Logs:Trading Favors
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 5 December, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two Reachians bump into each other at Tillek's docks. Insults are thrown, favors are sought. |
| Where: Tillek Docks |
| When: Day 13, Month 6, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm. |
  |
>---< Docks, Tillek Hold >---------------------------------------------------<
Tillek's docks are impressive in size, weaving around the coastline for
some distance via an occasionally convoluted collection of swaying wooden
walkways that reach out into the natural harbor. There are berths here for
ships of all kinds, from merchant vessels to fishing boats, and even the
pleasure ships of Tillek's elite. A narrow expanse of shale beach
separates the Hold's docks from those of the Seacraft, off into the
distance.
Surrounding the actual docks, a collection of grey stone buildings with
wide eaves are built close around narrow alleys. Away from the road that
leads back towards the Hold itself, some parts of the docks area are
dubious indeed.
Throughout the summer, the Tillekian weather remains cool with frequent,
lingering fog. In the mornings, the fog can be pea-soup thick, often
dissipating considerably by afternoon only to return in the evenings. On
clear days, bright sun and breezes are usual.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 18 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
R'hin M 52 6'1 lean, sandy hair, pale blue eyes 2s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Beach Tillek Hold
>------------------------------------------< 13D 6M 36T I10, summer afternoon >---< It's a busy afternoon down by the docks of Tillek; though cool, it's not raining, and the dock workers are taking the opportunity to unload goods from a ship bearing High Reaches Hold's device. Not all the workers are active, however -- a few choosing to take a more supervisory role, lounging in various states of repose near where the docks front onto the road. Standing near them in a tall, dark-haired older man, dressed in plain work clothes, chatting casually. In this garb, and with slouched posture, R'hin's really not worth giving a second glance, though he seems interested in his surroundings, pale gaze flickering about to note the comings and goings in between his casual contribution to the conversation -- which seems to be about whatever game of cards is planned for the coming evening. Into this scenes comes a rather unremarkable figure, dressed casually in slouchy trousers and a cambric shirt with a low-brimmed hat pulled down over their brow. From all accounts - could be the slim, almost curveless frame, or the jaunty walk - this could easily be a teenage boy sauntering down to the docks, a cross-body satchel slung from one shoulder and a whistle on his lips. It's with a cursory glance, which really can't be seen rather felt given the hat, that Farideh takes in the assembled dock workers and outer men. She has choices: to continue trying to decipher the myriad ships, or to ask for direction, and being that she is actually a woman, she'll select the latter of those choices. "Second?" she hails the nearest, fingers held up in the air to catch their attention. It, perhaps, takes a moment or two for the group to even notice that it's a women hailing them, and only that when she speaks. As such, it's the younger blond man that gives a low wolf-whistle, more out of habit than anything, earning a snort from one of the others, and the attention of all, one by one. "I'll go first, love," the blond says, with a snicker. Slouching R'hin snorts, in a Tillekian accent, "You wouldn't even know what to do with a woman, Frian," to the guffaws of the others. Easing forward, R'hin moves to slip his arm most familiarly and daringly around Farideh's waist. "Best let an expert lead the way." The others seem to be waiting to see what the reaction will be with varying levels of interest. Whether or not the girl takes offense at the initial comment, it's hard to say. Her lips move, without sound, and her fingers tuck under the strap of her bag, but she makes no step towards them or away. It's with a certain level of wariness that Farideh watches the slouching-one's approach, and a sound of consternation escapes her when he's wrapping an arm around her waist. "I only need directions, not you're attentions," she explains, trying to extricate herself from the situation she's gotten herself into; her frown is fierce by now, brow puckered as she tries not to look at the stranger she's entangled with for the moment. "You can have both," R'hin insists, leaning in closer, briefly -- pale, familiar eyes amused -- "And I might not even charge you for it." He does seem determined, gaze shifting down the way, amusement lilting in his voice, "Now, where did you say you needed to get to?" More laughter from the men next to them, along with a less encouraging, "Oh, man," and shake of head from others. R'hin's leaning and Farideh is trying to pull away, familiar eyes or not. "No.. NO. Definitely not. You listen here you.. you..