Logs:Good People
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo needs a runner for a leisurely afternoon trip; Faryn has to go too, obviously, since she's providing the runners. |
| Where: Stables, Mountain Meadow, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Muggy, overcast, breezy and chill. |
| Mentions: Fadra/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated a bit. |
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| It's a good day for physical exertion, muggy but cold, slightly overcast, with light breezes and no rain. If everything holds, it's likely to be a decent day overall. It's decent enough that Faryn's left off most of the chores in the protection of the stables, and has taken to attending a long-legged palomino yearling in a training enclosure. She's got the lunge line and a whip in hand, and the runner is pacing, attached to nothing, cautious of the herder. Faryn clicks at her, and the runner stops, head low; a step towards her hindquarters and she changes directions, to clip her way around the pen the opposite direction. "Good girl," comes the praise, and a few laps later, the same thing happens again. Perhaps it was the weather that prompts the arrival of one convict rider into the stables. Sans black leather jacket and oddly sporting a pale yellow halter, Jo has an easy gait as she approaches to watch the proceedings between runner and crafter. She doesn't make an announcement of her presence - not just yet. She seems content in watching, in taking in the measure of beast and person with a sharp interest of one looking to buy either. The runner is good in her gait, steady, but too confident. When she finally decides to challenge Faryn, it is obstinent. She turns head on to face her, snorts, plants her feet. Faryn's quick to correction, unafraid of the whip, which grazes her flanks. The filly snorts and falls back into line, Faryn's gaze following her as she circles in the center of the pen. And as she circles, so does Jo fall into her line of sights. The herder clicks her tongue, the runner stops, lifting her feet in agitation. Faryn doesn't approach her, though; it's the gate, and Jo that has her. "Help you?" It's the control that seems to draw Jo's interest, watching the way that the runner is handled with a grin that appears more genuine than her usual. Once the whip hits, there's a nod of approval from her, and then, she's spotted. Leaning forward, "Haven' seen somethin' like that since Keogh," she notes, her eyes lingering on the runner. "How long have ya been trainin' her? How old is she?" She doesn't seem willing to talk of the reason she's there presently - at least, not yet as she gives the runner her open appraisal. "She's only started," Faryn supplies, looking proud at the compliment, which makes her all too happy to answer the questions. "A month ago she nearly crushed me, right here," she slaps the top of the gate with an open palm,."but she's gotten used to the lunge, now. I give her another month." She props a boot up on the bottom rung of the fence. "Just over a turn and a half. She's out of a pair in there," a nod for the stables, "but she's turned out better than either of them. They'd be good to sell her to someone who can use her for more than leisure." No signs of crushing or dissent now; the filly ducks her head to whuff at the ground, looking for anything to eat. "Impressive," Jo answers, nodding a few times and looking pleased. "What sort of activity 'sides leisure? Is she meant as a work runner?" She moves a little closer towards the runner, and then she adds as an aside, "I came by to ride one myself. Take some leisure. Perhaps ya can help me, Faryn." Even though she's giving questions on the runner right now. "I don't know if I have time to train her to drive," Faryn says with a glance over her shoulder. "Maybe just leisure. Depends what the journeymen say. I just think she'd be a waste if they used her for cargo, and kept her in that stall, you know?" That she doesn't get a say is also clear. Jo's explanation meets with, "Oh. Yeah. I can, one minute." She at once goes to fetch the runner, gentle, soothing, and forgiven despite the use of the whip. She's got her in hand in short order, guiding her out of the pen, their training terminated. "What kind of leisure?" "I agree," Jo says, watching the runner with a nod. "She's beautiful. One of my brothers was good with runners. Could've gone into the beastcraft if our father had only let him." Dark gaze turns to Faryn then, watching her leave to fetch the runner of choice. Once she returns, "Long distance, but not today, darlin'," comes her answer as she steps forward to appraise the runner brought forth. Just a lil' walk in the fields. Used to be down here all the time, 'fore I Impressed. A stablehand. Wanna join me, or are ya on the leash?" and she looks about them, as if any sort of Faryn's boss would turn up right then. Faryn's palming the runner's nose as they enter the stables, and she's been attentive to Jo's explanation. "I'm tied," she says, with a wicked smile, "but I'll come anyways. You worked out here, did you? I wondered why they put