smile on his lips as Farideh starts airing grievances, and when he catches Drex staring at him, he just slants a little look back, one brow arched slightly. What? "We left before the hatching feast even ended," insists Itsy, stubbornly. There's no way Farideh was free to talk, at that point! ... as far as Itsy is concerned. And, "He's a boy. They're dumb. And I'm not the one fucking you." So she's off the hook, too. Now, however, she turns to glare at R'van; this is all his fault. Somehow. "Aye, we talked about it. If you don't have to apologize for Impressing, we sure as shit aint apologizing for sailing." Drex's arms don't unfold, as his chin lifts, "As for trying -- we came here instead of wintering at a warm beach on Ista, and you just stared at me like I was something we'd scraped off the bottom of our ship or something." He gives a sidelong look at Itsy and a baring of her teeth, like she's maybe not helping. "A letter," Farideh insists. "I know now that you know how to write. You could have easily written one and handed it to someone to give to me, later. A by-and-by." Except, the redhead isn't off the hook for the rest that easily, as Drex's declarations draw up a whole new slew of issues. "I didn't stare at you like that. I've already said it, but maybe your ears are still full of seawater," so she brings it back slow, "I don't want to air my personal business where everyone else can see and hear it. I'm not just a laundress now, and everyone is watching and-- I don't know why I have to explain myself. I would have been happy to talk to you in private, not with the whole Weyr as witness." Not even coincidentally, she flicks a look over to R'van, nearly giving him the stink eye. "My lips are sealed," is R'van's bland answer to that, when he schools his features into something less smirky a beat too slow, in response to Farideh's look over at him. Mulishly: "Never really gave us the option to talk in private though, did you?" Itsy stands her ground... except for the part where she reaches for the sack of things she must have arrived with, slings it over her shoulder, and says, "We're getting nowhere. Fuck this shit; I'm going to sleep in a real fucking bed." And off she stalks. If she's lucky, the flight weyr will even be cleanly made up, and not... recently used. "Well then, I guess we're done, since you can't talk to us in public," Drex drawls. His booted heel twists in the snow as he stalks off after Itsy, not looking back. "You're just--" Farideh makes a frustrated sound, and spins on her heel about the same time the sailors start stalking off to find whatever bed they can, but she comes to a stop not two steps from her original spot. "Do you think I was out of line?" she asks R'van, though she doesn't look at him; it's implied she's not talking to Roszadyth.. or, herself. While the other two stalk away, R'van lingers where he is, glancing after them with a thoughtful expression. It's this that Farideh interrupts with her question; his brows go up. She's speaking to him? He has to stop and think about this for a moment, before he steps aside, as if to follow. "I think yelling at them is unlikely to accomplish anything, besides possibly making yourself feel better," he says after a moment. Which is maybe an answer and maybe not. "She's fucking crazy," Itsy says to Drex, loud enough for her voice to carry. "You're better off without her. Find you a new girl, a better one. Me too." She stalks through the snow, very deliberately not glancing back. "Don't talk about her like that," Drex growls to Itsy under his breath. Nevermind he's defending the girl they're angrily stalking away from. "Aint her fault. It's this place." His jaw tightens at her mention of finding a 'new' girl; he doesn't argue, but he doesn't encourage either. "I don't even know what I did wrong. Suddenly, I'm a hoity-toity goldrider, when I don't even act like Irianke," Farideh mumbles to the other weyrling. It's not likely the loudly thrown insult that makes the brunette turn to assess their retreating backs, but she frowns all the same. "Should I apologize for the sake of apologizing? Do you think I should go after them?" Pause. "I didn't do anything," she reassures him, in case he forgot. Light and texture, warmth and silk, all in the brief span of Roszadyth's gentle touch. « Vadevjiath. » (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) "No, you don't," R'van won't dispute that, though there's a faint hint of that dry smile back in his voice for her lack of Irianke-ness. The latter, though, earns a much more skeptical expression. "Don't ever apologize when you're right," he says, like the very idea is insanity. Itsy stops, short, turning to stare at Drex with disgust she makes no attempt to hide. "Makes you crazy, too," she declares, reaching forward to shove at him. "And her. Never coming back here again. Never." To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath, in answer, is warm seas that creep up that silk, darken its color and stain it with its salt. « Roszadyth. » That shove gets more than a glare from the sailor, it gets a low-throated growl. Drex's fingers curl into fists, but... it's Itsy, and after a moment, his jaw flexes amd fomgers relax. "We're agreed on that, at least." The last, he must mean. "Itsy, I aint giving up on her yet. You're her friend, too. We can help fix her." Because she's clearly broken. "If I'm right, why are they mad?" It's a demand, more than a question, because Farideh needs to know. "How can they just-- just-- stomp off when they're the ones who should be apologizing? They left us, they ran off to their stupid little boat, and probably saw many places, and whatever it is sailors do, while we were stuck here." Her mouth stretches thin, and so does her patience. "I sat around, hoping they would come back, hoping they wouldn't die, hoping for some-- thing-- anything, and then they just show up and get pissed off because I don't want to talk about Drex's-- well." An embarrassed look is settled on R'van. "You're just as dumb." So nice. To that, R'van just shrugs. "Some people don't like being told they're wrong," he notes. "Particularly in strident tones of voice." A little more pointed look at Farideh: yes, that's you. Though, confusedly, he wonders, "What did I do? I would never ask you about his cock." Now he's just being annoying, says that smirk. That her shove doesn't get a proper reaction bothers Itsy, plainly, but only for a few moments. She takes a step back, huffing out a long breath that hangs, visible, in the wintry afternoon air. "Can we?" Dubious, she lifts her gaze to study Drex. "She's part of this place, now. Forever. We ain't, never going to be. She's embarrassed by us. Ashamed." "Aye," Drex concedes with a frown. "Ought to give her a chance, though. She was one of the few in this place that saw us as more than just dirty sailors." Roszadyth is simply delighted, her words bolstered with the heady fragrance of summertime blooms and dusty corners. « Yours is ever kind and reasonable, » she enthuses. