Logs:Being Tough
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| RL Date: 12 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh stops by to take a grieving Jo out. |
| Where: Jo's weyr, High Reaches Weyr / Sandbar, Ista |
| When: Day 24, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Z'ian/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Things have quieted down since the tragedy at Crom's gather, and business at the Weyr is the usual. Since then, Jo's presence isn't easily seen like it usually is. Snowdrift at least saw her at drills since she was their wingsecond, but a deal must have been made between her and Mielline with her not being seen for not much else. Tacuseth isn't always seen on his ledge, with there being days and nights of him there on Leiventh's, ever the silent sentinel watching the skies and protecting his rider. This day, the blue is seen guarding his own ledge with indication that Jo is there. Further inspection will show the bluerider at her couch with stacks of hides about her with her currently flipping through a bunch of them in her hands. Roszadyth is still sands bound, so it isn't the gold who settles on Tacuseth's ledge and bugles an over-enthusiastic greeting that might just rattle the starstones with its voracity. Chagrined, the green's rider assists the weyr woman from the straps and onto the ledge, murmuring his apology to Farideh's pleasant "it's no problem, G'kan". She studies the blue with apprentice eyes before she ventures inside, skirts gathered in one hand and her face already splitting in a pre-emptive smile. "Jo," is out of her mouth, her gaze not having marked the blue rider yet; she doesn't pause when she does see her, traipsing through the weyr much like it's her own, perusing the collection of furniture and other decor. Tacuseth makes away for the green dragon's arrival, likely giving warning to his rider of the commotion despite Jo having heard it anyway. The blue watches Farideh as much as she watches him, his color back to normal as she passes him. As for Jo, having heard the arrival herself and through her blue, she's found setting the stack of hides aside with a slight frown at first until Farideh is immediately recognized. There's an air of heaviness about her, the easiness she usually carries subdued as she gets to her feet. She has on simple clothes of a white tank top and gray woven pants, exposing the scars on her arms and chest. "Farideh." There's a bit of surprise touching her features as she finds the goldrider in her weyr for the first time. "I find the weather here very distasteful of late," the gold rider concludes, ending her thorough investigation of what she can see, with her gaze settling on Jo. "I don't think that will work, either. Don't you have-- something nicer to wear?" Farideh's hands descend to her waist, arms akimbo, while she looks over the blue rider with a contemplative air. "You look well, otherwise." It's her only concession to mentioning the recent tragedy High Reaches has experienced, her voice softened. There's a soft snort, barely heard on the weather, and Jo takes a look around her own place. The only messy area is where she's at with the stacks of hides all over the small table and couch. When she finds Farideh looking her over, or rather her clothes, she looks down at them briefly before, "What? Nicer? Are we s'pose to be.....?" She doesn't finish that for the next assessment, the bluerider's guardedness stealing over her features as she says, "I'll manage. Work helps," and she nods towards the stacks of hides detailing reports before she fixes the goldrider with a steady, if not uncomfortable, stare. "Haven' been much in the mood for partyin'," she says, returning back to finding something nice to wear before her. "'Least I'm not naked." Which, suggests that she usually is in her weyr. Questions! So many questions Farideh doesn't seem inclined to answer as she walks towards the couch and then readily claims the spot previously taken. "No," she sighs, nosily peering at the stacked hides, "I don't suppose so." Her eyes lift to Jo at the same time that her lips part in a winsome smile. "Tell me. If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go? Hobnobbing with the Bloods, where no one knows you? Getting piss drunk in a hovel somewhere? Dancing in the middle of the desert until daylight?" She seems genuinely intrigued by the possibility of the bluerider's answer. Jo traces her gaze after Farideh as she goes to sit down, and the question draws a minute lift of a brow. The pause lengthens as she doesn't answer her right away, standing there raking her gaze over the goldrider's face in the silence. Then, "I would go'n pick a fight with some asshole'n not leave that dive bar 'till my hands're bloody," seems to be the answer from her, the tone dark, but there's a shorter pause to follow it before she adds, "Or go to the beach or a cove down south'n stay to watch the sun set. Drink one of R'hin's finest vintages'n think of better days." "Ugh-- I thought so." By now, with a couple escapades down, Farideh is unsurprised by the bluerider's answer, and just agitated