Logs:Shadows Of The Weyr
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| RL Date: 20 September, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo runs into Faryn while food-pilfering. They catch up. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Rategar/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Fadra/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions |
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Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr
Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods
characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths
gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost
always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its
denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample
space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry
and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a
day-to-day basis.
The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating:
swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner
caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food
service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and
benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day. These days, Faryn's up early and gone much of the day, appearing in snippets but never lingering longer than necessary to grab necessities: a lunch to go, a stack of letters or a parcel, a change of clothes from her more functional riding gear into something nicer, sometimes a chat or two. Late night is the safe bet, though, with most of the kitchens closed down save a few late tasks and preparations for morning. Faryn's there among the few staff that remain, and they seem to be leaving as she roots through the icebox. Since the promotion, Jo still manages to keep to late night rummaging herself. The staff heading out nod to her as they go since they see her enough, and she's immediately going towards to icebox....to find that she's been beaten there. "Faryn," she calls to the assistant's back, her greeting familiar in tone as she steps forward to flank her. "Finally decided to become one of the shadows of the Weyr?" It's a tease that perhaps she hopes would distract the other as the bluerider goes in for the icebox hunt. Faryn is looking for something particular, and she moves items in the box like she's decoding a puzzle until she removes a plate that's been left over and tucked near the back. It's supper, and it's been picked at minimally based on its hiding place in the cold box, but Faryn knows her prize and takes it to make way for Jo, not answering until she's properly stepped aside. "I'm not in the shadows of anything," she protests, poking at the cold food with a finger then deciding her hunger wins; she pops a cold tuber in her mouth and chews with minimal grimacing. "If I were there, I'd've run into you sooner. Or does your promotion keep you in the light now?" "'Less ya been a real shadow these days," Jo eyes her briefly before she starts taking stuff out for a meal. cold meat, hard bread, cold vegetables and fruit - and she flips up one of her knives while doing so from its home at her hip to keep in one hand. Talk about balancing. "My promotion seems to keep me right where I'm 'spose to be," is her answer, only turning now that both hands are full enough for her to make way for the table for chopping. "I'm not even surprised ya heard. Yer gonna tell me why I haven' been runnin' into ya, darlin'? I could play the guessin' game." She does offer. She claims a stool and sits as she starts to cut up some of the food that she has. "Nope. Tangible and everything." Faryn waves a hand at Jo, demonstrably, then settles in that nook she wanted - the one her bag has held her spot in. It affords her at least an angle of a glance for the bluerider, even if she's only seeing her in snippets of profile while she cuts. Faryn breaks into her own prepared meal with the gusto of a person who knows they have to eat, but would rather not. Lots of meticulous, extended chewing. "I'm not banished to the stables anymore. I hear things. Sometimes important ones, even." There's a snort for the first answer as Jo busies herself with the chopping of fruit. She's eating the slices as she cuts them. "A shame," she speaks around a piece in her mouth, chewing. "I figured the stables was where ya been hidin' all this time. I was assumin' some shit went down with yer boy," and there's a meaningful look going towards Faryn as she brings up their last encounter. "Things got busy for everyone after, once those golds went up. If yer still frequentin' the stables, however," even if that's not what the assistant said, "I might need'ja to keep an eye on someone for me there." The raise of Faryn's eyebrows is probably hidden by the way she's slouched down in her seat, but it's there. And it's in her voice. "Not