Difference between revisions of "Logs:Matchmaker, Make Me A Match"

>---< Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------<

  The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass,
  due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as
  nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches
  hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun  
  during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath 
  the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the   
  lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, 
  foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the   
  light.                                                                    

 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Farideh      F   19  5'5  Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes                0s 
  Laine        F   17 5'4"  trim, dark hair, grey eyes                   17s
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                                   Lake  Out                                
>------------------------------------------< 26D 3M 37T I10, winter dusk >---<

The far side of the lake shore, catching the last pale light from a setting winter sun, proves a quiet retreat from the busy inner caverns. Despite the bitter cold dusk, Laine has claimed one bench for herself; she's got quite the spread of food, all laid out neat on a thin checkered cloth, and if one was the observant type, they might realize that there's more than enough food there for two. She even brought a little carafe of klah (or something hot, steaming). Laine's absentmindedly chewing on the nail of one finger, the other hand still warm in a mitten, while she squints down the (slowly darkening) pathway leading back to the Weyr bowl. In summary: it looks like she's been stood up.

The previous activity of the day is winding down, and that, coupled with the promise of a warm meal, must be why there are considerably less people in the bowl than earlier hours. Still, one figure, somewhat obscured by the fading light, roams a tight track from the caverns, keeping close to the lakeshore until they're on the other side. It might be hard to make out, now, but Farideh's moon-shaped face is barely visible above the layers of fluffy, warm clothing she's wearing. She is lost in thought and staring at the snow just before it crunches under her boots, wearing a startled expression when she finally glances up from her meandering daydreams. Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, she stops at the far side of Laine's bench and stares down at the other girl's dinner. "Are you picnicking in the snow?" She sounds incredulous.

It's good that Farideh is so absorbed in her own meandering path, because when Laine first catches sight of that strolling figure, she sits upright and beckons with an eager wave. Once that form resolves into Farideh, the apprentice tanner suddenly sinks back into the bench and crosses her arms over her chest. That's embarrassing. But, apparently giving up on her absentee companion, she plucks a strip of steamed carrot from the plate and pops it in her mouth. She chews, leaning to one side to track her grey eyes back down Farideh's path, one last time, hopefully, then settles her resigned expression on Farideh. "Apparently," she says, "though I had a date. I thought." Hmph. Laine eats another carrot, defiant. She waves a lazy hand at the spread of food. "Have you had dinner yet?"

"You had a date?" That warrants a sharp lifting of eyebrows, her eyes studying the other girl for longer than necessary, before she shuffles over and sits on the opposite side of the dinner spread from Laine. "Are you certain that they knew you wanted to meet them? Did you confirm it? And the place, the time?" Farideh looks appropriately sad for the apprentice, but strips one of her hands of a glove, to poke politely at the offerings on the cloth with a frown. "I hadn't, no. I don't have much of an appetite. I was just walking-- thinking."

Under Farideh's scrutiny, Laine spreads her hands (one mittened, one bare) and looks appropriately self-effacing, but it's not without a sort of bright, mindful amusement in her grey eyes. "I know. Pathetic, right?" Her attention drops back to the food, now that it's declared free game; at least she was mindful to bring (mostly) cold food--cheese and shaved cuts of meat and crackers. Those steamed vegetables are long cold by now, anyway. "I thought a picnic sounded sort of sweet." She rolls up a thin slice of meat into a tube and begins to stuff a slice of cheese into it, but pauses and glances over at Farideh. "Walking and thinking. Sounds pretty serious."

Those words and that amusement isn't going to get her out of the line of fire that easily. "Who was it?" Farideh asks persistently. "Should we go find them and ask them why?" She sounds serious about that suggestion, perhaps too serious. "It is. I rather think a spring time picnic would be more romantic, or a beach picnic," is given with a dreamy quality to her voice. Plucking up a cracker to nibble on, she lifts her over-padded shoulders in a shrug. "You don't ever just want to think without all of the background noise? It's not easy in the dorms, or in the caverns. People everywhere. Not that I enjoy walking in the snow-- but, sometimes it's better than not, you know?"

"No," Laine's laugh is more a snort of surprise, and she threatens Farideh with a brandish of that slice of meat, "We will not go ask them why. Anyway, I think--" she pauses, scrunches up her face thoughtfully. "Nevermind. No. Next time I invite them on a picnic," Laine says, chomping her meat-and-cheese fusion in half and continues around her mouthful, "I'll make sure I have access to a beach. It's just that winter is so boring and cold and I thought this would," a touch of irony, here, and raised eyebrows that might be suggestive, "Warm it up." She chuckles at her own joke, but when that laugh fades, Laine scratches at her nose and admits, "Yeah. Know what you mean. The dorms are awful."

