View source for Logs:It Could've Been a Nice Chat About Clothes...

{{Log
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|type=Log
| who = Farideh, Tayte, Telavi
| where = Tayte's Room, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Telavi is visiting Tayte, newly on bed rest, when her laundry gets delivered by one of ''H'vier's floosies''. Drama and angst ensue; secrets are shared between chums.
| day = 16
| month = 9
| turn = 35
| IP = Interval
| IP2 = 10
| gamedate = 2014.09.03
| quote = Well, Tayte's just full of surprises tonight!
| weather = 
| categories = <!-- You can ignore this and select from the options under the edit box. The 'RP Logs' category is added automatically. -->
| mentions = Carlotta, H'vier, K'del, Tahvra, Yvalia
| ooc = Anger, angst, slut-shaming. Back-dated.
| icons = farideh mad.png, tayte facepalm.jpg, telavi hands.jpg
| log = Since being put on ''actual'' bed rest (with the one caveat that baths are still allowed, because how would she ''live'' otherwise?), Tayte's door has been open most of the day with helpers and visitors coming in to periodically check on her and to give her a sense of connectedness. It's this way today while she and Telavi lie on the bed in states of repose with a gorgeous lavender gown spread across their legs. "Well, this turn it won't be worth it, of course," Tayte is telling the greenrider with an affected moue. "I'll be as big as a  ''bronze'' on my turnday, or in bed with a newborn, I suppose. But ''next'' turn, don't you think we could? I mean, the ''colors'' won't match, but they could compliment, couldn't they?"

"No knitting ''or'' sewing for bronzes," Telavi agrees with a decidedly impish smile; she fingers the underskirt once more before separating the layers and tracking the nearest seam upward, hmming once at what she encounters. "Better to compliment than to fail at matching, yes! Especially if we add just a little sparkle to the other one; I think I know just the thing... Did you hear what happened to Rharla at the Nerat Gather last month?" she asks animatedly.

Knock knock. There's someone at the door, someone who doesn't wait for an answer before she pokes her head in the opening. "Delivering laundry, ma'am," the brunette laundress says, moving around the obstacle that is the door. Farideh's got her arms wrapped around a basket full of fresh clothing and linens, and an insolent expression to compliment. "Here to pick up anything dirty too." She wavers by the door, eyeing the two women on the bed and that dress spread out across their legs. 

"''No''," Tayte sticks out her lower lip, "I've not had news of ''any'' of the gathers. I hate being stuck here--" But there's knocking! So she's calling, "Come in!" The blonde might be briefly taken aback by the insolent look, glancing uncertainly toward Telavi, before clearing her throat to offer. "Thank you for bringing them, …?" She leaves space for a name to be offered. The smile is tentative but genuine. No doubt all help is appreciated now.

Tela's already leaning over to whisper the tale to Tayte despite the lack of anyone to eavesdrop... only now there ''is'' someone to eavesdrop, and someone about whom she lifts her brows at her friend in return. She smiles into the space Tayte left, too, but as soon as the name's provided or it's apparent it's not going to be, she says lightly, "Dirty? Anything our Tayte touches smells only of floral, no, ''deep-ocean'' beauty. Which doesn't mean it can't get washed."

"Farideh." Clipped tone conveys a wealth of meaning - arrogance, irritation, and impatience to name a few. "Floral or not, I was sent to deliver and collect, so I'm going to deliver and collect. Unless ''you'' would like to explain to the head laundress why I didn't." She sticks out her stubborn chin as she ambles further into the room. Jerking that impudent feature towards the dress, she says, "Does that need to go? I can't imagine it is ''clean''." And then she gives them a dirty, accusing look. 

