Logs:Losers Or Winners
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 2 March, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Rafevan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Rafevan talk games, and winning. |
| Where: Smith Workroom, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold. |
  |
>---< Smith Workroom, High Reaches Weyr >------------------------------------<
Although the forge is outside in the bowl, the weyr smiths do have a
workroom of their own indoors, designed for projects of a smaller nature.
It's not as large as some of the other workrooms, but it does have the
advantage of two narrow, glassed-in windows built into the far wall,
providing light that is adequately supplemented by a series of glows
attached to the walls. Against the right-hand wall, a small pump and basin
provides water, and a single hearth warmth.
Long workbenches sit flush against the rest of the walls, wide enough to
provide a generous working space. Storage is provided in the form of long
racks and shelves above the benches, upon which a collection of tools and
equipment have been carefully sorted.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
Rafevan M 23 6'1 average, Blond hair, Blue eyes 20s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Complex It's been a long day, and Rafevan is just cleaning up the station he's claimed--by the window again, though the light's gone now except for the greenish glowlight. Chalk, slates, tools, hides--everything is neatly gathered up and folded into his bag piece by piece; most of his fellows are already gone. This late in the day - and perhaps for this location - the peal of laughter that echoes through the craft hall might be strange, and even stranger are the rapid footfalls that seem to be coming towards the smith workroom. In the next instant, Farideh twirls around the door and flattens herself against the wall next to the door, breathing hard with a grin spreading from ear to ear. More sounds of running and giggling comes from out in the hall, and an eagerly shouted "tag!" before multiple sets of feet run off in another direction. She, in the meantime, presses a hand against her chest, as if trying to still the fast breathing her running has caused. Her eyes move from the open doorway to the room beyond, scanning the unfamiliar workspace, and land, with some surprise, on Rafevan. "Hi," she says, after a brief pause. It's a curious event, one that makes Rafevan pause with his bag slid half over his shoulder; he frowns at Farideh in some measure of confusion. "Hi," he repeats, because what else is there to say in that case? He swings the strap of his bag over his head at any rate, letting it settle across his chest while he lifts his brows questioningly at Farideh. "You're small," he observes then. "You'll fit into a locker." Just in case she were wondering. "A locker?" pairs with an appropriately blank stare. "I don't want to not be it that badly." Taking a tentative step into the room, Farideh makes another cursory sweep with her eyes, and then her gaze falls back on the smith. "You're the-- that apprentice. Smith." She's captain obvious, today. "Rafe," she guesses, and looks down at his bag. "You're still working this late?" "I'm disappointed to hear you're willing to settle for a lower class of play," says Rafevan, with a sad, mocking shake of his head as she turns down his suggestion. Hardcore tag is apparently not to everyone's taste.. The recognition, though, makes him half-smile, nodding once: yes, he is that Smith. "On my way out, actually," he answers then. "I have a high-stakes ring-around-the-rosey game to get to." Definitely teasing. The smith's attempt at teasing gets a twist on a glare-smile, and her arms cross over her chest. "Ring-around-the-rosey? No hopscotch? Red rover, red rover? Duck duck goose?" Farideh glances over her shoulder quickly, as if expecting someone to still be in pursuit, and then returns barely-narrowed eyes to Rafevan. "What about cards? Do you play cards?" That appears to be a serious question, from the cant of her head and the set of her mouth. "I really like the all-fall-down part," Rafe says, his tone apologetic, expression steadfastly straight. "Though, yes, I've been tempted wayward on occasion, into less wholesome pursuits. What game did you have in mind?" Because clearly, that was a sideways offer on her part. Hazel eyes flick over Rafevan with suspicion, but Farideh doesn't voice any concerns she might have, instead rocking onto her back foot. "What games aren't you good at?" is deliberate; his automatic loss. Rafevan has to consider this, toying with his bag's strap as he leans against the table, in no hurry now. "Eating contests," he says after a moment of thought. "Checkers, and most things involving actual athletism." Rafevan's answers prompt a startled