Logs:Where Are Rafe's Balls
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| RL Date: 6 June, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, R'van |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Man-Drinking, Man-Talking, Man-Fighting. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Langauge warning. Because MEN. |
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A short tunnel and a shorter set of stairs leading up from the ledge
reveal a weyr that, despite being obviously unused at present, has been
well maintained, much of the furniture in it still in good shape.
Unusually, there are no separate chambers in this Weyrwoman's weyr, the
bedroom and bath only made distinct by two walls that rise three-quarters
to the ceiling.
In the main area, the hearth sits near the tunnel from the ledge,
decorated with a square pattern of ruddy bricks along the floor, which
rise into a decorative arch above, the mantel stretching from one end to
the other. While hardly new, a comfortable looking olivine couch sits in
front of the hearth, on a patch of floor that was probably once covered in
a rug of some kind. Towards the opposite end of the room sits a round,
stone table with a set of cushioned chairs; next to this is a utilitarian
bookshelf, currently empty. To the east is a tunnel that leads down
towards the Weyrleaders' Complex.
The bedroom section of the weyr contains a full-sized bed, void of
anything other than a simple mattress, and a wardrobe. Finely polished
wood has been used for both, though they are simple and unornamented, with
only their delicately built curves to really indicate their quality. Just
across from the bedroom, behind the other three-quarter wall, is a small,
elevated stone bath that is built into the walls. Ancient plumbing makes
sure there will be hot water when needed and though no vanity exists, a
single built-in shelf is carved out just above the tub. Hung on the
half-finished wall is a slightly warped mirror.
For now, dustcovers protect most of the furniture, and the glow-lamps
remain unfilled, clear signs that it has been some time since the last
occupant. Earlier, there was some now-forgotten challenge that lead to Drex and R'van heading to the rider's lounge, some bets made that involved a fair deal of liquor and cards thrown around (and at them), and now, stumbling drunk, Drex leads R'van into Farideh's weyr. Because that's totally not going to get him into more trouble. "See, there's these trunks, that her rich parents gave her and they're probably filled with gold and she wouldn't let me look so clearly I have to look, but you need to be here to," he pauses, burping, while knocking over one of the chairs, blinking at the weyr. "Where'd she put 'em?" "Shit," says R'van, who stumbles his way in and blinks blearily at the place. "I want a weyr. When the hell am I getting a weyr?" he complains, wandering through the cavern and spinning in wobbly circles. Somehow, he keeps his feet under him, but it's a near thing. "Hell if I know. I don't know why she does anything," is added on the tail end of Drex's words, even if that's not exactly what he asked. "We should have had rich parents, too, Drex." "Privilege of," another burp, "Rank," Drex shrugs. It's not like he actually knows how these things work, which is possibly why he says, "Maybe they're giving the non-assholes weyrs first," with a sudden laugh, though he blinks blearily at R'van a moment later. "Dunno. Aint sure I'd want them. They'd... expect things of you, eh? Oh, there," and he's rushing towards the trunk he's just spotted, except he's tripping up over that chair he just knocked over, thudding hard to the ground, and spilling the beer in the mug (that yes, he carried so carefully all the way from the lounge), onto the rug. "Fuck." "Fuck you," Rafe retorts, with some heat. He's flushed already with liquor, which seems to have reduced his usual cool exterior along the way. "I'm not an asshole. I just--if people listened to me--they can't cope with the truth--." And he can't complete a sentence, just furrowing his brows at Drex. "Anyway, they're parents. They're required to love you regardless, even when you inevitably disappoint them." Drex, for his part, goes from ohshit to laughing hilariously at R'van's retort. "Eh, don't matter. You have a fucking big bronze dragon. Guess you can tell other people what to do now." That's how it works, right? "Though Farideh can tell you want to do, too." Right? He's squinting at R'van