Difference between revisions of "Logs:Stupid Girl"

Taking advantage of a natural overhang in the side of the mountain for
  its roof, this building boasts sturdy stone construction braced by beams  
  of tough-as-nails skybroom. Just inside a pair of broad doors, the ceiling
  rises a full two stories high for the full length and half the width of   
  the building. Beneath the overhang, wide windows admit light and more     
  fresh air, while opposite is the second-story hayloft.                    
   The stables' main focus, however, is the double rows of stalls that line 
  the walls below: one large stall serving as tack room, the rest housing a 
  remarkable variety of beasts. (+views)

It's been one of those days where the lightning makes for a pretty display, if one can brave the persistent snow, anyway. With the barracks having failed as a new base of operations, Drex has ventured outside and found a spot in the stables. Perched up on the loft, his feet hang over the side, his presence noted by the whick, whick sound that accompanies the falling of wood shavings to the ground. The runners don't much seem to mind, since he's otherwise keeping to himself.

Many a reason could bring someone to the stables, even during a combined lightning and snow storm. It's probably these conditions that send Farideh in, her hands covering her head like one of the bolts might strike her down at any minute. She pauses just under the door and tilts her head back, looking up at the limned gray clouds. "Who's ever heard of snowing and lightning," the brunette mumbles sullenly to herself, and trudges her way to a nearby squared bale of hay, on which she plops, knees together. Her face falls into her hands, her elbows on her kneecaps, and she stares dourly at the dreary weather outside. As the whick whick penetrates her morose, she starts to look around, frowning at the various stalls.

Keysi was an apprentice afterall. Running through the snow and snow-lightning for basic errands was a given. And her timing couldn't be better, perhaps, as she arrived just behind Ferideh as she paused under the doorway, a flash of light accompanying her stop as if it should be more dramatic. A dry scowl could be seen on her face as she waited just that brief moment, though even as they moved again, the expression seemed permanently etched there. A bare hand tussled the top of her head and brushed through her ponytail to create a mini-flurry of flakes around herself, turning her white head back to brown as she followed the other girl inside. "Those who see no precipitation besides white stuff." The overly-factual healer answered the non-question. Overly focused, another presence besides Ferideh in the room went unnoticed as she briskly walked down the line of runners. Forgetting what her journeyman mentor's beast looked like made the task at hand a bit more bothersome. At some point along the stalls she seemed to hesitate and backed up a step, debating her choice.

That odd noise from above stops, because... that's what you do when you think you might be somewhere you shouldn't be and you might've just been caught. And, a beat later, a familiar voice from overhead: "Claimed it before you," is accompanied by Drex's amused look from above. He leans a bit further to squint at the apprentice, too, then towards Farideh, as if she's somehow responsible, "Who's the girl?"

The other girl's entrance into the stables has Farideh sitting up straight and frowning, absolutely forgetting about the sound she had been looking for the source of, but Drex's voice brings her eyes up before she can reply to Keysi. "Of course," she replies blandly, and returns her inquisitive gaze to the apprentice. "I don't know. I don't know everyone. I'm Farideh, That's a really, really annoying sailor, and you are?" Introductions, as brusque as they are, are genuine in that she doesn't know the other girl, but intends to.

The decision is made as the healer sighs, shakes her head and moves slowly forwards to look at the next few stalls. Theres too much to do to not have remembered to ask which runner the saddlebags were hung next to! Keysi does pause as a male's voice joins in the mix, looking around quickly until her grey-ish eyes locate the owner of said voice. "I'm Keysi." She answered shortly and dryly, though not entirely unfriendly. "A healer apprentice." Is added as an afterthought. She straightens to look at them both, letting her task be way-sided for a few moments. "Well met, Farideh, and annoying sailor." Overly polite mannerisms apply. Her gaze drifts back over to the older boy, amused by the introduction but not showing that amusement very well at all. "Is this the place of avoiding work?"

"Thought you did know everyone," Drex counters, but he does at least subside into silence, even if it's curious silence, for a time, dark eyes inspecting what he can see of Keysi from his perch above -- which is probably mostly her head. Farideh's description of him earns a snort, but he doesn't disagree, instead resuming the slice of his knife against wood, creating that odd noise, and the shower of shavings directly below. "Healer, huh?" is grunted. He does, in fact, have a slightly crooked nose that healer might recognize as something never treated when it happened. His, "I'm working," is accompanied by another flick of his knife, and a grin.

