Logs:Raised Voices, Raised Glasses, and Raised Skirts Too
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| RL Date: 31 August, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and R'hin hang out at Harper Hall's gather. There's yelling and dancing. |
| Where: Gather Grounds, Harper Hall |
| When: Day 4, Month 9, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Autumnal breeze. |
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| Gather Grounds, Fort Hold Down in the intersection of the Hall and Hold roads, the great beaten square of earth that houses most of Fort's gathers stands, free of any encroaching greenery. Meticulously maintained by Fort's groundskeepers, the area is devoid of structures when there isn't a gather on, only the brown of the hold's soil shows where festivities often take place. When the Lord has called a gather though, the wooden stalls are wheeled out from storage and set up in neat rows that make an aisle around the perimeter of the square. Strings of brightly colored lights are hung between the stalls and the harper dais is set up at the head of the dancing square along with a scattering of trestle tables and sturdy wooden stools. To the northwest, the shape of the hold looms in the cliff while nearly due west the craft halls stand watch over the road. More cotholds pepper the fields beyond the gather grounds as far as the eye can see to the south and southeast. Midmorning and the Harper's Hall harvest gather is already in full swing for the day. Every walk of life is present in the square, from dragonriders to traders and everything in between. There's more stalls than one can count - raised voices, raised glasses, and raised skirts too. It's a rowdy cheerfulness that pervades the place, leading anyone to believe that now, in this moment, there's not a care in the world. Some amateur harpers are plucking away on their instruments, led by a wistful soprano. Nevermind them. Over there, Farideh is walking between the stalls, taking in the sights and smells like a drunk eager of thirst. She's got on sturdy boots today - recent rainfall has made the soil somewhat muddy - and a change from her utilitarian Weyr garb, a green dress with simple filigree along the hems. Noticeably, she's alone and idly taking bites out of a pastry that she holds in one hand, the other keeping her skirt from trailing too far into the muck. The fact that it's muddy hasn't much dulled people's enthusiasm for the day; it's a veritable sea of blue with many and sundry sporting the harper's color either to identify themselves as harpers or in support of the same. So much so that it'd be easy to overlook them -- see the blue, assume, and gaze past -- except this particular harper, or harper-hang-on, is staring at Farideh, pale eyes amused, and familiar. R'hin's seated at one of the tables that are interspersed amongst the food stalls, a half empty plate in front of him, talking in low tones with a Journeyman Healer. The conversation doesn't seem to be interrupted by the fact that he's taken note of the holder girl, at least. Marking one face from the other is a tricky thing; there's so many people at the gather, anyway. But Farideh is moving in such a 'slow' manner, taking her time to look over each stall and vendor, that she has no choice except to meet familiar, fair eyes with her own muddy ones. She stops, drawing her lips into a scrunched line as she regards him with-what? Not friendliness, not malice either, some innocuous emotion that's hard to catch from others. There, she'll stand, idling, while she waits for him to finish his conversation with the Journeyman. Even when someone jostles past and mutters "move", she's doesn't budge though she spares the Smith a sidelong glare. R'hin certainly doesn't seem to be in any hurry. After all, there's a half a glass of beer to consume, the remnants of his meal, and a jovial conversation to finish. Eventually, though, he stands, shaking hands with the Journeyman, and they part ways. The blue-clothed bronzerider walks not directly towards her, but a few stalls ahead of her, where he stands in a short line waiting to be served. Patience is an honorable trait, but it's even easier when there are many interesting types to observe in the meantime. Farideh looks up just in time to see the two men shake hands and part. She is justly stunned, then annoyed; a flash of anger disrupts her perfectly placid face. "Arrogant son of a-" she mumbles under her breath, but always the determined, unflinchingly immature one, she stomps her way through the mud, mindless of the hem of her dress. R'hin would have time to move away if he chose, as she isn't anything close to fast - she steps up next to him in the line. "Are you saying you didn't see