Logs:Meddlesome
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| RL Date: 15 January, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and T'gar don't get along. Shocker. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions |
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| Music! Music flows through Snowasis and out onto the patio, as does a mishmash of loud voices. One of the posted harpers has taken a station atop the bar, bearing both a stringed instrument and a glass of whiskey, that fuel his drunken, bawdy songs; songs that still come out as gilded and mesmerize the crowd. Somewhere in the midst, an impromptu dancefloor has been set up, or that is to say: riders have paired up to spin, twirl, and stomp to the rhythmic tunes the fair-haired harper plays. In the middle, Farideh's being whirled around by one of Tundra's smith-brownriders. She's obviously had a fair few drinks herself, if the ruddiness of her cheeks and glassiness of her eyes is any proper indication; not to count the wrinkles in her blouse and how wild her hair is around her face. No one seems to notice or pay the weyrwoman any particular attention, because tonight, she's just another face in the crowd, mumbling along to the strains of the song being sung-shouted. With the bar crowded and the music rousing many of its Weyrfolks to dance, the bar counter is filled with those that's only there for a drink or two. T'gar must be one of those for he's there settled on a stool and watching the revelers on the makeshift dancefloor while he savors his drink choice of the night. He doesn't seem to be picking out or recognizing anyone in particular, seeming content to watch the views (women included) and linger on his drink. One more spin has the goldrider seeking (more) libation, though her dance partner quickly acquires a new one to keep pace with the upbeat song that the harper strums next. "Wa-- water," Farideh croaks at the bartender and then promptly starts giggling at herself, except when she glances to the side T'gar is there; that makes her lips purse, holding in the remainder of her laughter until she can form words. "Weyrling," is her greeting of choice. With Farideh emerging from the throng, of course T'gar spots her as she arrives at the counter. He doesn't keep the grin from his face as he leans towards her so that he could be heard as he answers her greeting with a, "Weyrwoman. I saw you." Even if it's possible that he didn't. He doesn't seem to reveal himself either way. Making a show of looking for someone in the crowd, "I don't see Drex anywhere," he notes, making an effort of his search in his tease. The look Farideh gives him is somewhat severe, though for more self-indulging reasons than otherwise, and whatever words she is about to say are interrupted by the bartender handing her a tall glass of water. She eagely gulps down a few mouthfuls, before refocusing her attentions on T'gar, with continued wariness. "Of course you saw me. I'm in plainnnn sight." She points her forefinger at him, leaning her side against the bar to keep from falling over; drunkenness does not beget balance, unfortunately for her. "Drex? No, you wouldn't. He's somewhere in the middle of the ocean-- he'd rather be in bed on that damnable ship than with me." T'gar says nothing until she's watered and done, his annoying smile in place the whole time until the end where he laughs. "So, Drex is out to sea and you're here dancing the night away like you're newly unattached." Leaning forward with a look towards the few men watching her from the dancefloor, he adds to her, "Careful. Looks like one of them aims to have you in their bed by the end of the night. News travels fast around here, after all." His Bitran accent rolls with the practiced drawl through those words, meeting her gaze in the end as he leans back. Does she want to throw the glass in his face and get rid of that annoying smile? Probably. "Careful? You be careful," Farideh shoots back willfully, without turning to follow his gaze towards any roving eyes. "I've been alone more times than I've not-- he used to leave often-- and none of them got lucky then. It's pure fancy-- and maybe the whiskey." Her eyes flick to the bottles behind her counter, away from the weyrling's direct stare. "You're awfully forward with your words." "Why should I be careful? I'm not the one with eyes following everywhere they go," Rat notes, a hand pressing to his chest with that annoying grin still present. Hand dropping, "So you're one of those 'He's my one and only' girls, huh? Reveling in the blanket of true love and all that glow? Does he send you love letters while he's away?" Which probably feeds into her last question of being forward since the weyrling goes back to watching the dancefloor