-" She seems to be grappling for words, but her attention is diverted by his next question, which has her head swiveling to survey the ships sitting gracefully in the harbor. "I'm looking for a ship called.." and just as swiftly, suspicious hazel eyes fly up to the sandy-haired older man again, though she's given up on struggling, "the Desert Song. Have you seen it?" She is, perhaps, putting too much trust in the one man. "Blithering idiot!", "Shaffing broodmare!", "Peglegged runner," comes the perhaps-not-helpful suggestions from the audience when Farideh fails to find the right words to describe R'hin. The man in question doesn't seem all that bothered that Farideh pulls away, though he retains a light touch at the curve of her back, a slight brush of fingertips as if to remind her he's still there. "The Desert Song. Hm." While he's contemplating with skywards, musing expression, more suggestions are being made, turning (almost inevitably) filthy. This earns a low-throated chuckle from R'hin: "Now, now. Don't scare the girl. Here, this way--" and he takes a step, with just a hint of pressure at her back to encourage her in the chosen direction. Whether he's taking her to the named ship or just away from their onlookers is anyone's guess. [Monitor] Rafevan has connected. The consistent touch bothers Farideh more than the insults and catcalls, though his friends get a hefty share of her unsettled stare. "I'm not scared," she states with a hint of annoyance, slinging her satchel back to its proper place on her hip from where it became skewed. Despite the irritation and lack of invitingness, she does move in the direction he's guiding, albeit with a handful of perturbed glances over her shoulder, to the dock workers doing no dock work. "Why are you everywhere?" she will ask, once they're not within earshot of his companions, tipping her chin up at a haughty angle as she walks. "No?" R'hin replies with a lilting tone that indicates a mixture of doubt at her assertion, and amusement at the very same. His slouching pace continues, and even after they're out of earshot, his Tillekian accent doesn't fade: "Tillek is interesting, don't you think? You must, or you wouldn't be here either. Perhaps it is you who are everywhere?" He's leading them down the length of the docks, past ships large and small, halting briefly to let a pair of workers with a large box strung between them go past unimpeded. "I," with strict emphasis, "am here for the ship." Because that obviously clarifies things and separates her from R'hin, right? Farideh goes back to gripping the strap on her bag, shooting the bronzerider distrustful looks from the side while they're walking. "Do you even know where it is, or are you going to lead me to another milksop? Last time was unpleasant enough," in case he forgot. "Oh?" R'hin's tone is back to amused, again. At her expense, no doubt. A gentle touch at her back gets them moving again, pale eyes flickering back and forth. While the accusation is ignored, the insult to the harper is not. "He may well grow into a talented harper one day. Not everyone is amazing from the day they are born," comes the droll reply. And, after a beat: "He spoke very highly of you," the Wingleader counters, oh-so-casually. "He thought you were pleasant, though I guess I ought to disabuse him of that particular notion." "And not everyone enjoys having other people foisted on them like some kind of--" Farideh stalls, yet again at a loss for words, but a disgruntled growl serves just as well. "You can do whatever you want, and he might well end up the Masterharper, but I didn't like him." She shoots R'hin a glare - to make sure he can see just how annoyed she is - and asks, one more time: "The ship, do you know where it is, or are you planning on generously giving me a tour of the docks?" This last bit tinged with fake-sweetness and a false smile. "A holder girl like you doesn't enjoy a dance with an attentive boy?" Disbelieving, R'hin clucks his tongue. "Or, is that why you're at a Weyr? Would you prefer I find you a pretty girl to dance with, instead? Or," he's laughing, now, at her, "Do you only prefer older men?" Frustratingly, perhaps, he still hasn't answered her question about whether he's leading her astray, although the ship they're approaching -- and that the bronzerider deliberately steers her towards -- has the figurehead of a flower, and the hefty draft of a trader's ship. A scoff from Farideh precedes her words, her head lolling in typical teenage-girl style before her eyes focus on R'hin. "You're predictable. What do you want me to say? Yes to both? That would really make you and your dirty friends happy, wouldn't it? Let's just go have it out in an alley down the way, why don't we." She makes a face and resolutely folds her arms, pointedly not looking' at him or responding to his laughter; it's easy, that way, to miss the vessel they're coming upon. "No, fucking it out is predictable," R'hin says, dismissively, as he comes to a halt, pale eyes amused when he takes in her stance of face and folded arms. With an overly exaggerated bow and gesture towards the ship, he drawls, "Your ship, m'lady." "What are you doing," comes the irate hiss, which is in and of itself not unusual, but the frantic looking around then flapping her hand at him is. But there's plenty to see - a big ship, sailors about, and that is ultimately what draws Farideh's