enough to make a shooing gesture. "Are these wing reports?" is followed closely by, "Go put on something versatile then. If we're going to be wandering from one corner to the next of Pern, you can't be doing it in a dress. Or that." Woefully, she flips over one hide to look at another. "Why can't you like a nice wine tasting or a walk in an orchard? Or a masquerade where you can be anybody you want to be?" Woe. Looking at the stacks of hides around Farideh, "For Snowdrift," Jo answers on them briefly. "I've been allowed to only go to the drills. She've given me work in the meantime," which by the tone, the wingsecond doesn't harbor any ill will towards her wingleader. "She's been....understandin'," she admits on Mielline, with some uneasy surprise touching her tone - as if it was something she wasn't expecting of her. "The work helps." Pause. "Why do ya even wanna take me out?" she asks now, stepping back towards where her clothes are stored towards the back of her weyr. Despite the guardedness, some curiosity leaks through. "Mielline is a sensible, intelligent woman." Farideh doesn't look too concerned about the subject at hand, even as she leisurely peruses their wing reports. "It was kind of her, but I imagine many would do the same. You were close. Grief is a hard thing to quantify, or so I hear." She glances up then, considering Jo over the back of the couch. "Everywhere you look, everywhere you turn, it's a constant reminder. Not of the good, because I don't imagine he'd want everyone to be falling over themselves, crying. It's tiring. First, the incident at Greenfields and now, R'hin. High Reaches has a way about her." Pausing, she exhales, and turns back to the hides. "Besides, it's not quite like you to be-- and, I don't like it," with an indelicate scrunching of her nose. "Maybe I've been wrong 'bout her," Jo murmurs on her wingleader, the frown continuing. It's a rare act to find the convict rider admitting she was wrong about another person. It's murmured low in other case, as if the words were forbidden or a betrayal to something (or someone) else. It's a stony silence to the rest before she agrees on the Reaches, "Sort of Reaches I've seen most my life. I'll get changed." She decides now, as if something Farideh says makes up her mind as she heads to the back of her weyr. Farideh's last draw a studying look over her shoulder as she goes before answering back, "I'll get my balance back in time'n y'all be wishin' I was like this rather than hittin' on ya all over again." It's missing its usual bravado though, the words and humor falling flat. "What? Not a fan of Mielline?" The younger girl's voice is full of amusement, but she doesn't have to smile or laugh to get that across. She's respectful in that she gives the bluerider space, without peeking -- not that she's not seen it all, already! -- or commenting needlessly; instead, she keeps flipping through the wing reports, looking as bored as reading reading wing reports would sound. It's only after she's sorted carelessly through the last couple in the stack that she sits back against the couch cushions and sighs. "No one expects you to get your balance back this soon. I'm just ensuring that you don't stay in a funk forever. Don't spiral into some-- hole, you can't get out of." With the glimmers of a grin, there and gone for the teasing question, "Not a fan of workin' for folks I dunno," Jo amends as she pulls off her tank and toplessly roots around in her press for another top. "But so far...she's proven herself sound. Z'ian believed in her'n he was..." voice stops but the woman has her back to Farideh anyway and she's pulling a light grey woven collared shirt over her head that gives her a boyish look with her hair. The pants come off next in favor of dark leather pants that look new and well made - moreso than the black leather ones she usually wears before she turns around to face her. Farideh's last gets a rumbled, "I ain' gonna go feral," as she cracks her shoulders and rolls her neck from side to side. "I'm angry. Just gettin' tired of folks I get close to suddenly up'n dyin' on me." Pause. The words are low and angry, but she shakes her head as if the dismiss what she's just said in favor of, "I can bring a jacket, but I dunno if we're goin' somewhere cold." Out of all of that, all Farideh gets is: "Was Z'ian your boyfriend? I heard he was pretty nice to look at." She stifles a yawn behind her hand; a hand that she then inspects, especially the nails, which are trimmed but could use some good old-fashioned TLC. "You know," she begins, glancing back to where Jo is, before scooting to the end of the couch and pushing carefully to her feet, "you wouldn't have that problem if you picked the ones least susceptible. It's not as known R'hin was known for-- being particularly unimpeachable. He was a lot of things-- clever, persistent, incorrigible-- but not clean-handed I don't think." Though, what would she know? Her fingers smooth down the front of her dress as she assesses Jo's attire. "I don't want to go anywhere with snow, if we can help it. It's so dreary and gray." "He was," Jo confirms as she changes clothes, her voice gravelly. "I remember folks thinkin' it odd he was even with me. I wasn' so 'nice' back then like I am now. 