Logs:Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?
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| RL Date: 10 October, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Silva is working (sort of), and Drex is helping (not really), at least until the dragons keen. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Yesia/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the
weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just
plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have
let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:
two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in
particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the
most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being
trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of
flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall
off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former
weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers
off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little
sticks. She's not... completely dodging chores required of the candidates, but can anyone blame Silva if she's making sure she gets some of the less exertion-required ones? Like this one, where pieces of the grout that hold together some of the decorative displays have been chipped and are in need of some time-intensive and tedious attention. Working with a small spatula she works on filling in the chinks, so careful to make sure that her nails (which look pretty darn awesome considering!) avoid touching the gray cement. The ledge adjoining the Snowasis is largely quiet today -- perhaps in part due to the cold, but perhaps also in large part to those who have chosen to attend Crom's gather, instead. Still, it means the barrels that provide heat outside are largely abandoned, and Drex has taken ownership of one, pulling a chair up close, his feet resting on another chair, beer in hand. He might've been watching Silva for quite some time; who can say. "Yer doin' it wrong," comes his not-so-helpful observation. Silva scrapes off that grout into another hole, and her lips thin when some of it manages to get on her. A show is made of wiping off the cement from her fingers onto a rag obviously brought for just that purpose. The voice behind her gets her attention, and she turns slightly to huff. "Well. I'm just doing what I was told to do. If you think you can do it better, you are very welcome." "Aint no candidate," comes Drex's immediate response to that offer, snorting. "Though," with a begrudging grunt, "I suppose if you fuck it up they'll be getting me to fix it." He swings his feet off the chair, like he's making some big sacrifice. "Do it thin. Like um," he's struggling to come up with something a girl would understand. "Like yer nails." Giving the man a look from head to toe Silva mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "well, I would //hope// not." Fasteciously she steps back from the wall and looks from her tool to the wall and then back to the man. One eyebrow is artfully arched upwards in complete disbelief. "That could never be spread like polish." She speaks slowly, like the man wouldn't be able to understand if she spoke more quickly, "way too thick. I mean. It's polish. This is like... liquid rock or whatever." The response is enough to make Drex draw upright, affronted. "Wouldn't want to be," he retorts, maturely. "Look what they have you doin'. On our ship, we'd give that job to anyone whose first time on a ship. Or if they'd tumbled someone else's girl. Or pissed off the Captain. Or kicked Lady Annoying. Or.." apparently there's a lot of things, and it makes him frown. "You don't splat it on there like jam or nothin'. Do it thinner," he insists. Something doesn't quite make the right connection and Silva stares at Drex. "You... make them polish somene's nails? Or... put rock all over a ship?" There's a slight step to one side, giving her some space between the two of them. That seems a little... weird." But at least she listened to his last enough, because her next splat of grout is thinner. "Tar," Drex corrects, in a tone like somehow, Silva ought to know. "It's waterproof. Ship." The roll of his eyes expresses duh as well as his tone. At least, however, he seems approving of her latest attempt. "Better. It'll dry quicker too, which you want in this weather." "Oh." That brings Silva's attitude to a stop, as her brain puts few things together. "I guess I saw that once. It was really gross though, how the sailors came in all dirty. I mean, gross." An effected shudder runs through her, and she'll keep going as the man has instructed. Moving another step away to a bigger place to work he gets a glance from under her eyelashes. "What is a sailor doing at High Reaches?" Her tone makes it clear she thinks that this thing is weird. Like. Seriously weird. Although Drex's eyes narrow, he doesn't seem overly offended, as true as it is. "Aint much fresh water to bathe in. Gotta save it for drinking. 'sides, you get dirty again just as soon as you get clean." If he is a sailor, as his talk implies, he's at least bathed recently, so there's that. "My ship got grounded up against the bowl wall," he says, with an attempt at a serious expression. Clearly he's trying to see just how stupid she might be. "Um. Did you like... piss off a rider and their dragon stole your ship? Or something?" Another one of those glances at the man through her eyelashes, her words giving off 'stupid' and 'vapid' vibes all over. "No wonder you have to drink or what not. I mean. So it hurts less when you do something that stupid." "Somethin'," Drex allows, with a narrowing of gaze, as if he can't quite tell whether those stupid vibes are trustworthy or not. It's the latter question that has him bemused: "Why wouldn't I drink?" "Oh well. Then. Something." Silva lightly mocks his word, splatting a thicker coating of grout on. Eyeing it she sticks her tongue out and scrapes most of it back off, and into the small pail she holds most of it in. "Um, I don't know, because drinking usually makes people look stupid?" No hint of irony there. She legit means it. Another narrowing of Drex's eyes follows the mocking tone; he can recognize that pretty clearly. "Wool-breathing grunty idiot," is his muttering as she splats a thick coat of the grout on. He shakes his head, bemused, at her words. "Sooo... all your precious riders are idiots than? Haven't met a one that didn't drink. Means," with a sudden grin and