laugh that, too late, Farideh tries to cover with a hand. "Sorry. I just-- you suck, at running? We could have a race, or-- checkers. I'm not too good at that either." She frowns, briefly, and then brightens just as suddenly. "Have you ever played fight?" Not to be confused for play fighting, or maybe yes. "Also arm wrestling," says Rafevan, after another beat: while he's not scrawny or little, he's certainly not the stereotypical burly smith. "And running is for people who planned too poorly to arrive at a reasonable pace. What's fight?" His head tilts slightly with the question, prompting. "Arm wrestling," spoken like it's a detestable word. "Do you think I could beat you at that?" And clearly, that's the whole point. "Sometimes running is for fun, or some people use it for fitness. It doesn't mean you're late." Farideh rolls her eyes and frowns. "Fight? The card game. You flip them over without looking and the bigger card wins, unless it's the same number, then you both fight until one of you wins." Rafevan snorts. "Are you looking for something to beat me at? I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this vendetta," he tells her, so earnest really. "We called it War at the hall. A fun little entertainment until somebody learned poker, and we set aside our childish games of luck" He's bemused despite the slight, stepping forward to meet her closer to the door. "Are we at least going to wager on the outcome?" "Of course I'm looking for something to beat you at, and it has everything to do with you being taller than me," Farideh answers pertly. Tall people suck, or maybe it's revenge for the locker comment earlier. "I've never understood poker. There's a house by a river and someone flushes." She shakes her head woefully, regarding him suspiciously when he comes closer. "What do you suggest?" Rafevan just laughs at her then. "You know, I rather like winning myself," he points out dryly, mouth still twitching with that smirk. "But if you like, I'm willing to share my meager skills with you. I'll teach you poker. I'm better at poker face than I am the game itself, or maybe the face is the game, I've never decided entirely." "We can't both win." It's a flippant statement, replaced by a vaguely interested expression and inquisitive tone. "You're going to teach me poker," Farideh repeats, as if trying to wrap her mind around the concept. She studies him intensely for a short span and then nods her head. "It's a deal, but," there's always a but, "don't go easy. You have to be serious. I should be able to best you at a hand, in the end, okay?" With a lift of his brows, Rafe counters, "You don't know me very well, do you?" Of course he's not going to go easy on her. Perish the thought. But apparently the rest is a deal, because he wonders, "Do you have a deck, or shall I be in charge of supplies as well. Maybe we should gather a few friends, and make an evening's entertainment of it." "No. I don't. We've only just met," in an oversweet voice, that has a tinge of mocking. "I don't have any cards, but I can't borrow some if it's going to put you out." Farideh smiles at his later suggestion and bobs her head in the affirmative. "That sounds like a proper idea-- you sure you can teach and play at the same time? What if you get distracted? Or drunk?" Because, obviously, there will be drinks involved. Bemused, Rafe tips his head to Farideh: touche. Then, "What, are we going to have to have a drinking contest too, to prove that won't be an issue?" he counters. "So. Why don't we each invite a friend of our own--support or stooge, whichever you prefer--and we'll get together in a few days to teach you this most valuable skill?" "I'm simply going to hold you accountable if you get drunk and can't finish." Farideh wears her satisfied smirk as she gives the smith another nod of acquiescence. "That should work. You bring the cards and I'll pick a place, unless--" her lips twitch, "you have a perfect place to play poker in mind." In an afterthought, when she's already taking a step towards the door, "Do our plus ones need to know how to play too?" This is somewhat important. Up goes one brow, but Rafevan does not dispute her phrasing. His smirk gives away, perhaps, the implications he takes thereof, though. "Either-or," he says aloud to the latter. "And no, location is all your domain. As an apprentice," and his sigh is quite put-upon on that front, "I've little enough room to myself, so by all means, suggest something better." "I see." There's an almost-imperceptible sound, and Farideh's walking to the door, where she stops to turn back and stare at Rafevan. "In a few days. And don't bring anyone annoying." She's gone, after that. "Of course." That's a given. Rafe, watching as he leaves, wears a amused expression, leaving a few seconds behind on his way to his dorm. |
Leave A Comment