Logs:Wanted: Fun
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| RL Date: 23 February, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Faryn, Tomic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Faryn is working, Farideh wants to have fun, and Tomic is on nanny duty? |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy. |
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>---< Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr >-----------------------------------<
Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty
feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy
wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off
into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in
and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a
mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines --
shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually
bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the
pen.
Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 6s
Faryn F 22 5'4" Lean, Brown hair, Brown eyes 0s Snow falls sporadically from the sky, adding to the existing dunes and banks of white already in the weyrbowl. It's blustery and frigid in the mid-morning, but Farideh's out there amongst the riders and dragons cutting paths through the snow. She's wearing her usual over-sized jacket, a red knit cap, and gloves to keep the chill from her fingers. Her laughter mingles with that of others, teenaged residents of the Weyr bent on enjoying this snow day or rest day, if it's theirs by participating in a bit of a snowball fight. Ducking an oncoming, powdery ball, the laundress stumbles her way to the fence lining the feeding grounds, breathing harshly after her frenzied flight from her pursuer, whom now has other prey to chase. Behind that fence line, Faryn is still at work. Snow days and rest days are fine, but the dragons must always have stock, and after The Racing Fiasco of a Fortnight Past, the herder must lie in the bed she's made herself. With her coat drawn tight around her her hair loose around her ears for insulation, she's spent the last several minutes keeping a close eye on the white projectiles flying about the bowl, a rejoinder prepared for anyone who manages to get one close enough to threaten her with it. So far, so good. It's not until Farideh scampers closer that her vaguely amused expression shifts. "Nope," she says without ceremony. "Don't bring your fight here, they'll have a fit if you all hit them, the dumb things." A vague gesture towards the newly replaced herd, one that's shortened by her rake whapping in the face the curious one that's come forward. She grimaces. Hazel eyes are watching the active bodies running back and forth a distance away, but Faryn's voice brings her gaze around, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Excuse me," Farideh says neutrally. "But I don't think I can stop them. They could just as easy throw it and miss the mark." She clasps her gloved hands together, rubbing them briefly over her red-tipped nose. "Don't they get spooked by everything? Especially dragons? They are the ones who eat them," she says, her look switching sardonic; and yes, they eat them too, but that's not proving her point at present. "One little snowball won't do much harm." Faryn's expression is probably technically neutral, but she's still smirking, and one of her eyebrows is arching towards her hairline. "Well, then, I'm glad I didn't charge you with such a daunting task," she says archly, propping the rake against the fence and turning to shoo the bovine back to its group. It takes some doing, but eventually the beast gets the picture and saunters several feet away to hunt beneath the snow drifts for grass. "Interestingly, though," she adds, "usually people aren't in the pen with them when that happens. It's not particularly safe. We call that false equivalency. Might not harm them, but I'd rather not end up with a broken leg. Both girls are near the fence line of the feeding grounds, with Farideh on the outside and Faryn on the inside, and they appear - to anyone brave enough to venture too close - to be arguing over the snowball fight going on some distance away. Farideh looks displeased; though, when doesn't she? "And you think one errant snowball is going to make them stomp all over you?" She removes her hands from her face and puts her balled up fists on her waist, staring the other girl down. "You're exaggerating. Haven't you ever heard of having a little fun?" "THAT'S MY BROTHER!" It's sharp and it's piercing and it comes from edge of the bowl, where one weyrbrat has taken off from the group at an all-out run. "He is not your brother!" comes in time with the second running away from the group. Just as the pudgy teen is groaning at the impending onslaught, someone nails him with a snowball, and the remainder of the weyrbrat group well and truly dissolves, most to the snowball fight, some to the pens themselves in the hopes of catching some gory entertainment. It's after the latter Tomic sets out, first. "I guess your washboard taught you all about keeping herdbeasts, then," Faryn rejoins, without bothering to even look at Farideh now, as she takes up her rake again, swings it sharp-side first over the fence with very little concern for the personal safety of anyone on the other side, and then slips between the middle slats nimbly to exit the enclosure. "And yes, but my version of fun doesn't usually involve assault." Now that she's out, though, Faryn stops to regard the approaching folk with a level and curious expression. "Hardly," Farideh says sharply, lips curled back in distaste. