Roz at 02:24, 25 April 2015

2015-04-25T02:24:26Z

Bot: Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

2015-03-08T22:04:39Z

Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

Bot: Text replace - "{{Log |who=" to "{{Log |type=Log |who="

2015-02-06T08:25:23Z

Text replace - "{{Log |who=" to "{{Log |type=Log |who="

Roz at 00:08, 26 January 2015

2015-01-26T00:08:59Z

Roz at 06:55, 25 January 2015

2015-01-25T06:55:47Z

Roz at 06:54, 25 January 2015

2015-01-25T06:54:33Z

Roz: Created page with "{{Log |who=Farideh, Drex, |what=One sailor. One holder. Fighting. In a closet. |where=Dusty Closet, High Reaches Weyr |custom= |day=28 |month=11 |turn=36 |IP=Interval |IP2=10..."

2015-01-25T06:53:10Z

Created page with "{{Log |who=Farideh, Drex, |what=One sailor. One holder. Fighting. In a closet. |where=Dusty Closet, High Reaches Weyr |custom= |day=28 |month=11 |turn=36 |IP=Interval |IP2=10..."

New page

{{Log
|who=Farideh, Drex,
|what=One sailor. One holder. Fighting. In a closet.
|where=Dusty Closet, High Reaches Weyr
|custom=
|day=28
|month=11
|turn=36
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.01.25
|quote=
|weather=Cold.
|mentions=Devaki
|ooc=
|icons-new=Icon farideh, Icon drex showoff.jpg,
|icons=
|desc=
|log=It's late afternoon, and the productive members of the weyr are likely busy in their chores, preparing for dinner, and otherwise being useful. Earlier in the day, Drex was out in the bowl, helping out the woodcrafters with some structure-or-other that they were building; ''now'', he's found a dusty, small closet stuffed with cleaning supplies, and using his jacket as a pillow, is curled up in a ball on the floor, having a nap.

Closets are useful for a manner of things, such as storing cleaning supplies or storing neatly folded linens. Being that she is a ''laundress'' and ''laundry'' falls in her jurisdiction, it's probably unsurprising that Farideh is wandering around the inner caverns with her arms around a stack of crisp sheets. She does, however, look lost and is mumbling to herself. "Take a right and then a left. Around the corner. And the closet off to the side." Suddenly, she stops, and turns in a full circle; ''that's'' when she espies ''a closet''. Brightening, she hurries forward and pulls open the door, only to be faced with a bevy of cleaning producing. "Oh--" Her face screws up with disappointment, and that's only ''before'' her eyes drop to the floor, and spot Drex sleeping.

Being a sailor, Drex is undoubtedly used to all sorts of interruptions to his sleep -- the roll of the deck, the spray of sea water, the catcalls of his fellow sailors. The opening of the door makes it ''light'', and that makes him throw an arm over his shoulder; Farideh's expression doesn't even move him, though it ''does'' earn a glittering, curious stare of familiar kitten eyes.

''A'' kitty-- her kitty! Forgetting the dusty shelves and the cleanliness of the sheets she's holding, Farideh sets them on the nearest and then squats down to coo at the feline; irreverent of the sailor's sleeping. "What a naughty kitty. Where have you ''been''? With ''him''? I haven't seen you in ''days''," accompanied by a pout, and then her nose wrinkles and she shoots a glare at Drex. ''Probably'' his fault. Obviously.

With a slow stretch, the kitten blinks at her once or twice, and then delicately picks her way out of the warm circle of Drex's arm, moving to seek the attention due her by Farideh. It's, maybe not, the first time Drex's has opened his eyes to the glare of a woman, stirred awake by the kitten's abandonment. "Mm?" A beat. "What're you doing in my room?" He's claimed it, see?

"Wow, how pretty you are. You must get more and more each day." That's Farideh still talking to the kitten, because talking to felines like they're people is ''normal''. She only glances up at the sailor with her hand outreached to caress the kitten's soft fur. "''Your'' room? You don't have a room. You have sleep with all the others, ''and''," she looks up, "this is a closet. You don't even have a pillow or a blanket." For once, she's staring at ''him'' like he's the crazy one.