'Spose he helped with that." Approaching Farideh now that she's dressed, "He was least susceptible," she points out, "'n in the end he left me." Pause. "If I were to judge R'hin," she says now with a slight frown, "I would have to judge myself in the same breath." She walks slowly towards the ledge, giving the goldrider a passing study as she answers on the last, "Ya lead. I follow." The jacket's not taken up. Jo seems willing to go wheverer it is Farideh has in mind now. "Dating the Weyrleader." The way Farideh says it, it almost sounds dirty, but she's quickly following Jo out towards the ledge with a broad smile. "Quit thinking about that for now. Do you want Tacuseth to bring us? We could always find another ride. Someone is bound to take pity on two pretty women and drop us off where we need to go. You might not be able to between your way back, later," she points out, without spelling out her exact plans. It might also be odd that she's chosen to wear a dress, however free-moving it is, for the occasion. "He was Weyrleader for only a hitched breath before he got injured'n sent south," Jo says, moving out to the ledge. "Most of the time we were together, he was just a bronzerider tryin' to court a prickly bluerider with a penchant for knives." She falls silent once on the ledge, looking to Tacuseth as she considers their ride situation. Perhaps she's conferring with the blue in the space of that pause, because the blue dragon suddenly turns and takes to the skies - perhaps noticeably towards a particular green's ledge marred with a big puddle. "Ya may have to flirt enough for the both of us," she warns, once her dragon takes off. "Don' think I can charm the pants off a Lord Holder right now." Of course she eyes the dress, and curiosity for where they could be going that might leave her without going Between home draws open curiosity on her face. "Sounds like a strange one," says the woman who weyrmated a dirty sailor. "I don't know if I'll be impressing any lords tonight. I think men tend to be less interested in women already in the family way, but we can try, and--" Farideh only then notes her knot, still on her shoulder, which she takes off and holds out to Jo. "If I have to use the, I'm a weyrwoman card, then I will. We'll be just fine." That smile of her resurfaces as she steps out onto the ledge; in the distance, that same green from earlier is winging down, still over-eager in her task. "There's always time for do-overs," the goldrider says, as she patiently waits for the green to land and whisk them off to wherever they're going. To Farideh's assessment of the former Weyrleader, there is a brief smile that's a touch nostalgic and somber as she says to that, "Yeah, he was." Pause. "I knew ya were pregnant," she notes now with the goldrider confirming it. "Dunno why ya wanna keep that a secret. I'm assumin' it's Drex's." She takes the offered knot, and the snicker that comes is barely heard for that easy smile on Farideh's face. As the green dragon comes near, she comments on something said with a brief, "Pregnant women is good sex. Those men are clearly missin' out." At least it doesn't sound suggestive. Merely given as is fact - which, this is Jo - as she watches the green dragon land. A moment passes, brief as it is, where Farideh simply stares at Jo, in a thoughtful way, but she's back to waving away the blueriders words quickly. "You didn't know," she challenges, in return. "It's not yours." (Unless you have a secret to share with us, Jo!?!?) Free of the customary knot, she relaxes her shoulders and brushes off the soft velvet of her sleeves. "I see you're not so out of sorts that you're not going to be crude," she comments, slanting the other woman a disapproving look, but then there's the green and her rider, who offers whoever wants up in the straps first his hands. "Up you go!" That's Farideh, gesturing for Jo to precede her. "I guessed at it enough," Jo answers, cutting a look down to Farideh's belly. Back to her, "Too bad," she says a touch blithe on the baby not being hers, the words being delivered blandly. Farideh's seen her privates. Jo is looking at her now for the comment. On her comment about pregnant women sex, "Not crude at all," she states, moving back for the green to land. "I've had two. It was interestin'. They're more...enthusiastic." See? Jo can not be crude. She seems to be attempting it, at least. And she goes up with no further words, settling right where she's directed in silence. "I just don't want people to get all-- how they are around pregnant women. I'm not an invalid. I'm not suddenly-- I'm not-- now, at least, I can't hide it as well." Not that her belly even shows overmuch in dresses still, but, Farideh logic. "I don't know why I'm even surprised," she answers, scowling; she can't say much more, as Jo mounts the green and gets fastened into the straps. Shortly after, she too, is getting up with the help of the rider, and off they go! It's a swift ride up and then between--
Black. Blacker. Blackest.
