Logs:Secrets And Promises - Revision history

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Roz at 04:45, 5 February 2015

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Roz at 04:36, 5 February 2015

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Roz: Created page with "{{Log |who=Farideh, Lycinea |what=Farideh and Lycinea enjoy a bonfire by the Snowasis. They share secrets and make promises. |where=Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |cust..."

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{{Log
|who=Farideh, Lycinea
|what=Farideh and Lycinea enjoy a bonfire by the Snowasis. They share secrets and make promises.
|where=Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
|custom=
|day=26
|month=12
|turn=36
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.02.03
|quote=
|weather=Snow!
|mentions=Drex, Itsy, Telavi, K'zin, Z'riah, H'vier, Weylaughn, Devaki, Wulfan, Joremy, Issedi
|ooc=
|icons-new=Icon farideh listens.png, Icon lycinea sly.jpg,
|icons=
|desc=>---< Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#634RJ) >------------------------<

Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the
weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just
plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have
let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:
two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in
particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the
most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.

Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being
trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of
flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall
off.

An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former
weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor.

-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 1s
Lycinea F 17 5'5" Slender, Blonde hair, Blue-green eyes 21s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
|log=Fresh snow fills the Weyrbowl, creating smooth dunes of sparkling white; it's a sight that's not uncommon to the Reaches, especially in the throes of winter. Night has fallen and so has the temperature, but despite this, a bonfire's been set up somewhat near the Snowasis, and varied weyrfolk crowd around it. Surprisingly, Farideh's out in the cold, sitting on a over-sized pillow and a stack of warm blankets, on the ledge. One leg swings listlessly back and forth over the edge, her hands occupied in the folds of the knitted scarf she's got wound around her neck. She's avidly watching the going-ons of the bonfire, though not actively participating, and waves, occasionally, to familiar faces as they pass between the scene below and the bar within.

The brightness of the bonfire, the avid watching. It's all gone in a moment! Mittened hands hold over the laundress' eyes. Lya pitches her voice to as manly a tenor as she can muster (not very). "I thought we'd never meet again, my love."

The girl's initial reaction is to stiffen in defense, but the faux-masculine voice has her posture relaxing, her own gloved hands reaching to cover the mittens. "What ''small'' hands you have, darling! I thought, for sure, you boasted that you could lift fifteen men with them," Farideh sighs, not quite hiding the amusement brimming in her voice.

"It's not the size of the hands, ''my dear''," if only Lya had a mustache to twirl~ "but what you ''do'' with them that counts." And then in the blonde's usual mezzo, "Or so I hear." Then with giggles she's shifting to thump down on the blankets beside her friend, holding up the very mittened hands that had just played blindfold. "''New mittens''." She says cheerfully. Well-crafted and ''fashionable'' mittens, if mittens can be said to be fashionable. "Good day?" She queries on the heels of her announcement.

By the time Lycinea sits, Farideh is laughing gaily and trying to cover her mouth with the edge of her scarf at the same time. "They're pretty," she comments, looking them over with interested eyes. "Where'd you get them? Local?" She takes the blanket she's got wrapped around her back and tries fitting it over her friend's as well, so they're both snuggly ensconced in her blanket cocoon. "I wouldn't call it ''good'', but it was well enough. How was yours? Anything ''new''?" which can only be a reference to the habitual gossip to be found in their jobs.

"Yeah, the weavers here keep some sets aside. The nicer ones. I had to buy them, since my stores priviledges..." Lya looks wistful. Does she need to explain? She might have earned a day off, but taking from the stores when she's been such a pain in the... well, that's a different matter entirely, and it's not like she didn't ''have'' gloves, just not nice ones! She shifts into the embrace of the blanket, moving her hands so she can help hold it in place. "Vesra's going to the Baker festival tomorrow. She says she's got a rider beau who's going to buy her whatever she likes so she can stuff herself until shes' sick, and it won't matter a tick if she puts on a little weight since he ''likes'' curves." Lya sighs, a side glance to her own ever-problematic ones. "I wouldn't be surprised if ''Vesra'' makes him broke within an hour of arriving and he has to bring her back early, not even close to turning ill for all the sweets and savories." Or so Lya will probably actively wish upon Vesra because she's nice like that.

