Logs:Towels
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| RL Date: 11 October, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, Rh'mis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rhey needs towels. But not... that urgently. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. A perfect Reachian afternoon would be taking a nap after a filling lunch, or frolicking around in snow drifts outside with friends; not being stuck in the musty, dark storerooms sorting linens on the numerous shelves that seem just too high for one vertically challenged laundress. "Whatever stupid, no good, tunnelsnake loving.." Farideh mumbles under her breath as she stretches up on her tippytoes, tongue tucked between her teeth, trying to get a short stack of towels up there with the others. She's got a basket at her feet full of other, assorted pieces folded to semi-perfection, and has already put away more than half by the helpful illumination her glowbasket has provided. Her fingers just tip the towels into place and she stands back, winded, hands on her hips where she can survey her work with over-exerted breaths. A truly perfect Reachian afternoon would probably, in fact, involve no people at all; no one in the corridors between the bowl and the storerooms, and definitely no one in the storerooms itself. There's no such like for Rhey, though; it's not as though Farideh is the only one down here, and it's not as though a brownrider could expect otherwise - no matter how much wishful thinking he might employ. It's on silent feet that he arrives, turning the corner to come up a few paces behind Farideh, blue eyes raised to watch her put away those towels. He turns, quite as if to take his immediate leave; he's forestalled by the squeak of his foot upon the ground, a sound that echoes in the (relative) quiet of the caverns. Gotcha! The silent arrival of Rh'mis goes largely unheard over Farideh's harsh breathing, but the echoing of that squeak has her head swiveling around, hazel eyes squinted in suspicion. "Who," she asks too loudly, as the rest of her body follows to turn towards the brownrider, "are you? Why were you sneaking around behind me? Did you-- do something?" Mottled color blossoms in her cheeks as she starts turning this way and that, trying to see if perhaps he's stuck anything in or around her backside. Stupid shoe. Stupid caverns. Rhey would no doubt prefer to simply leg it away from here, now that he's been heard, but Farideh's attention has him freezing. "I wanted," he says, after several moments of absolute silence, "to fetch some towels. But I'll go. It's fine." He even turns to go. "Let me get this straight. You came to get some towels but now you're just going to leave." Farideh's got a disbelieving look on her face, her eyes still narrowed as she settles crossed arms over her chest. At least he didn't put anything down her pants. "Come get your stupid towels!" Right now. Right this instant. She even digs in her basket and picks up a couple of nice, fluffy ones; they might even smell like citrus. And she holds them out to Rh'mis, fully not expecting him to leave, because here are these lovely towels she carefully folded and everything. Rh'mis turns back around, but he's still backing away; one foot behind the other, back, and back, and-- right into another set of shelves, back pressed hard up against them. "It's fine," he says, voice not-quite-squeaking. "I'll come back. It's fine." The laundress blinks, a few times, at Rh'mis. "No," she says, taking steps towards him, now that he's backed into the other shelving unit, "you're going to take these towels. You came down here for towels, you take them. Now." Farideh gives the pile of towels in her hands a shake to emphasize her words; towels, damn it! She's glowering at him, pretty much eye-on-eye given how close in height they are. "Unless you weren't down here for towels." The glowering plainly bothers Rhey; it's possible the towels do, too. He holds his hands up, palms forward, as if this might assist in warding off the onslaught of fluffiness. "Please stop," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm going to leave, now. You're going to let me." His tone, now, has lost that squeak, and is edging more towards dangerously cool. Rh'mis' resistance just irritates Farideh further. She hugs the towels to her chest, for now, and purses her lips in disgust. "Not until you tell me why you were sneaking around behind me. You obviously weren't looking for towels." Does she have a theory? Of course she does. Her eyes haven't left his face the whole time. "You're one of those assholes who comes down here to scare people, aren't you? You think, "oh this will be fun" and while people are minding their own business, in the pretty much complete dark, you go around making spooky noises and banging on stuff to freak them out. I know all about your ruse." She takes another step towards him, her nose all scrunched up with her mouth. "It's not cute." "No," says Rhey, through gritted teeth. He launches himself off of the shelf, aiming to push past Farideh, and make his escape. "I'm not seven." His tone might be full of scorn, except that it's just that tense; he's just that tense. Not surprisingly, the launching and pushing catches Farideh off guard. She gets bumped to the side, where she drops her towels, but Rh'mis still gets by. An indignant sound erupts from her throat, enraged eyes lifting to Rh'mis. Two sins: sneaking around suspiciously and making her drop the laundry. "Look what you did. Do you even know how dirty this floor is?" She keeps switching between looking at the floor and her towels forlornly, to glaring up at him with her hands in fists at her sides. "I hope you like your laundry with holes, because all you're going to get from now on, you prick!" But, at least she's not chasing after him. With the towels. Rh'mis says nothing at all; he flees. Clearly, he didn't need towels that much. |
Comments
Edyis (06:29, 12 October 2014 (EDT)) said...
Haha. Farideh the force to be reckoned with! Fluffy citrusy towels!!
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