Logs:Make Me
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 12 February, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Edyis, Farideh, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex has claimed the weyrling training room. Quinlys is Not Happy. There's a fight over who has to fix everything. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 13, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
    |
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there. What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable. The weyrlings training cavern is decidedly echoy, empty, and cool as one might expect from being so long unused, and yet it's not freezing, especially when compared to the temperature outside, and it's far more preferable to the heavy rain. Someone, namely an currently land-bound pirate, has rearranged the furniture so that all the couches face one another, creating a fairly large, fairly comfortable looking 'bed' of sorts, which he's currently lounging in, fast asleep, to judge by faint snoring. At the entrance, where all that heavy rain is coming from, there's a flurry of sound - mostly cussing and stamping of feet. "It rains now," Farideh's murmuring to herself, hurriedly removing her soaked jacket and dropping it on the dry side of the threshold; her water-slicked boots come next. It leaves her to tread on silent tip-toes through the dark, cold cavern, giving it plenty of amazed glances as she moves through. She's walking towards the back, where the barracks and the office lie, but once she hears the snoring, she stops and peers warily towards the couch-bed. Naturally, her recklessness will lead her towards the sound, towards impending disaster. Turns spent on a ship, with noisy bunkmates and creaking walls, mean that Drex doesn't even stir at the arrival of another into his room. His latest one, anyway. There's a momentary break in the snoring, while he turns over, one hand flopping over his eyes. It's dark and it's foreign, and incredibly seemly that Farideh approaches the couches with a significant amount of trepidation. She's chewing on her thumb by the time she gets to the back of the closest one, and stares warily towards the middle, where there's a sleeping body reposing there. Some relief floods face, but it's still a pale oval in the dimness of the cavern. "Quinlys?" she questions quietly. "Eh?" the sailor stirs, squinting upwards, eyes unfocused for a moment. "This is my room," Drex says, pure habit to make the claim, as he peers at the figure visible above him. "Go get yer own." It takes a bit for the familiarity of the voice to penetrate her memory, to recall the name that voice belongs to, and when it does, Farideh squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces; not that that's visible in the dark. "Drex?" is both annoyed and deflated. His, "Farideh?" comes immediately after hers, though his is surprised and uncertain. "Yes," the laundress says softly. "What are you doing here? It's--" Farideh falls silent, then, and looks towards the barracks. "You're going to get caught if you try to stay in here. It's not like a closet that no one worries about." Sitting up, Drex rubs at his eyes, a yawn audibly coming from his direction. "Aint no one coming here. No weyrlings," he says, like that should be a given. "Dragons have to fuck before that happens. Even I know that." "That doesn't mean they don't clean it, or check it." Farideh turns her face back to Drex and his multiple couches, frowning. "And the Weyrlingmaster has her office here. What if she walks in and you're just--" Her hand is flung out in a flopping gesture, which again, might not be seen in the dim lighting. "You should have stuck to that closet room," she says in the end, leaning against the back of the couch she's closest to, arms folding over her chest. "No one's come in in the," Drex pauses, squints, "Hours I've been here." So it's his, ok? Pirate rules. "If she wants to wrestle me for it..." the sailor seems game. But then he hasn't met the Weyrlingmaster, so it's probably all talk. "Better 'n sleeping in the dorms. D'you know how many people there snore?" Outside it's raining and cold, inside there's a sailor taking command of the couches. A distressed sigh is Farideh's only response to the sailor's former comments. "And none of the other sailors on your ship snored?" She doesn't sound convinced, leaning up against the back of one of the couches, arms crossed over her chest while she tries to stare, hard, at Drex through the dark. There are a lot of things that are better than sleeping in the dorms, it's true. Quinlys' sudden arrival? Not one of those things. The rain has plastered her hair to her neck, and set her to shivering; as she enters, however, that is plainly forgotten. "What," she begins. "The fuck?" Drex is currently lounging (or sitting, at least) on the makeshift bed he's created, having rearranged the furniture so that all the couches face one another. "Well, sure, but it's nice to get somewhere quiet for--" The