"I ''suppose'' not everything can be for free, not even in a Weyr. They're very nice, though. If only you had skirts without holes to pair them with," Farideh says innocently, turning her face to view the fire; her mouth only twitches a ''tiny'' bit. "And she didn't tell you ''who''? I'd like to know a rider that's so free with his time and marks," though they both know one already, "and I hope all the sweets taste horrible," though they both know they won't, "it's a pity ''we'' don't have anyone to bring us somewhere and stuff us with sweets." She pouts winsomely and draws her leg back up onto the ledge. "I ''miss'' courtship. Men here just--" Sighing, she picks at the hem of a blanket. "I haven't seen Weylaughn in ''sevendays''. I think he's avoiding me."

"I'm... I'm going to," Lycinea says it not as bravely as she probably would like to. "H'vier's going to buy me more clothes." This is quieter. "But I'm not sleeping with him! Or doing anything else like that." And this, a defensive blurt that seems to require clarification. It probably doesn't help anything that her next words are, "Well, ''good''. He's the worst I've ever met." ''Ever in her life''. "You're far too good for him. You need to find someone ''worthy of you'', if you're going to have anyone at all." The blonde gives Farideh a look. She's ''looking out for her''!

"Don't you want to work for it yourself? Take pride in what ''you've'' done?" Farideh asks in a not unkind way, canting her head to stare at Lycinea. "If H'vier's paying for everything and he's not asking for sex-- he'll want ''something'', ''eventually'', Lya." She shakes her head and then buries her chin deeper into the soft folds of her scarf. "You think Weylaughn is ''that'' bad? But he's handsome, and intelligent, and Holdbred, and dresses ''nice''. He's the complete opposite of that crazy guy, Drex. Do you remember him? The tall sailor." She pauses, inhales sharply. "He ''killed'' someone, Lya. For fun. He ''told'' me."

"Farideh," Lya sighs, "get real. Unless I march up to the Weyrwoman and ask to Stand whenever we next have eggs," which could take ''forever'' her voice implies, "and then Impress a ''gold'', I'm never going to make enough marks to keep up with the way I wear my clothes." She probably would wear through them ''as fast'' if they actually fit her to begin with. "And right now he just wants my friendship." She chews her lower lip. "And I ''asked'' for the clothes. He's always saying he has marks to spend," no, he isn't, "and I need them, Farideh. It's like I'm a charity case. He might as well be donating his time to unfortunate orphans of the Nabol not-quite-conflict." She gives her friend a plaintive look. H'vier donating his time to Nabolese orphans is totally believable. Can't she understand? "He's probably gay," Lya decides of Wey. "That's why he was so snarky to me about his intentions toward you. Or maybe it's because his intentions ''weren't'' good after all," since Farideh hasn't seen him in weeks. "You should be glad to be rid of him. Why do you need him anyway when you have me?" She makes another face at Farideh. "Yeah, the one that wants to set up kitten and tunnelsnake fights," as he may forever be known to Lya. "I met the snake-haired girl. She was okay," is added as an afterthought.

"I don't understand how you ''do it''. You should save up your marks and invest in-" Farideh frowns. "Quality pants." Not more skirts, no more patching, and perhaps the better quality will stand up to whatever it is the blonde does with her clothes. "I'm just saying you should be ''careful''. I don't want you to get in a bad situation. That's ''easy''. Look at ''me''," the other girl sighs. "He'll want something, eventually. Men don't give things away for ''free''. Why would they? And do you ''really'' think someone like ''H'vier'' feels ''bad'' for others?" She lifts her eyebrows at Lycinea, as if daring her to come up with an excuse or example of H'vier's philanthropy. Glossing over Weylaughn (sore subject): "Did you hear me? He '''killed someone''. Aren't you ''worried''? There's a ''murderer'' walking around our Weyr, sleeping down the hall." ''She'' is obviously concerned; she frets with her scarf in agitation. "I find her the milder of the two. Her hair, though. Did you like it? I kind of like it, but they said she doesn't ''brush'' it. How can't you ''brush'' your hair?"

