Difference between revisions of "Logs:Know The Rules"

It's cold and damp outside, and in the greenhouse, it's warm and damp, which might actually be a step up. This could be why Drex is here. Totally for the climate, and not because he's leaning over one of the planters, carefully covering up something.

Cold is the definition of what Farideh hates; add damp and she's positively disgusted by the weather outside, which could be how she comes by ducking into the greenhouse. She stops just within, rubbing her hands together like she's trying to generate warmth. Her thin frame is missing the bulky coat, in favor of a light sweater overtop muted butterscotch-colored leather pants. It's a couple of minutes before she looks up from her fingers, squinting in Drex's direction. "Fabrilon?" Whoever that is.

There's a near-classic, 'no-I-wasn't' expression of guilt in Drex's face as he straightens from his gardening, one hand reflexively crossing his body to the empty loop on his left hip, before a grimace chases away the earlier expression. Gaze narrowing briefly, he looks at Farideh blankly. "Eh?"

"You aren't Fabrilon," Farideh states, with a frown. It doesn't stop her from marching right up to Drex and staring at him hard, lips pursed, then down at his planter, then back at him, then down, then up again. She blinks a few times, but eventually, thin brown brows lift over speculative hazel eyes. "Were you stealing flowers?"

"And you aren't bearing a plate full of baklava and pastries, but I aint complaining." Drex dusts dirt off his hands, grunting at her approach and accusation, a flicker of annoyance visible. He looks at the planter, and deliberately reaches in to do exactly what she's accused of; he plucks a flower out and goes to great effort to breathe in the scent with a long drawn out, "Ahhhhh."

"Do I look like a serving girl?" Both arms cross over Farideh's chest, her stance decidedly defensive as she tries staring the much taller man down. She even looks incensed by his simple action of plucking and sniffing the flower, so much so that her mouth twists in an unpleasant sneer. "Really? You can't find better things to do than ruin all the hard work the gardeners do? Fabrilon," we're back to him, "spends lots of time cultivating these flowers, not so that you can pluck them." And she even reaches to take the one he's got, though he definitely has the advantage, at nearly a foot taller.

That question seems deserving of intense scrutiny, or just maybe it's an excuse for the sailor to openly ogle Farideh, lingering on her chest area before following the curve of her legs. "Would need to see you naked to be sure," Drex says, after a moment. He doesn't seem all that upset by her rescue of the flower, letting it into her care with a lift-and-shrug of shoulder in a single, careless motion. "Flowers are meant to be enjoyed, aren't they?"

Scrutiny is met with simmering annoyance. Eyes narrowed, lips drawn, Farideh pulls her crossed arms in tighter against her chest, which only helps his case and not hers. "You would never get so lucky," she growls at him, daring to stick her tongue out before she turns to try to put the flower back in the soil from whence it was plucked. "They are, but they don't live long out in the open. Their smell, especially, which is the best part." She manages to get it somewhat situated, though it wilts tragically to the side. Frowning, "Look what you did to it."

"In a dress, at least. Less--" Drex gestures towards her clothes as if disappointed by what he sees, "Manly." Silently, he watches her try to replant the flower with a growing expression of confusion, and strangely, a sudden pity at the attempt. "Are you touched in the head?"

Forget the flower- this could be all out war. "Did you just say I look manly?" Farideh is, clearly, in shock, and her expression is of disbelief.

With a pitying noise, Drex says a little (a lot) louder, "Are you deaf, too? I get that way sometimes on the seas after a bad storm."

Various emotions flash, one after the other, on Farideh's face. Fury beats out the others - surprise, hysterical humor - and she lets loose an irrational shriek that might well rattle the panes. Hands form fists at her sides, her chin squaring as she breathes through yet another round of anger. "You," she begins, taking a threatening step forward, "What misbegotten hovel did you crawl out of?" So mature. So rational.

Drex stares at her, maddenly blankly. "The sea," he says, as if this should be obvious, and yet he's explaining with the patience of someone who might not understand. "SEA," he repeats, louder, for her benefit.

He might even add some wave motions, just to be sure she gets it.

Eyes, meet ceiling. "Right. Your mother was some disgusting whore aboard one of those," with a few gestures of her own, "ships. I am not completely surprised, but," Farideh jabs a fingers towards his chest, aiming all of her anger there, in that movement, "this isn't the sea." She punctuates that with another glare. And he killed that flower.

If the insult is supposed to hurt, it doesn't much seem to bother Drex, giving a shrug. "Probably. Don't much remember her," he says. He frowns a little, not at her, but trying to remember. "She had dark hair," but he's distracted from any further reminiscing by that jabbing finger, a hand snaking up quickly to grab at it.

Patience worn thin by the already well-worn conversation, Farideh rolls her eyes skyward and heaves a sigh. "Lovely. Dark hair. Doubtful she had any teeth either," and she means that in the worst implication possible. Her cockiness dissipates somewhat when he manages to grab her hand and she's left to try to extricate it from his. "Stop. Let go."

"Stop poking me," Drex counters. Not that she can, now, but that doesn't mean he releases her finger yet, either.

"Fine! Whatever!" Farideh levels her heated gaze on him, chin tipped up so she can glower at the sailor. "Just let go of me." She's stopped twisting her hand around to get loose, but remains tense.

The concession is accepted at face value; the tall sailor lets go of the girl's finger, before crossing arms across his chest. Apparently Drex is waiting to see what the unpredictable girl might do next.

Finger free of Drex's grasp, and little to be said of that altercation, Farideh retreats a step to sorely rub her hands together. She will only side eye him for now, if that's a glaring side eye. "Are you going back to the sea soon? I hope you are." She's not subtle.

Drex doesn't bother to hide his anticipation of that event, either. "As soon as our new ship's ready." He doesn't move, giving her her space, but he looks like he's waiting for something.

Farideh stops rubbing her hands long enough fold them across her chest again. "Good. That's for the best." She looks at him with narrowed eyes, and then back at the planter, but no, they quickly go flicking back up to Drex.

With a furrow of brow, Drex uncrosses his arms and lets them hang by his side. Apparently he's trying to determine if the crazy girl is playing some weird version of Simon Says.

Highly suspicious, Farideh follows his movements with her eyes, lips still pursed in distaste. "Are we going to stand here all day or are you going to leave?"

"I was here first," as if that gives him some sort of claim. Drex is a pirate; probably in his head it does.

Her eyes narrow smaller. "What, do you want to prove who can stand here the longest?" Farideh shifts and gives him a good up-and-down look, disinterested eyes settling on his face in the end.

Drex stands there for moments more, then finally: "You don't even know the rules. You really are daft." Apparently he's fed up with the game, because he's walking off past her, now.

Farideh makes a displeased sound in her throat and turns watch Drex leave. "There aren't any rules, this isn't a game, you big idiot," she says as a parting shot, and grumbles under her breath. She will peer back at the wilted flower and frown, sighing.