Difference between revisions of "Logs:Fuck You, I'm a Dragonrider"

The runners are restless in their stables, stamping and shifting impatiently. Most of the stablehands are off at dinner, and so other than the equine occupants, there's not much noise. Except for the sounds of someone singing a dirty sea shanty from the loft above the stables, anyway. "Noooooow... I once had a gal, her hair was red, 'twas curly all over except on her head... her eyes was blue, her dress the same, but she always fell asleep before I came!"

If H'vier was worried he might not be able to pick out the man he's looking for, those worries are probably put to rest as he makes his way through the stable. He's not here often, but he's been here enough to know his way around well enough. "Not sure that's the sort of thing you want to go admitting to, letting your women fall asleep like that," he calls out in a carrying voice.

"Now a dollar goes from hand to hand, my gal goes from man to man." The song fades, undoubtedly in response to the criticism, and so too, is there a snorted response, and the sound of liquid sloshing in a bottle, but the owner's voice doesn't seem to rise to the bait. Nor, it seems, is he curious enough about the visitor to peer over the side. Clearly someone's far too comfortable up there. Or maybe the sailor just wants to continue his song: "I tied my gal in a gunny sack, she'll be true to me 'til I get back!"

There's mostly silence from H'vier for several minutes. But then there's the sound of him coming up, slow and steady. Can footsteps sound annoyed? His probably do. Once he gets up there, he's dusting off the thighs of his trousers and turning to get a look at the singer.

Drex has gotten quite comfortable amongst the bales of hay, adjusting them into a chair sort of formation, one leg thrown carelessly over the 'arm', while he takes a gulp out of the bottle he's got. It's about half full, and he takes a breath to continue -- or it looks like he will, at least until he gets a load of the rider, with something of a wary inspection. "Aint nice to interrupt someone's singing. Don't they teach you landlubbers any manners?"

The bronzerider is not entirely comfortable up here. And he's kind of annoyed he had to come up to begin with. "No," says H'vier, unapologetically. No manners here. "Drex?" is a question that he seems to think he already has the answer to.

The snort, this time, seems amused, Drex acknowledging that response with a tip of his bottle before he takes another gulp. It's when the rider mentions his name that he actually seems to pay attention, frowning. Even if he doesn't acknowledge it verbally, his now-suspicious look suggests H'vier's guess was correct.

H'vier gives the boy a long, considering, not particularly impressed sort of look. It's not personal, probably, just that, "I don't see the appeal." Not that he would, even if Drex were Handsome McDreamy, granted. "You're Farideh's... friend?"

That makes Drex grimace. "Sorry, I aint your type. Why do you landlubbers always assume all sailors like men?" with a shake of his head. It's the latter that makes Drex swing his leg to the ground and straighten, warily. "What of it?"

"First of all, fuck you." H'vier's cursing is mild. He's not angry, just annoyed. "I'm a dragonrider. You know, flying in the sky? If anything, I'm an airhead. Or a cloudfucker. Have some fucking imagination, for Faranth's sake." As for Farideh, he might be reconsidering what he came here to do. But, now. He takes a breath and continues, "There are eggs on the sands. I'm extending an offer for you to stand for them."

"Don't see you flapping your wings," Drex counters, brow furrowing. "You look pretty tied to the ground right now. Seems like the dragons are cloudfuckers, not you. You're just living in the shadows, tied to the ground." A situation he's clearly not envious of, to judge by his expression -- and the one that follows -- of incredulity. "Why the fuck would you do that for?"

"Right," says H'vier, not particularly affected by the younger man's baiting right now. He's here for a reason and he knew he wouldn't like it to begin with. It makes the unpleasantness easier to handle. "Because, for some completely unfathomable reason, Farideh doesn't hate you. Do you want to or not, kid? I have shit to do."

"What does Farideh have to do with-- why the fuck would I want a dragon?" Drex asks, with a shake of head and a wary look, like H'vier is possibly unstable.

The sailor is studied for a moment, then H'vier nods his head like he finally approves of something about the boy. "Good," is all he says before he's turning to take his leave. He did what he came to do. Drex has given an answer, more or less. All's right with the world.

"Riders. Fucking crazy," Drex mutters to himself as H'vier takes his leave, taking another gulp of whatever's in his bottle.

If H'vier overhears, and he probably doesn't, there's no response. But on his way down and out, he's not very private about the way he says, "Fucking sailors."