me as a 'hand - it seems they keep impressing. I broke the chain." She puts the filly away and closes the gate, heading to the nearby room to drop her training gear. "I'd rather be riding." Flanking and keeping pace with Faryn and her runner, Jo reacts to that wicked smile with a subtler one of her own. Like a partner in crime, she gives her a nudge with her shoulder as she says, "That's my girl." The stables get her attention then, inhaling the hay scent before answering. "Yeah, right from arrivin' here," she says as she looks around, the taste of nostalgia coloring her tone. She snorts at something before shaking her head and adding, "Should've seen me back then, darlin'. Was a cheeky shit brat always blowin' smoke up folks' asses before I Impressed. Shocked me there. Never been to a Weyr before then," she admits, straightening her riding jacket. "Haven' been seein' ya around lately," she notes now once Faryn is out of sight. "Thought I'd run into ya before now." "Were," echoes Faryn, peeking her head out of the room where straps and fastens are clinking together so she can raise a brow at Jo. "You sound like you think something's changed." She ducks back in, just in case Jo has something she can throw, but eventually emerges with two of everything, juggling them with the skill of practice. "I was out of the weyr," she admits, shoving a saddle and all the requisites at Jo in passing. "Vacation. And then R'hin abandoned me in Benden. Because he's hilarious." She doesn't laugh. When she stops in front of a set of stalls, she says, "Any of these four," she points them out, "should do. This one's me." Which leaves three. "Heeey," Jo looks around as if she is looking for something to toss. "Lucky I don' have a runner brush on hand! Came in real handy when I needed to keep other 'hands in line." It's an open tease, the smile showing says so as she watches Faryn emerge with riding gear. "Well, still cheeky, maybe," she admits with a shrug. "Blame Tacuseth for that. That blue had it in for me the moment he laid his grubby eyes on me in the sands. The bastard." She deftly catches what's shoved, stumbling only once before she ambles along after her with it, listening. Upon hearing about R'hin, "Well he does have a way with his words, his actions," she remarks in all amusement, shaking her head. "Reckon everythin' that man does is saddled with a reason'n a plan, darlin'. If he had left ya in Benden, there's some likely reason or lesson behind it." It's spoken with an oddly placed fondness, barely concealed. Then, since her hands are full, she nods wordlessly towards one of the remaining chosen three. The herder drapes her gear over the stall she's chosen, and is even courteous enough to unlatch Jo's for her, her eyes curious as she watches the other woman, like she half expects her to not remember what pieces go where for what purpose. She's nimble with her own process once she's in the stall with the tall grey gelding, who chews passively on her hair for the first few minutes without objection from Faryn. "He had a plan. I was someone's steward. And then when I got back, he didn't tell me how, or why, or what he wanted me to take from it." She flicks the reins over her runner's neck, guiding him out. "You sound almost like he's done it to you, too." Nodding her thanks, Jo goes in and starts getting to work on settling up the runner. While her ministrations aren't quick and sure, she seems to be picking it up along and is, therefore, slower at it than Faryn. Running an idle hand over the runner's mane, "Sounds like'em," is all she says on what was said, the grin heard in her voice. "What did'ja think 'bout bein' stewart? Could'ja see yerself doin' that over this?" Even her tone is a bit doubtful, but she follows Faryn out in runner guiding as she considers the last. Then with a sharp shake of her head, "Nah," she states easily. "Ain' much use in givin' a girl like me a plan. He's good folk though. Worthy." If that makes any sense, she seems to leave implied. Faryn's patient in waiting, no pressure and no offer of help to suggest she's impatient as she thinks about it. "I liked it there. And I like helping people, for all they're harder to get along with," she determines, which is not quite an affirmation. When Jo's ready, she guides the runner out, wasting no time in mounting. "A girl like you," she says, her brows up. "How's that? So unruly even someone like R'hin can't get you on a good track?" "Good to sniff 'round options," Jo comments on Faryn's stint with a few good nods, meandering along after her with her chosen runner before mounting afterwards. She seems to be taking in their surroundings naturally - always watching - despite being able to keep up with the conversation at hand. When Faryn echoes something said, there's a ready smile full of wit that's not exactly directed at her. "'Good' is relative, darlin'," she answers after a few breaths of silence, clicking her tongue against her teeth. "Even he knows that. He's never set out to change me, which is why he has my respect. Some girls are just made unruly," she uses Faryn's word for it with a brief raise of