Logs:Knobbly-Kneed Fish-Bait
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| RL Date: 29 July, 2016 |
| Who: Drex, Molly |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Molly is a nice person, and then Drex happens. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions |
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With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It's been a warm summer's day, with the heat lingering into the evening. The hearth in the nighthearth is still burning, but only to keep the ever-present stew warm, rather than for warmth. This time of turn, it's the chairs and couches furthest from the hearth that are the prime spots, cool and dark, and Drex is sprawled across one of the couches, a hand flung over his face, snoring loudly. There's a largely untouched bowl of stew on the table near to him. Most people who wind up here know why they're here. They're here to eat, or to meet someone, or to find a quiet place to read or do needlework, sure. The red-haired girl who wanders in tonight, though, seems to have no such aim. There's a quick peek in, a slim-fingered hand resting on the wall by the entrance as though to more quickly make her exit if this turns out to be a place she doesn't belong. But nobody pays her any mind, and so she makes her way in, a wandering road around, towards the hearth to check out the contents of the pot, away from the hearth to check out the contents of the chairs. Not that she's bothering anyone. She's not lingering long enough to bother anyone. Not until she settles near someone who presumably won't notice her continued presence. Molly takes the bowl, tips it just long enough to see how much the contents have congealed, as though to use that to judge just how long this man's been here. There's certainly a thin film on the top of the stew, but the bowl itself still feels warm enough that it can't have been there too long. Maybe the snorer is just that quick at falling asleep. As if he senses the girl's presence, Drex's snoring halts briefly, he twists momentarily, and settles down again, a minute or so passing before his snoring resumes. When Drex stirs, Molly goes absolutely still, like a deer in headlights, except she wouldn't know what either deer or headlights actually were. Someone else might leg it under these circumstances, but she stays right there, frozen to the spot, until he seems to settle in again. And then she goes about arranging the bowl back exactly where he left it--or as close to it as she can get. Then she turns, looming over Drex for just a moment as she squints down at him. Proceeding to ruin all this discretion, she chirps, helpfully, "I think your food's getting cold." One of the big problems with being in a weyr is that the weapons Drex is used to having just aren't there, so his one handed, sleepy fumble for a non-existent thing at his belt turns into an attempt to grab at whoever's looming above him. "...fuck?" the strangled word comes out halfway between startled and confused. She might be small and light, and that would suggest some quickness, but Molly has all the coordination of a teenage girl with no coordination whatsoever. So, if she evades the hands, it's only by tripping over her own feet and going backwards several paces with a shriek that's apt to raise more than a few eyebrows. And possibly the dead. Her hands clamp over her own mouth. "Sorry," muffled. "Sorry, sorry." Probably not just to Drex. "You fell asleep," she tells him, still through her hands, like maybe he might be surprised by this. It's the feminine shriek that pierces the half-awake's sailors awareness, his hands missing her as she trips backwards. One, two, three blinks of blank staring, and then he's chortling, slumping back onto the couch rather than doing anything so gallant as to try and help her. When his laughter abates, he shakes his head. "Every time I think you weyrfolk are fuckin' weird, you just... top it, y'know? Fuck. Do you get paid to wake people up and tell them they were asleep?" "I'm not weyrfolk." Despite the fact that Molly is very literally in a Weyr right now. And she is probably folk of some sort. But she says it with big-eyed earnestness, and enough Tillek in her voice to be familiar. "And I'm not weird." This is more defensive. "Normal people sleep in beds," is her attempt at returning the perceived insult. "And eat their dinners instead of just letting them go to waste." Though her frame does not itself speak to a healthy appetite. "You aint weird?" Drex echoes that in a bemused tone. "The fuck you looming over people while they're sleeping for, then?" He snorts at her assertion about normal people. "If you had a baby constantly crying and keepin' you awake, you'd be sleeping just about anywhere else, y'self." He eyes the forgotten bowl of stew with a narrowed gaze, as if she has a point on that score but isn't willing to vocalize it. "Aint going to waste. Gonna eat it now." And to prove it, he reaches for the bowl. That's at least a good signal for Molly to actually find her feet and sit down in a chair. Properly. Like this normal person she's very sure she is. "If I had a baby, I'd probably be sleeping somewhere in the general vicinity of my baby," she observes, as any girl might who has born witness to plenty of other women with babies, and probably paid little attention to the fathers. Drex gives Molly a look like she's definitely the crazy one. "Aint no one whose ever had a baby would actually say that. All they do at this age is cry and scream and shit and sleep," he says, with a hefty sigh, taking a mouthful of the stew. If he's put off by the fact that it's only somewhat warm and there's a film on the top, it certainly doesn't stop him taking a second mouthful, while he eyes the girl over the rim of the bowl. "The fuck's your deal, anyway?" is about as social question as he's likely to ask. "They mostly eat and sleep at that age. They hardly ever cry if you keep them swaddled up. I don't think you're very good with babies." Says the girl