Logs:Sour Sheets
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2015 |
| Who: Itsy, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Itsy is sleeping in a (gross) bed. Lycinea needs her to move, pls. |
| Where: Guest Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
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| Late afternoon, early in winter. There was a greenflight, earlier today, but the participants have long since cleared out-- quite possibly because it's cold in here, afterwards, when no one bothers to lay a fire (and why would they?). Evidently, the lack of fire is not a complete deterrent, however, or the fact that the sheets on the bed are now, presumably, less-than-clean; there's a body in there, buried beneath the covers, snoring away. This might be Lycinea's least favorite job. Back when she just worked the kitchens, she didn't have to bring new linens to the flight weyr and strip the old, but that she has to do it now might be a testament that no one in the caverns likes her any better than anyone in the kitchen. Alas! At least it means she has no qualms about invading the supposedly empty flight weyr, having been assured the greenrider and company has departed, her expression sour but resigned. She stops just a few feet shy of the bed when she realizes she's not alone. It's after a look to make sure there's no obvious blood to signify a dead body that she leans toward the bed, shifting the pile of linens and blankets into one arm so she can use the other to give an experimental tug on the corner of the coverings. There's not much visible above the covers; Itsy's distinctive hair is visible, but only extending out past the pillow that she's used to cover her head. The low sound of her breathing suggests sleep, but not for long - not when there's a tug at the coverings that is immediately countered by a tug back: no, you can't have her blankets. No, you can't have her blankets. "G'way." If Farideh hadn't discussed the snake situation somewhere in the Weyr, things might've been different. As is, there's only a pause before Lycinea is tugging at the sheets again. "Can't," the blonde is unapologetic. "Trying to earn a rest day. Have to be on good behavior, which means changing these gross stranger-sex-ified sheets that you're snuggled up in." Does the older girl know that's what went down here? Perhaps the riders never made it to the bed. "Pretend," suggests Itsy, her voice muffled through the sheets and pillow. "I'll do it, later." Itsy has been pulling her weight - more or less - around the Weyr during the time she's been 'stuck' here, but domestic tasks have never been something she's managed; it's a dubious claim. Besides, someone with hair like that can't be tidy, can they? Beneath the blankets and furs, her booted feet shift. Hopefully she's avoided any wet spots. "That only worked for the first turn and a half," Lya answers the suggestion with a wistful sigh. What a great turn and a half it must have been! "I really need this rest day," the younger girl says. "Can't you sleep on them after I've changed them? At least then, I can pretend I never saw you and you messed up the sheets after I did my duties." She taps her foot and gives another tug to the sheet. "Besides, then you won't be sleeping in ... really gross stuff." She makes a gagging face, whether Itsy is looking or not. It clearly warrants it. Slowly, reluctantly, Itsy withdraws the pillow from over her head, turning up her face so that she can peer at Lya through the relatively dim light of the guest weyr. "'s just sex," she says. "Mostly dry now, anyway." Still, she peels back the covers, shifting herself into a sitting position before swinging around so that her feet can angle towards the floor. "Why d'you need the rest day so much? Because making beds is such hard work?" Dubious. "And this is just work," Lya answers as if sex weren't even part of the equation. Before Itsy's feet are angling to the floor, the younger girl is unceremoniously dumping her load of now-only-once-clean linens on the floor and beginning to briskly strip the bed. "No, because I'm a recidivist and never get any days off unless I'm good for like two weeks at a stretch. Enough to make them think they're getting through to me. And anyway, I need new work clothes and there's someone that's going to buy them for me, only we have to go to Weaver to get them, and I have to go because otherwise they'll not fit, I'm sure." Some people can't be trusted with these sorts