Logs:Girls Kissing Girls
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| RL Date: 21 January, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tomic thinks Farideh has a thing for Itsy. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 11, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Nice. |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
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>---< Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr >-------------------------------------<
Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm
pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance
the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as
it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of
the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and
has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern.
Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along
its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day.
Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for
the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near
the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for
easy pickup.
The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where
the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and
washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with
sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide
a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming
brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 18 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
Tomic M 20 6'4" Broad, Black hair, Brown eyes 35s
----------------------------------< Exits >--------------------------------- While other weyrfolk are taking advantage of the weather and enjoying the great outdoors, the Weyr's laundresses are hard at work, slaving over vats of water and steam presses; ensuring that every item is appropriately cleaned. They're keeping up their steady stream of gossip, twittering about this and that with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Did you hear who I saw Azaylia with the other night?" "F'gol has put on a lot of weight recently. Guess it's one of them sympathy pregnancy things--" "It's a shame the Weyrleader's so stuck on Southern's Weyrwoman. There are beautiful women here who'd love to.." And on and on it goes, with little said from Farideh, though she does glance up time to time from her meticulous folding on towels. It's a place brave men fear to go, the busy laundry. But Tomic walks in at a good pace, without looking overly wary. It can't possibly be bravery. Maybe it's more a matter of ignorance. He's got a wooden box of tools at his side, clunking whenever the side of the box hits his leg, and the tools hit the other side. Physics. He tries to get the attention of one of the older laundresses first. She's busy. Doesn't even see him. There's a second one, too. Still the same. Finally, he tries someone who's not talking constantly. Who's folding towels. Someone he knows. Loom. Folding is tedious, boring work, but there's concentration in the way that Farideh does her part. It's when she glances up at a comment about Iceberg's wingleader that she notices the jack-of-all-trades, her eyes flicking up to his face. "Tomic?" she says tentatively, her fingers stilling in the lines of the fluffy brown towel she's holding. "What-- do you-- need something?" She hasn't put two-and-two together; his toolbox must be a new accessory. Maybe it's for holding kittens! Except the kitten is not present. Or if it was, it must have fallen out. Oops. "Hey Farideh," the big lout greets with an easy smile, and a little mock salute with his free hand, something he's recently picked up, and that must tickle him, from some of the riders he's seen out in the bowl. "You know which shelf it was in here needs levelling?" "Shelf." Some of the confusion coloring her face dissipates and her own mouth curls, briefly, into a smile. "I think that one over there on the wall," at the same time that Farideh points towards the wall wherein there is a shelf that needs levelling. "They sent you all the way here just to fix a silly old shelf?" She finishes folding her towel and sets it aside, letting her hands fall onto the rounded parts of her hips, overtop the half-apron she wears over her clothing. Tomic gives a shrug, a good-natured sort of chuckle. "They send me all over the place just to do little things like that. It's a living, I guess." He takes a few steps in the direction she's motioned, though his head turns to watch her. "This one, over here?" The nod toward it might almost be called inviting. Farideh closes the distance between herself and the shelf, and once she's in front of the purported problem shelf, she nods. "Yeah. You can't see it? It leans." To emphasize, her head tilts to the side, staring at it from the slanted angle. There's something very pleased in his walk as Tomic moves after Farideh. "I can see it," comes in those same easy tones he so favours. Maybe the only ones he knows "Might want some help clearing some of the stuff off it, though. Hard stuff, anyway, that might hurt if it hits a guy in the head." A shifty glance is thrown over the brunette's shoulder, evidentially checking to see if anyone of import is looking in their direction; not that helping a hapless handyman reads bad. "I can help," Farideh provides willingly, without any fuss, which might be a tad suspicious to anyone with a mind to think about it. "Here." She reaches up on her tippy-toes to pull the random bric-a-brac off the shelf. "How've you been?" she asks. Tomic is hardly the type to just stand by and let her do all the work. He helps, too, after a moment's hesitation, to try and offset their work so that nobody bashes heads or faces with anybody else. He's not ready for that sort of step, yet. "Good. Busy, I guess! There's lots of stuff almost falling apart here." He doesn't put any deep meaning into those words. "How about you?" Someone's stashed a whole box full of buttons up on the shelf and a couple old, disintegrating hides that Farideh retrieves with a crease or two marring her otherwise smooth forehead. "Good is-- good." It's the other part that's caught her interest, prompting her perfunctory gaze to settle on the handyman. "Falling apart? Is everything out of date? Huh." She bends to set