Logs:Pinky Promise
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| RL Date: 25 February, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Itsy |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Itsy make a promise to be friends forever, no matter what comes~ |
| Where: Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow. Cold. Ugh. |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lycinea/Mentions |
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>---< Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------< The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light. The air outside is bitter cold and the blue sky cloudless, but the afternoon sunlight does little to warm the freezing temperature. Intelligent people would be basking in the warmth provided by a fire, inside, away from the snow and the freezing water of the Weyr lake. Still, Farideh isn't particularly smart, though she seems to be regretting her decision to camp out on the bench at the far side of the lake, even being bundled in several layers and her big, wool coat, with a bright red knit cap on top of her head. Her hands are cupped around her face, protecting her already wind-reddened cheeks and rosy nose from further abuse. As for motive, it seems, from the looks she keeps casting about, that's she's waiting for someone, or maybe she's just being creepy; who knows. Another person for the less-than-smart basket? Itsy. Then again, the sailor has always shown a preference for the out-of-doors (and the lake in particular), even in the depths of winter. The banked snow does a little to soften her footsteps, now, as she makes her way around the water's edge, but she'd be audible even if her steps were absolutely silent: she's whistling, the sound carrying through her front teeth until, abruptly, it stops-- she's just seen that bright red cap, coming around the bend, and now her cheeks are flushed pink. It's the whistling that brings Farideh's curious eyes to the sailor, her fingers lowering enough to reveal a luminous smile that widens to the point of dimpling one pink cheek. One of her gloved hands lifts in a wave and a happy shouted, "Itsy! Hi!" is spoken before the hand drops to reposition in front of her nose. It's quite as if Itsy can't help herself; Farideh's smile draws, instantly, one of her own, that wide mouth widening further to allow for it. "'lo, Farideh," she says, tramping through the snowdrifts to approach the other girl, though she carefully - and deliberately - chooses a different bench to sit on. "You'll freeze out here." With the other girl choosing a different bench, that brilliant smile turns easily into a frown. "Why are you sitting over there? Come sit here," Farideh instructs impatiently, patting the vacant spot next to her. "If we both sit here, we won't. Something about body heat." Flickering back into a smile, she rubs her cheeks with the soft material of her gloves. "How have you been? Any new news? I haven't seen you in ages, it feels like." Itsy's mouth opens, blue-eyed gaze shifting from Farideh to the bench, and then back to Farideh. Her brow wrinkles. "Farideh--" she begins. Her cheeks are pinker still. And also? She doesn't move. "Been busy. Things to do, people to see." Both hands get pressed into her lap, tightly, gaze shifting away from the other girl again; she's awkward. Itsy's refusal earns a sulky look, lower lip jutting out in defiance, but there's no more demands to be made for now. "'Busy? Things to do? People to see? Like what? Have you been up to the Hold to see Lord Devaki? How does he look? Is he a mess? I would be a mess if my husband was just murdered. Is your ship finished? Does it look nice? Is it big?" in a long string of rambling, in a very Farideh-like manner. Blinking, Itsy hesitates, quite as though she doesn't have the faintest idea how to even begin with that torrent of words. "No," she says, without specifying what she's actually referring to. "It's-- just stuff." 'Stuff' like 'sulking over Drex' and 'being moody and more like a teenager than she probably cares to be.' "How are you?" "No?" Farideh's bubbly demeanor deflates, and she sighs into the barrier of her hands, staring obstinately at Itsy. "I'm fine. Just-- fine." Her eyes cut away, before coming back to the sailor's face, her dejectedness being replaced by sudden recognition. "Oh. I wanted to ask you a question. I had almost forgotten." Shifting on her bench, turning towards Itsy, she lowers her hands to rest against her shoulders and huffs a frosty breath. "Did you threaten to kill Lycinea?" As yet, there's no censure in her voice, just frankness. Dejectedness appears to be both what Itsy was hoping for-- and something she hates; deflecting from herself is good, but disappointing Farideh, well, that's not so good. She sighs, and that question about Lycinea only makes her sigh a second time. "She was bugging me," she says, frowning. "Getting in my business. Told her to fuck off. You have any idea how much trouble it's caused me? Apparently I'm too good for girly things." "It's not nice to threaten to kill people, Itsy," Farideh says patiently. "You can just tell her to go away, you don't have to bring up death." There's the criticism, finally, in both voice and stare, but it's a fleeting thing quickly replaced by confusion. "Trouble? What trouble? Who said that? There's nothing wrong with being girly," and if to attest to that, she pulls on her hat, fixing it just so. "Works, though, doesn't it?" And telling people to go away does not. Itsy doesn't sound terribly satisfied, though, and especially not given how displeased her expression is over the other part of the conversation. She crosses her arms in front of her, hunching forward. "People," she says. 