of tasks. All of this is delivered off-handedly. "Is there something wrong with your usual bed?" This has a measure of curiosity to it, glancing toward the distinctive-haired woman. Itsy is slower to actually stand, but Lya's bustling does rather force the issue. She doesn't seem inclined to leave, though, afterwards; she stretches, rolling her shoulders back and extending her elbows behind her head, silent for a few moments as she watches the younger girl. "Maybe you should work harder on a regular basis, then," she decides, that low, husky voice of hers amused, and also dubious. "Why can't you just get clothes from stores, like everyone else?" She doesn't comment on her bed. "My stores privileges got taken away. Almost permanently." Lya informs the other. Surely she can see for herself that all of Lycinea's clothes are well-worn, patched with absurd colors and probably don't even pass for ten turns ago fashion. "I did that for a while. Worked harder more regularly. Decided it wasn't worth it. Only I might have to again because I'm thinking of asking the baker to sponsor me into an apprenticeship, even though I'm pretty old for starting." The blonde doesn't seem inclined to push the issue of Itsy's bed, but she does query, "What's your name?" Itsy's left eyebrow raises. Then, her right. She's without a hat (for once), though not for long-- it gets picked up from the floor and jammed back over her braids and dreads. Once she's done that, she peers beneath the brim at the other girl, mouth twisting in obvious amusement. "You're odd," she decides. And, "Itsy. Why'd'y want to be a baker, then?" "Yep. I'm a wierdo," Lya replies matter-of-factly, like she's heard it all before and is thoroughly unbothered. "I talk to socks," she volunteers as just one piece of proof. "I dunno. Felt like after the storm I wanted to do more with my life than just be a fuck-up in the kitchens. Thought of being a healer, and helping people, but I'm not smart enough. So then I thought I've spent the last three almost four turns in the kitchen, and I don't burn much, I might make a fair to decent baker." If not a spectacular one. "Are you going to do more with your life? Everyone's always talking about it." And isn't that just tiresome? She makes it sound so. Itsy's expression is largely unreadable beneath the over-large brim of her hat; still, the way she sucks her breath in that long mouth of hers at mention of the storm says, perhaps, something. "I'm going to be captain," she says, with a low, easy chuckle, rough-edged. "Soon as we get our ship. Spring. Spring, and we'll be gone for good. None of this bullshit." "Yeah? That sounds fun." It's not that Lycinea doesn't believe Itsy, it's just that she seems not to care, particularly. "Will it be new for you to be a captain or will you be going back to captaining or?" Something else. Lya reaches to the pillows to strip off the coverings, touching as little of the fabric as possible. "And who's we?" There's a surprisingly long pause before Itsy answers that question; it's as if she has to actually think about the answer. "Bit of column a," she says. "Bit of column b." Beneath her hat, she watches Lycinea's actions, mouth quirked. "Drex'n'me. We're partners." "Oh, the one who was going to work out kitten-tunnelsnake fights," or at least that's what Lycinea took away from her brief encounter with him. "Is it hard to be a sailor?" She queries, tilting her head as she starts getting the pillows into fresh cases. "Aside from when there's wild storms that sink all the ships." Well, maybe not all. Itsy crosses her arms, briefly giving some kind of definition to her otherwise-shapeless figure. "Sure," she agrees, although it doesn't sound like she's entirely sure on that front; is that something Drex would do? Who even knows. "It's hard. Satisfying, though. Wind in your hair, salt on your skin. Best feeling in the world. Better than making beds." "Hard," Lya wrinkles her nose at the word, or perhaps the idea. "Then that's out." Maybe no one told her that apprenticing is hard work too. "So if you're going to be the captain of a ship, what are you doing in the Weyr?" She's curious but not hostile. "Don't much fancy making the beds either." She looks wistfully toward the door, but the task is not yet done. "Ship sank," says Itsy, concisely. "Gotta wait for a new one." The way she says it, it's the worst thing in the world; ships take way too long to build. "Can't see you on a ship anyway. Gotta be brave'n'strong'n'-- things." Eloquent. "Maybe