Tayte's brows lift in mild surprise. Surely, it's just Farideh's attitude that has her looking surprised. Though, perhaps Tela, being in better acquaintance might recognize or guess at some ''recognition''. The pregnant woman lets a very easy smile settle on her lips, honed from the many turns tending in bars, Snowasis and Sandbar before that and ''who knows where'' before that. But it's not one of her usual smiles, though it's appearance is plenty warm and inviting for all the attitude. "I assure you it's well tended, Farideh. You needn't worry about being charged with such a treasure." The dress. "Tela, would you mind hanging it back with ''the others''." The many others. The treasures. "I'd get up, but bed rest," She sighs in a fluttery sort of manner, "Would you mind terribly placing that next to the first wardrobe there?" Then, "Farideh. I've heard your name I think. Just arrived not terribly long ago, wasn't it?" She's cheerful, she's friendly. Tell her your secrets, Farideh; go ahead, it's totally not a trap. But then, it really wouldn't seem like one, would it. Not with the turns of affecting friendliness at the bar with such great success as to garner enough tips for ''all her treasures''.

"'Deep ocean,'" Telavi corrects, the interjection light as a bubble of air in those very same waters; she may slide a look at Tayte but she also plays along, professing, "I wouldn't mind in the least, not for you." It's an easy thing to do when one can be entirely sincere. Not that she hurries-- for that would risk ''crumpling''-- instead sweeping the dress upward as she arises in a lush rustle and then smooths the exquisite fabric before locating just the right empty hanger. She's not watching the other two; a girl might be forgiven for not paying attention at all, given the lovely workmanship before her.

"Treasure," Farideh laughs under her breath as she moves to place the basket of clean laundry where the vintner instructs her to put it. She wipes her hands on her pants and turns to address Tayte again. "Ok, the dirty things next. I don't want to come back a second time, so if we could get them all together at once.." She's looking expectantly at Tayte, after a brusque, unconcerned glance at  Telavi by the wardrobe. 

Pregnant women are so fickle. The smile completely vanishes. "You, my dear, are the only ''dirty thing'' that needs to be taken out of here. Go. ''Now''." Maybe Tayte won't throw anything. The water glass on the nightstand looks hefty and breakable!

It's not that Telavi's ''hiding'' exactly, is it? She's ''busy'' behind that wardrobe door. And, perhaps more to the point, Tayte seems to have everything in hand. Which... doesn't mean that Tela doesn't ''peek''.

Sudden changes in the room's temperament are felt by the laundress only slowly, her blinking stare shifting from the greenrider hiding by the wardrobe to the pregnant blonde laid up in the bed. "Fine. Whatever. Bring your laundry yourself then. Or get ''her'' to," with a finger pointed at Telavi. Farideh knows she's not wanted, for some reason unknown to her at least, so she'll do her best temperamental stomp out of the room without looking back.

It's good Farideh left, because apparently Tayte can't resist. She's a thrower, and this is what throwers do. It's a wonder the girls don't need to be lifted across the threshold everyday lest there be remnants of broken glass. "''Slut''," is vehement but not ''loud'', so probably only Telavi hears it, even if the sound of the shattered glass on the wall next to the door might carry farther.

All that means that Telavi doesn't so much peek as ''stare''-- and then flinch from the shattering sound, though it's no more than a few seconds before she comes out to the tune of, "''Tayte''?! What's going on?" If someone's listening at the door, Tela isn't bothering to moderate for that, but ''someone'' is stomping all the way back to the laundry. Petulantly.

Tayte manages to stay angry, and ''not cry''. "Oh, ''nothing''," definitely something. "Just ''another'' of H'vier's ''floosies''." Okay, now she cries, but soon enough it's just sniffling.

The irony of the blondes slut-shaming the laundry girl goes so far over Telavi's head, one might even hear a whooshing sound. "Ugh, really? And you have to look at her?" Tela doesn't ''quite'' slam the wardrobe door, first because she has to make sure the garments don't get caught in it, second because one doesn't slam wardrobe doors unless one is even more provoked. Third, because it's more important to comfort, "Tayte. Oh, ''Tayte''," she says, swishing to her friend's bedside and swapping out dirty handkerchiefs for clean. "And she's so ''young'', too." ''Whoosh.''