me?" Flabbergasted. Appalled. For her stomping, Farideh receives a look from the two people who have joined the line behind R'hin, though probably less so for her stomping, and more so for the line-cutting. "I didn't say anything to you," R'hin says with a knowing grin, taking her tirade in stride as he passes some coins towards the stall's vendor. Two cups are produced, and the bronzerider offers one to the holder girl. "It's this weird mix of cold, crushed ice and sweet fruit. It has alcohol in it, but so little that even you couldn't possibly get drunk off it." Bribing her with alcohol isn't going to wipe the disgruntled look off her face, though she does graciously accepted the offered drink. "You could have said hello." Farideh heaves an exasperated sigh, giving him a poignant look, and taking steps so no one could assume she is 'in fact' in line. "I waited." They've already ascertained that, but she's still pouting about it. Gone is the tongue-in-cheek wit and the flippant attitude, present instead is the irritable moue of a teenage girl. "I didn't need to say hello. I saw you, you saw me," R'hin explains with a patience of someone who is exceedingly patient or good enough to fake it. His free hand stretches out to settle at the girl's back and guide her away from the disgruntled patrons behind them, by no coincidence setting them back on the slow-paced path between the stalls that was Farideh's original path. Taking a sip of his drink, there's a faint, amused snort at her words, his voice pitched low as he leans towards her briefly while they walk, "How the boys must have flocked to you back at your tiny little hold." Being led away comes far too easy for the Holder girl. Farideh stays quiet until they've moved away from the line and back onto the path between the stalls. She takes tiny sips of her fruity cocktail, passing him unamused glowers from underneath her eyelashes. "It wasn't little," she says stubbornly; there might be a little lift to her chin too. Without too much more sulking, she feigns interest in a booth of flowers, stopping to 'admire' the intricate wreaths someone has painstakingly woven. "I was curious how you came by the Gather today. If.. if you saw anyone else from the Reaches too." Her hazel eyes make their way back to R'hin, curious now. "No?" R'hin's response comes complete with a lifting of eyebrows. "Huh," he clucks his tongue, like he's genuinely surprised by the revelation. When she stops to admire the flowers, he stops, too, but he's definitely looking at her and not the contents of the stall, pale eyes intent. "Seen plenty of Reachians," he answers, easily. "Who were you looking for?" His response cues an aggravated stare from Farideh. "What a high opinion you must have of me," is her reply, showing a lot of teeth in a not-so-pleasant smile. "I was simply 'curious'. There's too many people here to distinguish who is who, but you," with another irritated shift of her eyes towards the bronzerider, her mouth pursing, "would know more faces than me." Then, with that, she starts to move away from the flower booth and its pretty head circlets. "I barely know you," R'hin says, dismissively at first, though he pauses as pale eyes flick skywards. "Though I do know your type." When she starts walking again, he falls into step beside her, adjusting his pace to match, sipping at his drink. "You recognized me," he points out. "I mean, admittedly, I am memorable and handsome and no doubt you've been dreaming of me, but, surely you've met other people, too?" "Enough," Farideh growls, saying it like a silencing command, but when she turns her head to look at R'hin, she finishes it off, "to think you can peg 'my type'. You know 'nothing' about me, and yet you're 'so' quick to dismiss me." It's there, on her lips, to scoff, and gets swallowed down as she takes a long drink from her cup. Remarkably, she manages not to choke with the latter comment; she comes to a stop, swinging her more diminutive frame towards him. "You're kidding, I hope. You're old enough to be my 'grandfather'." Her heated gaze is pinned on him, her mouth clamped down into a thin line. His brows flicker up, and there's a low-throated chuckle from R'hin, but he is silent otherwise until she finishes. "Until you demonstrate otherwise, little holder girl," he spreads his hands. "Not quite, and while Riahla would probably be amused at the implication she was slutty enough to have children at six Turns old, Suireh has a sharper tongue, and she's likely to be nearby, or people who know her," a hand touches to his blue shirt, by no coincidence, "Are likely to hear. I'll take father, but I won't take grandfather." An indignant noise makes its way out of Farideh's mouth. There's no disguising that open