Logs:Progressive Weyr Girl

Progressive Weyr Girl
"I doubt anyone could tame me. I offend you?"
RL Date: 25 September, 2015
Who: Faryn, Rategar
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: Rategar and Faryn meet.
Where: Stables, High Reaches Weyr
When: Day 1, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10)

Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Jo/Mentions




The stable aren't so busy this time of the evening since most of the stablehands have left for dinner. The runners are watered and fed and are in their respective stalls for the day with the few remaining tidying up for the day. Among those tidying up is an unfamiliar face - all brawn and height and smarmy smiles. He's sweeping up a corner of the stables, only passing the occasional randy joke with those few starting to head out. Faryn is contrary. Ask anyone. And for all her complaint about the weather and the cold, her bundling and bitter expressions, there's nothing quite like a brisk winter's ride. So she'd shown up early to take her favorite mare from the third stall, saddled up and loaded a day's worth of light food and headed out to locations unknown and unconfirmed. Wherever it was, it kept her and her mare gone most of the day, and it's late when she comes back with the pretty bay in tow, both looking tired but not unhappy. "C'mon, love," she murmurs as she shoulders the big doors open, unzipping her jackey once she's in the warmth and guiding the mare towards her stall. When Faryn returns in with the mare, the remaining hands all casually greet her save for Rategar. He's studious in sweeping up, looking up to catch her coming in and watching the familiarity between them. "See you later for the cards, Rat," one of them call out to him as they finally head out, leaving him to his fate with the broom. Once they're out of earshot, though, "Shouldn't a girl like you need an escort or something? Riding around all alone out there?" It's hald murmured, even, but since they're alone, it's clear she's the one he's talking to as he sweeps. The familiarity stretches beyond her cordial, if guarded, greetings to the stablehands. It's in the way she starts removing tack, too. She's listening, though, not engaging beyond those greetings, marked by the jingle of tack and the creak of the stall door when she drapes the saddle over the top. If her eyes come up at the mention of Rat's name, it could easily be because she's also got to deal with the bridle. Faryn doesn't acknowledge him beyond that except when he speaks, to which her answer is a very plan, "No." "You should," and Rat looks over at her, watching to obviously see if she's doing any of the stuff she's doing right. "Far too many dangers on the outside, for a female. I find it interesting that the Weyr is so 'progressive' as they are. Not so where I come from." He clicks his tongue. His accent is a thick Bitran. He sweeps closer, watching. Of course, he won't find any fault with what Faryn is doing; if he does, he'll find a fight instead. The mare is busy whuffling at her bangs and mouthing at the hand the ex-crafter uses to shove her away with a low laugh that segues into, bitter, "For a female. I, like most women here, prefer to handle myself, and can. Where do you come from? It sounds terrible." Rat is watching like a hawk, not giving anything any approval or disapproval on his face. Laughing, "For a female," he agrees, and he seems to be assuming that she's agreeing as well. "Not so bad with handling runners, are you?" Now he doesn't just pretend like he's still sweeping, choosing to straighten up and prop himself against the broom. "Your daddy teach you that, little thing? I'm from Bitra," he states that proudly, as if she was asking kindly. "A relation to Lord Bitra himself. There, the women just know their place and it's not on a runner. You're Weyrbred or something?" "Better than you, guaranteed," says Faryn without a lick of challenge. She could be telling him his own hair color. The hinge of her jaw tightens and ticks, and she finishes up, hoisting the saddle over her shoulder and start out of the stable despite his flippance. "You expect me to believe anyone related to Lord Bitra would be here, in these stables, sweeping hay and shoveling shit?" She hips the door closed, letting the latch rattle itself into place. "The weyr is my home. And in the weyr, stablehands know their place, Rat." So she was paying attention. "Doubt that," Rat counters quickly. As for the rest, "Distant relation," he amends with a complete straight face. My father's his cousin. Apparently, we weren't good enough to be living on silver utensils in the Hold. Would you fault my father for trying?" Sweeping a hand about the stables, "And," he continues, "my father was quite good with handling runners. It's where I learned handling from. It's a good profession for a Blooded distant relation. Are you blooded in any way?" He eyes her up then, and his gaze is more undressing than sizing. Since Faryn has his name, "That's right," he confirms it with a