brows, dramatic before her grin is wider. "Anyway," she continues, "the plans in my life can' be changed. Don' think I want it to. Ya seem awfully calm 'round an unruly," she openly makes observation with amusement. "Ain' afraid I won' thieve from ya or somethin' ex-cons tend to do?" Faryn's gesture suggests that Jo should take the lead; it's on her invitation, after all, that the herder is shirking her duties. "I suppose. I'm just restless, all the time. I could be a steward -- for a bit. And then, two months or two years later, I'd get bored, and want out. The Hall's only kept me because it feels like such an obligation." To people, presumably. Faryn's snort says how she feels about that risk. "I don't have anything you're likely to want. And if you did, I doubt it's something I'm terribly attached to. Is it Tacuseth, makes you okay with the plans? Okay with where you're at, where you're going?" Once Faryn gestures her forward, Jo leads the runner out to a canter that's leisurely and in a pointed direction. Lifting her face to whatever wind she can feel, "Restless," she echoes the word once she slows down enough for the other to hear her. "Yeah, I can get that. When I left home, I couldn' keep to the same place either. Too much chasin' the rush, ya know? Yer seemin' to grow grass on yer feet at the Weyr, though." There's open laughter at the answer given on any likely theft, the convict rider looking over at Faryn with a nod that suggests impression. "Everyone has somethin'," is her casual counter to that. A bit of a nomad, ain'cha?" With a soft snort, "Ya certainly don' think like some in this Weyr that clutch all their valuables the moment they see me walkin' in their direction." As to her question, there's a pause before she says, "Tac can' take all the credit, though his acceptance helps. He'n I fought over it long enough as weyrlins' to reach it." "I'm not a nomad by choice; getting shipped about left and right, from weyr to hold to craft to hold to weyr? Dropped in the countryside? Who does that out of any great desire? I'd rather stay in a place of my choosing, with the freedom to change; it might make me want to change less often. I'm restless in my purpose, not my location. Even though I should probably choose somewhere with less bitter winters, if I'm making decisions." The confession is quiet, but with determination and not resignation. "If I had the marks, I might take it all to buy a few good runners and start breeding and training. Sell them to people for the profit, instead of giving them back to the Hall, who sells them for profit, and trickles a quarter mark down to me eventually." One hand lifts so she can rub the side of her face, where a stray strand of hair tickles. "I figure not much is worth getting shanked by a damn big knife," the herder establishes wryly. For the most part she listens though. "I'm starting to think weyrlings just take courses for months in pretending to be well adjusted. Is it really always so hard?" "Some do," Jo answers on who would move around by choice as she leads them on an easy path. "Traders, for one. Might be interestin', travelin' 'round with a wagon." But still, the bluerider seems to understand which restlessness she means for she adds behind it, "Might be able to help with those marks. Might be a good deal in it, too. Stick 'round me enough, Faryn," she offers with that winsome smile. "I think someday, we can be useful for each other beyond friends." There's an amused snort on the comment about big knives and she gives a wry, "Ain' fun gettin' shanked, either. Hurts like a bitch." As for the last, "Depends on the person, darlin'. Some adjust really well'n quickly. Had a few clutchsibs like that. Even the ones close to me in that class adjusted to their lifemates much faster'n I and some others did. Guess those of us too strong-willed have to be knocked down'n remade in order to adjust or somethin'. Like, for me, it was always 'bout control. I like havin' it. Don' wanna give it up'n I there's times when I have to, like flights." Faryn sucks the back of her teeth. "Never tried trading," she acknowledges. Her eyes drift with a measured control to Jo at her offer, the suggestion they can help each other; her response is wholly in jest, "You should work on your sales pitch; that one's too ominous. One minute, I have a stable my own and seventeen runners and marks for days - the next, bam, I'm gutted in my home for my known unsavory connections. All because of one, random ride to the meadows. Woe." Faryn ducks her head, too amused to maintain her stoicism for very long. "Explains why this group is having trouble. Ah, well. They're nearly done. They managed. The overall success rate is heartening." When she regards Jo next, it's as she moves her horse just out of range, just in case, "This is you? Broken down and remade? Sheesh." "Somethin' to consider, too," Jo notes on trading, leading them at a leisurely pace. When it comes to her offer, her gaze on their surroundings while Faryn looks her way, the response to it given gets open laughter and, "I know what it's like to be gutted down," she notes in return. "I