"I ''have'' a pillow," Drex lifts his head to gesture at his jacket. "And it's not even cold." Still, he's ''up'' now, thanks, and so he pushes to a seated position. He gives a little snort at the attention Farideh pays to the kitten, yawning extensively.

Once she's close enough, Farideh scoops up the ball of fur and puts her in her lap, where she whispers some more praise, presumably. She's scratching between the kitten's ears when she finally deigns to give Drex her attention again. "A jacket doesn't make a pillow and a closet doesn't make a room," she informs him tersely, glancing him up and down in an impertinent way. "You ''could'' ask for a private room, if you have the marks."

"And a dress doesn't make you a girl," Drex counters, as if to say ''what's your point?'' He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Does it look like I have the marks?" with a shake of head, he gestures towards the kitten, "You gotta look after her better. She almost got her tail bitten off by a canine t'other night."

A subsequent eye roll follows, and just as easily she falls back into the practice of stroking the silky-soft fur with diligence. "You could ''get a job'' at the Weyr," which leads her right into, "Some of us don't laze around in closets all day." Farideh smoothes down the sides of the kitten's fur and smiles in an indulgent way. "But she ''didn't''. She's a smart girl." Her gaze comes up, mildly challenging; girls are smart, okay!

"Have a job," Drex says, a little defensively. "Do some handyman work, about the place. Help out the woodcrafters, here and there. A'int much pay all told," compared to, presumably, ''sailoring'', or something. His mouth pulls down into a disapproving frown. "Suppose," he concludes, after a moment's thought. "Smart enough to avoid you, anyway," he says, with a sudden grin.

"Then," after a brief pause, "sleep in the closet. ''I'' don't care." Not that she protested too much or anything. "She doesn't avoid me." Farideh glares at him, openly, and drops her hands when the kitten jumps off her lap. "''I'm'' just busy, like I said. I don't know why you ''care''. You didn't want to share her when I offered. Or are you just that nosey?"

"No?" Drex yawns again. "Where was she for the last three days then?" He pats his jacket, and the kitten brushes past him, does a turn or two, and promptly claims the warmth of his jacket. "Did you even ''name'' her yet?" Her latter questions earn one of those probably infuriating not-quite-shrugs of one shoulder by way of response, either conveying ''no'', or dismissiveness, or some combination thereof.

"I don't know. Being a mischievous kitten?" Slim arms cross over her chest in the obvious sign of defense, and the glower she keeps giving him in the second. "Felines like to roam around they tell me. I'm not going to ''stop'' her, and I'm not going to search the whole Weyr for her." Farideh drops her defenses, slightly, when he asks after the name; she looks resigned. "I thought Satine but she doesn't look much like a Satine."

"You don't know," Drex echoes, dubiously. "Could've just as easily been, 'almost eaten by a dragon,'" he pitches his voice high, in extreme mimic of Farideh, "'Stamped on by a distracted rider'," his brow furrows at her suggestion of a name, looking at the kitten. "No," he agrees on that much. "Not Satine. She needs something more... independant." Not that he knows what name that sounds like, but... it's her cat, right? Must be why he's looking at Farideh all expectantly, now.

"I don't sound like that," Farideh bites out, not hiding her distaste with his mimicry in the slightest. "And from what ''I'm'' told, dragons don't eat felines." But she doesn't sound ''too'' sure about that, and bites the side of her lip in absent-minded worry. "Independent? What's an ''independent'' name?" She's being super serious, with a wrinkle between her eyebrows and everything. "Flower? Cinnamon? Lady Whiskerkins?" Really, super serious.

"No? Bit higher next time?" Drex is apparently open to criticism, if the smirking reaction is any judge. Her suggestions are met with dismissive snorts and sharp shakes of the sailor's head, though he doesn't offer any alternatives.

"You are ''annoying''." With that confirmed, they can get to the busy of naming her busybody kitten. "Rory? Shadow? Ash?" Farideh is giving it an ''effort'', which is more than can be said for Drex. She tucks her arms up real close to her chest and frowns. "No suggestions? Don't even say ''Buoy''."

Immediately, Drex snaps his fingers. "Annoying. Yes, that's the perfect name for her." Wait. Did he misunderstand her? He reaches out to brush fingers over black fur, "Annoying?" The lilt he puts at the end makes the kitten's eyes open to peer at him for a moment. A snort for her latter suggestion, "As if I'd name it something that stupid."

