Logs:Stupid Mistakes
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 4 March, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Laine |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Laine talk mistakes, friends, and murder. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Foggy. |
| Mentions: Tevrane/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Favorite pose of the whole scene: Laine says, "where" ...... \o/ Much love. <3 |
  |
>---< Records Room, High Reaches Weyr(#367RJs) >-----------------------------<
Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the
Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its
floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls,
and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded.
A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view
of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for
via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several
tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets,
scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a
many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through
luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.
To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where
another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture.
Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full
of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a
somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are
locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides
direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
Laine F 17 5'4" trim, dark hair, grey eyes 1m
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Weyr Entrance Council Chambers The heavy hush brought on by the thick white fog outside seems to compress the stillness in the records room even further. And maybe the records would be a safe retreat for many seeking solitude--were it not for Laine, who appears to have some, ahem, difficulty setting books down with anything but a loud, startling whump. For all intents and purposes, Laine seems to be trawling the records for the thickest, heaviest tomes, only to whump them down on the table and set out to fetch another. She's got a stack next to her, nearly half a dozen high... to the visible aggravation of the on-duty scribe. Whump. (For good measure.) It's into the still records room that one of the Weyr's laundress' walks, stopping at the entryway to remove her jacket and toss it over her arm. Her steps seem purposeful, her direction chosen, but the sudden whump, whump of tomes falling on a table brings a furrow to her brow. Eyes, glittering with annoyance, seek out the perpetrator, and once they've found Laine, proceed to roll in exasperation. Farideh angles in the other girls direction and when she's about a foot away, comes to a halt, surveying the stack she's compiling. "Are you trying to wake the dead? I fear you might. Friend of thieves, right?" Because that's Laine's name now. Laine's just whumped some nice harper's magnum opus down and gone wheeling around to go search out another, ignoring the pointed, audible sigh from the attendant scribe. She's not treating the books unkindly, just... loudly. When she hears Farideh's voice, Laine wheels back, leisurely-like, leans forward and crosses her arms to rest on top of her mound of books so she can gaze levelly at Farideh. "Laine, actually," she answers, with a wiggle of her thick eyebrows. "But that makes me sound pretty badass." (A badass in the records room.) "Badass?" Farideh doesn't sound nearly as impressed as Laine says she should be. "Laine, that's right. Have you gotten any good news yet?" She sets her coat on the back of the nearest chair, and pulls out its neighbor, making herself right at home at the apprentice's table. "And what of the bad news? I don't think we ever talked about it. Z'riah interrupted and--" Sitting down, she waves a hand flippantly over her head. "Are you here to study? Don't you do that in the craft rooms?" as her elbow comes down on the table, her chin dropping to her fist, and her eyes, they're fixed on Laine. Laine laces her fingers across the stack of tomes and sinks her weight more heavily on to all those books. There's a brief tightening at Laine's jaw and a curt shake of her head. "No good news. I'm--" her white teeth worry at her lower lip, "Gonna to try writing them a letter." But she tilts her head back and forth, as though weighing the idea, then rests her chin on her hands. "For all the good that might do." Her slate grey eyes track Faridah as she sits; amused crinkles appear at the corners at the question of studying. "Kinda. Doing a lesson-module-thing on book-binding." Shrug. "Figured I'd take a look at what's here, see what the end result looks like." Thus: one messy heap of books, and one very annoyed scribe. "Going to write whom a letter? Your friends? Or Lady Tevrane?" Neither of those suggestions has Farideh looking too confident in Laine's abilities, or perhaps she's just set against thieves. "Why would you want to stay friends with men who robbed hard-working people of their livelihoods and murdered others?" this, curiously. "I would have disowned them as friends by now." She sits back and studies the other girl with inscrutable emotion, then settles on a bright, "Would you mind helping me find some things, then? It could be some old records. They could be bound differently. You might even get bonus points from your instructor or-- whomever." At 'Lady Tevrane', Laine blinks and recoils her head in horror. "What? No. My friends." And blinks again, this time with an expression of bewilderment. "Because--they're my friends? I don't write them off all willy-nilly?" She straightens, but doesn't meet Farideh's gaze; instead, she tidies up the pile of books on the table. Haltingly, she says, "I don't... think... my friends would do those things." That lip gets caught up again by her teeth. She glances up at Farideh, eyebrows knit. "But I haven't seen them in turns. Four. I--I don't know." She grasps eagerly onto the next change of subject. "Oh--I haven't even gotten into the older records. That would be a help. Anything," she waves a hand, "y'know, leathery." "Sometimes you have to admit that your friends make stupid mistakes, but sometimes those stupid mistakes cause a lot of people a lot of trouble." Farideh watches Laine thoughtfully, listening in such a way that her face doesn't give away any of her inner musings. "Do you think you could be their friends if you found out that they did? That they were murderers?" She pushes her chair back then, and stands, taking a step towards the right side. "I don't actually know what books there are. It might be harder than just finding them. They would be with the other history records, I think." The only-duty scribe gets a frown. "I make stupid mistakes all the time and my friends still like me. Support me. Care about me." If Laine was hesitant seconds ago, it's resolved into a square-shouldered posture and a stubborn nod. "I'm choosing to believe that the kids I knew wouldn't grow into people like... them." Them, the murderers. But a shadow flickers across Laine's features. "I'd like to think I'd... still try to be their friend. They wouldn't've done what they did unless they thought it was right. But if they did it, really, then by now they're probably--" Laine trails off. Doesn't say dead, but swallows, hard. Stares at Farideh with round eyes, then down at her heap of books. "I don't much feel like doing my homework any more." "Not stupid mistakes like murdering people," Farideh says. "How could you look at them the same, if they did? It's one thing if they robbed people-- maybe they got desperate, but killing another man for--What? Food? Is that really necessary?" She speaks with the age old cynicism of someone who has no clue of what they speak nor any empathy. "Who knows." Turning back to the table, with a frown, the laundress gives Laine a severe stare. "What, now?" "I don't know why they did it," Laine's voice spirals upward, and when the desk-bound scribe hisses an angry shh! it drops to a growl, "and I'm not about to start making assumptions when I don't know anything about--" suddenly, she stops. She steps back away from the table, lifts her hands palm-out toward Farideh, and visibly takes a deep breath. "Sorry. Listen, I'm sorry, Farideh. I don't know. I don't want to talk about it any more." Her jaw tightens, rhythmically, one-two-three. She inhales through her nose. "Wanna go get a drink?" The other girl's agitation only causes a momentary lifting of Farideh's brow, her overall demeanor that of someone stunned. She lowers her chin and produces an "mm" sound in response, at first. Side-stepping towards the nearest shelves, she lifts a hand in a plaintive gesture. "No. I need to do this while I still have the time to do so, but you seem like you need one. Do go on. I'll--" Her eyes drop to the stack of tomes Laine's been amassing. "Clean up for you." It's a generous offer, coming from Farideh. Laine pinches her nose. "Really, I'm sorry." She smiles, a wry little smile, and accepts the offer with a gracious (as gracious as can be, considering her outburst--her ears are faintly turning red) dip of her head. "I appreciate that. Thanks, Farideh. Listen--next time--let's talk about something else, okay? Catch me up on the Weyr gossip? I miss gossip. No one here tells me anything." And, whether or not Farideh responds, Laine grabs her jacket from the back of a nearby chair, turns on her heel and--much to the relief of the on-duty scribe--she goes. |
Comments
Laine (15:18, 5 March 2015 (EST)) said...
Favorite pose of the whole scene: Laine says, "where".
Hey! I am really good at The RP.
Leave A Comment