Difference between revisions of "Logs:Goodbye"

Earlier, there was some sort of celebration, or at least a large feast at which the more prominent members of the Hold were in attendance. Drex, however, is not a part of that particular set, and by afternoon he is crossing the courtyard with two others, each carrying heavy looking crates out to the road, undoubtedly headed for the docks.

Doubtless there was revelry at the Hold but it's hard to say whether the two female dragonriders walking into the courtyard, from the opposite direction, are here for that purpose or something else. One of the women is taller, older, and weathered looking, though altogether unmentionable, and the other has pink cheeks that could as easily be blamed on the cold weather outside. They keep in stride with each other, collars pulled up against the blustery chill, but it's the younger woman who comes to an unexpected standstill when she sees Drex. Her companion comes to a stop too when she realizes Farideh isn't with her, and one swing of her gaze between the goldrider and sailor sees her shaking her head, before moving off, notably without the weyrling.

The pair of riders barely get any attention from the small group, more focused on avoiding the heavier piles of snow that have started to stack up around the place. Drex, however, notices -- it's obvious in the momentary pause, the shifting weight of the box in his hand, and the way he starts to lag behind the others.

Reluctance keeps Farideh from stomping up to Drex in a fit of rage and demanding answers. She pulls the edges of her jacket closer, watching the other rider cross the courtyard, before her eyes inevitably fall back on the sailor; her actions might be catalyzed by his lagging, or she might have just plucked up the right amount of gumption to make her way towards him, her face eerily neutral. "Drex," is cool, for once.

"Farideh," is the sailor's gruff answer, expression hard at first, though as he regards her and stills to a full stop, there's a flicker of something in Drex's expression. He shifts the weight of the box, but doesn't put it down, perhaps like he expects it to be a short exchange, or doesn't want it to sit in the snow. Or maybe he just forgets he's even carrying it for a moment. "Here for the fancy dinner, I'll wager."

The approach is slow, but Farideh eventually stops short of him by a couple feet and studies him quietly. "You just-- decided to up and leave? Run back here, to carry boxes around for Lord Devaki? Without even saying goodbye again?" She obviously has no intention of telling him her reason for being at the Hold, though her voice is colored by mild irritation and a hefty amount of deprecation. "You're a jerk, Drex."

"Aint carrying boxes for him," is stated firmly and angrily. As if to make a point, Drex drops said box into the snow, sending puffs of it into the air for a moment, as he crosses his arms, glowering at Farideh. "You told me to get out," he growls, "Then you get me assigned to clean latrines and pick up after the kitchen staff and be checked off like some cabin boy. Aint no fancy Weyrbred person, but I know when I'm not wanted."

Farideh flinches when the box hits the snow, but otherwise lifts her chin a little higher. She laughs a disbelieving laugh not a minute later, glancing away. "I didn't tell you to do anything," she bites out a little hard, returning her angry gaze to his face. "I'm a weyrling. I have less say in anything than you do, or anyone else in the Weyr for that matter. I'm at the bottom," with her hand gesturing down to her feet for emphasis, "and I had no fucking clue anyone had assigned you any chores. Not that you would ask me about it, because that would be the unpresumptuous thing to do."

There's clearly disbelief in Drex's expression, he doesn't believe this just a weyrling nonsense, jaw tightening. "Right. That's why you spend your days with the Headwoman's staff. Why you get a fancy weyr and fancy things. That's why you share secrets with my friend, and he won't tell me, because you wiggled your..." his face scrunches up, waving vaguely in her general direction. The latter makes his head lift. "You told me to go, I went. How the fuck are you mad at me about that?"

"Fancy? You call what I have fancy? I live in a cave and I have to follow them, because Irianke would ship me off to Monaco if I didn't. It's part of the job, the one I got and didn't want just from Impressing Roszadyth. I follow to learn, not to make any decisions." Farideh's shoulders are tight with anger, her jaw set. "I wiggled my what? I don't know what you're talking about, or who you're talking about," is a little louder, angrier, followed by a guilty glance around to make sure no one else is listening. "So? I've told you to go plenty of times and you haven't. This whole thing is all your captain's fault anyway. I was grounded for a month, and she's been running around like-- like-- and then you ran away without a single word."