"I fear I would get her confused with you ''far'' to often," Farideh says faux-sweetly in return, showing the sailor her teeth. "You might." She ticks off on her fingers when she speaks: "Sweet? Softpaws? Pitch? Sash? Just ''Lady''?" She peers at him uncertainly, awaiting his judgment on the new set of names she suggests.

"Harhar." Drex gives some more disagreeable noises in response to her suggestions. All but the last, anyway: "Lady Annoying," the sailor decides. "Perfect for a feline," he chuckles, then kind-of-mutters-under-his-breath: "''Or a woman''."

Farideh is ''satisfied'' by his disagreeable sounds, and is on the verge of laughing when he insults ''her'' and ''her cat''. Her mouth tightens and she stares at him, hard, for a short span, and then, quite suddenly, she's leaning back to grab the door's edge and pull it closed. "I'm going to punch you," she says, while she's pulling it forward, but it sounds as if she's asking permission instead of telling.

The sudden movement surprises man and kitten both, though Drex reacts with a conciliatory lift of hands, while the kitten skitters to a retreat behind a bucket. There's not all that much room in the closet, and it's fairly claustrophobic. He's definitely smirking at her as he climbs to his feet, staring down at her, as if to say, ''are you now?''

Hard enough to see the kitten when it ''isn't'' dark, but now it's near impossible, so Farideh focuses all her pent-up-animosity towards the sailor. It's her turn to be surprised when he stands up, and as if ''that'' wasn't an unfair advantage, when ''she'' clamors up to standing, he's still taller by plenty; she might, then, stand on her tiptoes to offset. "Yes. I am." She balls up her fist and aims it at his chest, but ''if'' it makes contact, its impact is minimal and soft.

Well, it's not like Drex can move out of the way -- there's nowhere to ''move'' to. Her fist impacts, and he lets out an ''oof'', that is perhaps more emphasized than necessary. "Stop terrorising Lady Annoying, would you?" He's judging her so hard right now, even in the dark.

The laundress makes a small sound of outrage, her fists momentarily stiffening by her sides. "''Stop'' calling her that. That's not her name. You ass." Farideh tries shoving him this time with both hands; changing tactic.

"It ''is'' her name," Drex insists. "''You'' suggested it." Part of it, anyway. "Hey--" the shoving catches him off guard -- he hasn't got anywhere to step back to retain his balance, and his hand flails for one of the shelves, knocking over -- ''something'', something ''wet'' that spills all over them and smells of lavender.

"No, it isn't," Farideh growls back. That name pisses her off. A lot. And then there's something liquid and lavender-y all over, and she backs up in the wall behind her, making indignant noises. "''What'' was ''that''?" It's hard to see in the dark, but she's holding her hands out in front, trying to keep whatever it ''is'' away from herself.

"Where's the door? You damn fool woman," Drex is ''just'' as indignant, trying to reach past her and fumble for the door handle.

"I don't ''know'' where the stupid door is. This is all ''your'' fault," obviously. "I just--" Her words are stopped by an incensed squeak and she reaches her own hand to slap at his. "Where are you ''reaching for''? I know fondling people in dark closets is a ''thing'', but it's not ''my thing''." Farideh is accusing him, even though she can't see his hands, but he's near enough in this small space for her to be suspicious.

He makes a frustrated noise, as she slaps his hand away. "Just ''open the door already''." It's a wonder their ruckus isn't drawing attention. Maybe it ''has''.

"Be quiet! Give me ''time'' to find--" Farideh's pressed up against the wall near the door, and has been groping for the handle, "it." She turns the knob and it releases, pushing open to allow light in. Squinting, she slips out of the cramped closet and looks down at her clothes, covered in ''whatever that was''. Her face is a mask of revulsion.

Drex probably isn't helping, because he's pushing her out ahead of him, not waiting for her to stop and inspect herself. In between their feet, the dubiously named ''Lady Annoying'' goes speeding past to no doubt, find somewhere to comfort groom herself. A couple of the lower caverns workers, passing by, give them ''looks'', one or two suggestively grinning at the pair as if making guesses about what they were doing in the closet.