as he answers, "I can be a forward guy. Being forward adds spice to your life. Try it sometime. Ma'am." "Are you sure about that? It's not everyone that has a foreign gold spending hours on their ledge," comes the saccharine reply, with a too-fake flutter of her eyelashes. "If you keep that up, you'll invite all sorts of eyes." Farideh makes an unladylike sound into her glass then, but is stopped from replying straightaway by another swallow. "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. It doesn't mean I can't enjoy myself. That I can't dance with other men, if I choose to. It's not the same as grabbing them by the privates and leading them off to my weyr." She only gives him a deadpan look from the side, and then rolls her eyes ceilingward. There is not change of expression from T'gar as he looks the weyrwoman's way before snorting. "Is there a rule I should know about? About Reachian riders only fucking Reachians?" he asks in an open tease as he leans his elbows back against the counter. "I think Drex would probably prefer having someone he trusts looking out for you," he adds now with a nod towards the dancefloor. "I'm sure it would relieve many of his worries. There are men out there that would take advantage of a pretty weyrwoman." The goldrider looks pleased by the reaction, and even does some more pointing-- at his face, specifically. "No. You can screw whoever you please. You aren't the weyrleader, but, everyone notices that. Eyes will be following you, whether you like it or not." All of that amusement shrivels up after, when the revelation hits Farideh like he's just thrown her water in her face; she stiffens. "Did you tell you that? To look after me?" she asks, jaw tight. "And if I would one day be the Weyrleader?" T'gar plays on Farideh's words as he brings his glass to his mouth. "I can't fuck anyone I want then?" Pause. "Dee's a friend of mine," he tells her then after he takes a drink. "Considering how most women around here act, she's a breath of fresh air. If people want to watch me, they can." His annoying smile is back then, especially when he sees Farideh unnerved about Drex. He doesn't answer right away, seeming to let her stew for a few minutes with the unpleasant possibilities before he slowly shakes his head and says, "The look on your face is fucking priceless, ma'am." "You will never be Weyrleader," Farideh replies, airily. Meanwhile, the topic of weyrleaders fucking whoever they want-- well, she leaves it at that. "It's just as well. She's saving the women of this Weyr from dealing with you. I should send her a fruit and dessert basket, or some ear muffs so she can tune you out when she pleases." And then she slams her glass down on the bartop, turning to face him with all of her fury present in the singular expression she gives him. "Fuck off, you cad." Arms folding, "If I'm meddling," T'gar counters, her, "then why entertain me with insults instead of pulling rank on me, ma'am? Besides, I do consider Drex a friend. I was actually looking out for the both of you, but since it doesn't really matter what I say..." One arm unfurls to reach a waiting glass, filled, lifting it up in a sort of salute to the weyrwoman with a mocking smile before taking a leisurely drink from it. Irritation settles in the furrow of the goldrider's brow, her pursed lips and re-tightened arms over her chest. "Why would I? You're meddling in my private affairs, which has nothing to do with professional. You can content yourself with the fact that if you were meddling in the Weyr's affairs, I wouldn't hesitate to pull rank." Farideh has morals, it appears. "You? Drex?" That surprises her, but it doesn't seem like it's a pleasant surprise. "Isn't the weyrwoman's affairs the concern of the whole Weyr? Bronzeriders in particular?" Surely Rat is joking as he briefly rolls his eyes to the ceiling. As for the professional, "I'll leave the Weyr affairs to you all," he answers that a touch dry. "Since, according to you, I'll never be Weyrleader." He doesn't verbally answer on Drex and him being friends, choosing instead to settle a look on the woman instead as he drains his glass once more. The weyrwoman's eyes narrow in suspicion, at it all, and then, without a word to T'gar, she turns back to the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Wine, please," Farideh orders, earnestly. Chats with insufferable weyrlings make her thirsty, apparently. Once the glass is drained, T'gar sets it back on the counter near Farideh before he leans over and says to her, "You have yourself a good evening. Ma'am." The smile is one that could annoys, tacking on a salute at the end before he pushes himself away from the bar counter and heads out of the bar. |
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