hiding," again, and, "Assume, or did someone tell you? Was it Edyis?" So there's her answer on that. Faryn could be chewing sawdust for the grim look on her face as she takes another mouthful of meatroll."I'm not a crafter, Jo. I don't go there much anymore." Furthermore, "Why would I keep an eye on anyone for you? I did my time in the nurseries when I last stood." "What does Edyis know?" Jo is quick to ask, pausing on slicing the last of her chosen fruit to gives Faryn a brief study. "I haven' heard anythin'. Should I have heard anythin'?" She starts in on slicing the bread next. That she's not a crafter must be news to the convict rider, for there's a raised brow going the other's way. However, it's the last that gets an answer as she sets the slices she's made aside. "Just need someone kept an eye, but since ya don' get over there much anymore, no point in askin', hmm? Tell me 'bout the sort of things she's got ya doin'?" 'She' being Farideh, the woman carefully wrapping the bread slices into a used brown hide sheet. "How to keep a secret, contrary to my concerns. For starters." Faryn drops her meal to her plate with a clatter, brushing her hands clean of crumbs. "You were right, about me. And T'mic. I can't be the thing he needs right now. So I'm not trying." Simple enough, it sounds, and it's delivered evenly while the sound of her boots hitting the other side of the nook can be heard. "I might find time, if it was important to you." In that, Faryn is careful, not making promises. Could just be curiosity, the same as Jo's. "My mother thinks I'm a glorified messenger. She's probably got it right." That she's filching food for her weyr and her firelizard is probably a little obvious as Jo adds a bit more to the wrapping hide on the table. She moves on towards the meat now, spearing and cutting and dropping a few pieces into her mouth as Faryn talks. Her dark gaze goes over her shoulder to take in the assistant when T'mic is brought up, chin dropping a bit into a couple of nods before she asks, "What happened, darlin'?" Eyes drop towards those boots, then her face before she shakes her head and gives a quick shrug. "Well," she says casually, "Need some serious eyes, actually. Might pay some Weyrbrat since all they have to do is pick their nose with a harper lesson or two. Just need to keep an eye on a newcomer. Not sure 'bout him yet." It must be personal, right? As for glorified messengers, "Is that what all she has ya doin' then?" she has to ask with a slight frown while she works hard at her filching. "Ya told yer mother?" Which, apparently, deserves its own question. There's slight amusement with that. Faryn watches Jo's movements without any apparent judgement. A poke at her tubers here and there, a carrot popped into her mouth. It marks the end of her appetite, though, and she pushes the plate away with an audible scrape against the tabletop. "I slept with someone else. He kicked me out when I told him. I need to move forward anyways, without him. Farideh's enough work, and the golds will clutch soon, there'll be candidacy and standing. I have enough on my plate without dealing with his emotions too." And her own, maybe, if she's got anything; she doesn't seem to in this moment. "I'll see what I can do," is of the someone in the stables. Her mouth twists unpleasantly. "Messages and packages. Meetings with lower level diplomats. I go in her stead now, sometimes, when it's appropriate. I'm not great at the politics, but nobody's yelled at me yet. I thought the clutches would make her job easier, but there's more work now." And for the last, a grunt. "She knew. She always knows." "Intentionally?" Jo asks, because, she does. The promiscuous bluerider has no judgement. But to the rest, "Indeed, the queens rise'n now there'll be clutches on the sands. It will be a lot for him to handle, I could imagine. It's strange, havin' to consider him as my wingmate now," and it's as though the thought suddenly occurs to her. "'N, I'd apologize'n commiserate with ya over it, but, it looks like ya expected it'n pro'bly rather forget the whole matter, right? Wager that boy even loves ya. He had the makins' when I met him." Pause. "His name's Rat," she gives on the stable stranger, working in finishing her filching task at hand diligently. "Rategar. Tall sort. Has an attitude problem. Apparently here visitin' friends." The tasks Faryn has to do earns a short chuckle from her and, "Do ya like it at least? Gives a chance to see different things. A far cry from trainin' runners. How you 'n I have risen, darlin'." There's a faint note of satisfaction attached to it. "What's the sayin'?" she teases on her mother. "Mother knows best? Or so I've heard. I wouldn' know." "No. And. I didn't expect it. I didn't think he'd get mad." There emits a click from Faryn's quarter and she leans off to the side of her seat to agree, "Yes," about letting the matter