"I'm special," is cheeky relief that at least Farideh won't do something silly like ''forbid her'' the 'free' marks and new clothes. "It's going to be okay, Farideh." Lya says with perhaps more confidence than she feels. "I don't know if H'vier feels anything for other people at all. I know he feels for himself, but himself needs a friend. I mean he needs a friend." Blue-green eyes skirt toward the sky as she makes the verbal correction. "Anyway," she doesn't want to talk abou tit, so, "What if he was lying to you? And K'del had someone hung, so that sort of makes him a murderer too. Although they made that I'kris guy suicide when he murdered Iolene..." Is it her 'Reaches upbringing or her fascination with history that makes Lycinea not (apparently) worried about a murderer in their midst. "Have you ever noticed that people like to fuck with you? That's how Z'riah put it. You give people the reactions they want to get. Are you sure Drex isn't just fucking with you?" She purses her lips, "I wouldn't ''want'' her hair." The subject gives her pause. "Can I practice some hair things Telavi's been teaching me on you? It's mostly braids, but I have some ideas and it's easier to see it and do it on someone else. I'll be careful, I promise."

"I ''hope'' it's okay." Her choice of words are ''specific'', purposefully dodging the admission of it ''being'' okay, just that she ''hopes''. "H'vier has a whole wing full of friends." But, she obligingly drops the subject and rolls her eyes skywards. "Doesn't he ''look'' like he could? He's a sailor. They're not exactly ''upstanding'', and I've heard rumors of all sorts of unsavory things they do on those ships. Besides, he's tall and," she pauses, lifting her arms up like she's flexing them, and looks side-to-side at her own not muscular biceps, "big. I think he ''could'' murder someone, maybe with his bare hands even." She holds her hands out, frowning at she stares down at them and the supple kid leather they're encased in. "My hair?" Farideh's hands fall into her lap and she gives Lycinea a sideways glance. "Braids? I guess that would be okay. What have you learned?"

Lycinea doesn't do more than look dismissive of Farideh's assertion that H'vier's wing is full of friends. She's tending to the more pressing topic of murderers. She rolls her eyes. "I'm a bastard orphan, Farideh, ''I'm'' not exactly upstanding and I've never killed anyone." It's totally the same thing. "Yet." She might have a list of people she ''would'' if she did that kind of thing. There's a fluttery sigh. "Do you want me to ask him about it for you? See if he tells me the same story? I could ask Itsy, but I don't think she'd say anything. She didn't want to talk about him more than to say about how he's her partner and they're getting a ship from Lord Devaki in the spring and that she's staying here because she doesn't want to wear skirts and go to fancy dinners with the Lord Holder." Not that it sounds like Lya blames her in the least for that. One hand is pulled free of a mitten to reach up to tentatively touch Farideh's hair. "Oh, all the usuals, I think, and then some. I wanted to start doing different things with my hair, only it's so difficult to do one's ''own'' hair. We can try it once and if you hate it, we won't do it again, okay?" She offers with a little bit of a pleading look.

"''No'', if he ''is'' a murderer, you can't just walk up to him and ''ask''." It's bad enough that Farideh ''knows''. "I'm sure he ''did''," she mutters disapprovingly, like he committed a fashion faux pas and not an unconscionable crime. "That's the same thing he told me. That they are sailors on High Reaches Hold's flagship and they're waiting for the new one to be built. I can't imagine Lord Devaki would approve of ''murderers'' on his boat." But she's biting at her fingernail, worrisomely. "I met him, you know. Lord Devaki. At the gather, at the Hold. He was-- nice." She toys with the opposite side of her hair, twirling a loose curl around one fingers absently. "We can. Do what you like. It's only ''hair'', it ''grows back''."

"Why not? I asked ''Weylaughn'' what his intentions were toward you and kicked him in the shin when he was a jerk." Well, the shin, or something. It's been so long and Wey is ''so unimportant'' to her that Lya might well not remember ''specifically'' what happened. "Can't you?" The blonde wants to know, "There are ''rumors'' about Lord Devaki, you know, from when he was here at the Weyr. Did you ''know'' the Weyrhealer-- er, ''ex''-Weyrhealer is his son's mother?" She raises brows at Farideh. "I ''hear'' there's going to be thing in High Reaches Hold for Lady Issedi's turnday. Maybe we should go and poke around their precious ship if it's even halfway built." She curls her lips in a sly smile. It would be fun, ''wouldn't it''? "I can do your hair for it," is her added conclusion. Also fun!

