Logs:Pretty Dolls and Puppets
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| RL Date: 13 October, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Silva tries to make a friend, but Faryn's never had much patience for girls with more looks than sense. |
| Where: Candidate Quarters, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Silva's sprawled herself across her bunk, long dark hair spread around her. It's late, and she's got some girls gathered around her, and they're gossiping the night away. As the yawns grow larger Silva waves away the others, "Whatever, I'll catch you tomorrow. Like, tomorrow I bet they're going to have us shoveling runner crap or something." A flip of her hair as her last 'friend' scoots off to bed and her eyes travel about, seeing out the others, not quite ready to sleep herself. Despite being one of the first candidates, Faryn's cot is near to the door, making her arrivals in the evening as unobtrusive as her pre-dawn departures. More often than not, especially lately, she comes after most people have fallen asleep. Tonight is an odd exception, for whatever reason, and she's been sitting on her own cot with a book in hand and a sleepy expression that says she's not paying full attention to the words on the page or the conversation around her. Silva's proclamation makes her blink behind the book and come back, just a little, with an odd little shake. "Deja vu." To the book, really. She's on the prowl tonight, or something. The moment Faryn's in the room Silva's eyes are following her, speculatively. Pushing herself to her feet Faryns cot gains a +1 of personhood in the form of Silva. "You know." She reaches forward to touch the edges of the other candidate's hair, "A little touch here... maybe some blush... you really could be stunning." A flick of her gaze towards the book, "Though if you keep reading in the low light, you're going to end up cross eyed. And no one likes that." Faryn closes the book, thumb nested in the crease of the spine to mark her place. By the time Silva's standing near her cot, the older candidate has lifted her eyes with the most unpleasant expression she can muster: a simple, unimpressed stare, her mouth pressed into a line that threatens a frown. The frown gives up the ghost in record time. Faryn recoils, her objection immediate as she tucks the stray hairs away, the rest of her long and practical braid safely out of harm's way. "No. Go away," she orders. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to touch people without their permission?" "Oh sweetheart," False brightness there from Silva, but it could totally pass as someone just being overly friendly. "It just needs a little work. You must let me help you. I mean, you could even read or... whatever. It would be such a challenge." Silva isn't getting up, and she looks way too comfortable here on this bed that so isn't hers. "What," Faryn says, a question without the proper inflection. Flatly annoyed. She straightens, and something in her wiry form is immediately recognizable as not good. "I'm nobody's sweetheart, least of all yours." She looks Silva up and down, sizing her up; finally, someone smaller than she is. It'd be so easy to-- "Get. Off. My bed." Gritted out. "I didn't realize we were so hard up for candidates that you..." Silva snaps back and brings up a hand as if to ward off the other girl. "You don't have to be so rude." Clear offense is taken as Silva looks the other girl up and down, "I mean, I was just trying to be friends. Do you even know what that means?" Maybe she's had a long day, though in some ways every day is pretty long, when you're up as early as she is. "Probably not," she says, and it could be for any of those statements. "You don't want friends, though, what I can tell. You want pretty dolls and puppets, to tell you how nice your hair is and how pretty and clever you are. Right?" Faryn studies Silva's face. "What's your name?" That's how friendships start, right? Although, maybe, usually, that question comes with a little more enthusiasm. "Uh, excuse me?" Silva pulls herself up to her feet, and despite the fact that she's shorter than the other woman looks downwards at her. "I have said nothing but nice things about you. I don't know where you get off judging me." Flipping her hair over a shoulder Silva settles her hands on her hips. "Silva." Grudgingly she gives her name. "You know. There's nothing wrong with being pretty or wanting to look good. You don't see the Lady Holders walking around looking all bookish." As soon as Silva stands, Faryn stretches both her legs towards the end of the cot, obstructing her from settling back in if the desire strikes her. Admittedly, there are several inches past her boots that Silva might be able to squeeze in, if she really tries, but the intention is clear. "To my face," Faryn judges dismissively. "There was a girl like you in the last group, too. Pretty as all get out, but--" the ex-crafter puffs a sigh, rolling her eyes. "Look, sweetheart," too sibilant, the 's' far too long in a hiss, "I met my quota of friends. I'm sure plenty of girls would love your services, but I'm not one of them." "Whatever. Its all on you. I was trying to be nice." Silva's not going to waste a single more second on the other girl, and with another flip of her hair is just going to mince right over towards her bunk. Pausing almost there Silva looks backwards, "Just like, tell me if you ever want something done with your hair. I could make you look amazing ." "Faranth, you're just like her," Faryn says, watching Silva's body language. "Wrong hair color, is all. It's like I'm cursed." To be plain. She waits until she's certain Silva's not coming back, her gaze lingering on the younger girl for a long moment or three. Eventually, given time, she goes back to her book, and her solitude, with occasional looks up to make sure nobody else is going to descend on her. |
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