"Hello, Keysi," the laundress says pleasantly, resuming her bent over, elbows-on-knees pose atop her seat of hay. "A healer apprentice. Are you specializing in mind healing? I think he needs it." Farideh pauses, briefly, and sweeps the other girl with a critical stare. "Are you going to tell if we are?" She doesn't qualify the sailor's response, and smiles, lifting her brows in question. "You don't look like a tattletale though."

Of what she can see of him from this angle, only so many observations can be made- but his nose is one of them. Not that Keysi would bring it up.. At the moment, anyway. "Yeah, 'working.' Is that a new piece to be displayed in the hall?" If she's trying to joke, she certainly fails at having any inflexion of her voice. Rather, it's all but monotone. She lifts a hand as if to wave off his counter to Farideh. "I just arrived a sevenday ago at most." She turned back to what she was doing and seemed to have a suppressed 'ahah!' moment as she found a particular saddlebag hanging on a hook just on the otherside of an occupied stall. Her hand dove into the satchel and fished around blindly, "Not mindhealing." She notes offhandedly, and grunts as she grabs onto something particularly sharp, withdraws her hand, then opens the bag wider to search better. "The bloodier the better for me. And, nah. There's hardly any use for tattling. It's easier to save the facts for later." Her greyblue eyes glance up at Farideh, a small and bland but awkwardly mischievious grin giving some characteristic to her face.

Accompanied by more of that whick, whick noise from above, Drex replies airily to Farideh, "If she is, there's plenty of work at the Weyr. Aint me that needs it so much as all those riders. And you," the noise of his 'work' stops, so that he can point an accusing finger vaguely in Farideh's direction, "Were the one crying over a woman you didn't even know dying. Is that normal?" he looks at Keysi expectantly, even if she declares her expertise not to be mindhealing, not to mention the narrow-eyed, suspicious look the healer receives for that monotone question, unanswered by the sailor.

"Can you not tell the whole Weyr, especially strangers, all my secrets?" comes Farideh's sharp retort for the sailor in the loft, though she doesn't bother gracing him with a look. Rolling her eyes and massaging her temples - boys are annoying, 'kay - she lifts her eyes to the apprentice, her forehead creased. "What? Why would you want to remember that we all were hanging out here, in this stable, during a storm?" She waves a hand, airily, and stretches out her legs, touching the toes of her boots together. "Are you here as part of that-- whatever program it is-- because of what that healer did?"

Keysi hangs the bag back up on its hook, clutching an ancient-looking mortar and its accompanying pestle in one of her hands. A shrug is offered, "Normal is complicated. That's why I prefer things I can put back together with suture and a needle." She turns to look at them both again- moreso Farideh since she's easier to look at without craning her neck. "All things are useful to know in their own ways." Is said all too seriously. However, the follow-up question earns a narrowing, questioning look from her intense gaze, "They've not told me of any malpractice. I was transferred here under normal circumstances.." She paused, "As far as I'm aware." Her piqued interest was the first obvious thing she'd given away since arriving. "I should be getting back to the infirmary, however. I was just sent on a quick errand." The previously brisk and goal-oriented pace she'd had this whole time seems to have a wrench in the works, given the hanging carrot of information she doesn't know.

"She's a healer aint she? She can't say anything." Drex is dismissive of Farideh's concerns, though the latter question from the laundress has him staring curiously at the healer, too. The answer either doesn't satisfy, or doesn't interest him, given he resumes working soon after.

An irritated sound follows Drex's statements, but it's to the apprentice that she gives a startled glance. "Did you live under a rock? The inquisition? That other goldrider's death. All of that speculation about the High Reaches' involvement, or lack of." Farideh keeps staring at Keysi in an intense, searching way, clearly waiting for some kind of sensible answer, and even if it does come, there's a quiet sigh. "It was nice to meet you, Keysi."

The apprentice seems to make up her mind in that she's got to get a move on, despite the conversations she'd like to have given the added information being not what she expected. All the more reason, perhaps, to visit the oddly frequented hay loft of the stables on another time unassociated with a task at hand. "Oh." Was stated plainly. Perhaps she was expecting some other rumor. "Close to a rock, but not quite." She played off- obviously she wasn't thinking along the right tracks. "I will talk to you soon, I hope." She notes before exiting.

"Be careful," the laundress says when the other is leaving, and stares broodingly after the apprentice when the silence in the stables stretches out. "I don't think they're all odd, and you avoid them because you want to be permanently disfigured for life. Like it's a-- a merit badge or something." Farideh's face falls back into her hands, her eyes reluctantly glancing up towards the loft and its exasperating occupant.

"It sure reminds me to duck faster, if nothin' else," Drex replies swiftly, unbothered by the criticism. A beat, while he continues working, before, "You don't find that whole... what'd she say? She wants to know everything? Get in your head? Bet she'd have a field day with you," he grins down at the laundress.

