Logs:Meaningless Words
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| RL Date: 14 December, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some words are said, between weyrwoman and weyrling. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| Plenty of people grump and grumble about being inside on beautiful days, such as the one on this summer afternoon. Two scribes work the record room today, and because of said weather, few weyrfolk are actually utilizing the menagerie of books, scrolls, and sundry. Farideh, surprisingly, is! She's standing near one of the bookshelves, holding an open book in one hand and gracefully flipping with the pages with another. It is quiet -- except for the whispery sound of paper sliding against paper, or the rhythmic noise of stylus against parchment as one of the scribes jots notes behind the desk. Outside, there's a sort of tune-agnostic whistling, that carries quite well in the quiet. To V'ret's credit, however, it stops abruptly before he actually enters. When he comes in, it's with silence and an appropriately serious aspect. Or at least the silence. The fact that he's still smiling to himself like the whistle might have continued given the opportunity, that's more like him. He knows where he's headed, but whatever he was looking for, it must be harder to find than the nearest shelves. Whistling-- in this atmosphere? Three sets of eyes lift to the entryway, and all but one pair drop when they notice who's come in. It takes the goldrider moment to greet the weyrling in any way, being otherwise entertained with staring, eyebrows lifted. "V'ret," has probably become familiar by now, in cadence, with the little uppity inflection she puts on the ret part of his name. "Sorry," says the weyrling, though he's already stopped. Does he sound sorry? It must be said: Not really. V'ret heads in a bit to start looking, but diverts himself over by Farideh long enough to duck a bit, try to catch what it is she's reading. "Weyrwoman," this time with appropriate hush. It could make the greeting come out sounding much more awed than it really is. "Sorry? What for?" It is hard to tell when she isn't patronizing, since she does it so often. Lifting hazel eyes to the much taller V'ret, Farideh snaps the book closed -- no sneaky peeking -- and holds it in the curl of her arm. "Are you studying? Research? For fun? I don't think I've ever seen you in here," and her tone implies that's surprising, from her perspective. "Have you been waiting for me here very long, then?" V'ret gives up on spying what she's looking at, only to start regarding the shelf next to her. It gives him away to hang about without making eye contact. "I came looking for--what do they call it? Erotica." Not porn. Porn is different stuff. "Or pornography would do." Beggars, choosers? "No more enforced lights out, I thought I might find myself some reading material for at bedtime." The smile Farideh graces V'ret with is thin and unkind. "I suspect I would die before you came around looking for anything--" Her face freezes, words caught on the tip of her tongue, and she makes the mistake of looking up at him, but hurriedly looks away with her nose in the air. "You're crude. Can't you find a real girl somewhere? I doubt the record room keeps things like that," except-- she suddenly doesn't sound too certain. And yet V'ret seems resolutely cheerful in the face of her unkindness. Straight down into it, even, when she actually looks at him, but then he turns off away again. "I came to look for this autobiography of a fellow lived to be a hundred and ten or something. He was apparently very amusing. Someone at the Snowasis recommended it." Not only does V'ret read books, apparently he's had a conversation with someone about a book. At least once. "Do you think they might really? We should look. Make sure it stays out of the hands of children." A sideways glance takes in what Farideh can see of the weyrling from her shorter vantage. "An autobiography? Of an old person? That sounds boring," says the goldrider that reads picture books. "No," is loud, and she hurriedly turns her body to block the scribes' view, "no," quieter, firm. "We aren't going to look around the records for nude drawings. How absurd. You'll learn enough bad behaviors when you graduate and get a real wing, without me aiding your debauchery," she informs him. "He lived through the whole Pass. I don't know. Had a customer liked it." A customer means this bit of advice has been floating around in V'ret's head for a very long time, now. "I don't need your help for debauchery. Only wanted to see if you had any interest in coming along to look. You could miss it. You'll never know." It is, of course, teasing. He doesn't seem to find whatever he's looking for on that shelf, moves on to the next. "A customer? You mean to say, someone suggested it when you were a bartender and you're just now showing interest?" Farideh looks back over her shoulder at the scribes, considering their lack of interest, but when her eyes come back to rest on V'ret, there's a contemplative quality to her expression that wasn't there before. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do after you graduate? Beyond drills, and flights, and loose-moraled women." "No more lights out," V'ret repeats, from earlier. Apparently part of that might have actually been serious. "Too much quiet at night. But trying to study keeps me awake." This is all very distracted, as he's too busy inspecting shelves, and may not wholly be thinking about what he's saying. That could pass for sharing, V'ret. You can't just go around doing that. "I'd like to find something that wouldn't mean so many early mornings, but I expect that's wishful thinking." "No more lights out." It takes a period of long silence, during which Farideh doesn't do anything more than study him while he's busy looking for books. "Find out the wing schedules, and where they are and when. Snowasis and games. Darts, poker-- unless Quinlys is forbidding those things." She doesn't look sympathetic. "That," on a laugh, "is impossible. Unless you beat K'del out for Weyrleader in Niahvth's next flight, you'll be stuck with early mornings like the rest of us." "I play cards, but they're not of much use getting to sleep. One does need to wind down, Farideh." It's only a mild reproach, but possibly because, in part, V'ret is still trying to keep his voice down as he looks. "Unless Zoth beats Cadejoth. I couldn't fly even if I wanted to." Does he want to? He isn't, apparently, telling. Just taking down a title to leaf through it. "Don't care much about duties. Looking forward to some travel." "You do realize how intolerable you are?" With all of her generic tries at chitchat overturned, there isn't much for Farideh to do except glare at him, feet braced squarely, some tome of poetry pressed to her bosom. "Completely and utterly." Does he realize? V'ret seems to need to think on this a moment. He turns pages, not just forward but back again, in the volume he's holding. No pictures at all. "Completely intolerable. Those are very strong words, Farideh." Maybe he just likes using her name, maybe it's an attempt at an equalizer. "Some people seem to tolerate me very well." Who shall remain nameless. "Com-plete-ley," is drawn out and enunciated, syllable by syllable. "Some people can't see their own feet when they look down. I wouldn't take it as a compliment." Reaching around V'ret, Farideh plucks a book from the shelf above her head, and promptly shoves it at him. "You'll need this," she says, chin lifting stubbornly. That is a book about manners, it just-so-happens, written by some jaunty whos-it from some time ago who claimed Blood relation. He at least takes the book with something like a little grace, inspecting the title. "I can comport myself with the sort of people who require multiple forks just fine," V'ret says, tone bland as paste. "Is that what you'd prefer of me? Would you prefer a salute, a few meaningless words arranged to taste? Your wish, as they say." He doesn't even bother flipping through the book, but he does keep it in hand. "You," an angry finger gets pointed at his chest, "have a problem with me. You learn to hide it better or get over whatever it is. I've never been anything but nice to you." Farideh lies outright, but in this moment she looks like she believes it. "You decided you suddenly didn't like me, and if we're going to have to be on talking terms I'd just as soon hear meaningless words from you than insults. Now," she regains some composure, smoothing back her hair with a glance at the scribes, "you understand." A hand moves, but ultimately V'ret doesn't seem to know what he intends to do with it, and he ends up clasping the book with both of them. "I thought--" But he almost literally bites his tongue to cut that one off. "A misunderstanding, weyrwoman. There's no problem. I'm sorry to have troubled you," and never mind who greeted who first in this exchange, never mind what book he was after; perhaps the one in his hand will suffice. He's turning to go. "Don't," think, apparently. No disagreement or banalities come from Farideh, who is content, if tense, to watch him turn and leave. She'll wait until he's walked out of sight to let out her held breath and make her own leave of the quiet-again records room. |
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