only save that future for those I don' like. The offer stands, darlin', once ya think on it. Ya'd have a good, clean business if I ever have a say in it." She snorts on the topic about the weyrlings, shaking her head. "Ya'll keep'em grounded," she says with certainty, looking Faryn's way. "Cuz ya care'n all." She even notes that runner range lengthening as the last gets an exaggerated look down at herself before looking up at Faryn and dropping, "What, what's wrong with me?" It's likely in jest, too, but there's also enough curiosity in the question to engage its interest in the answer. "Nah," the herder says of trading, steering her runner around a potholeand then abreast of Jo's. "I'd like to have a place doesn't feel like it might get ripped out. A stable. Runners. No husband, no kids." It's a very specific goal, she's got there. "I'll keep it in mind, if I have your word. You are a criminal." But Faryn is smiling as she looks sidelong at Jo, even if that smile flickers at the weyrlings. She defers, "If you say so." And for the rest, Faryn has nothing but a shrug. "I'm only teasing," the younger woman says, "but you're still rough around the edges. It's not bad," she's quick to add, because it isn't, "you're just your own thing. You're Jo before you're a Reaches rider, or that's how it feels." "Not into handfastin'? Weyrmatin'?" Jo's voice is a tease in the questioning, seeming to accept Faryn's response for trading. "And, of course ya have my word. That's alleged criminal, anyway," the ex-con is light to correct with that cheeky grin. "I'll earn yer trust soon 'nough." She sounds confident, at least. As their runners amble along side by side, Faryn's last earns her a long and amused-looking study from her since she doesn't respond right away. "Guess that's what I get for growin' up 'round a bunch of boys'n no mama," she gives with a long-suffering sigh. "Interestin' assessment of me. Accurate, too. Never bothered with lettin' bein' a rider define me. Or anythin', for that matter. Somethin' tells me ya get that, hm?" "I'm not the girl people usually want to take home," Faryn says with an appreciative sound in the back of her throat for Jo's upbringing. "Not 'marriage material,'" gets a lift of both hands for big air quotes, a gesture that lifts the reins and confuses her mount for whole, distressed seconds. Turn right? That's another runner. "Five brothers and my dad, and his tiny fishing boat. My prospects were limited, even more by the fact that I wanted to show up every boy that talked to me. I could run faster. Hit harder. Important shit." The expletive has heat behind it with no noticeable source. "I trust you fine, already," she says after a beat. "If you wanted to hurt me you've had plenty of chance. How'd you do it, you don't mind me asking? I understand the concept, but the execution. We are what we can do; our skills and our usefulness. How do you separate that into -- you?" "I find that hard to believe," Jo states on Faryn not being the girl taken home. "And, anyway, I don' think I'm much marriage material, either, or weyrmatin'." That's clearly something the bluerider can relate to. "With the way I fuck around...." Jo slows her runner down until Faryn catches up, grinning a bit at hearing about her family. "Try bein' in a family of buddin' guards," she adds with a snort. "Not much prospects for that, either. For girls like us, it's either join'em or get saddled to someone like a bought runner yerself. I chose option three'n left. I would've made a good guard, though. Do ya ever see'em still?" That Faryn says she trusts her, and all that went with it, seems to give her pause before she looks her way and inclines her head briefly in a wordless thanks. "Yer right," she doesn't hide that fact on doing harm, the grin growing. "Could've done it right now, right here, far from the Weyr, even. With none to hear ya." As to the last though, there's a long pause as she looks ahead of them, just seeming to focus on the leisure riding before she answers with, "Before Tacuseth, I've been through a lot of shit folks 'round here don' know about. Even then, my life ain' really my own. Maybe that's why it's easy for me to separate the rider from the person. From me." It's given soberly. "End of the turn, I did. For a bit," Faryn says of seeing her family, and "Oh, they're very nice," is of the boys, "as long as they're winning. I learned to play nice with them, and in the Hall, but never quite nice enough for any of them to think I was something they could -- erm. Break, if we're using metaphors. Even when they don't, I can't see myself settling, for long." A beat. "So you've never been in a relationship." It doesn't inflect like a question, but it is, if the way she's looking at Jo is any indication. "Thank you so much for not killing me, Jo, I am forever and ever in your debt," is almost an aside to the conversation, and she ends up spending quite a while considering the bluerider's words. "I'm still trying to figure that part out," Faryn murmurs after a time. "How I see myself. It's been too easy to fall into my knot, and my family, and where I'm from." "Not settlin's