Logs:Back On Track
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| RL Date: 13 March, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Itsy |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: No apologies; no matter. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 4, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
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| Itsy has been spending a lot of time outdoors. Part of it is that winter keeps on going on (even if the calendar now officially claims it to be 'spring'), which keeps other people away; part of it is that indoors is just, well, indoors. Since there's still ice on the lake, and the steps up to the diving cliff are dangerous in the extreme, the top of the cliff has proven to be an ideal brooding space, and so it is, mid-morning on that first day of spring, that Itsy sits atop it, staring out over the part-iced lake. Perhaps drawn by the feel of spring, a dark-coated figure picks his way carefully up the steps. Drex hasn't been out to the cliffs much since winter started and he found other places to claim indoors, and so it's probably deliberate that he invades Itsy's space, even if he sits down a couple of paces away from her, silently. At first, he follows her gaze to the lake, but soon after, he's watching her, sidelong. "What." Itsy has the advantage (?) of having a view; perhaps she's seen Drex coming, well in advance. It's not as though she has a way to escape, not without jumping into an icy lake (and she's really not suicidal). She doesn't look at Drex, now; given how low she's pulled her hat, she's probably not looking at much of anything. At least she's not wearing a dress. Drex is still looking at her, silently, but there's a little grin on his face as he reaches into his coat and slooowly (and proudly) pulls out a bottle of rum, presenting it for her inspection. And probably acceptance, judging by his air of anticipation. "What," repeats Itsy, though if nothing else, the slosh of the bottle has caught her attention, drawing her to turn her head just so to glance at the sailor and his prize. Although, this time? That 'what' could be more like 'Where did you get that' or perhaps 'Are you taunting me?' "Figured we should talk," Drex finally says. "Figured this'd help." He's still holding it out, like he's offering her first drink. It's not a very piratey thing to do, all told, but he's making an effort, it would seem. Finally, one of Itsy's long-fingered hands reaches out, taking the bottle. She drinks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand - very ladylike, no really - and then silently offers the bottle back. It's a few more seconds before she says, "Talk, then." Drex isn't really good at the talking part, and so he doesn't, not straight away. He waits until she passes the bottle back, and drinks straight from it after her, like the dirty pirate he is, then belches in satisfaction, before setting the bottle between them. "Aint sure why you're upset with me. You're the best sailor I know. Besides me," a grin, all false bravado, which falters soon enough. "Never mattered to me that you're a girl. Didn't then. Doesn't now." There's another pause, and a look at the bottle -- he reaches for it again for another gulp. "Always kind of figured, I don't know. You and I would... something." His shoulders are hunched, awkwardly averting his gaze as he sets the bottle back. "Stupid." Itsy picks up the bottle again, after Drex sets it down, silent for more seconds. "Didn't know that," she says, staring at the bottle rather than the man; drinking from it, too, before she says anything further. "Never figured on it. You were... how much d'you remember, from before? When we met. What we were." Drex gives her a measured sort of look, a mixture of surprise and unsettlement, though it doesn't last long. "Don't remember. You know that," he says, heavily, dismissively, like he's discouraging the topic. Except, after a beat: "I was what?" "Family." It comes so easily to Itsy's lips that it may well have been what she meant in the first place; it's not unlikely. "First I had, really. First that mattered." Clearly, Raum and Devaki don't count in this equation. "Couldn't never think of you as anything but, even if I weren't... You need a pretty girl. The kind who don't show her cooter getting out a flask." Whether it was what she meant to say or not, Drex seems to take it as the truth. "Aye," he agrees. There's a bit of a grimace at getting friend-zoned, and while the situation might call for him to say he felt the same, he does not. Instead, frowning, he says, "I don't need a pretty girl." Even if he has one. It's the latter that, finally, makes him laugh. "That'd make me appreciate her more. Think you can teach Farideh to do that?" He might not just be joking. Poor Drex. Although the - no doubt titillating - image of Farideh doing just that... yes, Itsy begins to laugh, too. "If only." Beat. "You fucking her, then, or just wishing to?" Because they could totally bond over that. There's a brief hesitation, which is unusual for him, given he's used to telling Itsy everything. Likely as not Drex is aware of how awkward this must be, since he reaches for the bottle first. "Yeah," he admits, with an inadvertent smile despite all that. "I am." He takes a gulp, sets the bottle back, and adds: "But she won't come on a ship, and I aint gonna stay once our ship's ready, so..." Itsy's reaction is, thankfully, largely hidden beneath the shade of her hat, although her long fingers, gasping at a bottle that Drex has custody of, certainly suggest something. "What, because you'd marry her, otherwise?" Beat. "You'd be a good match. Better'n'I would. She's... she's class. But maybe she needs better'n'either of us." "Aint the marrying kind," Drex asserts, as he