Logs:Closets
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| RL Date: 10 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Itsy, Ketsl, Laine, Tess |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Why are so many people in the harper classroom? |
| Where: Harper Classroom, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions |
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| The usual sounds of music and children that fill the classroom are missing, and instead the hallowed cavern is eerily quiet - or, as quiet as one can get during the humdrum of a Weyr day. At the end of one of the long benches, usually filled with children, Farideh's sitting by herself, her short legs stretched out to touch the leg of the bench in front, with her hands folded demurely in her lap. She looks distracted, staring as she off into the indistinct distance, and chews absently on her lower lip. Whether her was here all along or wandered in after lessons concluded is a mystery, but for now, the door to the classroom is half-cracked open. The distinctive stomp stomp stomp of Itsy's boots marks her entrance-- easily loud enough to be noticed, even if she didn't immediately follow it up with a: "Th' fuck you doing here, Farideh?" The sailor's hands have abruptly gone to her hips, giving her an unquestionably belligerent look, for all that, after a moment more, something softens in what is visible of her expression, beneath that ever-present, low-slung hat. Following after Itsy, although not by design, is Ketsl; quiet except for the short toots he's blowing quietly into a newly repaired wooden flute to amuse himself. There's no melody (as there's no talent) in the quiet huffs of sound. A sudden, shrill whistle emerges in response to the sailor's question which is followed quickly by a weird string of notes as he pulls the flute away from his mouth which is quickly translated into laughter that Ketsl tries, rather unsuccessfully to muffle with his shoulder. Presumably it's the stomping that has Farideh jolting out of her reverie and turning shamefacedly towards Itsy, but she doesn't look up at the sailor until she actually speaks and that only briefly, as Ketsl's presence is noted with uplifted eyebrows. "I was looking for someone-- is this a friend of yours?" She gestures with one hand to the woodcrafter and his wooden pipes, her eyes flicking back to Itsy questioningly. It's late in the afternoon and the classroom is empty, except for one candidate sitting by her lonesome on a bench, one sailor with her hands on her hips, and one crafter laughing, trying unsuccessfully to muffle it. "Huh?" And then, because Itsy has just now registered Ketsl-- despite his whistle-- the sailor turns, staring at him with a most unfriendly expression on her face; what's he doing here, interrupting her conversation? (Never mind, of course, that she only just got here herself.) "No," is what she says as she turns back again, hands still on her hips. "Never seen him before in my life." And Laine makes four: the classroom, apparently, a hideout not-so-secret. The tanner stops directly in the doorway when she realizes the room is occupied (apparently failing to reconcile Ketsl with the fluting) and for an instant looks as though she's going to attempt a swift getaway, her hands tightening around a leather bundle clutched against her stomach. But instead she darts a curious, grey-eyed look between Farideh, Itsy, and Ketsl. Itsy? She gets a longer look, largely unreadable. But she doesn't say anything, just leans a shoulder onto the doorframe. Ketsl holds the flute forward as if offering it as sacrifice and explanation both. He sidesteps away and then around Itsy carefully, choking down his laughter in the face of her rather intimidating expression and tone. Laine, he doesn't notice at all. "Just delivering on a few orders. I don't intend to disturb; I'll just be as quiet as can be." This is an unintentional lie: Ketsl is too forwardly friendly to shut up for long. What was so recently a quiet, peaceful getaway from the rest of the Weyr is rapidly becoming a small party of aosrts, and Farideh's expression, after her eyes pull to the doorway and the tanner leaning there, turns irritation; almost as unfriendly as Itsy's. "What are you doing here? I didn't take you for the type to play instruments," the candidate mutters to the sailor, and then turns her head towards Ketsl, giving him an inscrutable up-and-down glance. "Laine, is he yours?" She, perhaps purposefully, doesn't specify what she's talking about. Itsy backs up