go, and then her gaze hardens for mentions of love. She tilts her head to look at Jo through her lashes, her brows high and her bangs blocking most of her disapproving view before she leans back to the comfort of half-hiding in in the nook. "I think he did. Does. He'll get over it eventually, I hope. I'd try to find him a good girl but I don't know if they exist here," she says wryly. "You have a friend named Rat and he has an attitude problem? You don't say? You're so full of surprises." A thoughtful pause follows, and when it breaks Faryn says, "I like it enough to last me for now, whether or not my mum likes it. She's never known best for me. Why would she start now? Have I ever told me you remind me of her, Jo?" "Ya didn' think he'd get mad?" There's a bright-eyed look from Jo for that one, the bluerider turning on her stool to even deliver it. Tongue click against teeth. "That it happened at all would upset any innocent young man like him," she says with a slight shrug as she slowly returns to her theft. "I can understand though. Him livin' here by now...and, I think maybe if his blue was up chasin', he'd be a little different. More understandin'. Maybe. Although love can make a person rather... blind." She watches those expressions, seeming to find them of interest since they draw a little quirk of her lips. "I won' pity him, though," she announces, brandishing her sharp knife. "Nor you. Yer a smart girl'n would've came to such conclusions 'bout him eventually, even if the infidelity had never happened. I don' think bein' claimed is yer style, nor, somethin' ya want. Clutch on the sands or not." The knife now chops into the tubers. "Good girls exist," she admits with an open laugh now while she chops. "They just have a short expiration date 'round here." Pause. "Rat isn't my friend," the smile slips now, lips pressing together. "'Less he's useful. I remind ya of yer mother?" It's more statement than question, her dark gaze cutting towards Faryn while she chops. "I think ya said it before, long ago. I 'spose there's similarities in us thinkin' we know what's best for ya, but 'least with me, I'll never be disappointed in ya, Faryn." "Not mad like that, then," corrects the ex-herder with a little snarl. "If I'd told him sooner, he might not have been. Or if I hadn't told him at all..." but Jo's already nailed it, so Faryn nibbles on the end of another carrot out of boredom rather than any real desire to return to her meal. "That's not a good conclusion to come to about anyone, Jo. I won't bask in it like some glory. I didn't want to --" Huff, grunt. The tapping of her boot as she kicks rhythmically against the opposite side of the nook. "It's cause we don't store them properly, and we mix them with boys like your Rat. Or with people like us. Sap all their innocence and leave them a barren husk of morality." Faryn's hand flips up and dismisses Jo's proclamation without much considering it. "Give it time, I think. Let me keep an eye on your rodent for a few sevens; I'm sure you'll get a taste of it." "It would have been the same, pr'bly," Jo says on telling him sooner. "If he feels that way. He's holdbred, right?" She tilts her head at Faryn on good conclusions as she asks, "Not wantin' to be claimed or ya comin' to such conclusions yerself?" There's genuine laughter on good girls and bad boys and lost innocence as she states with amusement, "They should avoid us, those innocent girls. 'N the boys like Rat. But, ya know how it is. I know how it is, havin' been that good girl drawn to a bad boy. Ya can' help but want what's wrong for ya sometimes. Ya can't help wantin' that taste for somethin' dangerous they can offer ya. Ya know they might hurt ya later, but...." The look is meaningful as she chops.The dismiss of the later gets a snort and a, "The only way ya can disappoint a thief is to fail stealin' what ya said yer were goin' to steal. Thanks." That's for looking after Rat. "I'll owe ya." The next chopped gets added to her pile of thefts. "Benden," for the first, and, "All of it," for the rest, then abruptly, exhausted, Faryn sighs. "Can we not talk about it? I've gotten good at not overthinking it." And so it's reasonable that she latches on to the rest of it, with a dismissive wave of the hand for Jo's meandering and amused explanation. The assistant's rebuttal is brief: "Well, yes, you were weak and fell for the bad boy, who paved the way to your ultimate demise and made you what you are today -- You fell for the bad boy. You were once so sweet and innocent. I'm afraid the tables turned in my case. I'm not falling for bad boys; good boys are falling for me. Does that make a bigger badass than you?" There's humour creeping in despite her deadpan expression, and the way her eyes slide to that brandished knife. "So he's a thief." It's a question. Sort of. Snickering loudly as she sets the knife down in favor of