And they burst into the air over Ista Island, where the skies are clear and the sun high still. Below is all lush greenery and bright blue waters, and of course the easily-recognizable mass of Ista Weyr nestled in the jungle. Their trajectory takes them over the Weyr and towards a clearing nearby the beach, which is exactly where the green lands and deposits her charges. Here, it's humid and bright, and already, feet having just touch sandy soil, Farideh looks ill-at-ease with her attire of choice. "Has anyone treated ya like an invalid?" Jo asks now, watching her. But the time for idle questions has come to an end with them going Between and popping out over Ista island. It's to the beach they go, the bluerider looking over the sand and the water before dismounting and giving the green dragon a skritch on her side. "Should've brought somethin' small to wear," she observes now, the sand and the waters getting her attention before turning to Farideh and noticing what she's wearing. After a pause, "You might have overdressed." Might. There's even a tiny smile. A crack. "I was hoping you'd want to go somewhere finer, but it can't be helped--" One hand lifts and waves around airily, while Farideh picks up her skirts in the other hand and starts out away from the clearing, following the cleanest path towards a destination only she knows; or Jo might be able to guess if she's familiar enough with the island-Weyr. "I do believe Ista has a market around here, where we could try to find something cooler, but--" She doesn't finished that sentence, and keeps plodding on, simultaneously watching her feet and their surroundings. "In all this time we've spent together as friends," Jo notes, lifting her chin towards the pleasantly warm sea breezes, "when have ya known me to want to go somewhere finer 'less it's to woo some dame into my bed?" Eyes close to the breezes now, and there's a faint smile to touch her lips in the moment. It's short-lived, though, for when her eyes open and finds Farideh on the move, she turns to catch up. "I know more 'bout the south," she says, looking around now. "There's always the fancy bars around here. All those girly drinks with the cut fruit stickin' outta them." It even sounds like a compromise. "Who says you couldn't? Maybe even a real lady," Farideh suggests, not the least bit contrite. "You never know, when you go to masquerades, just who is behind the mask. I suppose you'll have to settle for some sea urchin or whatever you want find on the beach." Such a good wingman, she is! "I thought we could go to the Sandbar. I've never been myself, but it's not too hard to find, out over the water and all. Drinks. We can talk. We can not talk. You can get drunk and throw up over the side, into the ocean. I'll pretend I didn't see." "Ya mean none of the ones back home are real?" Jo counters, that almost sounding like a joke. "I've never been to a masquerade," she says now as they walk. "It wasn' somethin' Keogh did. My father would've seen it as too frivolous. Anyway, I'm sure some sea urchin would love the sight of me with vomit stains down my shirt'n my breath smellin' foul. I can do with the Sandbar. We'll drink - ya with some klah or somethin' - 'n ya can pretend I'm sayin' witty things to ya'n laugh until I fall off my stool'n need be taken back home. Some would see this as an almost-date." There's a briefly arched look to that, moving with purpose now that she knows where they're headed. "None of them are ladies." Farideh gives the bluerider a look, but doesn't go into detail; she's too busy dodging shells and debris in the way with her small, mincing steps. "You should. We should. It's not too late. We could hop a ride somewhere else, after you're drunk and disorderly. I'll keep you from drowning or-- pissing off someone's big, bulky boyfriend." Her teeth flash briefly in a smile. "A date? Oh, fine, if you want to call it that, but you can't tell Drex. He already thinks you're-- he doesn't like you, and I don't think you like him either. Like doesn't call to like?" "There must be 'least one," Jo murmurs on ladies. "Where will ya find a masquerade?" They reach the bar and she directs them towards a lone small table, gesturing for the bar tender as she says on dates with soft snort, "What does he think of