and into the room, now that there are two people behind her-- and especially when one of them is Laine, for whom she has a longer, rather unreadable, glance. "Figured it'd be quiet," she admits, words ostensibly in answer to Farideh, though she's too busy kicking backwards into one of the tables-- deliberately, by the looks of it-- to look at the candidate in question. The tanner frees the mess of straps to lift a hand, palm up. It's almost a shrug. "Not mine, either." Though when she sweeps Ketsl again with her eyes, some recognition sparks. "It's voice," Laine realizes. "I think he's friendly. Hi, voice." There's that grand, sweeping wave again that Ketsl might recognize from a few days previous. Then, to that red-haired sailor, there's another greeting, but this one is accompanied by a scuffed heel at the floor. Is that embarrassment blooming across her cheeks and nose? "Itsy." The woodcrafter looks startled for a moment, grey eyes opening wide, at both the implication that he requires an owner and the rather interesting nickname. He's almost startled into another laugh, too but a quick glance at Itsy and Farideh has him reconsidering his automatic response. Instead the man offers a friendly smile and backs even further into the room, heading for the instruments. "I'm actually Ketsl although yes, generally friendly as well. I'm .... new." Still. Possibly until another new person comes to take his place and his awkwardness. "You don't prefer closets?" Farideh gives Itsy a stubborn look, and then crosses her arms over her chest, eyes sweeping over Laine and Ketsl. "Voice? His name is Voice?" She's clearly surprised and--impressed. Any tension between the other two women is ignored; obviously she created it. "You're new? How new? Seven days? A month? A turn? Ketsl," she repeats the name, giving him another considering glance, "nice to meet you. I'm Farideh. I'm a-- candidate," note the knot. "That's Itsy, and I take it you've met Laine." Itsy has her own embarrassment, gaze flicking up to Laine and then back down to her feet. "Laine," she agrees, only barely a greeting-- still: barely is better than not at all, surely. Awkward. Perhaps it's worse that she's so quick to add, to Farideh, "Why would I want a closet? Pft. Plenty of room in here." Until it suddenly becomes a convention of unlikely visitors; the classroom surely isn't usually a high traffic location. For Ketsl, she has only the briefest of glances, but that's probably because she's staring at the floor again. Or... is it at Laine's feet? Hard to tell. Laine grapples with her awkwardness by grasping her leatherwork tighter and twisting her hands into it, winding and unwinding straps around her fingers, but she remains casually propped in the doorway and her voice is cheerful enough. There's four of them already crowded into the harper's classroom, an unlikely tableau: Farideh, on a bench, Itsy and Laine not-quite-looking at each other, and friendly Ketsl with his flute. The tanner still manages, with a laughing look at Farideh, to toss back: "You don't prefer closets?" "Ketsl, yes, although I won't say no to 'Voice' if you really insist. I arrived the night the cave in cleared." However long ago that was -- Ketsl has also been working nearly 'round the clock since then to help fill the voids left by too much work and fire-prickled fingers. He smiles again, wider, as he turns his back to the girls politely ignoring all the awkward floor-staring and puts the flute back amongst its fellows. Other flutes and instruments are tapped and turned as well; Ketsl even picks a few up to eye their condition more closely. He offers, absently, "Is there a closet in here?" "Drex likes closets, and at least," Farideh's looking between Laine and Itsy, "we don't pretend like we don't want to kiss each other, like other people." Definitely talking about them, pointed stares and all. She adds a glare, before flicking a distrustful glance to the woodcrafter. "Were you part of renforcements? Will you be going back?" His question prompts her to roll her eyes towards the ceiling and sigh, loudly. "No, there's no closets in here. It's one big closet, itself, isn't it?" with a smug little smile. It will almost certainly be Laine who notices Tess first, given that it's the candidate's shoulder that is getting a light tap by the blonde's fingers as she comes up behind and seeks entry into the room. "Excuse me, would you mind if I just snuck through?" Even as she's asking, the slim woman is angling to slide past Laine with as little displacement of the brunette