"''Why'' not? It's not the same as kicking Weylaughn in the shin because he wouldn't say if he wanted to be my ''boyfriend''. You shouldn't do that anyway, it's ''rude'', but he's a ''murderer''. What if he decides to murder ''you''? ''Then'' what will I do?" Farideh sighs laboriously and slants the younger girl a mock-pout. "Lord Devaki? I-- yes, I'd heard. That was ''before'' he was Lord of High Reaches. He wouldn't do that ''now''," which seems to make all the difference to her. "The Turnover events at High Reaches? Oh, no, I can't." Except, she doesn't explain beyond that, though happily combs her fingers through her hair. "But ''you'' can go?"

Lycinea has to roll her eyes for Farideh's judgment of her behavior. "It's rude to be Weylaughn, too," because that definitely makes sense. (In Lya Land.) "If he decides to murder me, I suppose I'll die, won't I?" The younger girl seems ''amused'' by the concept. "I'll be famous. I've never wanted to be, but I suppose it couldn't be awful after I was dead, since I wouldn't have to deal with everyone looking at me and being bothered about me." No autographs needed. "''Rone'' wanted to be Lord Holder and think how many people he killed, orphaned, or ruined the livelihoods of. And you've ''heard'' what they say about Lord ''Aughan''." Lya says it meaningfully like she should have to explain. "Not ''turnover'', ''turnday''. Lady Issedi is turning thirty, they said. ''Faranth'', can you imagine? ''Thirty''." So old! She giggles. "Why can't you go?"

"What have you got against Weylaughn, exactly? I want to know what he ''said'' that was so awful that you can't stand to even mention him in a neutral light." But Farideh isn't amused by her suggestion of murder, specifically ''Lycinea's'' murder. "You can't ''die''. I need you ''here'', okay?" That's as much an admission of love as there ever could be, from Farideh's lips, without actually saying the words; her look is earnest. "They'll tell stories about how you haunt the kitchens, like how they say Iolene haunts the stores." Her lips twist, with good humor, but then turn sour. "''No'' I don't know what they say about Lord Aughan. He isn't as talked about as, say, Lady Edeline or Lady Tevrane." She rolls her eyes, and slumps forward, elbows on her knees. "I can tell you a secret, but you have to ''swear'' to tell no one else ''ever'', or I'll tell Drex to murder you ''myself''. Super serial.

If this were anyone other than Farideh, Lycinea would ''have to'' go off on a tangent about how she's ''seen Iolene in the stores'', but it's a testament to her return feelings on their friendship that she must resist since the next thing she says is: "Lord Aughan is a ''troublemaker''. That's what they say. Maybe less lately, but..." completely ignoring Farideh's demand about Weylaughn. "I won't tell anyone," the younger girl assures, looking curiously to Farideh. Who knows if her fingers are crossed inside her mitten?

If this were anyone other than Farideh, Lycinea would ''have to'' go off on a tangent about how she's ''seen Iolene in the stores'', but it's a testament to her return feelings on their friendship that she must resist since the next thing she says is: "Lord Aughan is a ''troublemaker''. That's what they say. Maybe less lately, but..." Completely ignoring Farideh's demand about Weylaughn, she goes on to assure, "I won't tell anyone," before she's looking curiously to her dark haired friend. Who knows if Lya's fingers are crossed inside her mitten?

"A ''troublemaker''? Aren't they ''all''?" the laundress is quick to quip back, but twists so she's facing Lycinea, and then grabs the other girl's arm, leaning in and simultaneously pulling her close enough that their noses almost touch. "Wulfan is at High Reaches Hold. With Lord Devaki. He-- told me not to tell, but I can tell ''you''. As long as you don't tell anyone ''else''. ''No one''. And that's why I can't go ''there'' for Turnover or Lady Issedi's turnday, or anything. I can't ''see'' him. I ''want'' to see him, but that could create such a big ''problem''." Farideh sighs and leans back, re-arranging the blanket. "I'll just stay ''here''."