me?" she asks now as she sits. "Yer Drex. He can't be jealous of a woman after his girl. Is he that paranoid that ya'll choose someone else over him? I dunno what I feel 'bout him," she admits now on the pirate as the bar tender approaches. "He's not what I expect for ya, to be sure. But ya know that already. Overall, I can't judge, bein' all I am'n all." "Ladies don't live in Weyrs. They live in Holds and have husbands, and proper children after proper vows." It could be self-deprecating, except Farideh's tone isn't exactly, as she squints the closer they get to the actual Sandbar. "I don't know exactly, except that, he doesn't like you. It doesn't take much. He didn't like me at first either. Sometimes, I still feel like he doesn't," she adds, lips pursing as she takes a seat at the table. "I don't have expectations anymore. Not like that. Once upon a time, and now? I'm happy to be--" With a frown, and then a smile, she puts in her drink order of water with fruit; racy! "Is that the sort of life you wanted?" Jo asks now, a touch curious. "The husband'n children'n proper vows..." Pause. Ordering a shot of whiskey, "He keeps that up'n he'll make an enemy of the whole Weyr," she notes as she leans back in her chair. "He must like ya, though. He's stickin' 'round. I'm used to the men that don', darlin'." There's a pause to that, curious, before she continues. "Ya should have expectations. Ya don' wanna end up with an ass that'll beat ya. Happy to be...?" Now she takes a drink. "No," is Farideh's succinct answer. "I came to High Reaches so I wouldn't have to, and I'm not a lady. Not anymore, anyway. Not like that." She starts to roll up the sleeves on her coat, up to the elbow, but stops and slants a look at Jo. "I don't know why he stays. It must be hard, when you're on the outside looking in, when you have to deal with all the-- stuff that comes with the dragon and the job, without wanting it yourself." Of the rest, she laughs and keeps rolling. "I don't think I have to worry about that. Roszadyth wouldn't tolerate it. Soon, the whole Weyr would know, and then--" "Why don't ya want that life?" Jo persists, watching her. "Is it freedom? Independence? Ya always seemed like a lady to me, despite now bein' of the Weyr." As for Drex, she hefts her shot glass as she says, "He stays 'cause yer worth stayin' for," she answers that simply. "Ain' none gonna stick 'around for other than their own bad agenda. To put up with all that, too..." She drains it and signals for a refill. She looks Farideh's way on the last before she nods and says, "Ya wouldn'," she agrees on not having to worry about such a person. "I'd fuck'em up before that queen of yers could get out a single cry." The brief smile does little to mask the seriousness of her words as her glass gets refilled. "But anyway. Thanks. For this." "Would you?" It's a non-answer, but Farideh seems interested in hearing Jo's reply to the same question. "Is it that easy? He wasn't too interested in staying before," she points out, using her thumb and forefinger to turn her glass in a circle without purpose, "until he found out. Should I be jealous?" She lifts a brow, but her lips curve into a gentle smile; it remains while she listens to the bluerider in silence, until the end, when she tips her head in acknowledgement of the thank you. "You know you don't always have to be tough. You can-- cry, or scream, or whatever you want. I won't tell anyone. No one here will remember us, or I can buy them all enough drinks to not remember." There's a considering pause before, "His name was Luwell," Jo says, taking her refilled glass. "Jothan - my father - had set it up. Handfast me off so I wouldn' be his burden anymore. He didn' want me becomin' a guard. Well, I fucked his plans up by runnin'." Looking at Farideh, "I'll always want more. Even livin' at the Weyr. It was my nature then'n it's my nature now. I just choose whether I wanna give into that or not." Pause. "Babies do that," she goes on to say about Drex. "They draw a man in like a lady's tits." Whatever she could add to that falls in light on the last, and she looks away as she downs some of her whiskey. After a moment, "I've cried'n screamed enough these last days," she says, hoarse. "I'm numb. I'm angry. I want him back, but I know