Logs:Uppity Wench
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| RL Date: 13 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Just another night at Snowasis. Farideh builds a glass tower and H'vier breaks it. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
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| An evening in Snowasis is nothing to boast about, but it's lively tonight, which could be attributed to the eggs hatching in the coming weeks or things getting back to normal after the Weyrwoman's abrupt demise. As usual, there are the somber drunk sorts and the rowdy drunk sorts, and plenty in between at the different tables, filling the seats at the bar, or waging games. Farideh is busy stacking cups by herself at a vacant table, making a pyramid shape out of the upside down glasses. They aren't all hers of course, but appear to be the leftovers of a group of Alpine riders who are now crowding the dart board. Despite focusing every time she sets up another tier, she looks quite bored, and there might be a chance that she's not there out of choice; whatever the alternative might be. A handful of Iceberg riders make up part of the rowdier bunch of drunk sorts, but H'vier isn't among them himself. He breaks away from his riders to get himself another drink, probably order another round for the wing, and then wander off to find somewhere a little more quiet to brood restlessly. It's in this search that he finds Farideh being bored with her stacked cups, and H'vier takes it upon himself to invade her table, sitting across from her as he takes a drink. Then, "You look like you're having a good time." Except not. "Shall I buy you a drink?" The candidate isn't surprised when H'vier takes a seat, or perhaps that it's said bronzerider at all. "It's good practice," Farideh repeats, slanting a look around her glass pyramid towards H'vier. "No. I don't feel like drinking-- tonight." She prods one cup a little to the side, then sits back to admire her work, hands on the arm rests of her chair. "Are you excited? They say the eggs should be hatching anytime now. Not," she's quick to point out, scrunching her nose, "that those are anything but rumors people are bantering around. I wouldn't know, personally. Still-- are you? Is Reisoth?" "Good practice for what, precisely?" H'vier settles comfortably into his seat, slouching down enough to betray the fact that he's at least a little bit buzzed. It's much preferable to non-alcoholic brooding. "I'm excited to be able to leave the Weyr again. To not have to argue with my dragon whenever I want to go somewhere, or have to tell him to ask someone else to give me a ride." This is clearly a sore spot right now. But H'vier sighs and admits, "He's looking forward to the hatching, to see what choices his offspring will make given the limited choices available." The last might be a direct quote from the bronze in question. "Bonding? Isn't that what riders do?" Farideh tips her head to the side, studying H'vier in his naturally-buzzed state, with one corner of her mouth curved up in a semi-smile. "I figured I ought to learn now instead of playing catch up, right? Even if-- even if I'm not much of a-- dart player," she says, turning her head, to where she can see the riders drunkenly lobbing darts at the board. When she looks back at H'vier, it's with a small modicum of sympathy. "What are your guesses? Any bets? I think most people are expecting a lot of greens," whatever that cryptic tidbit means. "Not often by themselves," he says with a pointed look to the glasses and the fact that he's currently the only person she's interacting with. Not that he probably minds being the focus of her attention, granted. "There are usually a lot of green," says H'vier. "No doubt you'll end up with one, uppity wench that you are." But he smiles as he says it, so it must be teasing more than his true feelings. That or, you know, both. "I have placed a couple bets, but it's poor form to discuss them with the candidates themselves." He could be making that up just so he doesn't have to, of course. "I was with them, when they were sitting here and drinking," comes with narrowed eyes. "I just don't know anything about strap malfunctions or pulled ligaments, or that one greenrider from Telgar with the hands--" Farideh crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly defensive and sullen all at once. "A green? Are they? Uppity?" But she's staring at him distrustfully, as if fully expecting this thread of conversation to be a hoax; she's come to that conclusion about him over time. "Would that make you happy?" she asks, her voice dripping sarcasm. There are implications there, but not the nice variety. "Oh. So you chased them off. Drove them away." For some reason this doesn't seem to surprise the bronzerider. Don't mind the way his gaze drops to her chest. She's the one who drew attention to it in the first place by covering it up. "They can be. Most females are, aren't they? I'd be absolutely thrilled if you Impressed one of them, but I don't think that boy of yours would feel the same." Which is, after all, part of the reason it seems pretty fantastic to H'vier. "Or you could end up with a blue. Or a brown. Or, Faranth forbid, that sharding gold. That would be a shame. Though your boy might hate that even more." And that would make it less of a shame. H'vier seems thoughtful now. "I did not chase anyone off!" has that defensive edge to it. "They wanted to go play darts. I didn't. I stayed. They went. It's simple, not because I did anything wrong." Farideh's openly glaring now, not even worrying about where his eyes are roaming, but when it comes to the topic of Drex she looks elsewhere: the dart board, a passing waitress, and finally, to her nails. "No. I don't think he'd be happy if I Impressed at all. He'd rather I run away with him and live on one of those boats. Do you think I'd make a very good sailor?" This last is posed to H'vier, her eyes lifting from her fingers to watch for his reaction. "Wouldn't it be funny if I Impressed a brown and we chased in flights together?" In the end, amusement. H'vier is shaking his head before he's even decided what he's going to say to her. Though considering what he does say, he might not really have given it that much thought. "I think you'd be a piss poor sailor. Truly awful. The only thing you'd be good for is spreading your legs, I imagine. And that's probably the only reason the boy wants you to run off with him at all. Cooking, maybe. Can you cook? I do like the idea of you consoling me when we've both lost, admittedly. I think brown would suit you quite nicely." The expected response from Farideh is likely anger, but she's silent, her expression shuttered until the very end. "Do you really think so?" is the only question she poses, quietly. "Mm," agrees H'vier. Maybe he didn't expect her to be upset because he always speaks the truth. "Browns can suit just about anyone. Like a neutral pair of trousers." He has relatively decent fashion sense, and this comparison seems to amuse him quite a lot. "You know that's not what I meant," Farideh says, giving the bronzerider a pointed stare. "I wouldn't mind being a brownrider, though. I could do a lot of things. I could even become your Weyrleader if I got lucky enough. What do you think of that?" She's smug, smirking at H'vier from across the table, and consequentially, through the tower of glasses. That comment earns a suddenly dark look from the bronzerider. "Doubtful, when the sharding Weyr won't even recognize their rightful Weyrleader." Which is to say, him. H'vier throws back the rest of his drink and sets his glass on the table, eyeing her stack as though he'd really like to knock the damned thing over. But he refrains. For now. "Who isn't acknowledging K'del?" True confusion colors her voice, her brow furrowing more and more the longer she stares at H'vier. "He's been Weyrleader since he was my age everyone says. Who would be in denial of that?" Farideh can't imagine, clearly. Maybe he doesn't mean to knock over the glasses, but H'vier hits the table is a sudden rush of temper and the effect is much the same. His chair is shoved back as he rises to his feet, "Perhaps we'll all be lucky and you won't Impress at all, Farideh. The last thing High Reaches needs is another pointless, frivolous woman with a dragon between her legs." There aren't any apologies for the mess he makes, and certainly none for his words, before the bronzerider is stalking his way out toward the bowl. The falling, and shattering, glasses have the same effect as throwing water in her face would. It's enough to draw curious and concerned stares, but Farideh sits silently, her round face pale and her eyes wide. She clearly wasn't anticipating that fierce a display of temper. Her eyes follow H'vier out, and once he's gone, all she does it push back her chair and move steadily towards the bar, where she finally caves to ordering a drink. |
Comments
Edyis (22:49, 13 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Poor Farideh!
Alida (01:28, 14 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Well, it's somewhat Alida's 'job' to make sure Farideh isn't totally frivolous. At least she'll know how to properly defend herself. ;)
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