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) All of that is good and well, and Farideh even assumes the expression of someone deeply contemplating. It's his casual question and avowal that makes her look highly scandalized, her face flushing with color. "That's--" Instead of finish her statement, she turns, and starts scurrying after the sailors; dealing with them is preferred to dealing with R'van, yet again. « Is he?" » Vadevjiath sounds not quite surprised, but those waters are climbing higher with interest, rising around Roszadyth's touch. « Reasonable, yes, but reason is rarely kind. At least to those incapable of it. » (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) Sweet, patient Roszadyth, she absorbs his words and contemplates them with genuine alacrity, letting the bronze's sea wash against her sunny day. « I cannot see him as anything but kind, Vadevjiath. You may have some better insight, as he is yours and you are his, » she avers. « But he does not practice malice as some nor bitterly rise to the occasion as others. » Certainly, she's not purposefully calling out her own rider, but if the connection can be made, it's through no fault of her own. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath's consideration leaves the sea where it is, though waves lap against the light she projects, as steady as the tide coming in. « No, he does not do that. He means to improve our world, and that is painful sometimes; but I am glad you at least see it for that. » Equally unstated: unlike her rider. Is that what he was going for? If so, R'van's succeeded, left looking after Farideh with a slight snort before he sees himself back to the barracks. His work here is done. Itsy, as Farideh approaches, has her hands on her hips, still staring at Drex as though she's not entirely sure she believes him. "She changed," is what she says, shortly. "She doesn't want us here." "Maybe." Drex isn't entirely convinced, either, but there's also something wary in the way he regards Farideh as she approaches. Not hostile, just wary. His gaze flickers towards the departing R'van, briefly, then as the gold weyrling approaches: "We leave first thing tomorrow, if you want us gone." Roszadyth's approval is palpable, in the feather-light touch that resembles a gloved hand, in the soft tinkle of melodic laughter, but she's given her piece and shared her musings with her brother; for now, that is all. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) The goldrider has the weyrling program to thank for making the distance between her and the sailors close easier than it would have before. She's not even out of breath by the time she comes to a faltering stop, still clutching that bundle of items in her arms. "I didn't say I wanted you to leave," Farideh says with a frown. "That would be-- the opposite of what I want. Why would you think I wanted you to go? I never wanted either of you to leave in the first place." She gives Itsy, with her hands on her hips, a sweeping, thoughtful glance, and wrinkles her nose. "I'm sorry." Obviously, not taking R'van's advice. The apology makes Itsy falter; she's already turned her head to look at Farideh, but now she simply stares-- glowers-- and says... nothing. At least she's not pressing the apology? Drex looks at Itsy first, and takes in his captain's measure. Apparently he reads something in her glowering expression, since he replies to Farideh: "Because you didn't look happy to see us, and you were yelling at us." A beat. "We were happy to see you. I am." "I didn't? What did I look like?" Farideh asks the question to Drex, but she's looking at Itsy, still frowning at the glower she receives. "I am happy, that you're back, and contrary to how he acts-- I think R'van is too, and-- Laine. It's been busy and we've all have a lot on our plates, but that doesn't mean we forgot about either of you. That we didn't want you back." Her eyes lift to Drex. "I'm sorry," again. "We came for you. No other reason." Itsy finally breaks her silence to say that, emphasising the words sharply. But that's all she seems to have to say: she turns and stalks away all over again, this time the hunch of her shoulders giving a pretty good indication that she doesn't want to be followed. "You looked like..." but even Drex is smart enough to know not to go there, biting it back with a shake of head. "Don't matter. It's ok. You have to be all... goldridery," the way he says it probably makes it sound more like an insult than he means. Maybe. He glances at Itsy, watching her retreat with a frown. "I should go. We can... talk, when you want. But, you know," he's looking back at Farideh now, stalking toward her, bending to kiss her, muttering at the same time, "I don't give a fuck what other people think." Farideh's frown deepens and her eyebrows tug together at Itsy's outburst, neither of which changes as the sailor stalks away. "I don't know why she's so--" She stops, and frowns some more, until Drex is kissing her and, after the initial surprise, she's kissing him back. "I'll talk to Irianke and see what we can do. She has assistants, maybe she wouldn't find anything at all odd if I hired you and Itsy," she says, leaning back to look up at his face; there's wry humor in her voice. "We'll talk-- soon." It actually makes Drex grin, although maybe it's the fact that she kisses him back. "Soon. I have real presents for you," is all he says by way of promise, squeezing arms around her briefly in a tight hug, before he's walking off in search of his Captain and somewhere to bed down for the night, possibly not in that order. |
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