from the floor, pushing up onto an elbow. "You think?" with disbelief. "Can you imagine me with a kid?" he's snorting, and then, "Or you? Fuck, those kids would be... fucked." Apparently drinking doesn't bestow eloquence. R'van, still irritated, "They don't listen. It's not difficult. Not like I haven't proved I know what I'm talking about." Almost every word gets its own emphasis, tone aggrieved for the injustice done to him. He drops gracelessly down in front of the hearth, grabbing for a poker to prod at the remains of the fire. That's probably a great idea in his state. "I would be a wonderful father. You, however--." Drex does manage at least to right the mug, setting it on the table. He tentatively toes the rug, and seems to decide the it'll blend in well enough. "You aint their Captain, though. Gotta prove you're worth being Captain by slitting some throats and tossing them off planks." He means, possibly, metaphorically, but then, maybe he doesn't. When R'van drops in front of the hearth, he's not alone: a feline soon appears to climb into his laps, with claws out as she seeks to find a comfortable spot in a rather uncomfortable, prodding way. "Only pirates cut throats," Rafe says, matter-of-fact. "Are you a pirate, Drex?" His expression is too intent as he eyes the other man beside him, drunkenly staring--until claws dig into his lap. The flaily motion he makes is liable to send the kitten tumbling, unless it digs in. "What the fuck is that?!" "Aint a pirate," Drex says, unevenly, perhaps even unconvincingly, giving R'van a look. "I mean, if I were aint like I'd tell a fucking rider. But don't mean it's not true. Gotta show them you're the boss, otherwise you'll just be the boy scrubbing the galley floor for the rest of your life." How To Climb The Pirate Corporate Ladder 101. The cat does indeed go tumbling, with a protesting rrowl of noise, and undoubtedly a couple of deep scratches in return for the indignity of it all. "Oh, that's just Lady Annoying." "Shit," and Rafe rubs a hand over his legs like he's been shot. "Why do you have a cat? Ugh. Cats." He scowls at the tiny creature, face-off style. "I'm not a rider. I mean, I am, but I'm still designing you shit for your boat." "They keep the rats out of the food on the ship," Drex says, as if that should be obvious. "She's a great ratter. Pretty sure a giant family of them snunk on board at Tillek," he snorts. The cat in question is currently inspecting the rug with spilled beer on it, tail flicking back and forth, ignoring the look from the weyrling. A surprised breath escapes Drex as he folds arms across his chest. "You are?" "Does Farideh have rats? Are there rats in her trunk?" Rafe sounds uncertain about this, warding the cat off with a look. He's still eyeing it even when replying to Drex. "Well, duh. It's an interesting project and while it's somewhat backburnered with my ongoing journeyman projects, I will make it happen." He only slurs it all a little bit. "What?" Drex is clearly not keeping up with R'van's drunk-logic. "I don't--" but if nothing else it serves to remind him that he was going to nosy into them, and so he sways his way over in that direction, cursing as he bangs his shin against that chair that he still hasn't righted. "Backburnered," he's chortling, as he lifts the heavy lid with a groan. "Well, maybe when you get your balls returned to you by the weyr, you can come take a look at our ship." "My balls are exactly where they should be," answers R'van, still miffed. "I could fly out there today, except I'm tired and I'm drunk and I'm not sure which way is Tillek right now honestly." "Given the ship's at High Reaches Hold, that's probably for the best," concludes Drex, if he's even aware of the other bronzerider's state, playing oblivious. "What is...?" he lifts what looks to be a lacy glove out of the trunk. More things follow: jewelry, expensive dresses that get piled onto the floor, pictures of fancy people at fancy shindigs. "What the fuck is all this?" he asks, indignantly. "Is Fari a fucking pirate?" As opposed to fucking a pirate, presumably. "Are you sure?" Like Drex doesn't know where he parked his fucking ship. R'van eyes him suspiciously. "I'm pretty sure it was Tillek. Tillek is the one with the ... seas." He frowns, shakes his head like he's not entirely sure what he just said. "What? No. You're a pirate." He eyes Drex. "Then why the fuck does she have a Lady's bounty in her fucking trunk?" Drex retorts, bewildered enough that he