"What was he thinking?" Tayte asks once the tears have subsided, her voice thick with its effect. "Nevermind. He ''wasn't thinking''. He never thinks. That's why I'm pregnant with his child ''again''," surprise!(?) "And still unweyrmated and-- ''ugh''. I ''hate'' him."

"Wait, what?" All this while the broken glass is ''still sitting there''. "It really is ''H'vier's''?" Tela flounces down onto the edge of the bed, twisting to keep looking at her chum. "But you said--"

"I know, I ''know'', I'm sorry. I just thought that anyone who knew the truth-- well, anyone but ''K'del'', would only be in danger of him trying to find out. I even told the healer to-- well, anyway," Tayte warned him. "I didn't want you in his war path." She shakes her head, "But then ''Reisoth'' told him. That great big tattletale." She huffs, the bravado her defense against yet more tears as she reaches for a handkerchief on the nightstand to dab at her face. "So he found out the other day, and came by, and I told him he could be her," the baby's, "father. Only now…" She glares at the open door. "Now. Can you imagine him raising girls when he sleeps with ones half his age? I bet someone can find out for me. Just how old she is. Did you know he slept with her the ''same night'' as the last time ''we'' slept together?" Which, presumably was well after they broke up, but… la la la la la. Chums don't judge!

Oh, so ''K'del'' gets to know. Tela turns up her nose. "I'm not scared of him," might be bravado of her own. "But Reisoth? What? How did he know? And-- what?! The ''same night''?!" This isn't turning into a paen to H'vier's recuperative powers and/or stamina; this is, "Ew. How could he." And no, Telavi's not so hypocritical as to judge ''Tayte''. "How did you even find out, did he tell you?!" Because sometimes sort-of-boyfriends ''do'' that. 

"Reisoth--" Tayte shakes her head. "I don't know, exactly. He's-- he--" she's not sure she's making sense when she says, "He ''feels'' smart. And sort of scary." But maybe that's just because she's not a rider. "Is it normal for dragons to talk to people that aren't their lifemates?" She suddenly asks, blushing for her ignorance. Then quickly, to cover it, "Carlotta told me. He picked her up right there at the bar, ''right in front of her''." There's a chance that Carlotta actually had it from someone else, or that H'vier didn't notice it was one of Tayte's particular friends working nearby, but, regardless, the news made it to her ears.

Telavi's giving her friend a look that's a little more bemused, though it's also a little askance; "Good for Carlotta," she says. "He probably did it on purpose so she'd see, too." But it's a little distracted, because then she has to ask, slowly, "Do you... often? Hear dragons? Or... strange voices anyway?"

"Oh, shells, no." Tayte answers the latter, because it's suddenly the easier topic, and she's able to laugh. "If I heard dragons in the way the stories tell, I'd imagine I wouldn't have been left Standing at Benden those two times I Stood. Although, there was one egg-- sometimes I like to think… It didn't hatch." Then the former candidate, former vintner, grown and dragonless woman is laughing at herself again and shaking her head. "I thought I was going crazy until he put himself right in my way in the bowl and made me understand it was ''him'' I was hearing. That's-- I don't know if it was him ''talking'' or what we talked ''about'' but I ended up on bed rest that night." She sighs, setting aside the handkerchief. Hopefully she won't need it now!

Tela's looking ever so relieved, except-- "You Stood at Benden? You didn't-- ''did'' you tell me?" It's not like she usually gets blotto, but sometimes things just happen. Telavi's finally able to shush herself to listen, then, wide-eyed; "I never knew of one causing, you know, ''problems'' like that," bed rest, "but then... I mean, ''Reisoth'' of all dragons. Brr. What did he even say?"