relinquishes the bottle to her care. And then, with a snort, "She's class, I aint." He gives a nod to her latter comment, in agreement, even if it's a little reluctantly. "Yeah." "Not interested in popping out a few kids and settling down?" The image seems to amuse Itsy, though there's something hesitant in her tone, too, something she partially hides, after that, behind the bottle. "Don't mean I wouldn't screw her brains out. Good for you." Beat. "You going to make fun of me for wearing a dress?" "Where would I stow them? The hidden compartment in the captain's quarters?" Drex shakes his head, although he frowns out at the view for a moment or two. "Suppose we turned out all right. Mostly 'cos of you," he adds, with a nudge of his elbow in her direction. And then, dead serious: "Nah. Gonna save that for later." Itsy's quiet, "Nothing wrong with dresses," has a faint note of misery to it, quickly suppressed. Instead, "Our ship'll be done soon. We'll be gone." It's tacit forgiveness; their future is back on track. For the rest she has no comment, not even that nudge. And, in turn, Drex has no comment on her quiet talk of dresses. Instead his, "Aye," is introspective, an odd mixture of anticipation and reluctance. "Didn't expect to like it here, but I kind of did." A beat, before he amends: "Except for there being no seas." "I don't like the dragons," comes out on an exhale. "Not scared of them, just..." Itsy does not like dragons. "Miss the sea. The lake's no good. Been here too long. Need... sea's where I belong. Not the Hold, not Tillek, not..." She drinks again, then sets the bottle down. There's a breath, an exhale, and Drex agrees with her sentiment on dragons: "Yeah." An uncomfortable twitch of shoulders. "Don't much mind the runners. We should take them to the Hold, when it's time." He grins, suddenly, vehement: "Where we belong." And, after a moment, "Feel like it's been so long I might've forgotten how to tie a knot, or how to climb the rigging, or just... all of it." Someone's getting performance anxiety. Itsy's, "On a ship. Not at a Hold," is sharper than it needs to be, because surely she knows what Drex meant. "If you've forgotten that stuff I'll send you ashore, mind. No place for useless sailors on my ship." She glances sidelong at the other sailor. "You'd pick the sea over anything, right?" Drex's, "Make me walk the plank?" is both amused and challenging. "Wouldn't be the first time. Remember when we were on our first ship and they thought we'd drunk all the rum, and they made us strip down and stand on the plank? Thought we were gonna die." He can laugh, a little, now, though it's still with an air of remembered nerves from the young-Drex's memory. To her latter question, he gives a sharp nod, and as if surprised that she asked, "You?" Itsy, abruptly, begins to laugh: clearly she does remember that occasion, and how defiantly she stared down the adult sailors, hands on her little-girl hips, heedless of her own nakedness. "As I recall, we only drank some of the rum." It's a good memory, apparently, despite everything. "'f I hadn't ended up with you, I'd be a whore like my ma," she says, simply. "Ain't ever been anything else worth doing." Drex is laughing, too, adding: "And planted the rest on that handsy old fart that thought he was king of the kitchen. That was satisfying, seeing him walk the plank instead of us." His laughter fades, frowning at the thought of a life without their having met. "Dunno what I'd be doing," he says, slowly, uncertainly. "I guess... some thief, or... something." He shrugs, and reaches for the bottle, taking a generous gulp. "Don't matter now. All turned out for the best, right?" Some of the fun disappears from Itsy's posture, now, and from what's visible of her expression. "You'd be having a lot less fun, that's for sure," is darker than it needs to be; not far off disapproving. "Right. For the best. Still ought to make you walk the plank, now, for being a turd. Ain't nothing wrong with me being a little girly, sometimes." "Could, but," Drex leans forward. "No plank. And no water. Fucking weyrs, right? Have to settle for drinking rum, I guess." As punishment. He's grinning at her, now, allowing: "You can be girly, sometimes. S'long as you don't ever lose the hat." Itsy gives the lake below a meaningful glance, but she's not quite vindictive enough to suggest it as an alternative; spring has not really sprung. She gives Drex a wide-mouthed smile. "Punishment. Mm." Her short, sharp nod is the only answer she gives to that last... except for the hand that lifts to adjust her hat; it is never going anywhere. "Well then." Drex is not unaware of that look, and gives a snort. "Missed this," is all he says, instead. "Missed you. Aint the same without you. Even if you are a cranky old coot for such a pretty lady." Itsy has an answer to that: two middle fingers, presented without comment. Except, "Ain't the same without you, either. Try not to be an ass next time." "Back at you," Drex retorts easily, with a tip of the bottle's mouth in her direction before he takes a gulp. He subsides into silence, content for now to share the bottle back and forth. It's easier, now; words aren't even necessary. No doubt it will eventually get too cold to stay out here - or worse, the bottle will end up empty - but that's scarcely the point. This crew? Back in track. |
Comments
Roz (13:19, 13 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
I thought pirates are supposed to be mean and scary.
Ahahaha. <3 Glad they're finally friends again. It only took them like 3 months.
Drex (21:17, 13 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
Well... I thought about punching her, but then even if Drex happened to win he loses, so figured rum was the great equalizer. >.>
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