"What?!" Not that Wulfan is at High Reaches Hold with Lord Devaki, but, "What do you ''mean'' you'll just stay here? I can't go poking around foreign ships in foreign crowds in foreign places ''on my own''." Lya gives Farideh an imploring look. "If you don't go with me, I'll just have to ask H'vier to take me and keep me company," poking around places that probably have a lot of shadowy corners where things could go Very Wrong. "Why can't you just wear a disguise?" The girl suggest with a gleam that suggests Farideh is going to have a hard time convincing her this might not be the brightest idea.
There's an ''ugghh'' about to be groaned aloud, but Lycinea's second suggestion gains a startled glance. "A disguise? I can-- I can wear a ''disguise''. I can dress like a ''boy''. I can be your ''date''. We might have to pretend to kiss though, but--" This new idea is ''thrilling'', and has Farideh's fingers knitting and her lips curling into a smile. "And we can look at the new ''ship'', or whatever it is, that Drex thinks he's going to sail away on."
Lycinea's nose wrinkles for ''kissing'', but she ''sighs''. "If ''that's'' what it takes." Farideh is possibly her very best friend - even if she might not be her nicest one. "We can sort out a disguise. Something Old Lord Igen," as he will now be called, "would never suspect to see you in. I bet someone can tell us about binding-- well, you know." The problem. "And then you'll be all set. We can pin up your hair under a hat. I wonder if we could make a ''mustache''." She thinks about that then. "Can I tell Tela? Just about the disguise part," probably not anything she promised not to say. "I bet Tela would have ideas, and maybe even clothes we could borrow for it. Or her boyfriend. I could ask Z'riah, but he'd want to know why." Of course he would. She's thinking about it hard now. Maybe it will only turn out to be a half-bad idea if she thinks about it hard enough? "Hey!" ''Idea''! "You could come with me to talk to Tela. I wanted to introduce you two anyway. I think you'll like each other if you give her a chance."

"It's not like I ''have'' any boobs anyway," as the girl looks down at her flat chest and her smile slips away in favor of a frown. ''Meager'' at best. "I would ''prefer'' you don't tell ''anyone'', because then they'll want to know ''why'' I need a disguise." ''That'' would just lead to awkward questions and she's, obviously, not interested in sharing to more than the minority who already knows. "I ''do'' work in the laundry, I can just ''borrow'' some boy clothes, and we can find an old hat in the stores." Farideh stares out across the bowl, towards the bonfire and the firelight-limned shapes moving around it. "What? To who? Tela? Who is Tela? That girl in the kitchens with the--" and she grimaces, because ''whatever'' that girl has, in the kitchens, it must be awful.
"But Tela won't ask questions," Lya will blithely (and so so so wrongly) reassure her friend. "And even if you ''did'' tell her things, I'm sure she wouldn't say anything. She's the one that's been teaching me to sew and to braid and all that. She's practically the ''only'' person who was nice to me before you came along. And I would ''really really like it''," she stresses with that imploring look at her friend, "if we could all get along. Since you don't like any of my other friends." Just give her ''this one'', Farideh!
A long, silent moment passes wherein the brunette studies the other girl's face in the darkness. It's with a click of her tongue and a resigned, "fine" that she acquiesces. "But we can't tell her ''why''. Make something up-like, I have a boyfriend I'm trying to ''avoid'', or an overbearing mother." Farideh puts her fists under her chin and bats her eyelashes innocently, then erupts into laughter. "Promise?"

"Promise!" Lya breathes with a grin. "Oh, but you have to ''really try'' to like her. Promise? I mean, she's not unlikeable, only she heard about you in a bad light and if you heard about her in any way, maybe you could just... you know ''really try''. And wouldn't it be ''nice'' to be able to trust someone who has a dragon and won't be trying to get into your pants? Then we can maybe all ''go places'' together." The smile the younger girl has is hopeful.

"I will ''try'', Lya. That's all I can promise you. I ''always'' give ''everyone'' a fair chance," which is obviously untrue, "but if she's going to be making ''assumptions'' before she's even ''met'' me." Farideh's frowning, already; might not be the best start to a new relationship. "I'll ''try'', that's all." She tugs the end of the blanket tighter, and gives the blonde a meaningful ''stare''.
"She's not making assumptions, she's unmaking them," Lycinea offers brightly. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll both like each other, so. Open minds and there will be ''great things'' from it." Also bright, also optimistic. Then she's sliding off the blanket pile. "I'm bored of sitting. Can we go... I don't know, throw snowballs at whoever deserves it?"
Just snuggling back into her blankets, Farideh's look turns annoyed, but eventually lets up with a significant rolling of her eyes upwards. "Snowballs? Really? How old are we?" Still, she pushes off the blankets and starts towards the steps, pausing on the topmost step to wait for her friend to join her before walking down to the bowl and all the fresh ''snow''.
"Not old enough to not enjoy snowballs," Lya answers with mock haughtiness, reaching for her friend's gloved hand with her own mittened one. The gesture won't save Farideh from becoming a target at ''the opportune moment'', of course.
}}
{{Categories
|Categories=Turnday Logs
}}