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a pen." Her voice is just dripping with condescension, at the same time that she's regarding the other girl curiously while she exits the fence. "Snowball fights aren't assaults. It's a game. You've never played a game?" Now, she sounds disbelieving, shooting Faryn a dark look from beneath furrowed brow; it's a short look, transplanted instead behind her, to the encroaching weyrbrats. It's to Tomic's bulk that she waves as he gets nearer. "You should try having fun," she states finally, glancing sideways at Faryn, her hand still in the air. "Whoa!" isn't as loud as it might have been. Because Tomic has caught up to the fastest of the weyrbrats (albeit encouraging the others by his own speed), and managed to get a hand on the little girl's shoulder. With which he can at least slow her, even as that rake comes flying up and over. "Easy there," involves more vocal projection, 'cause really they're still a ways away, and is directed with a lazy smile to Faryn - that falters once he's started to clue in. "You're not a dragon," is out of the mouth of the little girl as Faryn gains the others die of the pen, and their group closes. "There's a snowball fight, over there," is offered helpfully to both girls. "If you want fun." Faryn barks a laugh, shaking her head dismissively at Farideh. "Like I said, I have my versions of fun that don't involve getting pelted with snow. And no, they don't involve work, either, before you start theorizing." Her eyes have settled, now, on the weyrbrat and her charge, who is....large. But at least she's not the smallest person in this little gaggle now, since there is an actual child. An actual child who earns what seems like a genuine smile. "I'm not a dragon," she agrees, "and aren't you clever. And fast. You almost beat him." The weyrbrats all apathetic stares from the laundress, who seems distinctly uncomfortable with their overall presence. "You don't strike me as the type," Farideh sighs, bringing her hands back up to cover her chilled nose. She watches the easy conversation between herder and children with both quirked eyebrows and a dubious expression. "Am too clever!" protests the little girl with far too much conviction. "And fast." That part, at least, is agreement. That part, at least, she heard and got. "Is there going to be a dragon?" asks one of the others. Faryn is now popular. Tomic has gone to collect her rake, and that is held at the ready, for whenever the herder should want to take it. But it's Farideh he addresses: "Are you waiting to see a dragon kill something, too?" Faryn places her hand contritely over her heart, looking solemn. "I don't doubt it," she says, "Never did." All the acidity that had crept into her voice in dealing with Farideh is gone, or at least much diluted. Her eyes dart to the second child, and yes, there is a certain ease to her posture when she addresses them. "Probably. If they don't mind the cold. I imagine at least a few will be here, especially with fresh herdbeasts. Might be a long wait in the cold, though." She purses her lips, eyes flicking to Tomic and Farideh. Her only interjection, for now, is to reach out for her rake and acknowledge a thank you nod when it is relinquished. A dramatic sigh answers Tomic, as well as a flippant, "No." Farideh keeps rubbing her nose to warm it, and gives the schlepper-turned-nanny a hard stare. "When did you trade your tool box for this? Or are you just helping out?" Faryn, for now, is ignored in favor of the tall boy; that is probably a good thing. Tomic's eyebrows go up, slowly, considering the look of surprise about him when it's done. "Oh, no. I still have the toolbox, I just hardly use it now." It's when that first girl cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips and asks, "How long?" that he starts to look toward Faryn again, even though those big fingers had released quite a bit earlier. The other one, who'd brought up dragons in the first place, bounces a little on his toes. "Do you think then the snow would turn all red?" "Few hours, probably," Faryn says without hesitation, followed by, "Yes, absolutely. The brightest, cleanest red you've ever seen." Take it from her, the women whose job it often is to clean these pens, mostly as punishment for her other indescretions. "I bet you have time to get klah and a snack before they come, even. Or..." So contemplative, her tone, her eyes turned skyward where no dragons yet circle over the feeding grounds, "you could probably still have your snowball fight. Nobody's in the pen anymore, so there's no harm. Then you'll know the moment a dragon comes hunting." "Tomic." Farideh is plainly exasperated with him, and rolls her eyes towards the puffy snow clouds overhead. "I was asking if you got a new job. Last time, you were doing this fixing of the-- in the laundry." She sighs, regardless, and turns to wrinkle her nose at Faryn for her description of blood in the snow. "I'll do that," even if the comment isn't meant for her. There's one last, lingering stare, an odd kind, at the herder, and then she's stomping off towards the teenagers still hurling snow at each other. It's Tomic's turn to tilt his head off to the side, glancing toward the laundress, but not letting his eyes dally on her long. "Well, of course. Different duties, anyway, I still get put on the roster for other things sometimes... But I still do have the..." It's more after Farideh has already signaled her departure that he finishes, "toolbox." Then, he's nodding, along with Faryn's suggestions, looking down to the kids, "We could even go into the caverns afterwards to warm up. Snowball fights can't hurt," and then back up, "Right?" He licks at his lips, starts opening his mouth to say something more, something directly to the herder - and that's when the wail from one of the littler kids summons him. "Better go," is all that comes of all that preparation. Faryn nods her agreement, and even though the children look dubious she explains, "The dragons are going to wait until the beasts are perfectly settled and feeling safe. They taste better that way, I think." You couldn't tell she was fibbing if you tried. Probably because she's watching the laundress' back as she goes, not necessarily relieved but certainly not saddened by her departure. Tomic, then, is the one who earns her attention for the few moments afterwards, while the children squabble about the best course of action. In the end, they seem to trust Tomic better than their new-found herder, and trail after him like ducklings. "Good afternoon, then," Faryn manages, swinging her rake over her shoulder and making headway towards the stables. Likely for her particular brand of fun. It is a snow day, after all. |
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