"Lady--" Farideh spares a thought for the cat, but in the end, her oil-sodden clothing steals her attention. "This will ''never'' come out. It's ''ruined''." She slants a perturbed look at Drex, holding her shirt out with the tips of her fingers; just stares with gravity.

"''You're'' the one who came into ''my'' room," Drex reminds her, unsympathetic, since he's ''just'' as drenched in the stuff. And then: "Anyway, aren't you a laundress? If you can't get it out, you mustn't be a very good one." He turns and starts walking, heading for the baths, presumably.

"It's not a ''room'', it's a ''closet''." Taunting the crazy girl might not the brightest of ideas, and his crassness is rewarded with another outraged noise. "I don't think so," is said ominously, before Farideh tries grabbing for the back of his shirt. To keep him ''there''.

His back is, mostly, dry, and so she manages to grab a hold. Drex comes to an abrupt halt, and turns to look at her. ''Look'' might be generous, ''stare'' closer to the truth, brow furrowed into a ''what?'' expression.

Farideh's request is simple, but she's not loosening her grip on his shirt: "Apologize."

Drex doesn't say anything, but the fold of arms across his chest fairly expressively suggests his point of view on that.

Two can play that game. Except, she doesn't. Farideh just tries to aim a kick at his shin instead. "'''Apologize''' for everything."

Drex tries to step back, though it's difficult with her still clinging onto his shirt. He winces as she hits. "''You're'' kicking ''me''," he growls at her, and abruptly, moves ''towards'' her, reaching to grab her in an all-too-familiar over-the-shoulder carry.

''Success'' flashes over her round face, and she crows, "Yeah! I am! And I'll do it again!" But all of Farideh's audacity is easily dispersed with his forward movement. She squeaks, again, in plaintive manner just before he grabs her; she's not one who seems to learn from history, but repeats the same mistakes in tragic pattern.

And now, with the crazy lady over his shoulder, Drex is continuing on his original path towards the baths. "You're lucky I don't dump you in the cold lake, you crazy woman," he's muttering, keeping a firm hold on her.

Fighting a tall, fit man wouldn't do Farideh any good, and so after the initial shoulder-toss, she does little save flail her feet in the air and hold on tightly to the back of his shirt; lest he get any ideas of dropping her on her head. "You ''did''," she huffs, "or did you ''forget''. Last time. You ''pushed'' me." That the lake wasn't ''cold'', well, she's not going to remind him of ''that'' detail.

"Again," Drex concedes ''that'' point. It doesn't take long for his legs to carry them into the baths; the air is steamy in here, and he proceeds directly to the deep end. He's nice enough to give her a "Hold your breath" warning before he ''heaves'' her towards the water.

It might call to mind the graceless plunge of a feline into water, with all the thrashing limbs. There's a splash when she hits the water, a fair spray hitting the sides of the floor. She goes all the way to the bottom, only to come up with a gusty inhale. Fingers push the slicked strands of hair out of her face and wipe away the rivulets so she can glare at Drex. "Hate you," is all she mutters, still wiping incessantly at her eyes. What must everyone else in the cavern ''think''?

"Feel better?" Drex asks, tugging his soaked shirt over his head, dropping his pants, and proceeding to more gracefully enter the water, ducking under long enough to scrub at his head before resurfacing.

It's a good thing that Farideh's hands are over her eyes when Drex disrobes, because who wants to see ''that''? But she makes a point of peeking through her fingers first to make sure he's submerged and not waving anything at her. "Feel better? Not by half. I could still use that apology," which has, by now, compounded to include the throwing too. She plucks at her wet shirt, and it makes a sucking sound as it pulls away from her skin. "Lovely." She makes for the side of the pool, wading awkwardly.

"Don't hold your breath, this time," Drex retorts, on the subject of apology. Again, he ducks under to rinse, and eventually appears again, this time watching Farideh's awkward progress to the edge.

An elegant hand gesture sums up Farideh's thoughts on his non-apology. She tries hooking a leg over the side and climbing out, but it's slippery and she ends up staying in water, resting her forehead against the pool's edge. "When's your ship going to be ready?" she asks, out of place.

