Logs:Welcome Party
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| RL Date: 1 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Everett |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh meets Everett! |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Aughan/Mentions |
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| Snowasis isn't unfamiliar with grumpy, sad, or otherwise flustered goldriders, and this evening isn't any different when Farideh pushes her way through the crowd, not bothering to address anyone who makes a point of addressing her. Her face is drawn and her gaze directed inward, neither of which changes when she seats herself at one of the stools at the bar; pointedly she ignores the Icicle riders to her left who try to draw her attention. Once one of the bartenders notices her frazzled, slight form at the bar, she orders something stiff, on the rocks, and goes back to being gloomy, with her chin balanced on her upraised fists, elbows on the bartop. Everett was possibly not the bartender who actually took that order... but he is, despite this, the one who arrives with it, because his coworker has gotten a bit distracted at the other end of the bar. Glass, tidy cubes of ice, liquor, all passed across to Farideh. After a moment of glance around to be sure that nobody's attempting to flag him down, it's followed up with, "Everything all right there? I hate to see a pretty girl with such a long face. Makes me feel like I'm not doing my job properly." At first, it seems as though Farideh is looking through Everett when her eyes lift from their absent-minded contemplation of the polished counter, and in truth she might be. It's in grabbing her drink and missing on the initial try that she gives her head a shake, and then really stares at him, with a frown. "Is that supposed to be funny?" she queries, pulling her glass closer, to cradle it between her arms. "No? Possibly." The answer being revised even as it's coming out of his mouth. But it's easy-going, kept light, no taking her question personally. Everett is just a professional listener, here, who happens to provide drink refills--say, for the person coming back up to the bar and handing over their glass, which he attends to without taking his attention entirely off of Farideh. "Imagine if I had to work here all night, every night, or at least most nights, and all I ever saw was sad faces and nobody was ever happy to see me. What kind of life would that be? Of course I'd rather get a smile, whatever getting a smile happens to require." "I don't think I've seen you before," Farideh says, after a lengthy perusal, her eyes narrowed. "Where are you from? How long have you been here?" She seems suspicious, but of what is unclear, and still, is unraveling a bit the longer she's inside the bar, the longer she's talking; thawing under the familiarity, however unfamiliar Everett may be. "I'm sure you see a lot of sad faces. The whole Weyr's convinced that--" She glances back, towards the tables full of riders. "Igen is taking over." Keep things simple: "You wouldn't have; I've only just arrived. Crom. Just a couple days." Everett ticks these things off on his fingers as though keeping track to be sure he hasn't missed anything. Once he's made it that far, he reaches for another glass and puts several cubes of ice into it, and fills the rest with water, for himself. Usually, of course, a little consumption during one's workday isn't overly frowned-on, with jobs like this, but one does have to keep one's wits. "I'm afraid I've never been able to keep much track of politics at the best of times. How would Igen possibly do that? They're an awfully long way away." Thus giving him away immediately as, yes, genuinely new to this living-in-Weyrs thing. The look Farideh gives Everett on her glance back could be construed as minutely pitying, but then she's lifting her glass and taking a slow drink. "Does Crom not get the latest news, anymore? Irianke is one of Igen's former juniors and I'm-- from Igen." In case he didn't know who she was, her words are bald-faced enough. "Everyone wonders if we'll rig the next flight, if we'll have Igenites come in and ruin it for High Reaches-- when really we should be worried about Monaco invading," she says bitterly, into her glass. And sharply, "Lord Aughan?" "I'm sure the people who have any reason to care about the news get it. I've spent most of my days keeping a roof over my head." However out of the loop Everett might be, or not actually be, some of that seems to fill in necessary details to make all of this make a bit of sense. Especially in regard to who he's talking to. But while there's a bit of enlightenment reaching his features, his expression stays generally neutral-pleasant. "So, you're from Igen. Are you trying to take over?" It's probably not the sort of question that expects a yes. "I've certainly seen Lord Aughan before, but I can't say that I've ever met the man. When I was young, I used to think of him like he was... fictional. Or historical, I suppose. No more real than Moreta. But I would have probably said the same of you." "Is it hard? Making a living at-- Crom?" A little more interest enters Farideh's expression. "I am, from Igen, and no, not especially. I don't even want to be the Weyrwoman. I'm only twenty and, I don't want my life to end before it's just begun." She taps her fingertips against the bar as she regards Everett from across it. "Why did you come to the Weyr now? Did you want to see us?" Where us likely means goldriders, or, it could mean dragonriders in general. "Lord Aughan certainly has a reputation that-- precedes him." The bartender swirls the ice around in his glass, has a sip, sets it aside, fills another order while he's thinking over that particular question. Three glasses filled from the same tap, careful not to let them overflow, handed off to the person who's running them out to the table. "Would it be better, if I said I'd come to see you?" Oh, pronouns, so tricky. "Men don't live long lives, going down the mines every day. It's not the life I want. Even those of us of lower birth don't care to give up our lives before we've had a chance to live them." Everett's smile there is more faint. "It would be better if everyone could be honest, but that's not going to happen," Farideh replies tartly, before taking another long drink from her glass. "All the same-- people don't live very long around here either, regardless of who you are." And with that, grumpy goldrider of the day gets up, after putting appropriate markage on the bar, and gives Everett one last, considering look. "Welcome to the Reaches," is intoned a bit cryptically, and then she's moving away from the bar, headed for the exit. "So people keep telling me." There's a little amusement in Everett's tone, at the end, there, but the look he shoots after her is more thoughtful than mere amusement warrants. Thoughtful enough that it takes three tries for the middle-aged caverns worker who has taken Farideh's place to attract his attention and actually get his order placed. At which point, it's back to work, and all other thoughts banished for the moment. |
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