you should stick to the beds." "Oh," Lya glances to Itsy with furrowed brow. "The storm?" The words are simple. "Don't know that I'm any of those things. Don't know that I've ever cared to be any of them, though." It makes her pause to think. Perhaps she could be if she tried. "I'd rather not stick with beds. But wouldn't you know, they don't give you better work if you suck at the simple stuff." There's a slight edge of humor here. "Where's your ship being built?" Certainly not at the Weyr. "Storms happen," says Itsy, with a shrug, which is not really an answer-- but close enough. "Well then, you should figure out what you're good at and just... be good. Get ahead. Easy." Right. "Lord Devaki's providing it. High Reaches Hold." Lycinea's blue-green gaze lingers on Itsy a moment after the first and then she simply nods. "Yeah? And you're going to be his captain, huh? Fancy." There's a measure of admiration. "Guess you don't have to worry about making something of yourself. Is Drex going to be your first mate? Or are you going to make him be cabin boy or something?" Those are probably the only three ranks on a ship the blonde can name, but at least she uses what she's got. "So why aren't you waiting at the Hold?" She asks a moment later as she tugs the bottom sheet into place. "Like dragons or something?" "Dragons," repeats Itsy. Then, she laughs. "Nah. Hold's stuffy, that's all. Who wants to have dinner with a Lord Holder and have to wear a dress?" Not Itsy, that's for sure. She leans back against the wall, now, still watching Lycinea. "Makes sense." Farideh wouldn't think so, probably, but Itsy's talking to Lycinea, so that hardly matters. Lycinea shakes out the sheet and then lofts it high to get get it to fall across the bed. "Mind lending me a hand to even it out?" Since Itsy's on that side anyway. "Dragons are pretty strange. But I can't say as I'd much like dining with a Lord Holder and having to learn all those manners. I'd probably get myself thrown into the mines for some misstep or another with in the first three seconds. I don't suppose I could even just shut up as that might be seen as rude if he were to ask me a question." She's giving it all some thought now, obviously. Itsy lifts her brow, dubious, as if she's entirely unsure about the benefits of offering assistance. But then she moves, rough-edged, to grab the sheet with her equally rough hands. "Me'n'Drex, we don't belong with people like that." She's surprisingly fervent about it. "Never did, never will. Never. "Thanks," the younger girl will at least offer. Then, "Yeah? How'd you get mixed up with them in the first place?" Lya's curiosity is constant but her focus seems to be more on the sheets, like Itsy's story might be just a good way to pass the time while she gets this repugnant chore over with. It's plain that Itsy doesn't know much about making beds, but she's a relatively quick study-- or, at least, she knows enough to pull something straight. "Oh," she says, shrugging easily. "He helped us out, once. That's all. We owe him... doesn't mean we want to be him. We're sailors. He helped us get our first ship. And our second." "How do you pay back a Lord Holder?" Lya's next question is one born of a boggled consideration. "I mean, don't they pretty much have everything they need?" By now the sheets are settled and there's just the blanket to spread and pillows to place. Again, Itsy shrugs. She steps back from the bed, now, idly watching Lya. "No one ever has everything they want," she says. "Not even them. They don't get to be free. Imprisoned forever, they are. You and me? We're lucky. Free as a bird, eh? Free as a bird." "Do all birds have to replace other people's gross sex sheets?" Lya wants to know, "If so, I'll be a cat any day." And that's that. She's bundling up the offending sheets in a way that keeps her from any kind of direct contact with fluids. "You never saw me, I never saw you. You laid on a pristinely made bed and I have no idea who messed the sheets up after I was here. Right?" Itsy, this time, is all teeth: "Not me." Perhaps she intends it to count as answer to all of what the younger girl has said; either way, she closes her mouth afterwards and says nothing more. There's a flash of a close-lipped smile before Lycinea is turning to go back the way she came and, presumably, continue her bout of good behavior in hopes of that rest day that might make it all worth it. |
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