Drex glances at the stairs in the shallow end, then at Farideh, with a kind of bemusement. "Long enough that Lady Annoying will be grown enough to go with," he says.

"Is there ''any'' way we can expedite that process? Anyone I have to sleep with to make sure you ''leave''?" Despite the vulgarity of her words, Farideh's giving him a big fat smile, still plucking at her shirt where it clings.

Drex ''grins''. "Devaki." Yeah, that one. The Lord Holder. He seems to have even less regard for the man than he does for Farideh, if the tone of his voice is anything to go by.

The smile fades and Farideh is left staring, all lackluster, at the sailor. "Lord Devaki." ''She'', at least, says it with some reverence deserving the title. "Why would ''he'' fund your ''little'' boat?" because she has either forgotten or purposefully doesn't care what he told her before.

"Because our ship belongs to High Reaches Hold." ''Duh.'' "Think if I had the coin to pay for my own ship free and clear, I'd be ''here''?" Drex asks, with a snort.

"Oh, that you ''did''," Farideh sighs with exasperation. "And." She pulls her wet hair away from her face, twisting it to the side and giving Drex a steady stare. "You're ''not'' taking her. We have already talked about this." She pointedly doesn't say ''Lady Annoying''.

Drex gives one of those annoying shrugs -- not arguing, but not ''agreeing'' with her assumption -- then strikes out for the edge of the pool with strong strokes.

Farideh doesn't stop him ''this'' time, but she ''does'' stick her tongue out in ladylike fashion when his back is turned. She watches him with a malevolent expression, sticking to the side of the pool with tenacity.

She'll get a good eyeful, then, as he emerges from the baths, and reaches for one of the towels. Tying it around him, Drex glances over his shoulder, frowning as he sees her, still ''there''. "Need a rescue?" ''again'', his tone seems to imply.

Not that she's looking! But she's suddenly red-faced, turning towards the pool edge and becoming mesmerized by the stone. "Hm?" Farideh looks up. "I don--" Except that she does, and she's still not figured out the ''stairs''. "Yes," grudgingly; admitting defeat isn't easy.

"Fine," Drex starts striding around the edge of the baths towards her: "But if you pull me in, I'll leave you to drown." Now and ''forever'', to judge by the leaden voice. Bracing himself, he crouches, offering both his hands to her.

"''Me''? I haven't pushed you into a lake or thrown you into a bath. I'm the ''worried'' one. You might throw me back in," Farideh says, warily, but she has little choice except to place her hands in his.

"You shouldn't smell of that awful stuff anymore. You're fine," Drex says, like that was his only motivation for throwing her in the baths, and not like, stopping her assaulting him or anything. He gets a good grip on her hands, and pulls her up, smoothly, hands steadying her.

"It didn't smell that bad. I don't mind lavender, but the oil--," Farideh says quietly, before focusing on getting out of the pool. Once her feet are solidly on the ground and she's dripping water all over the floor, she wrinkles her nose and shrugs her shoulders. "Thanks?" because she's not ''sure''.

Even if she's not sure, Drex seems to accept it with a nod. "Gonna find clothes," he says, apparently willing to abandon here, ''now'', turning away to go do just that.

"Yeah." Farideh makes a face and shakes her head, taking tentative steps towards the nearest towel depository and pick up a couple to treat her puddle problem. She continues to look flabbergasted while she towels down her hair and tries to get the bulk of the water out of her clothing. ''Boys are weird.''
}}
{{Categories
|Categories=General Logs, Angst Logs
}}

@@ Line 16: / Line 16: @@
 |mentions=Devaki
 |ooc=
-|icons-new=Icon farideh sassy.png, Icon drex showoff.jpg,
+|icons-new=Icon farideh displeased.png, Icon drex showoff.jpg,
 |icons=
 |desc=

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 {{Log
 |type=Log
 |who=Farideh, Drex,

@@ Line 4: / Line 4: @@
 |where=Dusty Closet, High Reaches Weyr
 |custom=
-|day=28
+|day=27
 |month=11
 |turn=36

@@ Line 10: / Line 10: @@
 |IP2=10
 |gamedate=2015.01.25
-|quote=
+|quote="You're lucky I don't dump you in the cold lake, you crazy woman.."
 |weather=Cold.
 |mentions=Devaki