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 |mentions=Drex, Itsy, Telavi, K'zin, Z'riah, H'vier, Weylaughn, Devaki, Wulfan, Joremy, Issedi
 |ooc=
-|icons-new=Icon farideh listens.png, Icon lycinea sly.jpg,
+|icons-new=Icon farideh listens.png, Icon lycinea.jpg,
 |icons=
 |desc=>---< Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#634RJ) >------------------------<

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 Just snuggling back into her blankets, Farideh's look turns annoyed, but eventually lets up with a significant rolling of her eyes upwards. "Snowballs? Really? How old are we?" Still, she pushes off the blankets and starts towards the steps, pausing on the topmost step to wait for her friend to join her before walking down to the bowl and all the fresh ''snow''.
 "Not old enough to not enjoy snowballs," Lya answers with mock haughtiness, reaching for her friend's gloved hand with her own mittened one. The gesture won't save Farideh from becoming a target at ''the opportune moment'', of course.
-}}
-{{Categories
 |Categories=Turnday Logs
 }}

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 {{Log
 |type=Log
 |who=Farideh, Lycinea

@@ Line 87: / Line 87: @@
 "What?!" Not that Wulfan is at High Reaches Hold with Lord Devaki, but, "What do you ''mean'' you'll just stay here? I can't go poking around foreign ships in foreign crowds in foreign places ''on my own''." Lya gives Farideh an imploring look. "If you don't go with me, I'll just have to ask H'vier to take me and keep me company," poking around places that probably have a lot of shadowy corners where things could go Very Wrong. "Why can't you just wear a disguise?" The girl suggest with a gleam that suggests Farideh is going to have a hard time convincing her this might not be the brightest idea.
-There's an ''ugghh'' about to be groaned aloud, but Lycinea's second suggestion gains a startled glance. "A disguise? I can-- I can wear a ''disguise''. I can dress like a ''boy''. I can be your ''date''. We might have to pretend to kiss though, but--" This new idea is ''thrilling'', and has Farideh's fingers knitting and her lips curling into a smile. "And we can look at the new ''ship'', or whatever it is, that Drex thinks he's going to sail away on."
+There's an ''ugghh'' about to be groaned aloud, but Lycinea's second suggestion gains a startled glance. "A disguise? I can-- I can wear a ''disguise''. I can dress like a ''boy''. I can be your ''date''. We might have to pretend to kiss though, but--" This new idea is ''thrilling'', and has Farideh's fingers knitting and her lips curling into a smile. "And we can look at the ''ships'', or whatever, and ask around if anyone there even ''knows'' Drex or Itsy."
 Lycinea's nose wrinkles for ''kissing'', but she ''sighs''. "If ''that's'' what it takes." Farideh is possibly her very best friend - even if she might not be her nicest one. "We can sort out a disguise. Something Old Lord Igen," as he will now be called, "would never suspect to see you in. I bet someone can tell us about binding-- well, you know." The problem. "And then you'll be all set. We can pin up your hair under a hat. I wonder if we could make a ''mustache''." She thinks about that then. "Can I tell Tela? Just about the disguise part," probably not anything she promised not to say. "I bet Tela would have ideas, and maybe even clothes we could borrow for it. Or her boyfriend. I could ask Z'riah, but he'd want to know why." Of course he would. She's thinking about it hard now. Maybe it will only turn out to be a half-bad idea if she thinks about it hard enough? "Hey!" ''Idea''! "You could come with me to talk to Tela. I wanted to introduce you two anyway. I think you'll like each other if you give her a chance."

@@ Line 10: / Line 10: @@
 |IP2=10
 |gamedate=2015.02.03
-|quote=
+|quote="Have you ever noticed that people like to fuck with you?"
 |weather=Snow!
 |mentions=Drex, Itsy, Telavi, K'zin, Z'riah, H'vier, Weylaughn, Devaki, Wulfan, Joremy, Issedi

