Logs:Drex Isn't Dead
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| RL Date: 6 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After the cave in, Farideh checks on Drex. They get back together, and make promises. |
| Where: Random Tunnel, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Some parts are NSFW! |
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| Things have been fairly frantic since the cave in, and with most of the attention focused on helping those trapped, the dusty, back tunnels further into the Weyr are deserted as much from concern about further cave-ins as any. Of course, that hasn't stopped a certain pirate from hanging out in his chosen space -- even if it's a little worse for the wear. A crack has appeared, running from the roof all the way down the back wall, and it looks like chunks of rock have fallen, destroying a couple of the boxes that make up his 'throne'. Drex himself is currently stretched out on a blanket on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, still. Time has passed and things have settled, in more than one way. It's probably too long that she's waited to check, to be sure, and still, Farideh makes her way down the familiar tunnels, cautious and taking them in in their new state; dust and cracks together. She's wringing her fingers as she goes, worry etched in the crinkle of her brow, the long lines of her frown, and there's a perpetual sadness in her normally exuberant green-brown eyes. Near the actual end, to the familiar room, is when her foot falls become even slower, each tolling loudly in this quieter section of the caverns. On the threshold, she takes a deep breath and then, walks in, wide eyes sweeping from wall to wall, and falling on the tall sailor splayed out on the blanket. "Oh. Shit. Shit--" Her fingers press into her mouth, but is otherwise frozen to the spot. "Drex," a near sob. And Drex, by contrast, is just confused, moving his arm enough to see, squint, at her. "Is that a new thing? Coming and finding me to cry at me?" He starts to push himself up, and aside from looking a little dusty, is apparently unhurt. The cry that started is abruptly quashed, and confusion takes its place. "You weren't-- you aren't-- why are you lying there like you're in pain?" with her hand flung out, to demonstrate how annoyed she suddenly is. Just as quickly - try to catch the emotions before they change - Farideh's rushing over, to kneel on the blanket next to him, and trying to throw her arms around him in a desperate hug. "I'm lying here like I'm trying to sleep," Drex counters, with a hint of irritation. "What--" and then she's throwing her arms around him, and he's patting her back, if a little confusedly, but certainly not with any objection. "I thought you were hurt, you stupid jerk," is certainly no loving declaration, but it's somehow got the ring of affection nonetheless. Farideh's arms tighten around him and she sighs tiredly. "I was worried about you and Itsy after the cave in. I thought, maybe, you had--" She doesn't finish her statement, instead letting the words settle in the air before sighing again. "I'm glad you're not dead, or trapped behind that awful wall." "You were worried about me." Drex, for some reason, sounds pleased. Probably not exactly the right time for it, but then, his arm is around her too, the other straying up to her hair. "Some boxes got destroyed. Itsy's fine. Aint much worse than a bad storm," he adds, with a shrug. "Yes. It was terrifying. There were all those loud booms, one after the other, and everything started shaking, and then people started running and screaming. You didn't hear it?" Farideh, as yet, hasn't let go, and doesn't act like she's going to, anytime soon, with her face buried against his shoulder. "It's lucky that was all. Just a few ruined boxes. That other tunnel-- those people." "I heard. Aint the sort to run towards loud booms," Drex explains, like this should be the obvious sort of behavior. "Figured if this place was going to go it would've right off." He's silent a moment, regarding her, then eases back down onto the floor, urging her to do so with him. "Relax. It's fine," he murmurs, even if he doesn't, couldn't know that. "Friends of yours?" There's certainly no reason for him to assume it's friends of his. "I don't think anyone is, but no one knew where it was coming from at first. I didn't know if it was or could be-- here." Here being his room, his throne, with him in it. There's no struggle from Farideh when he starts to lie back, and she's content to simply lie with him, one arm still curled around his chest. "I don't know. I haven't all the names, just that there's some riders in there, and other people, trapped, for who knows how long. I hope it's no one I know. I feel better to know it's not you or Itsy, but--" It could be plenty of others, is left unsaid. Drex's arm settles around her waist, naturally and comfortably. It's silent, and he lets it go silent, his gaze on her. "Once before, you said I didn't even offer to write you like Itsy did." He's quiet for a beat, phrasing the words in his head before he says, "But I can't. I mean, a little here and there, some words, but I--" he's awkward, in the admittance, and he brushes past it, "Don't mean I don't want to keep in touch. But it aint gonna be like that. Wanted you to know why." Farideh's fingers pluck at the fabric of Drex's shirt in the silence, needlessly moving, perhaps as an unintentional sign of her continued inner turmoil. It's his words, of a different variety, that bring her eyes up to his face, her head tipping back at the same time surprise registers in her wide hazel gaze, her cheeks turning pink. "Drex," she starts, but stops, clearly uncertain. "I'm so