animosity - and their first meeting had gone so well! "And until you demonstrate otherwise, I'd have to say a runner is more suited to ride a dragon than 'you'." So so mature. Whether he is or isn't a grandfather, she's not going to get strung up on the numbers. "Whatever. Look, I don't care how old you are, what I do care is that you are a.. a.." and she digs deep into her limited arsenal of insults for this one, "arrogant dick. Why are you even here, then? Go find someone who isn't a 'little holder girl' who is so clearly beneath your association." She is, by the end, holding her head a little higher, arms crossed over her chest in the typical defensive pose. Her indignant noise is answered with another chuckle from the bronzerider. "If only dragons were more selective," R'hin says, seemingly in agreement with Farideh. "Sadly they don't seem that picky and, well," he gives a little shrug as if to say 'that's that'. When she digs for an insult, he leans forward as if in anticipation of her conclusion. There's a cluck of tongue, almost disappointment on the word she settles for. "No provincial insults? Maybe you're becoming more Weyr-bred than I thought." Setting his glass down on a table, he stretches a hand towards her. "Would you like to dance? Or would you prefer to yell at me a little longer, first?" he asks, pale eyes amused. "I should say not," Farideh agrees with a deprecating smile, which disappears as he leans forward. Her gaze moves down to his offered hand, then back up to his face. Even a cursory scan proves that their altercation is attracting unwanted stares. There must be some rationality in the laundress somewhere, because she pastes a pretty, fake smile on and places her free hand in his. "I would be 'so' flattered." It's spoken loud enough that others can hear, but in a lower voice, "Lead the way, you old jackass." Bats her eyelashes and everything. How sweet is she. The bronzerider's smile widens as she puts her hand in his, taking her second attempt at an insult in stride. Quick to lead the way through stalls and out onto the dance square, R'hin is nothing if not deft, leading her expertly through the steps of an energetic dance to match the jaunty tune the harpers play. That it serves to make conversation difficult might be coincidence, but then... perhaps it's not. His plan may work on the conversation side, but it doesn't prevent the occasional glares she throws his way: over her shoulder, straight to his face, in passing. She's equally as suitable, moving through the steps with verve and simple grace; some might lean towards flashy moves, but that's not her style. With the right leg here, a positioned hand there, a twirl there. As the set comes to a close, and they're moving with less purpose, she might be heard to say "not bad", as she avoids his eyes, over the raucous noise of the gather crowd. At least, it's not an insult. Waiting to get their breath back means that R'hin can escort Farideh off the dance square after the song comes to a close avoiding further insult for the time being. The fact that the bronzerider slows is no coincidence, nor is the fact that he raises his free hand in greeting to a young harper standing on the sidelines. "Young Holet! What a surprise -- have you met," the Wingleader gestures to Farideh, smoothly looking over the fact that she doesn't know his name. "She'd love to get a dance -- you'll do her the honor, won't you?" The teen is taller than Farideh, looks leaning more towards boyish than manly for the time being, but he's quick to accept, beaming at the holder girl as he steps over. A brittle smile breaks the shock on Farideh's face. Her cheeks may be flushed from exertion, but her eyes are cold and flinty. She's gracious even then, letting the harper lead her back on the dancing square for the next set without a single complaint leaving her lips. But her eyes speak volumes, and those eyes are currently unwilling to even place R'hin amongst the crowd - the most telling of all. Even if she'd been looking, it'd be hard to place him amongst the sea of blue, which is, perhaps, the point after all. Certainly the bronzerider is nowhere to be seen when the dance comes to a close, and while Holet seems nervous, he is at least a decent dancer, likely owing to his harper training, and he does seek to escort Farideh for as long as she'll allow after the dance is done. |
Comments
Edyis (02:46, 31 August 2014 (EDT)) said...
Someone else calling R'hin Grandad... This is not my fault!
Klohi (02:52, 31 August 2014 (EDT)) said...
Oh no he di-in't! Bronzerider got a death wish tonight! *z-snaps and head sways*
...still though, this log was hilarious. Seeing Farideh so worked up is a scream. xD
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