doesn't even rise to the comments about not knowing where his ship is or refuting that he's a pirate. R'van just rolls his eyes, crawling over to where Drex is to eye the stash, too. "How fucking thick are you, dumbass?" he says, snorting. Something gold and shiny and heavy thuds onto the mat next to R'van as Drex tosses it out of the trunk. "The fuck you talking about?" he squints at R'van, confused. "It's not my business to tell," answers R'van, smugger than a cat with a rat. Oh, he's so pleased with himself. "Ask your bitch if you want to know so bad." Either Drex has gotten to the bottom of the trunk, or R'van's words have stoked his ire enough that he steps over (mostly) the pile of stuff, hands on hips as he stares down at the bronze weyrling, reaching to grab a handful of shirt, or whatever he can. "The fuck," he repeats, "You talking about? Don't you dare call her that." Shirt grabbed, R'van just looks down at Drex's hand in the fabric, smirking in disbelief. "What, are you going to fight me now?" he asks, a laugh in his voice. "Over that?" Drex lets go of R'van's shirt abruptly, practically pushing him away in the process, making a noise of disgust. "I like her, ok? Fuck's sake, don't call her a bitch around me, you ass." R'van stumbles back, catching a hand on the wall to make sure he stays up. "What. She is a bitch," he says, like it's just so obvious. "Trust me, I've been living with her for months." "The fuck you say," Drex replies, heatedly. R'van's reminder that they've been living together for months is probably what mottles his pallor to a red shade, jaw tightening in response. He darts a look at the trunk, then back to R'van, eyes narrowed. "What do you know that I don't?" "Ask your bitch," says Rafe, deliberate in his singsongy word choice then. "I'm going home." Beat. "To the barracks, because I don't actually have a home." Sulk. "Fuck you," snarls Drex, throwing a punch at Rafe's face. "Fuck!" Rafe recoils under the punch: he's going to have a nice shiner after that. And he's putting his own self-defense lessons to use by--tackling Drex. Drex has had a few too many to drink, it would seem, and he's not exactly on the top of his game. He goes down under Rafe's weight, smashing right into -- through -- that chair with a loud stream of incentives that involve Rafe's mother, a fishmonger and a fuck gutter. Oh he's drunk. You can tell by the fact that R'van doesn't seem entirely to know what to do when he takes Drex down and falls victim to such insults. And that is why the only possible answer is to just burst out laughing drunkenly at Drex. With a grunt, Drex shoves Rafe bodily off him, lying there panting and groaning alternately. At least the stream of incentives have stopped, even if they didn't have the desired effect. "Fuck gutter," repeats R'van, when he finally gets his breath back. He pushes himself upright, getting to his feet laboriously before offering a hand out to Drex: no hard feelings once the punching's over, in typical dude fashion. "She's going to be pissed," he says, with some degree of satisfaction. "Picked that one up in Tillek," a fact that Drex, apparently, is proud of. He accepts the weyrling's hand without apparent rancour, groaning as he stands, pressing a hand to his back for a moment, looking around the weyr. "Fuck. Aye, she will be. Blame it on you?" He's only half joking about that last, looking at Rafe with a raise of brows. "You really think she's not going to blame us both?" R'van just snorts, reaching up to poke at his face where it's already bruising. "You aren't going to get laid again for months." The grunt Drex gives is one of defeat, surely, as much at the former as the latter. "Aye. You'd better go. You owe me a fucking beer though. And next time we're going to destroy your weyr." "Mm. Drinks on me, then," says R'van, sounding smugly pleased about this fact. "Good luck with--." Everything, says his gesture around the trashed weyr, before he turns to saunter--wobble--on out. Leaving a drunken Drex to survey the damage with some more incentives laid under his breath. |
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Comments
Roz (01:15, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
A+++
Btw, you're both dead to me.
As you do.
Edyis (02:03, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
<3 You both are so dead.
Alida (03:11, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
You're both. SO. Fucked. ;)
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