who is almost certainly too young to have personal experience with this. But it doesn't seem to occur to Molly to think twice about that. Or to prevaricate when asked about her motives: "I got done with work and I was bored and I don't have any friends yet." A little frustrated flutter of hands. Even if it's probably true, Drex is instinctively defensive, scowling at Molly. "You don't know shit about babies. This is my second," he says, like he's done all the hard work. It's the latter that makes him snort. "I aint gonna be your friend," he says, pretty certain. "Aint there, y'know, girls you can go bother?" The first might have drawn a bit more response, but Molly's focus is distracted by the rest of that, her face falling, a little black raincloud settling right over her with some threatening rumbles. Not a real raincloud, of course. Just a metaphorical one, a sniffle and shiny eyes. "Well, I wasn't asking you to be, anyway, was I? I was only trying to be nice. I didn't know you were going to be horrible. I thought maybe you'd be pleased that you got to eat a dinner that wasn't completely cold." The words are just coming bubbling out. "If I'd known you'd be horrible, I would have let you have a cold dinner because you deserve it." In her book, this seems to count as saying something really mean, a mic-drop kind of moment where she stands up with every intention of marching off. Just a slight delay there in actually doing it. Definitely not fishing for an apology. If she's waiting for an apology, she's picked the wrong random. Drex bolts down another two mouthfuls of food, kind of eyeing Molly throughout her speech. "Didn't ask you to wake me up, none. I aint no weyrfolk, neither," he says, with determination. "Aint no need to be nice to me, not unless you got a penchant for sailing and want to come see my ship," he's grinning at that last, at the thought of the sea, though it could be easily taken as some sort of line, or euphemism, given the sudden enthusiasm he displays. Molly does color at that last--and when she blushes, it's a wonder she has enough blood left pumping to keep from fainting, she goes so scarlet. Which flusters her enough to keep her from doing her dramatic exit, it seems. "You're here, aren't you?" Of course, so is she. "Where in the world are you keeping a ship? In the lake? I've seen the lake." Implied: She's pretty sure about the lack of a proper ship, there, and she knows at least enough about this to identify one if she saw it. "And there's just... just... no reason to be acting like that if your wife just had a baby." There's her definitely-not-weyrfolk credentials, anyway. "It aint here," is said with an equally exasperated tone. "And I aint much for dragons, so we'd have to ride, assuming you know how to do that." Drex pauses a moment, "And my girl'd probably be upset, because she just gave birth, but fuck. It's officially summer already." He's clearly such a charmer, aided by the fact that he adds sharply, "She aint my wife. Weyrfolk don't marry." "So I could go get on a dragon and go see a ship anytime I wanted, and faster than with you. And not make your wi--girl upset. And you're horrible, so why would I want to go anywhere with you anyway?" Wasn't Molly supposed to be flouncing? She seems to have forgotten it, despite the many ways in which she attempts to communicate how done she is with all of this. "I've seen ships," now a bit huffy. "Yours can't be much good if you leave it behind all the time to go sleep on couches here." And now, Drex's ego is well and truly pricked, dropping his spoon into his mostly empty bowl with a clatter. "My ship is better than any piece of shit sloop you've ever laid eyes on. She's the pride and joy, the flagship of High Reaches Hold. She can outsail about anything else on the water, and she looks damn fine doing it." Molly isn't the only one being huffy, here. "Flagship of High Reaches Hold. All that says is that they don't know anything about boats there." Does Molly know anything about boats? Just a sort of secondhand pride, but enough of one to require defending against the idea that this horrible man could possibly have a ship worth seeing. "My dad, he isn't anybody, but I bet his is still nicer than yours. And he's off using his to catch fish and be useful. He's not napping." Molly's father probably has taken at least one nap in his adult life, but never mind that, it makes a good retort, one hand primly on her hip. "You don't know shit about ships if you're calling 'em boats," comes Drex's hasty retort. "Yer just some landlubber, thinking you know everything about ships because maybe you saw a few sail past while you were hiding behind your ma's skirts." He rolls his eyes to the latter, chin lifting. "My ship could flatten your da's ship without even shaking the Captain's titties, I'll bet." "If I thought they were that worth looking at, I would have stayed home. And if yours was that good, you'd have stayed with her." The ship? The captain, who apparently at least has tits worth mentioning? "But no, you're here just to lay around and be crude and horrible." These words are punctuated with the stabs of a pointing finger. "You're not a good sailor or a good dad," the conclusion of her argument. And then Molly finally scowls, or tries to, which does not do a great job at covering up the fact that she's near tears, and she finally turns to stride off. At a brisk pace. It could be called running away. "Aint no dick to leave my girl when she's about ready to pop, no?" Even if Drex is hiding out here for a bit of piece and quiet now said baby is out. The stabbing of Molly's finger in his direction makes him stick out his chest, leaning forward to hiss, "You don't know shit about me, you knobbly-kneed, landlubbing... fish-bait!" And then she's striding off, and he's exhaling, like he's won somehow, eyeing the girl as she leaves. |
Comments
Roz (08:13, 30 July 2016 (PDT)) said...
Drex surely knows how to welcome people to the Weyr. <3
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