"You'll never get an answer that way--" Farideh rolls her eyes skywards and sighs around the cracker on her lips. "Next time? You're inviting them again? After they stood you up once? No, that's not how it works. You should ignore them, now." She seems to think she's some kind of dating aficionado, with how confidently she suggests what the other girl should do next. "Play hard to get," with a sideways slant of her eyes, "but I wouldn't give them another chance. There's plenty of other boys, or girls, out there who would be just as happy with you." Genius advice delivered, she finishes off the rest of her crisp, and turns slightly, angled to better see Laine in the descending twilight.

Laughing, holding up her hands in defense against Farideh's stream of dating advice: "Okay, okay, not this them. The next them, a hypothetical one, I'll invite to the beach. Next time. Not," Laine holds up one finger, preemptively, "That this one was hypothetical. I just--you're in laundry, right?" She narrows her eyes, suspicious, or maybe just to strain against the fading evening light. "Because I know if I say, 'oh, it's so-and-so', and they hypothetically happen to work in laundry, then I suspect I'll never hear the end of it. Ever. So. Nevermind." As though that will be the end of it, Laine busies herself pouring a mug of klah from the heavy ceramic pitcher.

"Oh," Farideh's eyes widen and she tries schooling her features into some rough semblance of politeness, but can't quite hide the amused quirk of her lips. "Hypothetical, I see." She nabs another cracker and waves it through the air, to demonstrate her lack of concern with the laundry. "I work in the laundry, but I hardly know any of them. I suppose I do know them, just I don't-- you know. We aren't friends, any of us. One of the other girls is in my room, in the dorms, but that's the extent, unless we happen to go to a gather or something together." Finally, she bites into her cracker and bobs her head. "I won't tell anyone."

Laine takes a long drink from her mug, looking at Farideh out of the corner of her eye. When she puts down the mug on the bench, she sighs. "Oska. She's," Laine gestures, vaguely, suggestive of a woman's curves, "brunette. Shorter than me. Bit ditzy. And don't you say a word to her," Laine says, firmly, meeting Farideh's eyes with a stern, furrowed-eyebrow stare, and Laine's lucky that in the twilight and the cold winter air her flushed cheeks might be mistaken for shadowed light or wind-bitten redness. She scratches her chin, dropping that stare to the fabric she's spread on the bench. "Unless you have any, y'know," a laugh, "Insider tips."

A long 'oh' follows. "Oska," Farideh says, like she knows just who that is. "I won't say anything to her. We aren't on those kinds of terms. I am surprised that she--" She comes to a halt, blushing. "Likes girls." It takes a moment of shifting in her seat, fumbling with her cracker, before the laundress recovers herself and offers Laine a bright smile. "But, if you want to try to date someone new, and interesting, I know someone. Have you met Itsy?" Her proposition is innocent, but accentuated by that sunny smile and no hint of subterfuge.

Burrowing her nose into the steam rising from her cup, Laine laments, "I don't know that she likes girls. She's not here, is she?" She almost sounds defensive when she next says, "Don't rightly know that I like girls. Well. Just girls." If that flush of embarrassment wasn't visible before, it would be hard to miss now, even in the dim light, and Laine winds her fingers around the handle of her mug. She responds to that smile in kind, though, despite her scarlet cheeks, and chuckles, "No. Haven't met an Itsy. Think she'd come on winter picnics with me? Wait. No. We determined winter picnics are stupid."

"You don't want to waste your time on someone who doesn't like you anyway." Farideh is suddenly optimistic, waving away the Laine's concerns with her bare hand. "I think Itsy would go anywhere you asked her to go. She's nice sometimes, but she's brave and strong and she listens." Those are all critical points, obviously. "I don't know if you like the-- girly, pretty types, or not. Itsy is shorter than me and she doesn't have any dress sense, but she has lovely eyes," the other girl effuses, clearly trying to win over the apprentice with her friend's comportment. "I can arrange it, or you can. She's a sailor. Do you like boats?"

Laine's enthusiasm wanes as Farideh's waxes, and the younger girl draws her head back, visibly taken aback, although her half-lidded expression proves that she's weighing all these qualities while she takes a drink. "Maybe?" She draws out the one word, long on the 'a', when she looks up again, skeptical. Although: "She does sound nice," Laine offers mildly for all that Farideh went to to describe her potential blind date. At the last, however, Laine blinks with an expression of fainr surprise and echos, "... boats?" Shakes her head. "Never been on a boat," bemused.