not a bad thing," Jo agrees, her tone easy. "And, boys can be idiots. Encountered the same back in Keogh. The boys here at the Weyr ain' bad, though, right?" Yeah, she's totally picking Faryn's head for information and she's not hiding the fact. She does take the statement on relationships as a question since she answers with a blunt, "Twice. One's what got me into trouble'n the other one just wasn' meant to be. Better off doin' what I do." That she doesn't kill Faryn out here, the words earn laughter from the bluerider. "Yer alright with me, Faryn," is what the response to that is, the assessment belying a touch of seriousness to it - as if the younger girl had just passed some sort of test. "As for really seein' yerself, best way to do that is to take some time'n take a step back from the knot'n family. See what yer made up when it's just you up against the world. Not everyone can do that, though." "Depends who you're asking," Faryn says. "There's -- someone. Cute." The important things, yeah? "But also all about what's wrong with slow? and kids and probably weyrmating? He's nice. I probably -- shouldn't keep messing with him. I like him, just," Just nothing she finishes, listening to Jo's recollection of her own romances, in brief, shaking her head. She's happy to move on to any topics that aren't that, it seems, even though all of them turn a mirror on herself. "Run away into the meadows with a bluerider? Lose myself and then find myself again, like a trashy book by a failed harper?" She swoons in the saddle, mockingly. "I guess I need to just start doing things differently then. We live in a world that defines us; you must know some places that don't, even for a few minutes at a time." "Someone," Jo echoes, a brow lifting from where she sits. "My guess is, yer ain' into slow. Don' blame ya there. The last one....looked like it was headin' that way. Weyrmatin'. Even though he well knew I wouldn' be able to be exclusive with'em. Maybe talk to him? See where he stands?" Faryn's next draws a toothy smile from her before laughter takes over. "I'm probably the worst one to run away into the meadows with," she notes in her amusement. "Word's out that I'm a bad influence. 'Sides, losin' yerself in my world is usually gettin' in a few brawls, flip a few card games without gettin' knifed in the process'n beddin' as many folks that ya could. I'm leavin' out the theivin' route. Yer a good girl." Apparently the other stuff is okay. "'Course I know places. It's the sort o' places yer mama'll come after me for, for takin' ya." Jo doesn't look worried. "I'm not bad with slow," Faryn says. "I'm bad with...boys that want to keep me. Anything that wants to keep me. It's worse, when I might want to keep him, but not in the same way. He's nice," she repeats almost plaintively, shaking her head. "Holdbred and sweet and -- shards. A virgin? He should like a girl who's nicer than me, but he doesn't. You should see his face, when he's disappointed. Like he caught you drowning a puppy, Jo." She is so put out by this that she groans, from her chest, relaxing awkwardly into her saddle so she's leaning very far back in her distress. The horse carries gamely on. "Except the knifing part, you sound exactly like my mum," she retaliates, still sprawled that way, with a sidelong look at the bluerider. "They shouldn' keep ya," Jo agrees with this, nodding. Still, she's quiet as she listens, shaking her head and chuckling at Faryn's theatrics. "Boys like him, I'd eat for a snack," she states wryly. "He seems like a good guy though. Yer gonna have to tell me more 'bout him sometimes. And yer mother. She sounds like she has a good head on her shoulders." For Jo, that's approval. "Tell ya what," she says, looking around them. "How 'bout we race these a bit to down over there before headin' back? I don' wanna take up more of yer time, but I owe ya for the ridin', darlin'. Thanks." "No doubt you would," she allows of that boy. "My mom's -- rough. I had to get it somewhere honestly." That's what she'll settle on, and getting upright is a little harder than flopping back was, but she manages it alright, considering. It's easier when there might be racing. "Oh, good," she says, delighted, everything about her posture adjusting to prepare. "I have to do this before I'm not allowed to take them whenever I want. You're just good company," is a suggestion that they haven't touched on, but she's a cheater. She doesn't wait until Jo's lined up and ready, nor does she leave room for more query, and her body is compact when she spurs her runner forward for that launching head start, laughing back at her. "You lose!" is her parting shot; but she's holding her runner back. Not that much of a cheat then. "That's why I think we'll get along," Jo notes on roughness, and she'll straighten up when Faryn sounds like she's down for racing - only the younger woman takes off, getting a head start. "Hey ya'd-!" the bluerider calls after her before she's taking off as well, her laughter heard far behind in the thrill of the chase and the banter left between them. |
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