Logs:Stationed
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| RL Date: 17 May, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Faryn happens upon Jo in the kitchen and they talk of origins and future plans. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions |
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Kitchens, 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. With dinner coming and going for the day, now's the time for the Weyr's denizens to emerge. Among them is one black leather-clad bluerider, having claimed the kitchen's nook for her own as she scarfs down a big bowl of stew from the pot. Her flask is there before her on the table and there's only a few of the kitchen drudges left to clean, the night being late enough for all to be turning in. Next to the flask is a wickedly curved blade, small enough to be easily concealed but sharp enough to suggest that it's not something to cut a slab of meat with. Lost in her thoughts, she seems to be contemplating such a blade. As the drudges are not surprised by the loitering bluerider, neither are they by the appearance of a herder entering from the Nighthearth, her steps soft so as not to disturb much, her eyes sleepy with the hour. Her progress is simple from the door to her multiple purposes, all the better to gather up a meal and what appears to be a snack for later, if the way she wraps and tucks it into her jacket pocket is any indication. Her own bowl of stew is retrieved, a hunk of bread torn from the loaf on the counter (and held between her teeth), and around she comes to the nook -- her nook -- perfunctorily placing her things down and coming to an abrupt stop when her brain catches up to the fact that it's already occupied. Her muffled sound might be an apology but it's hard to tell, with all that bread. "Nook's mine when it's as dark as a stain o' blood outside," is Jo's greeting, the woman having not taken her gaze from her stew and her knife. Even if it's not, the convict rider doesn't look like she's moving anytime soon. She does, after a spell, look up to catch a glimpse of who has arrived, and with the faint recognition on her face when she spots Faryn, "Awfully late for ya to be out'n 'bout, right?" is perhaps her better greeting as she resume her devouring of stew. Oh, they're having conversation? Faryn looks awkward, because the bread is in her mouth while she considers gathering her things back up. Eventually, though, she decides the nook is as decent a place as any, at least temporarily. It's better than juggling her mug, her utensils, the bread, her bowl, and making it somewhere else. Even Nighthearth seems far away. "I have the night rotation in the stables," she offers by way of explanation, finally putting the bread in the bowl, taking up her spoon and tucking into the stew. She doesn't sit, but just seems keen on eating. "Jo, right?" "That's right," Jo addresses the latter, nodding as she watches the younger woman juggle her food with some fascination. "And yer Faryn." She must have a gift with names, and faces. "yer Ed's friend," she adds as she sets the bowl down and takes up her flask. "Deals with runners'n all. Stickin' 'round the Weyr past that-" Hatching, but she leaves that part out in favor of taking a drink with her dark gaze remaining on the other. "Mmn-mm!" Faryn vocalizes objection to something with a mouthful of stew. She chews hastily and swallows, all to correct, "Stationed. Apprentice. Usually the feeding pens, now there's extra work to be done for feeding the weyrlings. Runners sometimes. But, yes, staying either way. It's okay here." If not great or perfect, okay is the go-to. Her eyes drift along the table carefully, Jo's meal taken in alongside that knife, and the herder frowns at it. "Tough piece of meat?" "Stationed," Jo echoes the word with a slight lift of a brow. "Are ya really good with runners? Do ya work closely with them? Daily?" Maybe she's going somewhere with this. When Faryn takes in her knife, the bluerider idly picks it up and holds it to the kitchen glowlight as she answers with a snort. "Goin' over some memories, darlin'. This ain' a knife for cuttin' meat." She then straightens up in her seat to sheathe the knife in its proper place by her side before she adds, "Nights're sometimes good for reminiscin'." Faryn tears at the loaf of bread with her teeth, giving Jo a look that can only be described as wary. It's also contemplative, and she finishes chewing before she decides to answer. "Yeah, usually. I split my time between the stables and the herds, but the runners are usually mine." She smiles, small and fond, even as her eyes follow that knife until it's put away. "Great memories?" she asks, not entirely anticipating an answer. Wary, Jo seems to be at ease with. She nods once to that, seeming to be filing all the information given away as she answers, "Then I s'pose we should get acquainted. My mates'n I have been lookin' for runners for short trips." Once the knife is gone, she shrugs slightly for an answer and adds a wry, "Not so. Dunno any ex-cons where most memories aren'. Anyway, was thinkin' of where I grew up is all." Studying Faryn now, "What 'bout you?" she turns it on her now. "Where's ya grew up?" "I'm your girl, yeah," Faryn replies. "Depends on the