Skepticism from her companion doesn't seem to faze the laundress, who is smiling as happily as ever, still clutching the solitary cracker. "Ships. Big, sturdy, infallible ships. There's those sails and all that rope, and knowing which way to go, and overcoming the seasickness, and waves. Carrying invaluable treasures around Pern. Not crashing into rocks. Adventure." That's sure to win Itsy some brownie points, right there. "It's settled. I'll tell Itsy, and Drex and I can come along to chaperone, so it won't be at all awkward. What do you think about that?" Farideh smiles really big.

Sometime between the time it takes Farideh to get from "seasickness" to "adventure", Laine starts to laugh. At first, it's near-silent--only a wagging of her head and a toothy white grin in the dark--but by the end, it's loud, earnest, and breathless. "Okay! Okay." She can barely gasp out the words, having to set down her mug to scrub at her face and rub her eyes with her knuckles. Once she's more composed, Laine concedes. "Calm down. I'll go on your date. You're very convincing. I imagine someone, somewhere has told you that before." Beat. "It's still going to be awkward. Like, super awkward. You do know that, right?"

The pleased smile Farideh wears is absolutely genuine, stretching just about from ear to ear and causing a dimple in one of her cheeks. "That's perfect. Do you have any idea of where you'd like to go? I doubt they'll have a preference. It might be tricky to get Itsy and Drex in one room, but--" She taps her chin with a finger, "I'll figure it out." Her expression turns bland when Laine mentions the potential awkwardness. "It can't be that bad. Not more awkward than walking around a Weyr when there's a goldflight and everyone's trying to have sex with one another. Not more awkward than seeing strange stains on someone you know's clothing in the laundry," she points out, helpfully.

"Somewhere with booze," Laine replies promptly, sincerely, "Though that doesn't have to mean the bar. Um." Fingers drum out a rapid tattoo on the back of the bench as Laine stretches her arm along it. "Think we could get a pair of riders to take us somewhere," she tips her head back, motioning with her chin out to the dark Weyr bowl, those spires silhouetted against the twilight sky, "Not-here?" When Farideh hastens to explain away the--surely, inevitable--awkwardness, Laine laughs again with another flash of white teeth. "Point taken. Also: mystery stains? Ew. Ew, ew, ew. Bet you get all sorts of gross stuff coming from, like, the wingleaders. Ew."

"I don't think that's a good idea." The contemplative look Farideh flicks to Laine could be interpreted many ways, but her quick-returning smile sheds a little light. "Itsy doesn't like dragons. It's odd, I know. I haven't had the story out, but--" Back to that thoughtful stare, her brow furrowing down. "Perhaps she'll tell you. We can go to Snowasis, or maybe they'll know someplace within walking distance?" She doesn't sound sure about the second half of her statement, and chews worryingly at her lower lip. "There's plenty of disgusting things that come through the laundry," with brows upraised.

Laine hrmms thoughtfully, then perks up with a new suggestion: "We could get wine and snacks and go on an adventure. On foot," with an according nod for her blind date's proclivities. "We'd find somewhere. Even if it's an old weyr or something." The apprentice lifts her eyebrows in anticipation of Farideh's reaction. "Or--yeah--just the Snowasis. I'm there all the time, though," she drapes her head back over the edge of the bench with an air of 'been-there, done-that'. "Anyway," and Laine seems far more eager than her initial reaction may have suggested, "We won't go the laundry, if that's where all the gross things are. Not a good date spot."

"What a brilliant idea," and Farideh sounds enthused about it, turning further to lean with her hands on her one bent leg on the bench. "We could go walking and talk. That's much less awkward than sitting in a booth together, staring at each other." She nods her head in a purposeful way; resolute. "It's decided. One night, me and you and Itsy and Drex, with wine and snacks, walking and talking. That sounds like a perfect first date-- right? No pressure."

When Laine lifts her head again, it's with a wide smile. "Much better than walking and thinking, that's for sure. Plus, y'know, the drinking helps." She sits forward to investigate her (nearly-frozen) dinner platter, and after eating one last cube of cheese she begins to pack it up into a little basket she had tucked under the bench. "Well--I didn't get the date I was expecting, but." Laine flicks a laughing glance in the near-darkness up at Farideh. "Guess that's okay. I'm looking forward to it."

Farideh is satisfied when she stands and tucks both hands back into the warm confines of her jacket. "It will be a wonderful time. I am sure of it. I'll let you know the day and the place, once we've-- I've--talked to them." Her smile is probably meant to be reassuring, and then there's the wiggling-wave of her hand. "Don't even think about Oska, either," she warns, before turning to depart, crunching her back through the snow and towards the security of the lower caverns.