the heavier button tin on the floor, before reaching up to move more items. "I'm fine. Winter always puts me in a bad mood, especially here. All that snow," with a nose wrinkle. The toolbox is abandoned on the floor. "You know, I kind of like the snow. I mean, sure," that is definitely a scrub brush that no one would ever want to use by the look of it, "it's cold, but... you can leave footprints in it and make it into shapes and stuff." Tomic waits until a moment Farideh's not touching that shelf, and gives it a light shove, listening for anything that sounds wobbly or dangerous. Or both. "You still got that kitten?" "What about summer? You can swim. You can leave footprints and make shapes of sand too." Farideh hefts the last bottle of -- lint? -- off the shelf and rocks back on her heels, letting Tomic see to the shelf. "And sand won't freeze your fingers off. Neither will warm water." She moves the new floor-clutter into a tidy pile, and stands back, dusting off her hands. "Kitten? What kitten? Oh! That kitten. Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that." But she doesn't elaborate. It's not horror, exactly, but it's not happiness. Tomic watches her for a moment, and then drops, without a shrug or affable tilt of his head. There are wooden shims, in that toolbox. He presses on the shelf, tilting it back, and tries this one. Wait, wobble. Maybe this one... "You seen the girl with the hair recently?" Hanging back to watch the shelf-levelling process -- "What girl? With what hair? There are hundreds of girls with hair, of some kind or other, at the Weyr, and I really can't keep tabs on all of them. Do you mean that bitchy girl in the stores with the lopsided do?" Farideh's eyebrows lift, her hands weaving behind her back. "The girl with the raft," says Tomic, and then turns, shim in place (though he's yet to determine if it's the right shim), to peer at Farideh. "With the rope hair that you liked so much. Don't you remember?" "The girl with the-- oh!" Farideh has done a lot of forgetting and remembering today, in this conversation alone, which might beg the question of what else is on her mind. "Itsy you mean. Her. That sailor girl with the hair. Yes." She curbs a smile, shifting her focus from Tomic, to his shim, and back to him. "I haven't, no, but I've had the misfortune of seeing her companion far too many. Why? Did she say something about me?" Now, her eyes narrow in suspicion. Tomic considers that suspicion, and gives the shelf a little thump with the palm of one meaty hand. When it doesn't totter, he gets out of his squat, little toolbox in tow. "Do you want her to ask about you?" asked as he leans against his newly-levelled shelf. "Do I want her to ask about me?" Is she following? Yes, Farideh must be following. She's giving Tomic a level, disbelieving stare, that somehow intensifies when her arms come back around and cross tightly over her chest in a defensive pose. "I don't care what she does. Except, perhaps, I would love if she used a brush, but--" "Oh." Tomic is suddenly blushing a bit, stammering out things like, "I just thought, maybe you had a thing, never mind." And finally, when all that doesn't come out how he likes, he turns and checks that shelf one more time. Yup. Still stable. "You just thought maybe I had a thing?" There's a lot of questioning going on and not many answers, but ducking out of the conversation won't get him far; she's persistent. "What is that supposed to mean?" Farideh purses her lips in disgust. "I... look, I don't know?" She may as well have him backed into a corner. Except that she sort of does. Or at least, into a shelf. "I just... you talked about her for so long. Not now, I guess, but- I don't know what you like. It's a Weyr." People, it stands to reason, are crazy here. So says Tomic's widened eyes. One by one, the pieces align, but it's not outrage that flashes across the laundress' face. "Excuse me. I didn't know that whom I liked or didn't like was a subject to be discussed. What if I did like girls, huh!? Then what!?" Farideh squares her shoulders and jerks her chin upwards, narrowed eyes fixed on Tomic - up, up high since he's tall and she's short. "Then..." Then what? Tomic takes that question fairly seriously, squirming a little, despite being so much taller. He's not nearly as scary as she is. "Then I guess maybe that... would mean... you would... kiss? Them?" Uncertain. "Instead," rushed, afterwards, "of guys. Not like as... a show?" Help him. "Really?" So, so disappointed. "Your only interest is that you want to see us kiss each other for your own viewing pleasure." Farideh clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, already moving to get back to her unfolded towels and the watchful eyes of her coworkers. "I'll pass the message along to Itsy, see what she thinks about that." "What?" Tomic would sound insulted if he weren't busy being confused. "No. I was just wondering. But you made it sound- I don't want to watch." That toolbox rotates to his front, so it can be clutched with both hands. It seems Farideh has already made up her mind. Be it apology or confusion, she's still giving him a dirty look. "Sure. You didn't. You just wanted to know for educational purposes? Why else would you want to know, Tomic?" "Because... because..." Umm. "Because I was just interested!" And with that, Tomic bobs his head, and tries to side-step past the shelf and beyond. Even in running away, though, he can't help himself but turn around and wish, "Have a good day," to Farideh. Earnestly. Normally, there would be an insult hurled at him as he's leaving, but this is the laundry and there are plenty of eager ears willing to toss about the gossip of Farideh and the schlepper boy. She restrains herself only enough to cast a disparaging eye after him, her movements jerky as she resumes folding and stacking towels. Gossip returns to other topics: the color of W'ron's sheets, Benden's recent eggs, and conspiracies about the wheat shortage. |
Comments
Edyis (07:24, 21 January 2015 (EST)) said...
Hahhahahahaha! Gotta love Farideh. She just makes EVERYONE feel awkward. In a good way. Poor Tomic.
Azaylia (00:00, 22 January 2015 (EST)) said...
Aw haw haw! This was hilarious and awesome. I want to pass around the 'poors' (Poor Tomic, Poor Farideh) but just... more! Soooo funny!
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