cracked-nosed smile. "Gonna tell me yours?" "I would fault your father for raising a man like you," says Faryn evenly, meeting his eyes unwaveringly. She doesn't challenge him - not on turf she still considers hers, not with an interloper whose face makes her want to knee him in the groin. Rather, she turns away on a heel with the saddle in tow, and grabs the rest of the loose tack on her way with another, blandly, "Nope," on her way to the tack room. "My father would want a nice, feisty girl like you to help wrangle me down," Rategar says as he purposefully flexes the muscles in his arms as he meets her gaze. "Though I doubt anyone could tame me. I offend you?" Only now does he question himself, though the look on his face says otherwise on offense. "I didn't mean to. I was only trying to help. A lot of thieves out there, looking for a sweet piece like you to corral down and take her for all she's worth. An escort could go a long way. My sisters got escorts whenever they went out." He turns to pick up his broom, moving it towards the back as he laughs at her last and says back, "I could find out if I wanted to." "You should tell him to dream a little smaller. Less room for disappointment, that way. Silver forks and a girl like me aren't in your cards." Faryn's voice comes from inside the tack room, raised to carry but not quite enough that he won't have to strain to make out her syllables over the sounds of her work, and when she comes out it's with dirt down the front of her thighs from wiping her hands there. Her smile is dark. "Ask the last man who put his hands on me without my consent how quickly he took them back to himself. I said," and she speaks very slowly for him now, like she's talking to a child, "I. Can handle. Myself." She tilts her head at him. "Then if you want to, you're going to have to. Blooded boy from Bitra," sneered, disbelieving, "will have to do his own legwork." "Tell him that yourself, if you care about me that much to," Rat hears what he wants to hear. "Your crying out for attention is only going to make me want to give you more of it. Was that a veiled invitation for me to touch you, or....?" Hand to his chest and head cocking to one side as he now considers the dirt on her thighs. "But fine. 'You. Can. Handle. Yourself.'" He imitates her voice, word for word almost with just a slight smirk on his face. "I've never met a girl that wants to be a damsel. Must be boring work here in the Weyr if that's how you get off during the day. I'll find your name. Weyr progressive girl." He doesn't seem worried at all that she doesn't believe him as he reaches for a towel to wipe over his exposed arms. "You presumptuous..." Faryn starts, without heat. It's an observation, and to her benefit she leaves off the insult. Instead: a gesture to the tack room. "That's a mess. Journeyman Polis will have your job." It could be a threat; either way, she's turning to leave without another word, just a scoff and a spit on the ground near to his broom, a sign of her distaste to remember her by. "I'm charming," Rategar will play the word game with her. He eyes the tack room once Faryn points it out, and a snort is given for it. He doesn't say anything, but he's smiling all the same. It's one of those know-it-all asshole smiles. He even watches her spit on the ground near his broom, and rather than it pissing him off, it's met with open laughter and a very audible blown kiss in her wake. "See you and your name around," he calls out, the smile only lingering for as long as she's within distance. Even when all that remains is his hard gaze trailing her out. Faryn's longhand is precise, sharp, tall. Not elegant, but not terrible. Readable, but like she holds her writing utensils too tightly and presses too hard on the hide. At any rate, her message is brief, delivered by a fledgling brown firelizard who won't stay long at all, once he's dropped his message and examined the blue dragon who owns the ledge. He's still in training, and a quick learner. Jo -- Your boy in the stables is an asshole. Don't know I would trust him as far as I could throw him, with anything. May be inclined to thinking no means yes. Reminds me a bit of H'vier. A rat, just like his name. My opinion won't mean much, but I'd send him packing if you can unless you have some reason to keep him. What is wrong with you, that these are the people you attract? Don't answer that.

Comments

Edyis (22:45, 25 September 2015 (PDT)) said...

I'd love to see what the Journeyman wrote Faryn back.

Faryn (05:01, 26 September 2015 (PDT)) said...

Oh god. That note is to Jo since Faryn keeps her promises. I don't know she would talk to a journeyman like that even now. Edited to clarify but now I am tickled by that thought. Like her journeyman didn't suffer enough.

Tela (08:44, 26 September 2015 (PDT)) said...

At least he and R'hin aren't related? :O

Go Faryn, push back to Jo!

Rat (12:38, 26 September 2015 (PDT)) said...

I thought I was helping her!!! She doesn't want to be a damsel, right?? (Jo will fix him. Eventually.)