as possible, her lips curled in a mild smile. Of course, it's not much of a sneak when she finds herself facing a trio more. "Oh," Tess' lips form the round of the vowel in surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I'd be interrupting," and so she doesn't mean to, "Pretend I'm not here," is offered as she turns to the cubicles along the wall and starts hunting for... something anyway. "Drex ought to come out of the closet," is from Itsy, affectionate and more than a little amused. Of course, she's also ignoring the rest of what Farideh has said in lieu of glancing first at Laine, and then, distracted, over the candidate's shoulder at the newest arrival. Her face falls; how many more people can one hide out take?! Laine tightens her hands in that mess of straps, clutching it to her stomach when Tess edges past and pressing her body back against the door to allow the journeyman free passage. Over her shoulder, the tanner meets that glance from Itsy, and, a smile tugging at her mouth, that blush deepening, lifts her eyebrows nearly-imperceptibly. She's not denying it. It's only once Farideh's words really sink in that Laine's mouth parts, those brows furrow, and the girl grunts, "Oh, Farideh. Ew." Kids get their lessons in here! "Well that's a relief. I'd hate to have to check a closet full of instruments." Apparently there is a whole undertone to the word 'closet' that has been missed here and Ketsl nearly fumbles a drum as he goes over what's been said and how they've said it. "Oh. Oh no. Can we pretend I'm not here either?" "You're all ridiculous'," is commented with an ornery expression. "You two," Laine and Itsy, "go ahead and tell each other how much you like each other already, and you--" Farideh stands, pointing a finger at Ketsl. "I don't even understand you." Her hand drops and her eyes shift to the newcomer, but there's no words spared that woman, just an annoyed sound in her throat before she brushes past everyone and exits. So much for looking for someone, or quiet, whatever that is. Tess' light eyes flick to the retreating Farideh briefly before answering Ketsl's question with distracted good humor, "There may be a limit." Her eyes scan the cubes again. "Only one imaginary person per room per moment, lest it become confusing keeping track of two imaginary people." Perhaps her lack of attention to Laine and Itsy and engagement of Ketsl is intentional, giving the ladies a moment, should they choose to use it. "Ah," is her noise of discovery when she comes across a square containing blank pages and pencils, which she helps herself to a sizable quantity of each. Nor is Itsy making any effort to deny; she's matching Laine's blush, though at least now her chin has lifted and she's giving the other girl a good half smile. Except-- except. Farideh's departure-- and, more importantly, the words that precede it-- set that blush to darkening sharply, blue-green eyes shifting for something, anything to focus on instead. Hi Ketsl. Hi Tess. With a sigh, she thumps herself into a seated position atop one of the tables. If she's really lucky, everyone will go away again. "Doesn't being imaginary preclude confusion?" Ketsl muses. "After all, the lack of substance should sort of just negate the need for tracking altogether." Grey eyes drop down to Tess' hands and he has a sudden, foreboding sense that he is about to be left here alone with Laine -- about whom he has an inkling regarding pranks and possibly revenge -- and Itsy who is slightly terrifying despite her name. He crouches down, hands much quicker at his work than he had originally intended. Laine swallows audibly, looking very interested in her leatherwork as Farideh pushes past and leaves, though she does mumble a "'bye," as the other candidate leaves. She's ruddy red, across the bridge of her nose, up her ears, even. The tanner rubs a hand across the back of her neck. Maybe it's that awkward tension or Farideh's comment or something else altogether, but she bites her lip, gives the room one last sweeping once-over (lingering on Itsy with a hopeful sort of tilt of her head out the door) and she escapes back out into the hallway without a word. "I suppose it might depend on the particular variety of imagining. I should hope that even imagined, I'd be an individual, separate from my environment and therefore in need of tracking by the one doing the imagining." Tess flashes a pleasant smile back over her shoulder toward Ketsl and Itsy, only to find them one fewer. Tucking the pages under her arm, she sighs in a fluttery