Logs:The Worst Weyrwoman That Ever Was
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| RL Date: 2 July, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh sucks at being a weyrwoman-in-training and H'vier has a lucky dick. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language. Talk of sex. Oops. |
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| Another day come and gone, another potential drunk wasted; for the beginning portion of the day anyway. It's only the early hours of the evening and Farideh is already on her second empty glass, sitting on one of the stools up against the bar, one elbow balanced on the bartop and her cheek pressed to her fist. She idly twirls her newly-empty glass in circles with her fingers and stares, unseeing, towards the back of the bar, at the various bottles on display. One distracted goldrider and plenty of ammunition, for anyone brave enough to seat themselves at one of the stools on either side of the short-haired weyrling. No one has probably ever figured out whether H'vier is brave or stupid, or both, but he settles himself to one side of Farideh, so maybe we'll figure it out tonight. "Whiskey," he says to the bartender when his new presence gains attention, though the tender pauses to look at the weyrling in case she wants anything else. "What are you drinking?" asks H'vier, presumably willing to buy it for her. The sound of H'vier's voice rouses the weyrling from her train of thought, and she sits up a little straighter, slanting the bronzerider an enquiring glance. "Wine? White." Farideh says it without fanfare and then sighs, straightening up more on her stool. "H'vier," she says, after a long pause, wherein she scrubs a finger across the bartop. "How has your day been?" H'vier looks at the bartender to make sure they've got it, then turns his head to study Farideh in a brief, completely non-suggestive once over. "My day's been the same as any other. It looks like yours could've been better, though, hm?" It's both a guess and a question, leaving an opening for her to talk if she likes or not if she doesn't. "Is it all marvelous flying adventures, hours of yelling at people you don't like, and beautiful backsides to you?" Farideh's expression takes a turn for the wry, her hand curling again into a fist, to buttress her chin; she even gives him an untrustworthy pout. "I've just come off of my second grounding with no rest in sight. We start between as soon as Quinlys deems us worthy, and after that comes shadowing the wings-- even your wing, and after that--" She shrugs. "Real life begins." "Is that what you imagine Iceberg is like?" H'vier sounds amused, but not surprised. "There's really not a lot of yelling." Usually. "People don't respond well to it." Imagine that! He doesn't comment on the backsides, beautiful or otherwise. "Is it the betweening you're worried about or is it being a real weyrwoman?" Not that she said she was worried, but a man can only assume so much. "No," Farideh replies, rolling her head towards him, "that's what I imagine you're like." It's a succinct answer, but as much as there's humor, there's honesty in the answer. "All of it? Betweening is actually scary because-- anyone can between wrong and get stuck in a rock somewhere. I don't want that to be my ending." She pauses, watching the bartender pour. "And I've always worried about being a weyrwoman, but the closer it gets to the time, the more anxious I get about it actually happening. I might be the worst weyrwoman that ever was." "I don't yell that much," is an offhanded defense of himself, but not something H'vier seems to feel too strongly about. Certainly not in the face of betweening anxiety. "It doesn't happen often. Odds are that every single one of you will be perfectly fine. You're more likely to fuck it up after you're graduated and gotten more comfortable with the whole thing." This is supposed to be comforting. "And I have no doubt that you'll be an entirely adequate weyrwoman." High praise. "No? But the rest stands?" Both eyebrows lift, but Farideh's doesn't laugh outright; not yet. "That does make me feel better," she sighs, dramatically. "I don't think I want to think any more about screwing up than I already do. I'm sure everyone expects it, but--" A flicker of surprise, and then a bemused, "Really? You think I'd be adequate? Not disproportionate to Irianke or a supreme letdown? But honorably adequate? My, H'vier, have you gone soft?" "My time off duty is my own. And I know perfectly well you aren't interested in my personal life." Adventures and backsides alike, presumably. Once H'vier has his drink, he takes a sip and sets it back down on the counter. "You know, I think I have. But there's no reason for you to think you won't succeed. Besides, you have Roszadyth. And Reisoth deems her worthy of pride." Never mind that he's never told her so directly. Surely the bronze's opinion matters even more than his rider's. "Quite on the contrary. I am very interested. It's not as though I can enjoy myself, so I'll have to count on you to entertain me with your escapades. Whose bed have your boots been under, now?" Farideh is lightheartedly glib, for the first time since he's sat down, and it's probably attributed to their drinks arriving. "I don't know. I can't seem to ever say the right words or understand how any of this--" She waves around her left hand. "Works." And then, she takes a long drink, and makes a content sound after. "Does he? Think highly of her?" "Why can't you enjoy yourself? You're allowed to have sex with whoever you like now, aren't you?" Because apparently 'sex' and 'enjoying yourself' are the same concept to H'vier. "I'm becoming rather well acquainted with Fort's newest Senior. I should start charging for rides on my lucky dick. First Irianke gets a promotion. And now so has Lilah." H'vier, charming as ever. But oddly wry about it, too. He doesn't even offer Farideh a ride. "Anyway, saying the right words is highly overrated." As for her dragon, "He was worried that she would be... disappointing." "But should I just sleeping around with whomever? If it's not-- if it can't be-- " Farideh's face screws up and then evens out, and she shrugs her shoulders. "There are reputations to keep and others to forsake, and some, still in the making, and as illustrious as you think your dick is-- I, at least, prefer not to let people know about that unsavory detail. Shouldn't they be focusing on what I can do for the Weyr, not whom I can do?" She gives him a look that speaks for itself, and lifts her glass as though to her mouth, even if it gets arrested in the air, nowhere near her lips. "Disappointing? Why? Is he disappointed in Niahvth?" "Why do you care what anyone thinks about who you're fucking? Unless you're gonna become some Lord Holder's mistress or start blowing Igen's Weyrleader, nobody cares. They probably wouldn't even if you did. It's just sex. You're a dragonrider. Nobody expects you to be prude for the sake of appearances." Note that H'vier hasn't propositioned Farideh, so that probably isn't where he's going with any of that. "He didn't sire Niahvth," he finishes simply, lifting his glass to take a more substantial drink. "I don't want them to know, period," Farideh responds, firmly. "It's not anyone else's business but mine and whoever-- I'm having sex with, if, I'm having sex. I don't want to be remembered for the number of notches in my bedpost. That may be on your bucket list, but some of us have other standards of fulfillment." And there, she reconquers her elbow-on-bartop pose, setting aside her wine glass for now. "No," is thoughtful, "he didn't. Was there some worry? That she would be? A disappointment? Or is he apt to think the worst of things?" "Don't pretend you know anything about my 'standards of fulfillment', Farideh." The quotes are there in the way he says it, but H'vier finishes off the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass back down on the counter without asking for another. "Don't worry about it," he adds of Reisoth's opinions as he rises from his stool and searches for the marks to cover their drinks. "I hope you find your evening fulfilling, weyrwoman," are his parting words before he's turning toward the patio. "You just proved my point," the goldrider-in-training sing-songs after H'vier, but rather than look triumphant over her feat -- chasing off a bronzerider -- Farideh goes back to glumly leaning on the bar, chin on her fist. |
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