'Drex,' she means. "Apparently it's okay for you to be girly, but not me. I'm supposed to be just-like-a-man-except-Itsy. Should just wear a dress all the time; that'd show him." Beat. "Them." "Not when she comes to me, complaining about it. That bugs me." Farideh's lips compress in displeasure, but her expression softens with the rest of Itsy's reply. "Maybe they like you how you are and don't want to see you change. Like you like you, you know? Because it would certainly be strange if I liked someone as they were, and they suddenly changed everything about themselves. But," she points out, "that doesn't mean you shouldn't do what makes you happy. They'll just have to adapt to the change." There, brilliant advice, sunny smile! "You shouldn't've told her in the first place," is Itsy's disgruntled reply to that, one that comes out before - it seems - she's properly had time to consider the rest of what the other girl has to say. The disgruntlement can't last for long, though, not in the face of the sunninness of that smile; Itsy wilts, and then, tentatively, attempts a smile. "Maybe," she says. And, "Whatever. I'll be gone soon, anyway. Soon as my ship is done." Hers, not theirs. "I thought she might like to help," replies Farideh simply, like that should be a good enough answer for Itsy. "I wish you didn't have to go. I know you're looking forward to your ship and--" Her hand levels, moving forward in a line; must be how she imagines ships go. "On the ocean, but I'll miss you, you know," with her head titled and her smile a little sadder than before. "It won't be nearly as exciting. And who will let me dress them up and go to gathers with me?" Plenty of people, but that's not supporting her point. Itsy, plainly finding Lycinea's help dubious at best, shrugs in answer to that comment, and focuses instead upon the rest. "You can meet me at port," she says, promptly, shoulders drawing back to improve her posture just so. "See... Ista, and Southern, and all the other places out there. It'll be better, you'll see. Don't belong here. Never did." She pauses, and then adds, "But I'll miss you too. More'n'I should, maybe." "How would I know when you made it there? Would you write me letters?" Farideh sounds hopeful, leaning forward, one arm bracing on the back of her bench regardless of the frost accumulating there. "How long does that take? Weeks? Months? What if-" She frowns, suddenly. "Don't ships sink?" That's a horrible thought, one that she waves away, and tries on another smile, this one less strong. "See, I knew we would be friends." Although tentative at first, Itsy's smile does manage to grow - a little - throughout Farideh's words, even as she frowns. "I'll write," she promises. "Tell you where I'm headed, when I'll be there. Maybe I'll get me one of those firelizard things. It'll be fine. We'll still be friends, promise. Wherever I am. Whatever you do." Promise, it spurs Farideh to stand and crunch her way across the snow to Itsy, to stand in front of her and hold out her hand, pinky up. "Promise," pinky promise! Her face is adamant. "I want to hear everything. Don't leave out any details. Some of us will have to live through your adventures while we're sitting here, in the snow, or washing laundry for a bunch of ungrateful boors," though she's grinning widely when she says it. Itsy stares at that hand, that pinky, as if she's not quite sure what to do with it. Finally, after a few moments of hesitation, she lifts her own hand similarly; Farideh is going to have to do the honours, though, because clearly the sailor is at a loss. "Everything," she promises. "Got to return the favour, though. All the stuff that goes on here, okay? All of it." The taller girl's smile takes on a satisfied edge when she links their pinkies in the ultimate, girly agreement, and tugs Itsy's hand down, then up. "It's promised. Anyone who shall break the promise will be subject to any punishment the other should allow, which may or may not involve wearing a hideous, frilly dress and one of those feathered caps," Farideh explains, looking highly pleased with herself. "I won't leave any of it out. I'll tell you all about how miserable this place is and how smelly the Weyrleader's socks are." Itsy's hand is, at least, pliant: once she knows what to do, it's easy enough. Afterwards, though, she tugs the other girl's hand into her own, squeezing it tightly. "Gross," is her answer to that potential punishment, and perhaps the weyrleader's socks, too, but at least she's smiling-- laughing, even. "C'mon. Let's go inside 'fore you freeze, right?" Having her hand captured doesn't seem to bother Farideh, who happily squeezes Itsy's back, and nods her head in the affirmative, perhaps to both answers. "It's dreadful weather out, so let's. You can tell me stories about places where you've been, preferably beaches, as we walk" while she pulls on the sailor's hand to try and help her up. "Done," promises Itsy, who allows Farideh to do at least part of the work in drawing her up off of her bench. If she nudges her hip against the other girl's, just for a moment, it's probably accidental; but she'll keep holding on to that hand - unless the other girl lets go - on the way back to the Weyr, all the while cheerfully relaying stories of earlier exploits... in which Drex has been silently, and perhaps obviously, excised. |
Comments
Edyis (20:27, 25 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Awwww. <3 It's awesome getting to see a different side of Itsy, and the letter writing promise <3.
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