fashion, addressing both remaining people (lucky Itsy~). "Is it the knot? You can tell me. Everyone just sees a healer and runs for the hills, right?" There's an amount of self-deprecating humor there. "I knew I shouldn't have worn it." For a moment, it looks as though Itsy might run after Laine-- truly, wouldn't that be romantic? But she stays where she is, awkwardly frozen for one beat, a second, and then... then there's Tess' comment, and that draws her attention back again. This may be the first time she's noticed the woman's knot, though it's fair to say the face she makes doesn't much appreciate it. "Always poking and prodding," she says, hastily drawing her gaze away from Tess and towards Ketsl - now the safer of the two. Not, mind you, that she's got anything to say. Ketsl was actually more prepared to follow Tess around to safety than to run from her or her healer's knot but is a polite young man who doesn't say those sorts of things out loud. Instead he plays along, looking cheerful and not at all like he might have howled in anguish if he'd been left along with all that blushing and scowling. "You healers tend to carry concoctions we mere mortals can't stand against. Its in our best interests to flee on sight." He hefts the little set of pipes in his hand, running his fingers along the seams to check for cracking. "I've noticed too late and cannot be saved, it seems." "Oh, no," Tess tells Itsy with a smile that verges on cheeky, "I just came for paper and pencils. If I recall, it was your brunette friend doing the poking and prodding," she must mean Farideh since Laine's actions since her entry were fairly innocuous. Ketsl's comment has the healer's lips tugging into a slightly broader smile, "You're in luck," she steps toward the door. "I'll flee myself and free you, now that I've gotten what I came for," which is presumably the paper and not a glimpse into the awkward personal lives of three of the Weyr's women and the craftsmanship of one of their crafters. She wiggles the fingers of her free hand at the two in a gesture that might be both good-bye and good luck as one before she's gone back the way she came. And now... now, Ketsl really is left alone with the scowling - because that's exactly what Itsy is doing, blue-green gaze following Tess out and then focusing, resolutely, on the opposite wall. "Get your business done and leave," she suggests, with the faintest hint of a threat to it, arms now crossed beneath her breasts. "Well, fuck." Ketsl starts to laugh. "Caught on my own joke." He uses the workbench to pull himself back upright, pipes dangling from his free hand. He's pretty sure -- given the comment -- that Itsy would rather he not put his full attention back on her so he keeps himself angled away. "I'll be at least another five minutes, Itsy. If you hear Laine coming back, let me know; I'll try to get out of here before she arrives." He will literally just flee with whatever wooden-looking thing left unchecked in the room if it comes to that. "That's the best I can give you so if you'd please: don't snap at me because you're embarrassed." Itsy's scowl darkens. It's probably at least in part due to the fact that Ketsl has actually remembered her name, and made reference to the whole Laine situation; mostly, though, it's because he's still here. One foot taps, heavily-- really, more a thud. Hurry up. "Ain't embarrassed," she says, sharply-- and defensively. "Not bothered at all. You're just in my space." Ketsl snorts. "I'm in a public space doing my work as a senior journeyman, Itsy. Whereas you are scowling and sulking in response to a good deal and a friendly offer." The pipes are settled on the workbench with a little clatter as finally turns around, hands on his hips. There's still a smile on his face but his body language isn't really all that impressed. "I've been hurrying. I will continue to hurry despite your nagging." Itsy, plainly, doesn't give-- excuse the language-- a flying fuck as to who or what Ketsl is, or what he's doing. "Bullshit," is what she says, as she throws herself off the bench she's been leaning on, and back to her feet. "Bull-fucking-shit." And with that, off she storms, one little thunderstorm off to rain on someone else's parade. Ketsl throws his hands in the air. "I don't even understand what the bullshit part of that was." He mutters, turning back to the workbench and emptying a little container of wooden lips onto the top, running his fingers over them. "I will never understand girls." |
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