arrival of Quinlys, not to mention her swearing, has him staring. "It's mine," he says, loudly, drawing himself up. "No one else is here, I claimed it." The casual stance, and thoughtful expression Farideh had been wearing, is squelched underneath a horrified inhale when Quinlys appears. She takes a step away from the couch, holding a hand out towards Drex. "No. No, he doesn't mean that. We just-- he just-- it was raining and then-- hi." Remember her? There's a hopeful smile, like that will somehow make the bluerider forget they're trespassing in her territory. "No," says Quinlys. "It's mine." She may be nearly a foot shorter than the sailor, but she's been training teenagers for turns, now; she knows how to put force behind her words. Those blue eyes glance at Farideh for only a moment, dismay - and disappointment - obvious there before she flicks back towards the obvious ringleader. "Everything goes back where it belongs, and you get out. Or I'll have you seconded to my staff so you can both clean the place from top to bottom every day until the next lot of weyrlings, and since neither queen has risen just yet... Hop." Drex is staring at Farideh, now, giving her his best stop trying to help frown. "Of course I meant that." He puffs out his chest, though he's kneeling on the couch, so that doesn't make it any more impressive, really, for once not able to take advantage of his height. "Yeah? Who're you anyway?" Both hands lift to cover her mouth, her eyes flicking between the bluerider and sailor accordingly. Mumbling through her fingers, "That's the Weyrlingmaster." Farideh told him so. She starts to lower her hands and looks beseechingly towards Quinlys. "We'll leave. It was a mistake, really. A mistake. That's all. He'll put it all back--" with a admonishing look towards Drex. Edyis heads in from the bowl. Edyis has arrived. "The fucking weyrlingmaster." Quinlys is taking no prisoners; Quinlys may have learned something from Tiriana, once upon a time. She's standing in the door of the barracks - into which no one should be coming without good reason - hands on her hips, staring at Farideh and Drex. "Out. Both of you. Fix it, and then out." That's when she turns, marching towards her office where, no doubt, she'll be listening to whatever happens next. "Don't see what's got her so riled up. Aint no one living here," Drex's arms are folding across his chest, chin jutting out, narrowed eyes following the Weyrlingmaster's march to her office. He gives Farideh a look, too. "You saw it, I was here first." Except for not really being here first, only technically, today first. "What is wrong with you?" completely exasperated, hands gesturing wildly. "This isn't a ship." Farideh puts her hands to the sides of her head and gives it a shake, then scowls at Drex without a trace of sympathy. "Move them back. Now. Before she comes back. I don't want to mop floors because you can't be satisfied with a closet or a dorm like everyone else." Her hands drop to her hips, her expression stern. "With me? It's all of you." Drex turns his glowering look on Farideh. With a roll of his eyes at her stern look, he says, "What're you going to do if I don't?" Edyis was honestly just passing through, or at least she was; Quinlys's voice has the scribe peering around the corner sideways and getting soaked. The girl now incredibly curious to see who the blue rider was scolding. Her confusion only multiplies when she spies Drex. "What did you do?" She asks of the boy, remaining half-hidden behind the doorway. Her eyes then rest on Farideh, and dark brows knit together, as though waiting for some explanation. You know, before she makes something up on her own. "It's our fault your insane?" Glower is met with glare, and a mocking twist of her lips. "You can't just go around claiming every room you walk into is yours, and if you dislike us so much, maybe you should go stay at High Reaches with Lord Devaki since your friend is his favorite," in disdainful tones. But it's the later question that riles her up the most. "You want to see?" before Farideh slings a leg over the back of the couch in an attempt to get to the middle, where he is. She stops mid-straddle, glancing up sharply at Edyis' entrance. "Oh." And now, Drex is smirking, just a little. "I do, actually." When she starts climbing into his makeshift bed, his eyes narrow, arms unfolding. Perhaps it's timely that Edyis arrives, gaze flicking towards her, then back. "Why is it always me that's doing it? She's the one climbing into my bed," he says, blandly. Edyis blinks at Farideh's sound and Drex's explanation. She straightens up and blinks at the both of them. "Oh. Uh. Sorry. For interrupting. I think there was something I forgot to file." Starting to go back in the direction she came from. Ears pinkish. The arrival of her friend doesn't dissuade Farideh too much, because she slides the rest of the way into the sailor's bed, looking triumphant when she's got her feet underneath her. "It's not a bed. They're couches, and they aren't