that's not to be. The things I want....ya'd cringe." This time Farideh is surprised, though it's only obvious from the lift of her brows. "I didn't know," she says, finally, quietly, and promptly destroys the moment with a disgruntled sound and a scrunched up expression. "I don't know about that--" Tits, that is. "I don't know what kind of crying and screaming you do, but I haven't heard about it, so it mustn't have been enough. Scream loud enough to split both moons and cry enough to fill Big Bay. Otherwise, not enough. Not when something like that happens." She twists her fingers through her hair, then settles a sympathetic look on Jo. "I know. You're allowed for this." "Most think I was born from a renegade camp where they had orgies every night'n they taught their children to be thieves before they could talk," Jo answers, angling a look at the goldrider. "No one wants to think 'bout how a holdbred girl like me ended up like this. Reckon it makes'em uncomfortable. 'Specially if they're holdbred themselves." It's almost soberly given with a touch of humor, some of the old Jo shining through in words rather than tone. As for crying, "I cried'n I screamed at that Crom gather," she notes. "I don'.....do that. I'm the one that's 'spose to comfort the ones that cry. I'm not 'spose to be the one that cries." There's a frown now, the woman looking at her glass. "I suppose it might," make some people comfortable. "A lot of weyrfolk take for granted their freedoms-- the lack of expectation. If you want to have sex, you have it. If you want to have a weyrmate, you have one. No one sits around thinking of the advantageousness of linking a rider from Avalanche with a rider from Snowdrift." Farideh's lips compress tightly, but then she exhales and gives Jo an odd stare. "Since when? You have a reason. It doesn't make you less-- you. It makes you human. I'm tired of crying anyway. I'd rather see someone else cry over something real than have my own emotions about the type of fruit served at breakfast." "Mm," Jo nods, agreeing with what Farideh says. "There's folks with dragons right now that still don't believe that," she says, shaking her head. "How long did it take you, or, were ya from another Weyr before the Reaches?" It's obvious she knows little about Farideh's origins. As for reasons and crying, "In Keogh, we.....it just wasn' somethin' we could do," she tries to explain. "We had to be tough, even the girls. Bein' human..." there's quiet laughter before she drains her glass again and signals for another. "Dunno much 'bout that, Kitten." Farideh's last draws something close to a smile and a, "Better you than me. I can't even see myself carryin' a child. Yer eatin' weird combos of food yet?" "I don't know what you're talking about," Farideh replies, cryptically. She gives Jo an extra wide smile and holds a hand to motion the bartender back over. "We're not in Keogh, and," she only pauses to order two more of that whiskey the bluerider's imbibing, "it's not like this happens every day. You shouldn't be such a hard ass all the time. Maybe people would like you better," sounds suspiciously amused, but then the goldrider is sitting back as the next round is brought to the table. "Ain' namin' names," Jo waves that off. "Ya want folks to like me more? The right ones like me. You like me'n that was before we ended up in a crafter's room. I do alright." The bartender comes and she nods her thanks before taking up the filled glass and returning to Farideh. "Ain' a hard ass just cuz of Keogh," she nods as the drinks, slower with downing it this time. "Just, I don' trust easy, Farideh. Who I am....ya don' wanna meet her," suggesting that what all she has shown is questionable as she raises her glass to her. A hand flaps uselessly at Jo. "I was joking. You do fine. Plenty of people like you, and plenty more are probably scared of you." Farideh's arms cross over her chest, nestling up against the fabric of her dress. "We have time," she says and means it. And so it's much later in the day, when the sun is setting over Ista Island, casting beams of gold and pink over the Weyr, after many drinks -- for Jo, courtesy of Farideh -- and hours of talking, that they finally make their way back home. |
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