eyes from R'hin and onto something more amicable. It also serves the purpose of shutting her up; she'll take her time to look at it, head tilted back, because big boat, little girl, equals lack of vantage. "You sure?" she says, much quieter and calmer. R'hin just gives her a look, as if offended by her doubt. "It's bigger than I remember," Farideh mutters, more to herself than anyone else, and then shoots R'hin an alarmed glance. It isn't a lingering look, but the ship's attraction gradually pulls her back and she spends a long moment just staring without moving. The alarmed look seems to stir the bronzerider to actual movement; that or he's just that bored with staring at the holder. R'hin strides ahead of her, making for the ramp leading onto the deck. Initially, confusion muddles a quick response, but the farther away R'hin gets, the more Farideh gapes in open-mouthed surprise. She catches on late, scrambling after him and towards the ramp, and once she gets near enough, she'll reach out to try and grab onto his sleeve to tug him back. "Stop." And, perhaps surprisingly, R'hin does actually stop as bid, though he does look at her, pale eyes expectant. Expectancy is met with stubbornness, in the form of angry eyes and a jutted chin, but the usual vile stream of insults she throws around has yet to make their appearance. "It was a bad idea," Farideh says levelly, and drops her hand. "Can we take a walk?" And yet. R'hin's brows rise as if to say oh?, though it's not voiced aloud. Instead, after a measured beat of three, he reaches out a hand to settle in the small of her back again, this time leading them away from the ship. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, in the familiarly amused voice. The touch, just as unwelcome, doesn't gain a comment or a struggle this time around. "I'm sure," Farideh says flatly, but meanders away with unfettered relief. "You would walk onto a ship you know nothing about?" Her query is paired with a curious side-glance. Resuming his casual glances, R'hin seems just as baffled as she, though for a different reason. "Why not?" And then: "What's the worst that could happen?" and he's looking at her in turn, questioningly. "Why not? You can't just walk onto someone else's property with no excuse. They could-" Again with the wrestling, but with a better, if comical, outcome, "-throw you overboard, or just tie you to the mast and send you off at another port." Farideh has clearly not factored in R'hin trying to fight, or any kind of positive outcome to the fictional situation. She gives him a frown, in return. "Or you," and the way R'hin says it is Farideh, you, not a more generic you, "Could've gotten on the ship by accident. Gotten turned around. Been looking for a friend, a brother, a lover. People don't generally shove you overboard for no reason," the bronzerider says, low throated amusement spilling from him as he adds, "Though, being you, they might, just for the pleasure." "Not that ship, not by accident, and have you tried that before?" A leery stare is pinned on the dragonrider, and that turns into low-simmering anger with his continued taunts. "Hilarious, really." Farideh is back to her arms-folded stance, but notably doesn't add insult on top of insult; fear of the unknown, or, R'hin's retaliation? "You can walk me back now." The casual shift of shoulders is a non-committal response from the bronzerider. Instead, R'hin says, "I think you're old enough to escort yourself. Aren't you?" A challenge, clearly issued. Of course, that would leave the rider to his own devices. Farideh's eyes narrow at his suggestion, but she half-turns to survey the way they came from, fraught with crates and sailors and dirty dock workers; then, she looks back at R'hin, lips pursed. "Do you want me to ask nicely?" A low laugh precedes the flip of R'hin's wrist, as if to say, go on, then. He looks at her expectantly. R'hin gets that narrow-eyed look for a few seconds more before she exhales loudly, tugging on the one side of her hat and dropping her eyes to the ground. "Can you please," Farideh flicks a look up, all sarcasm removed, "escort me back? I would be exceedingly grateful, and you can even tell your friends I let you cop a feel." See, she can do nice! "Mm." That's not a yes, or a no. R'hin is considering, tipping his head to regard her. Finally: "I'll do it. But instead of telling my friends I copped a feel, you can owe me a favor." He waits, as if to see whether she'll accept those terms. The arms hugging her chest tighten, and her scrutiny of R'hin becomes intense. Farideh, too, takes the time to consider. "A favor," she parrots back, and straightens her shoulders. "Fine. One favor." "One favor," R'hin echoes her, with a twitch of lips, nodding with satisfaction when she agrees. Now that the negotiation is done, he doesn't seem apt to waste time, taking a few quick steps ahead of her as if to set a good pace. Upper lip curling back in disgusted, the brunette waits until R'hin starts walking away to bring her fist up like she would enjoy hitting him - if she even knows how - with his back turned; it's with a resigned sigh that she drops her arm and follows, having to quicken her pace to keep up on the jaunt back to the dock front. |
Leave A Comment