Logs:Ships and Runners
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| RL Date: 7 March, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Edyis and Faryn meet. |
| Where: Nighthearth, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: As usual feel free to edit/add/remove/change anything I may have missed. |
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>---< Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr(#1549RJ) >------------------------------< With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. >-----------------------------------------< 11D 3M 37T I10, winter night >---< The wind and snow that dominated the outdoors has persisted well into the night, One particular ex-scribe huddled by the hearth wrapped in a quilt or two. In hand is chalk and slate and nearby a steaming mug of klah and a dog eared old volume with faded lettering on the binding. She seems focused on the slate, scratching away and then using the scrap rag to clear the slate again. Faryn looks smug by default, at work or at rest, and that's what's easy to notice first. Narrow-faced with dark hair, sharp, interesting features and a smirk that has taken up permanent residence, it is easy to believe she might be enjoying a joke at the expense of whomever or whatever her dark eyes have seen fit to light upon at that particular moment. It can be galling, too, because at five-feet-four, she still somehow manages to carry herself with an air that suggests not only an ability to defend any enjoyment she might be having, but a willingness. Though slender and lean, weighing barely more than seven stone if anything over at all, she is tough at a glance, (over)confident in bearing, and ostensibly scrappy if the need arises. More adverse to being wet than cold, Faryn's clothing choice is comfortable and practical. Her trousers are wherhide and tempered against the rain, snow and slush of winter. Her jacket, too, with thin spots at the elbows and lined with comfortable but plain wool at the collar and cuffs, is perfectly servicable for her duties, accented only by the uncomplicated twist of her knot. She keeps her long hair plaited, an action that thins her face and sharpens her features considerably. Faryn's breath precedes her into the Nighthearth, as does a dramatic gust of wind at her back. She shoves the door roughly to make sure it catches then starts on the arduous task of removing her warm gear and making her way presently towards the fire. Her teeth chatter softly as she comes to a stop, peeling the gloves from her fingers and slapping them against her thigh, either to keep the blood flowing in her legs or to dislodge the snow that is stuck on the leather. Either way, the motion serves to accomplish the latter: a hunk of ice spins away towards Edyis, even while Faryn looks the other way to locate the klah pot. The offending ice chunk draws dark eyes from the work at hand. Narrowing and then refocusing Edyis's attention falls on Faryn, taking note of the general state of her. It is enough for her to shed one of the quilts. "Here." She offers after the woman retrieves her own mug. "You look half frozen." She's found the klah, and after stuffing her gloves beneath her wide belt, is busy filling a mug with exceptional caution, so as not to spill the scalding liquid on herself. She nearly does anyways when Edyis breaks into her concentration, but ultimately no harm is done and she turns from the pot uninjured. She eyes the quilt a bit warily before accepting it with no small amount of gratitude, claiming a nearby chair and curling in it with her newly acquired warm things. "Thanks," she says after a moment. "I didn't mean to interrupt you." She gestures to the slate. "You didn't interrupt really. When I can't figure out how to solve a problem, sometimes I write it all out so I can take a deeper look at it. Think about what I could have done differently. Sometimes it helps usually " Edyis shrugs her shoulders still huddled in that remaining quilt. "What were you doing out in this mess?" She asks, studying. Faryn shrugs, putting the mug down in favor of drawing her hands into the quilt and wrapping it more snugly around her shoulders. She draws her legs up to her chest. "Finishing up some counts," she says, "and doing my last check on the beasts. I was of a mind to sleep in the stables, so they don't panic if the winds get any worse, but...." She shakes her head adamantly at that, dispelling the notion. "Too sharding cold." Now it's her turn to look quizzical. "What kind of problems?" "Brave of you." The brunette admits, reaching for her own mug and sipping some of the cooling liquid. "You are one of the Beastcrafters then?" Another shrug, "This time it was a difference of opinion with someone they had shadowing in the Records Room." She waves it off, "Matters of pride are never fun." Faryn's smile is mirthless. "Not so brave. It's not usually so bad, and the runners are good company. Usually, it's better than leaving a warm bed to go make sure the fool beasts haven't scared themselves when a leaf blew by." To answer the last question, she simply nods briskly. "They can be fun," she dares, "if you're right." Maybe she's joking, but it's hard to tell when she brings the mug of klah to her lips. "Did you find the answer, anyway?" Edyis smiles, "Still brave, even if it is only out of making things easier on yourself." As for the issue of pride? "In the end there is nothing for it but to apologize to the staff, I already sent out the letters this morning." She waves a hand dismissively. "Have you been at High Reaches long? I don't really make it out to the stables very often." "Ah. Well, you lose some too, I guess." Faryn finally seems to have gotten the chill from her bones, not shivering anymore and loosening her grip on the quilt to let it fall from her shoulders while she considers. "Not long. A turn, maybe? Not quite. Tillek, before that. Just here until I get my Journeyman knot, I think." She provides no commentary on why a turn has yet to yield her that knot. Edyis chuckles, "Tillek, I always thought they were more known for their vines and ships, what made you choose the beastcraft?" She holds the mug between her hands sipping on occasion. Faryn looks mildly chagrined at that, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her brows draw closer, almost knitting together above the narrow bridge of her nose. "I get seasick," she says, a bit defensively. "My mum almost died laughing when she found out, and my da was disappointed as all getout, but when I didn't get over it, they didn't force me to keep trying. And I chose runners over grapes because they have personality, and I have no great love for alcohol but a great love for racing." Her smile is gentle, apologetic; "I didn't mean to bring up something painful. Still there is nothing wrong with doing what you love. If racing is your passion I am sure your parents will come around in time. I will have to ask your advice next time I head to Bitra. Never was sure how to bet on a runner, people or card games sure but not runners." Faryn shrugs, dismissing the apology. "They're fine now. It's just silly, my mum was a sailor before she Impressed and my da still is. How I got such luck is beyond me. But I'm built for racing the runners. Not that anyone wants me to." She looks a bit devious there, and there is a suggestion that what she's not saying is more important. "Races are only hard because you have to read the beast and his jockey. I'll show you." There's a contemplative pause. The wind outside has died down, however temporarily. Faryn seems to notice the near-silence immediately and she climbs reluctantly to her feet. "I should go, before the weather starts up again. I'll teach you to read races like you read card games...." A hesitation, then, "I didn't catch your name." Edyis grins at the statement for the woman's build, and even more so for learning to read the races. "I'd like that. I didn't catch yours either. I'm Edyis." The dark-eyed once-scribe offers. "Faryn," the herder supplies willingly enough, along with holding out Edyis' quilt. "I have to go, or I'll freeze to death on the way back to my room. Thanks for the blanket. And the company." She's pulling on her gloves again as she makes her way toward the exit, and when no wind yanks the door from her hands she ducks out hurriedly. |
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