wrapping her finds up, "If that's yer wish," Jo answers on the first before the rest before she shakes her head. "I was never sweet, darlin', but this might make ya a bigger badass than me for seducin' good wayward boys. I'll have to turn over my black leathers to ya, especially the pants. The idea of it shames me." But she's smiling with teeth and she's getting up with her remains to secure them back into the icebox. "I think we'd be quite the team, even," she goes on to say while she works. "You'n me, out in the wild Reaches bars, promisin' all the good boys a feel behind the stables. Fleecin' them in the end...." As for Rategar, there's a pause as she considers the question - then considers Faryn. There's hesitation, then she negates it with, "Nah. Not what I heard. Ex-con, like me. Assault. I imagine he would thieve, to get by, but from what I hear, that's not his style." Beat. "That's the rumor I hear, anyway," she says with shrug. "I don' know him, yet. I'm lookin' to. Hear he's from Bitra. Blooded, even." "I would never get in your pants," Faryn says, aware of the entendre and choosing to take it just to the line. "Thanks for the offer, though; I prefer comfortable, breathable fabrics." Jo will see her clearly when she moves for the icebox, the younger woman with her chin propped in the opposite hand of the one that's been gesturing at her from the edge of the booth, her plate too far away to be a distraction. She follows Jo's movements with her eyes only. "It's probably safer than all those messy feelings," she admits, but then there's a stay and a suspicious look that touches the ex-crafter's gaze. "I can handle myself, if I have to." She seems to consider more, then says, "He can't be all that important, if they'd let him go to the mines." There's a look for the entendre and a, "I'd imagine that would be weird," Jo notes, it likely meaning on both fronts. "Ya can rock leather. There's some that aren' as tight." She carefully puts food back one by one, commenting on messy feelings with a dry, "They are, at that, darlin'." Beat. "I shouldn' have to tell ya," she now turns to look at Faryn straight in regards to the strange newcomer. "Don' even engage him 'less ya must. He ain' important, but unimportant things always tend to interest me. If he's even from the mines. Ya know the horrible things such rumors say 'bout me." Even if some of it likely true, but the convict rider still seems keen on playing the victim. She straightens up to close the icebox before heading back towards where her filched food lies, carefully wrapping them up tightly. "Anyway," she says, popping sliced fruit into her mouth. "Ya know yer welcome at my weyr, right? If ya can bum a ride off someone. I've missed yer sunny face'n demeanor." Mmhmm. "Yeah," Faryn says, tugging her plate closer again. It's barely touched; she tries again on the half eaten roll. "I'll keep it in mind. All of it. If he's working the stables, maybe I can give him some pointers." Which means, very much, that she's going to do exactly the opposite of what Jo's asking her to do. "I know. You, and Edyis. Farideh. I got moved into a room with one other person; sleeping at home, as it were, is easier now. Even if it's Irianke's assistant." And with a wry smile, "Don't lie to me Jo. Especially about my face." Yep, by the thin-lipped look on Jo's face, she's well aware that Faryn's going to do exactly what she said not to do. "Keep a knife on ya, at least," she will say as much to her safety, shaking her head. "Not all are as safe as I am." Right. On weyrs and home, "Just if ya wanna change of scenery," she says with both hands up. "Tac's ledge is a nice one. Scenic. Just have yer ride bespeak Tacuseth beforehand in case I'm naked up there, or locked in a position ya don' wanna see. I make no promises, otherwise." The food package is neatly wrapped (since she's going through all this trouble to pilfer, anyway) and being tucked in the crook of an arm, that last drawing laughter and a light, "Fine. Stormy face with a slight chance of sarcasm. I still miss ya, Stormy-Face." She steps away from the table, preparing to depart. "Sure thing, Jo," is about the closest thing she'll get to acquiescence for all of it, a smile twitching the left side of her mouth up fleetingly. "G'night, Jo." Her farewell sees her scooting out of the booth for her own parceling, so she can take her food to go -- eventually. It's less work, prepared already as it is, but her process is nevertheless slow enough that Jo might leave well before she does. "Uh-huh," Jo gives that easy answer in return, seeming to not believe it for a second despite the lopsided grin plastering her face. She ticks off a nod in farewell to Faryn before she's vanishing out of sight, returning to the shadows in much the same way that she had arrived this night with her steal. |
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