Logs:Happy Endings
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| RL Date: 22 March, 2015 |
| Who: Rafevan, Farideh, Edyis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rafevan tells a story nobody likes. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 4, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions |
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| Evening means a drink, and a drink means the Snowasis, at least this evening. Rafevan finds himself at a table off to the side, feet in one chair, bag in another: either he's staking out space for future companions or just doesn't care that business is starting to pick up and someone else might want that space. After the bar comes the after party-- or, after Farideh gets her girly drink from the annoyed bartender on duty, she makes for the semi-nice weather outside on the patio ledge. It's in this leave-taking that she spots the familiar apprentice smith, and she can't help stopping (to annoy him too) next to the chair his feet are on, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. "What do you have, there?" Obviously, the bag, because bags can be full of all kinds of interesting things. "Feet? Shoes? Chairs? I'm sorry; I didn't study enough for this test," says Rafevan, who--by inattention or deliberate sabotage--takes the question to mean the other end of the space he's claimed for himself. "Do I have options for make-up work?" Briefly, it looks like Farideh takes him seriously, as her eyes glance from his face, to the bag, and then back to Rafevan. "I can only advise that from now on you not drink before a test-- during a test?" Her censorious look is equal parts humor. "You do. Tell me a story. Any story. I'm tired of hearing about the eggs and how evil Igen is, and I can't find Itsy anywhere for a sailor's ballad," this, while she props her hip against the chair his feet are in. And he's definitely not moving his feet, either, even when she leans against the chair they occupy. His expression is completely innocent. "Evil is so boring, isn't it," he agrees. "Steal our dragons, subvert our weak-willed leaders, enslave our people... Gets old fast, I suppose. But what kind of story do you want instead?" "How is it stealing when our Weyrwoman agreed to it? Perhaps she shouldn't be allowed to make deals if we're going to be on the losing end," Farideh suggests, setting her fist underneath her chin in the picture of ingenuousness. Talk bad about their leadership? Not her. "I don't know. A happy ending? Happy endings are always fun, even if they're quite unrealistic." "Well. Judging by the things I've heard," concedes Rafe with a tip of his head, "not far off on some interpretations of our Weyrwoman Azaylia and Weyrleader K'del." Still, it is--hopefully--the speed of Farideh's retort that inspires his half-hidden smirk. "Really? Happy ending?" His sigh is so put upon. "Are they as bad off as that? Nimae is rumored to be fairly astute. They may have lost, regardless of their political weaknesses," Farideh notes, distractedly. "Yes. It's not like we can have them in reality. I can enjoy a little bit of fantasy in a story. Besides, from what I've heard," a bit of mimicry, "there's been enough tragedy and death here to fill twenty books." To that, just a shrug. "I couldn't say. I don't really know any of the players involved. They don't usually ask apprentices for counsel, after all," he tells her, sounding appropriately broken-up about it. Clearly, things would be better if they just would. "So. A happy story. Hm. Let's start in a Hold. It could be any Hold. Yours, or mine, or somewhere else entirely. It doesn't really matter. But in this Hold, like in all Holds, there is a boy of no particular means who's in love with a girl of some. Let's make her the Lord's daughter, shall we? Or--considering we're in a Weyr--shall we go more progressive? Make her the Lord's son instead? Less predictable, too, I hope, because I hate stories where I know the endings." Even ones he's making up, apparently. The story captures the laundress' focus unequivocally, even when it veers off in an unconventional direction. "An unnamed Hold, with a poor boy and the Lord's son," Farideh repeats the summary thus far. Her eyebrows are lifted high, her lips similarly quirked with amusement, but she remains silent after, taking a couple delicate sips of her drink. It's clear: she approves, continue. "Of course the Lord doesn't approve, or there's no story," says Rafevan, tapping fingers on his glass while he considers the tale he weaves. "He's an open-minded sort, as these things go, but really, that can only extend so far. And that is not far enough for no-account, Blood-less boys with no future prospects. So our would-be hero decides to run away to the Weyr, because that's what they all do in these stories, right?" He looks expectantly to Farideh for agreement. "Would it even matter if he was Blooded too? It's not like they can make heirs together," Farideh points out, helpfully. It's an evening in the Snowasis and Rafevan's taking up way too many chairs for one apprentice, with Farideh leaning against the chair his feet are occupying. He's currently weaving her a special bedtime story, while she sips from a pink-ish drink and listens attentively. His latest comment gains a narrowing of eyes, her chin tipping up slightly in defiance. "I wouldn't know," bald-faced. "Shh," says Rafe, one finger to his lips. "This is a story. Logic doesn't matter here." He considers those slight shifts in demeanor under the guise of thinking through his story, but he's a perceptive sort. The shift is noted. "So," he picks up then. "Our hero runs away to the Weyr, because I assure you that is a thing heroes do in stories. Of course, he promptly realizes this was probably a poor choice, because in Weyrs your merit is determined by your luck in large part. If he wanted to make his way on his own standing, he should have run to a Craft." Biased? Maybe. Edyis slinks into the bar amidst a tangle of young women near to her age; Dark brows drawing together faintly, mildly irritated by the chatter. Her chance at a reprieve comes when she recognizes