point at her knot, "You're going to be, too." "Clearly," Silva says the word with a whole pile of emphasis, "you need to get your ears checked. I said look stupid not actually be stupid." A pointed look sideways at Drex, the unspoken I MEAN YOU getting expressed by that tilt of her eyes. "Besides. There are totally intelligent riders. I met one just the other night. Her name is Yesia and she's amazing. So together. And her hair." Swoon and heavy sigh of envy. Speaking of getting ears checked -- as they're talking, a sound splits the air of High Reaches. First one, then two, then multiple dragon voices rise in a keening noise, high pitched, heart-rending, and ear-splitting. It precludes the angry retort that was no doubt coming from Drex; the second it sounds, the sailor presses hands over his ears, wincing, eyes wide. Even if it can't be heard, his, "Fuck," is mouthed expressively enough for interpretation. That spatula drops from Silva's hand as the dragons above begin their noises, adding it's own ring to the cacophony above. Her hands slap on her ears, but she pulls them back instantly, as a glop of the cement mixes with her HAIR. Eyes wide she stares at it, "Oh no! I have to go! Oh no, what if it makes it fall out?!" Nevermind what is causing the dragons to make noise, her HAIR HAS STUFF IN IT DREX. Finally, finally the dragons quiet. Drex's expression is set, and the first thing he does is down the rest of the contents of his glass. Only after that does he grimace at Silva's predicament. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters, disgusted, pushing to his feet and reaching to grab her arm, with the intention of dragging her along with him. YELP. First her HAIR and now she's being MANHANDLED. Silva struggles against the man's grasp ineffectively, while also trying to keep her hair from touching her face and getting that grayness on her cheek. "What are you doing?! Let me go!" Slight as she is the girl has little chance of getting away, and clearly, no one ever taught the pretty self-absorbed little thing how to get away from an attacker. "Gonna get that stuff off your hair, if you stop wiggling for five fuckin' seconds." Drex, rescuer! Except... he takes her, first, outside into the cold, past the hatching caverns, where he hesitates until he sees Roszadyth's bulk on the sands with an audible exhale. Only then does he resume, practically frog-marching her towards the baths. What an awful person he is! Silva's reduced to a whimpering mound of exaggerated pity-sounds as Drex moves her along. There's legitimate fear there for the rough handling, but he did say that he was going to help her with her hair... so she doesn't cry out too loudly. Those who see them moving along seem to know Silva, at least by reputation, and just roll their eyes. No pity. :( When they enter the baths Silva tries to break herself away again, by tugging on his grip. And, truly, it's probably not the first time Drex has been seen hauling around a protesting girl, although normally it's his girl. Still, the weyrfolk have far more important things on their minds, most subdued and hurried-of-feet as they get to where they're going. The baths are deserted, and it's Silva's last attempt to break free that earns a grunt from the sailor. Clearly he's had experience with this, because he simply stoops to catch Silva up into his arms, steps to the edge of the bath, and... dumps her in. A SCREAM rips from Silva's throat when she realizes at the last second what the man intends, and then she's in the water, fully clothed. She comes up sputtering, her hair hanging in limp coils over her shoulders, and her clothing hanging pathetically. Sputtering she wipes her face with her hands and glares upwords. "What did I ever do you you?! It's all ruined!" SOB SOB SOB. Silva picks at her hair and clothing, the picture of dejection. "Water to wash it out. Scrub at it before it sticks to your scalp, you'll be fine," Drex kneels to set the sweetsand on the edge of the pools, and sits back on his haunches, expression dark. "Ought to stop with the drama, at least for tonight. That or find somewhere out of the way; weyrfolk won't be in much mood for antics." It's a kindness, for him anyway, not that Silva'd know that. "Did you have to //throw// me in?" Silva does, at least, take his advice and get that stuff out of her hair. Eyeing it, she has a slight moment of relief, it isn't going to make her hair fall out. "I mean. I legit could have like, just done it from the side." A pout splits her lips and she glances accusingly up at him, any kindness being missed. "I don't know what you are talking about." And she legit doesn't. To his credit, Drex actually thinks about that for a moment. "Probably not," he acknowledges, with a brief smirk, "But it was fun." It's the latter that mutates his expression into a frown at her. "You really are dimwitted. Aint you heard a dragon keen before? It means one died." That smirk gets a dirty look as Silva moves to the edge of the pool and drags herself out from the water. Every bit of her drips onto the ground and she imperiously gestures at Drex to hand her a towel. It's the LEAST he can do after that dirty trick. "I haven't been at the weyr long. So all their sounds mean nothing to me." Perhaps he's used to being ordered about like that. Or, judging by the narrowed eyes, not so much used to as grudgingly accepts the order, rising and moving over to collect a fresh towel from the stack, offering it to Silva. "Aint like that sound is normal." He shudders, briefly, at the memory of it. "Last time, it was their Weyrwoman. For a second, I thought maybe Fari--" but he cuts off, frowning. "Well." Silva wraps that towel around her, and turns on Drex to preserve some sense of modesty. She begins to pull off clothing from under that towel, setting it to one side with mournful sounds at their dreadful state. "I wouldn't know. I wasn't here." And she leaves it at that, not completely void of sympathy, just not understanding much. Drex is watching, although it's not lecherous; she's just what he's focused on right now, frowning. "Anyway. Ought to get a drink. Fari will be-- should be home soon." He's already turning for the exit, without so much as a farewell (or a name!) |
Comments
Yesia (21:20, 10 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
There are totally intelligent riders. I met one just the other night. Her name is Yesia and she's amazing.
Committed to history, everyone.
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