sorry. I didn't-- I can teach you? If you want. If not-- Itsy still wants me to come meet her at port. I suppose, I wouldn't mind seeing you too," is not without its hints at humor. "No," Drex replies, quickly and more rough than he probably means to, if the breath he takes a moment later is any gauge. "I don't want to learn, just wanted you to... know." His expression is uncomfortable, at the admittance as much as her offer. It's the latter that twists his expression, after a moment, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I suppose I wouldn't mind that, either." He reaches a hand up to brush some invisible smudge off her cheek. For once, Farideh doesn't argue or complain, nor does she do anything more than curl more soundly into his side. "I don't know if I can make every port, but I can try, whenever that will be. I thought you were supposed to be back by now. Is it taking longer to build?" She's asking with genuine curiosity, studying his face and his reactions as she does so. "Did Lord Devaki change his mind? Will you have to find a new ship?" Presumed is that he won't stay; they've been down that road. "Don't know. That's Itsy's area." Dealing with the Lord, and it's clear from Drex's tone that he intends to stay well out of it. "Maybe not every port. Some aren't that safe," he says, with a hint of protectiveness. An awkward silence follows, wherein Farideh can't quite meet his eyes, and picks up plucking at his shirt again with her fingertips. "Drex," is hesitant, "what if--" She closes her mouth, tightly, and then frowns, followed by another, if brief, bout of not talking. When she does finally, she only tentatively glances up. "Last time, you were mad, about-- me Standing. Are you still mad?" While she plucks at his shirt, Drex's fingers drift up and down the curve of her hip. He's silent, while she is, waiting for her to speak. His expression tightens for a moment, but just that; relaxing a beat later. "Not mad. Just don't think you need a dragon. Can't see why you'd want one. It makes you stuck here. You could go anywhere. Do anything. Aint got that choice once you have a dragon." There is relief in the softening of her own features, in the less reserved way she stares back at him. "I can't do anything. You have skills. You are strong, and brave, and you know how to use a sword, and you know about ships and all those other things. What can I do? Fold towels? Badly." Farideh frowns, her fingers stilling and splaying on his chest instead. "I have a name. I can't just do the things you do or anything simple. And if I don't try this, then-- it's an opportunity lost. Maybe I would be good at it." "I learnt. You can too," Drex says, firmly. "When you're not getting distracted by pretty things," and there's a fond sort of teasing grin, there, "You can be pretty determined when you put your mind to something. You could... I don't know... run a tavern, and it could be the home port for our ship, instead of High Reaches Hold." A beat of consideration, chuckling: "I like the idea of you dressing in a tavern maid's outfit." His suggestion makes her laugh, and when it fades away, Farideh's left with a wide smile that crinkles the outer corners of her eyes. "Run a tavern? And where would I get the marks for such a thing? On a laundress' salary? Or do you think Lord Devaki would play my patron too?" It's teasing, all good natured, and poking fun of the man he dislikes. "I think you like the idea of me dressing in anything that you can ogle," she accuses, pushing at his chest playfully. "I wouldn't know what a tavern maid wears. Is it scandalous? Would I have to flash my unmentionables?" "Maybe not. But there are taverns around the ways, ones you could probably take over, with the right incentive," and the way Drex says incentive suggests that it might not exactly be on the up and up, "If you wanted. I could make it happen for you." With a grin, he rolls, with the intention of half-pinning Farideh underneath him, regarding her current outfit. "Less baggy. More tight fit. Just enough skin to drive," his fingers slide up under her shirt, "Men," he leans in to her neck, nuzzling there, "Mad," is muttered into her neck. "What is the right incentive?" Suddenly suspicious, Farideh's eyes go a little narrowed. "What does that mean? Are you going to threaten them to let me run it? I don't even have any experience running one of those." She starts to say something else, but it's stolen from her tongue when he pins her down, her cheeks flushing with color. "Less baggy, more-- " Her voice catches, goosebumps forming on her skin where his fingers touch. Despite it being a familiar dance, she's delightedly flustered. "Do they-- like that?" Breathless. "Just saying, there'd be a way. You aint stuck." Drex does his best to deflect the question and her suspicions, though wordplay isn't exactly his strong suit. "Mmhmm," is his murmur, clearly distracted, as he leans to press lips against hers, while his hands rove exploringly under her shirt, in an effort to distract her, too. All of the brunette's protests and questions go unspoken, and she gives her lips up to the more favorable task of kissing. Farideh's ardent, as someone thirsty after a drought, and while his hands are busy, she's content to wrap her arms loosely around his neck, attempting to effectively pull him down and closer. "I'm missed you," she manages to whisper when she finally gets a breath. Drex's low, "Me too," might almost be missed, given the distractions at play. Certainly, right now, there's a sense of urgency which drives the sailor, meaning not all of his, or indeed, her, clothes are probably discarded, but just enough, to see their mutual needs met. |
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