"Why do you even have to get into fights? Can't you settle disagreements civilly? Like a gentleman?" Farideh's eyes are still lingering on the hayloft. "No. A lot of people here are nosey and want to know everything, and I don't think she would. I'm open about what I think and how I feel. You, however," her smile isn't pleasant, "she would probably love to see what goes on inside of yours."

Drex's snort comes a beat after she uses the word gentleman. "Aint no gentleman, they get pushed over and used by other people. Gotta stand up for what you believe in." He gives a one-sided shrug, like it should be obvious. After a look, the sailor concedes one point, at least: "People here are nosy."

"That much is clear," is Farideh's next sardonic answer. "I suspect you'll get into many more fights then. You've the manners of a herdbeast." Her gaze finally drops, back to brooding at the doorway and the flashes of light outside; restless. "I don't mind it, but if it bothers you, there's always High Reaches Hold and Lord Devaki."

"More avian than herdbeast. Swooping down to attack like a.. a avian." Maybe Drex talking himself up would work better if he didn't have that crooked nose to belie his words. With a grunt, and another flick of his knife, "Itsy's choice. She don't wanna dress up, I aint gonna make her. Besides," a shrug of shoulders, "It don't seem the safest place right now, and I'd probably get stabbed or something, then you'd be forced to cry over me."

"Avians are graceful and elegant, and you, Drex, are neither of those things. No, you plod along like a herdbeast and are as obtuse as one." But the usual fervor in her words are replaced by a blandness, like she's repeating something she's repeated a thousand times over. "Itsy likes to dress up just fine. Perhaps there's another reason." Farideh wobbles her head back and forth, right cheek to right palm, and then left cheek to left palm. "I wouldn't cry over you," and she sounds annoyed about it.

Even though she might not be able to see it, it's a good bet the reaction of a roll of the eyes comes from the sailor's direction. It's the latter words that get Drex's attention, with a bark of laughter: "Have you met Itsy?" And then, with a knowing grin, like he's caught her. "Of course you would. And then you'd name your kitten after me. Maybe even your firstborn."

"I have, and she enjoys the finer things in life," which is stretching it, but Farideh has a point to prove! "She let me braid her hair, and tried on dresses, and put on perfume. I told her not to bring you, so you didn't get to see." She sounds oh-so-smug about it, but her self-satisfaction is short-lived. "My kitten already has a name and I certainly wouldn't name a child after you," she says in indignant tones, glaring up at the hayloft. "I'll be happy to forget about you, once you're off on your little boat, somewhere far, far away."

And now, Drex snorts again, shaking his head. "Now you're just stretching the truth. Fuck'd she let you touch her hair for?" He's squinting at her, suspiciously, maybe even a little angry, oddly. "And it's not a boat, it's a ship. Stupid girl," the latter more than half muttered to himself as he stands.

"No, I'm not," Farideh says hotly, continuing to glare upwards. "Because maybe, just maybe, being a dirty, cocky sailor isn't all it's cracked up to be. Maybe she wants to act like a girl sometimes and have friends that aren't you." Her mouth twists angrily and her hands fall into her lap as fists, her posture tense. "I'm not stupid."

There's stomping upstairs, as Drex disappears. Stomping, and then Drex drops from the loft to the hay bales just behind her. "Itsy aint just a girl, she's... she's Itsy, and you aint got a single idea about her," he growls, stomping boots as he jumps to the ground, glaring at her.

The stomping earns a perturbed expression, a sour smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Itsy is a girl," Farideh shoots back, to where he's standing and glaring. "Just because she lives on that ship with you and dresses like a boy all the time, doesn't mean she isn't one and doesn't want to look like one sometimes." She jumps up too, her chin tipped up, and glares back at him. "And she even said she'd go to a gather with me. In a dress," haughty.

Drex's expression is curious, a kind of mix of anger and jealousy and indignation all in one. "She's going to a gather with you? In a dress?" Clear this bears repeating, because it couldn't possibly be true.

Farideh obviously thinks she's gotten the upper hand, her stubborn chin lifting a little higher and her smile stretching that much more arrogantly. "Yes. In a dress. At a gather. With me. By ourselves. Not with you."

Drex's fingers flex into fists, then release. He doesn't say anything, just turns and stomps right out into that snow.

All of the smugness leeches out of her when he walks away, and her head swings to the side to follow his departure, her expression distraught. Farideh stands there, staring at the doorway, for a while, and then plops back down on the hay, looking as glum as before. Storms are the worst.