Farideh, and by association notices Rafevan. She excuses herself from the girls, making her way over to their table deftly maneuvering around quickly filling tables. "How many heroes ever make their way on their own merit?" She asks as she catches the last giving her friend a nod of greeting. Silence is what Rafevan asks for and silence is what he gets, until Edyis comes up and interrupts his story that is. Her smile for the waitress is genuine, stretching widely. "What kind of a hero is he though? Is he tall and handsome? Dark? Fair? Ugly? That could also determine his success, though why is luck part of it? Wouldn't skill be more important? Unless he Stands, then--" Farideh probably realizes she's rambling, further interrupting, and slants Rafevan an apologetic look. "Hush," says Rafevan for both women, with a Look: there is a master storyteller at work here. "Our hero at the Weyr is desparate to make something of himself. He looks however you wish him to, because isn't he supposed to be basically a stand-in for you? My audience. Ahem. Success always seems to elude him, though, until one day the Weyrleader asks him to stand. And by chance his dragon is on the sands that day, and our hero impresses, and in six to eight months, whenever dragons fly, he returns home to sweep away his love and live happily ever after." Masking a grin at Farideh's tangle of questions, when all is done Edyis states, "I think you have the wrong audience then." Her eyebrows lifting slightly as the corner of her mouth twitches wryly. "So then, what is the great lesson in the tale?" Her head canted at the smith expectantly. He is, after all, the storyteller. As the story gets woven, and it goes from infinitely interesting, to ultimately anticlimactic, Farideh's expression mirrors her thoughts quite clearly; from hanging on tenterhooks to disappointment at the end. "That," she says, frowning at Rafevan, "was terrible. What kind of an ending is that? Who says his lover wants to be swept away? And if he did, what would he do at the Weyr? Sit around in the hero's weyr all day until he comes home? That's tragic in and of itself. Almost as bad as getting stuck in a loveless, arranged marriage." Edyis's question receives only a shrug for an answer from Rafevan, who tips his head to consider her points. "What's your happy ending, then? Since I've failed you so." Edyis sighs dismissively then, at the shrug, Dark eyes focus curiously on the laundress, awaiting her answer. "For him? It would be better if he Impressed and forgot about his old love, and went on to do great heroic acts that harpers wrote ballads about. He saved the Weyrwoman from dying in a fire, or single-handed captured those Nabol thieves--" even if they've already been caught, but this is fantasy, mind. "Wouldn't that make a better story? If he went on to make a name for himself, to prove them all wrong, and never look back? Maybe there's a greater, better love waiting for him in the future." Farideh looks from Edyis to Rafevan, curiously; don't they get it? "But what would be the point of all the set-up with the Lord's son then?" is Rafevan's curious rejoinder. "If this were a story about a hero making his own way, we'd build it a very different way. We'd never even have to mention his love at all, really." When the former scribe is looked to by her friend, she lifts her shoulders."That would be more interesting." Rafevan's question lingers on a part of the conversation that she missed. "If it is a story about love, then the premise is false. Love stories have no happy endings, or if they do it is merely because the storyteller chose that point at which to stop." Waving down a server to order herself cider. "I don't know. It's your story." Exasperation causes Farideh to make a face at him and then sigh, taking a long drink from her glass. "I'm never tasking you with a story ever again. I understand, now, where your talents lie." She points a finger at him in the end, but her lips are quirking as her eyes slide to the bar. "Isn't that all stories?" Rafevan challenges Edyis with a delicately arched brow. "There are no happy endings, because nothing ever ends." He just slants a more bemused look at Farideh then, his shrug self-effacing: what else did you expect from a smith?" "That was the point I believe," the challenge is answered simply. "What matters is the purpose behind the telling." Her cider arrives and she seems happy to drink it. "Why are you asking people to tell love stories?" Edyis asks of Farideh now with a curious lift of both brows. "I didn't tell him to tell me a love story. I asked for a story with a happy ending. There's been too much negativity lately." Farideh's eyes flick to Edyis, her lips pursing. "I didn't know he was going to pick a love story. Maybe he's got it on his mind, maybe he's got a girl-- or boy-- friend--" is definitely conspiratorial, eyelashes fluttering in mockery of love-feelings. Rafevan's smile is enigmatic, to say the least. He does not answer Farideh's claim, but he does drop his feet from the chair he's taking up there, on his way to standing and gathering up his bag as well. "Ladies," he tells them, in preparation to depart.
"You're no fun," Farideh accuses the smith, but holds out a hand to stop his gathering-of-things. "I'm leaving anyway. You don't need to leave on account of my meddling. Thank you for the story, even if your telling needs work. Edyis," with a nod, and she's turning away, taking her drink with her on her way out to the patio, which she'd originally been distracted from. "Not everything," Rafevan tells Farideh solemnly, shouldering his own bag, "is about you, lady laundress." His mouth is twitching with clear amusement, though, while he nods once to Edyis is parting, and then continues on his way too. |
Contents
Comments
Farideh (12:17, 23 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
WHY DID YOU CHOOSE MY BITCHFACE.
WHAT ARE YOU SAYING.
<3
Rafevan (00:08, 24 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
Biiiiiiiiitch :D
Roz (09:35, 24 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
Let me see if this works..
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