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 "What?!" Not that Wulfan is at High Reaches Hold with Lord Devaki, but, "What do you ''mean'' you'll just stay here? I can't go poking around foreign ships in foreign crowds in foreign places ''on my own''." Lya gives Farideh an imploring look. "If you don't go with me, I'll just have to ask H'vier to take me and keep me company," poking around places that probably have a lot of shadowy corners where things could go Very Wrong. "Why can't you just wear a disguise?" The girl suggest with a gleam that suggests Farideh is going to have a hard time convincing her this might not be the brightest idea.
 There's an ''ugghh'' about to be groaned aloud, but Lycinea's second suggestion gains a startled glance. "A disguise? I can-- I can wear a ''disguise''. I can dress like a ''boy''. I can be your ''date''. We might have to pretend to kiss though, but--" This new idea is ''thrilling'', and has Farideh's fingers knitting and her lips curling into a smile. "And we can look at the new ''ship'', or whatever it is, that Drex thinks he's going to sail away on."
 Lycinea's nose wrinkles for ''kissing'', but she ''sighs''. "If ''that's'' what it takes." Farideh is possibly her very best friend - even if she might not be her nicest one. "We can sort out a disguise. Something Old Lord Igen," as he will now be called, "would never suspect to see you in. I bet someone can tell us about binding-- well, you know." The problem. "And then you'll be all set. We can pin up your hair under a hat. I wonder if we could make a ''mustache''." She thinks about that then. "Can I tell Tela? Just about the disguise part," probably not anything she promised not to say. "I bet Tela would have ideas, and maybe even clothes we could borrow for it. Or her boyfriend. I could ask Z'riah, but he'd want to know why." Of course he would. She's thinking about it hard now. Maybe it will only turn out to be a half-bad idea if she thinks about it hard enough? "Hey!" ''Idea''! "You could come with me to talk to Tela. I wanted to introduce you two anyway. I think you'll like each other if you give her a chance."
 "It's not like I ''have'' any boobs anyway," as the girl looks down at her flat chest and her smile slips away in favor of a frown. ''Meager'' at best. "I would ''prefer'' you don't tell ''anyone'', because then they'll want to know ''why'' I need a disguise." ''That'' would just lead to awkward questions and she's, obviously, not interested in sharing to more than the minority who already knows. "I ''do'' work in the laundry, I can just ''borrow'' some boy clothes, and we can find an old hat in the stores." Farideh stares out across the bowl, towards the bonfire and the firelight-limned shapes moving around it. "What? To who? Tela? Who is Tela? That girl in the kitchens with the--" and she grimaces, because ''whatever'' that girl has, in the kitchens, it must be awful.
 "But Tela won't ask questions," Lya will blithely (and so so so wrongly) reassure her friend. "And even if you ''did'' tell her things, I'm sure she wouldn't say anything. She's the one that's been teaching me to sew and to braid and all that. She's practically the ''only'' person who was nice to me before you came along. And I would ''really really like it''," she stresses with that imploring look at her friend, "if we could all get along. Since you don't like any of my other friends." Just give her ''this one'', Farideh!
 A long, silent moment passes wherein the brunette studies the other girl's face in the darkness. It's with a click of her tongue and a resigned, "fine" that she acquiesces. "But we can't tell her ''why''. Make something up-like, I have a boyfriend I'm trying to ''avoid'', or an overbearing mother." Farideh puts her fists under her chin and bats her eyelashes innocently, then erupts into laughter. "Promise?"
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 "I will ''try'', Lya. That's all I can promise you. I ''always'' give ''everyone'' a fair chance," which is obviously untrue, "but if she's going to be making ''assumptions'' before she's even ''met'' me." Farideh's frowning, already; might not be the best start to a new relationship. "I'll ''try'', that's all." She tugs the end of the blanket tighter, and gives the blonde a meaningful ''stare''.
 "She's not making assumptions, she's unmaking them," Lycinea offers brightly. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll both like each other, so. Open minds and there will be ''great things'' from it." Also bright, also optimistic. Then she's sliding off the blanket pile. "I'm bored of sitting. Can we go... I don't know, throw snowballs at whoever deserves it?"
 Just snuggling back into her blankets, Farideh's look turns annoyed, but eventually lets up with a significant rolling of her eyes upwards. "Snowballs? Really? How old are we?" Still, she pushes off the blankets and starts towards the steps, pausing on the topmost step to wait for her friend to join her before walking down to the bowl and all the fresh ''snow''.
 "Not old enough to not enjoy snowballs," Lya answers with mock haughtiness, reaching for her friend's gloved hand with her own mittened one. The gesture won't save Farideh from becoming a target at ''the opportune moment'', of course.