trips, though, and how many. And where. And..." she trails a bit, her spoon clinking against the side of the dish, "what business." It doesn't seem the herder's done much asking around about the bluerider, sufficing to know she's friends with Edyis and taking that at face value. So, yes, identifying as an ex-con perhaps is a bomb for her, if cessation of her stew-stirring is any indication. It's a breath, and she's back at it, all the better to take up another spoonful, less ravenous now. "Ista Weyr at first. Tillek not long after I could walk." Wryly, she adds, "Knives were used for gutting fish." "Depends, yeah," Jo is slow to say on those runners, seeming more interested in studying whatever expressions flicker through Faryn's face than the answer given. There's maybe even the smallest lift of one corner of her mouth for that pause from the other on hearing that she's a convict, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, nodding on hometowns, "Interestin' life growin' up, ya must've had," she notes idly. "Mine's, I was to be a guard. It was how all in my family line went. Knives were used for guttin'," she agrees, that tiny grin growing along with the glint on her dark gaze. "Just not for fish." She knocks back the drink in her flask before asking, "Yer choice, leavin' the Weyr?" Presumably Ista. "Not really," Faryn says, but there's a wry smile curling half her mouth, like she's trying to suppress it. It's not immediately clear what she's referencing - her interesting life or her choice to leave. It's clear presently, when she shifts her burden to carefully place her now-mostly-empty stew bowl on the edge of the table just so, and she takes to using both hands to pick at the soft center of the bread while she says, "Not that toddlers are often allowed to make their own life decisions, not even at Ista. But," she deigns, "I don't think I regret it. Or, regret having the choice made for me." Laughing, "Well, ya got yer choices now," Jo states as she pulls out her flask for a drink. "They can' take that away from ya. Plannin' on stayin' in the craft for the long haul? This place is as good as any to stick to, 'less ya got plans." One can be sure that the convict rider is studying every move that Faryn makes, though, that could indeed just be her nature. The question gives Faryn a moment of pause, one in which she simply rolls a pinch of that bread in between her fingers while she considers. "Thinking about it. Even thinking about getting my journeyman." It doesn't sound definitive. "It's not unreasonable, to be good at something and not want to do it forever. It's just, what else do you do?" "Journeyman's good," Jo is open to agree. "More stability, if that's what yer after. Would'ja have to go back to the Hall for that? As for what else," and there's a slight shrug from the bluerider on that one as she takes a drink in the ensuing pause. "Well, ya do what ya damn wanna. Yer young. Ya got the time to fuck around, even. Be responsible later." Jo was not a good influence, even on her best days. Faryn's done eating, it seems, and she tosses the crust of her bread into the bowl with only enough consideration to make sure it doesn't splash on anything or anyone. She cuts a sidelong look at the bluerider, her brows going up. "Fucking around can fuck you up no matter how young you are or how much time you have." With a soft snort, "Nothin's wrong with a little reckless here'n there, darlin'," Jo counters as she closes up her drink. "Builds character. But it's also good to have a goal in mind." Getting to her feet as she pockets the flask and collects up her bowl, nearly at the same time, "I'd like to check out those runners sometime, if ya don' mind it," she states with a slight and brief incline of her head. "Been a long time since I've been on one." "You sound like my mom," Faryn grumbles, but her smile says it's maybe not terrible. At least, not entirely. She grabs her own bowl, evaluating it with the consideration of someone who seems to be contemplating finishing off what little remains. In the end, she wraps the hard edge of the bred in a kerchief and pockets it, saying, "You know where they are. And I'll be there, probably, soon. They're good beasts here, for the cold. Hardy. Nice to ride, but few of them are fast." A shrug as she steps from the table, enough to give Jo a wider berth as she stands. "You're welcome, whenever you'd like. I'll even make sure you don't get one that bites or throws." "Yer mom sounds like someone I could take to the Rusty Nail for a drink then," Jo quips back with an amused smirk. "Or yerself. Oughta cut loose sometime, eh? I'll catcha in the stables sometime'n maybe ya can help pick one that doesn' wanna off me." Either way, she doesn't seem the least bit nervous as she says it, either. Ticking off a nod her way, "See ya 'round, Faryn," the bluerider says as she goes to clean out her bowl and set it away on the counter before she heads out. "Surprised you already haven't, honestly." As for herself. A small shrug; those are waters to test for another time, and her gaze on the bluerider is markedly suspicious. But she has little more to add, taking her bowl to the stack of dirties to let it off, and heading out in Jo's wake. |
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