yours." She takes a couple bounce-steps towards the sailor, then pauses, looking back at Edyis with a frown. "Why do you always think the worst?" Next, a disgruntled sound. Edyis receives a bemused sort of look from the sailor, likely as not from genuine confusion at her sudden retreat. "I was sleeping in it," Drex says, "It's a bed, and a comfortable one at that." He tips his head, peering up at Farideh, pushing to his feet now, too, while she looks at Edyis. "I spend a lot of time around certain riders." She muses aloud. "I'm pretty used to finding people in compromising situations at this point." Though at comfortable and sleep she gives the couch a second glance, stepping out of the rain. "Actually he makes a compelling argument. The greenhouse is pretty nice for sleeping too. I can't fault you for not wanting to sleep in the resident dorm; it is terrible in there." A second head must have sprouted from Edyis' neck from the way Farideh's staring at her, but it's with another dissatisfied sound that she's turning to look down at Drex, only to find him up. "There's a bed in the Weyrwoman's weyr too. Are you going to go sleep in it?" she challenges, jerking her chin up, stubbornly. "Don't give him ideas, Edyis." Drex looks like he's seriously considering it. "Maybe," he says, "If she ever stops calling me knot boy." He grins at Edyis' words, looking pleased with the support. "See? Even yer friend thinks I'm right. So, you gonna clean this up, or yer gonna make me?" "I'm sure the weyrwoman would be pleased. Don't take it personal, I think she has a problem with names that aren't attached to giant flying carnivores." Edyis laughs, even under the weight of that stare. "I can't help it. Even I barely sleep there. Records room is good too depending who is on duty, and so long as you don't snore." She points out with diplomatic aplomb. Studying Farideh now, she smirks. "I think she's going to make you." As though thoroughly amused by the thought. "You're going to clean it up." Farideh's adamant about that, giving him a stare that's supposed to be mean, but looks more pouty than aggressive. "Or," she crosses her arms over her chest, "I'll have to make you do it." Edyis' support of Drex's sleeping arrangements gets a resounding round of silence from the laundress; no solidarity. Drex's chin lifts, as if to indicate his stubborn refusal even under the determined gaze of the laundress. There's a thud from the direction of the Weyrlingmaster's office that makes the sailor startle for a moment. And, maybe, it helps to force the grudging concession, "Fine. But you have to help." A finger is stabbed in Edyis' direction, "You, too, for being nosy." Edyis arches a dark brow at the finger. "Uh huh, who is going to make me?" "Nope," Farideh says with a grin, that's a little stretched - perhaps from the bump from the office - and then she's turning to clamber back over the couch. "I didn't move the couches and I am perfectly happy sleeping in my bed in the dorms, where people snore." Her voice is pleasant, despite what she's saying, and once over the back of the couch, she gives Edyis a frown. "But you should help. Since you both have such things in common," not in the least bit genuine. And she's finally silent by the time she gets to the front, where she's left her shoes and coat, the former of which she starts to struggle to put back on. "Farideh is, apparently." Drex looks at the laundress, now, with a grin. He spreads his hands, "Well, she did say both of us had to fix it, but if you aint, then I aint either." He climbs out of the bed structure, brushing down his shirt. Edyis opens her mouth and closes it, watching after Farideh with a sigh. "Fine. I will help." Resigned to it at least, whether the suggestion was genuine or not. "Only because she suggested it. I don't have to do a damn thing you say." She mutters the last, before glancing over to where Farideh is struggling with her shoes and coat. "Aren't you going to stick around to at least make sure he does not just walk off and leave a mess? "No." It's an emotionless sentiment. "If he wants to continue to act stupid, then fine." Wiggling her feet to get her toes in the boots just right, Farideh's eyes flick to Drex. "And when we're both stuck scrubbing floors and dusting corners, I hope you're happy. Happy that you'd rather leave a mess you created, happy that you couldn't even give me an answer," that answer. Then, she snubs her nose at him, grabs her coat, and ducks out into the rain. "Well, then," Drex tugs his coat tightly around him, grins at Edyis, and says, "No, no. Don't help. Let 'er stir in her own... whatever." He's not going to help, clearly, though he's not overly unsettled by Farideh's mood to judge by whistling as he walks out. Surely Quinlys will punish him, later. Edyis watches the laundress flounce off, then the sailor. "How the fuck, did I end up cleaning this up?" Muttering darkly as she sets about cleaning the mess up. |
Comments
K'zin (17:50, 15 February 2015 (EST)) said...
<3
Leave A Comment