Well, Tayte's just full of surprises tonight! "I'm-- not sure I ever thought to," the golden blonde confesses to the whiskey. "You-- were probably there, weren't you, when I Stood? I mean, I was always picked up late, you know how they sometimes do with apprentices stationed at their home Hall, and wasn't there too long before the humming and the eggs." She gestures with a hand to mean 'and all that.' "He said he was going to tell him. That he knew. That--" She stops looking down at her hands, "That he didn't want him to find out in uncontrolled circumstances, in case he ended up doing something stupid."

"I-- you know, let's compare notes about that later," Telavi implores Tayte. Because there's still Reisoth. "So how ''did'' he even know to begin with, and why was he telling you-- to stay out of the way? Because of his temper?" Telavi takes it seriously; she's ''stuck her hand through'' the hole in that wardrobe.

A nod for the first. Then a shrug. "Reisoth-- is very clever. He just ''knew''." It makes it sound magical and perhaps fantastic, where there's probably a very realistic explanation for it. "He-- was warning me, I think. And yes, to have me stay out of the way." She swallows, a little convulsively, "His temper." Her eyes don't go to the wardrobe but somewhere on the carpeted area beside her bed and she swallows again, falling silent. "He looked like he'd been to the Red Star and back if Thread punched like a pugilist." She sighs, "When he came to see me the other day. After he knew."

"Spooky. I mean, I've heard ''rumors'' that dragons, can, but..." that's not what's important right now. Telavi's gazing at her friend in concern, with a momentary sympathetic shiver for that ''temper'', but she doesn't seem to pick up on the significance of the other woman's gaze; maybe Tayte just noticed some lint or something. As for H'vier looking rotten?  "Well, '''good'''."

Tayte screw up her face a little, because… ''H'vier''. The instinct to defend him is ''still there''. Damned nuisance. Suddenly she's looking toward the door, "I didn't really think that through. I can't very well explain to them why I need a ''different'' laundress to pick up my laundry," hello obvious topic change! "I'll have to find a way to pay someone. Maybe I'll have to let H'vier give me money after all." The blonde sighs heavily and then lets her hands touch her stomach. "I keep telling myself this is all worth it. Maybe I'll believe it when the baby is in my arms."

Telavi doesn't spin stories of the baby in radiant Tayte's arms and H'vier seeing them both and being utterly transformed in a ''good'' way; no, she doesn't even touch that last part. Instead, here's another opportunity for Tayte to defend that man: "H'vier can jolly well pay for that, and also replace that glass, because if he hadn't gotten it on with that floozy," there's that ''whoosh'' again! though admittedly it's been a while since Tela's been there, "especially all ''in public''," or at least walking off with her in public, not that this could ''possibly'' be a sore spot for the greenrider or anything, "it wouldn't have happened." Clearly it's not his not-weyrmate's fault he messed with her self-control.

Tayte reaches up to scrub her face. "No, you don't understand," and now she has to explain. "H'vier ''wants'' to pay for me. For my life. My clothes. The girls. Everything. ''Letting him'' would let him own me." She sighs, "I don't want to do that. He can help with things for the girls' sake, but--" She glances to the basket of laundry and she lays back on her pillows with a groan. "I'll never hear the end of it. He'll think he has a say in everything if I ask him." And she ''doesn't wanna''!

"''Oh''," says Tela, realizing. "I... well, I wasn't thinking of ''asking'' so much as sending him the tab... but-- just don't cut off your nose to spite your face?" She taps hers, gives Tayte another wistful, sympathetic look, and then... she has a broom to find. Stepping on broken glass would be ''just what they need'' to top off the day.

Tayte sighs. She must sigh because there's nothing else for it. Then she has to say, "Sorry. About the glass." And probably ''sorry'' that she can't, herself go clean it up. "I'm going to--" She shifts, awkwardly, onto her side, "See if I can't close my eyes and relax a little. They don't like me getting ''emotional''." Understandably. Of course, once she's settled that way, it's only too easy to drift off, which she does, leaving the girl talk and H'vier-bashing for another day.
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