"You don't think it's fancy? You get to live in a cave that is all your own with things just as fancy as," Drex gestures vaguely towards the Hold, "Any Lord Holder." Not that he really knows what the inside of a Lord Holder's room looks like, but besides the point. Grinding his teeth briefly: "Aint Itsy's minder, and aint gonna be blamed for whatever shit she's done. Whatever's between you, you can fight it out or fuck it out." He bends down to pick up his box again, straightening and turning away.

"And you could too," Farideh points out, heatedly, less than helpfully. "No, but I'm not dumb enough to think if she made you choose your loyalty to her or me, who you'd actually choose, you big-- stupid-- she told me to stay away from you after threatening me with a broken bottle." Her mouth pinches, her eyes flitting away to nothing in particular. "Sure, walk away again, Drex."

"I could too, what? Live in a cave? Scrubbing the lavatories while you go and dine with Lord Holders? Aint a life -- not the sort I wanted." Drex starts to take a few steps, creating indentations in the snow, but slows, stops, and turns, all while silent. "You never even thought to ask -- but you made the choice for me. Could've figured it out, I dunno. But you told me to go." He heaves out a breath that condenses briefly in the cold air. "Aint walking away. Walking to my ship." A beat passes, his expression twisting. "Ought to at least come and see her, the other woman in my life."

"Why do you say it like that? A minute ago you were saying living in a cave was fancy," Farideh retorts. "You could be anything you wanted to be -- a rider, stores assistant, hunter, cook's assistant. Anything." Her own expression becomes disgruntled, her brow furrowing with the intensity of her emotions. "Maybe I don't want to hear you say it." She lapses into silence, and self-consciously smooth hair behind her ears. "Itsy would probably cut off my feet if I ever walked on board."

"I'm a sailor." Drex says it, simply but firmly. There's a slight shift of his weight, a tenseness in his posture that probably says more than his words do. Finally, though, he gives one of those half shrugs of his, and a, "She aint here to see it, or to cut off your feet."

"You are," is Farideh's quiet reply, and lapses into another contemplative silence, despite the cold and the wind. "I don't know, Drex. I don't-- I don't want to share you with Itsy or some stupid boat, or, whatever-- and I don't think I can take you leaving again, not after the last and time and this-- you actually thought I would make you clean latrines." A pause. "I suppose Itsy was right. I'm selfish, but what are we supposed to do? Every time you want to just leave, you do? And you just-- I can't."

With a long heaving sigh that he doesn't try to disguise, Drex puts his box down again, and after flexing his fingers for a moment, seats himself on the box as if settling in. It means he does have to look up at Farideh, for once, expression resigned. "Itsy's my partner. Always will be. Aint gonna abandon her, or my ship. You knew that." He squints at her a moment. "You can fly, right? Aint so bad. You can visit us in Ista in the winter. Itsy'll write you." But not him.

Instead of defusing her anger, all that Drex's sitting-down-and-talking does is cause her to stiffen and stare down her nose at him. "So, you want me to sit around and wait for you, and have your partner call me down when you're good and ready for me, at Ista?" Farideh speaks really slow and calmly; it's unnatural.

"You have your own life. Aint sitting around and waiting," replies Drex sharply, folding his arms. "You get to be a prim and proper goldrider and do... whatever the fuck goldriders do." He's not entirely clear on that part, waving a hand vaguely. "You get to do what you want to do. I get to be what I'm meant to be. Why does that make you so angry?" Yes, apparently he knows Farideh well enough by now to know that calm is usually anything but.

"You don't know why that makes me angry?" Farideh's face does finally show her incredulity, and the subsequent dissatisfied sound she makes. "Because I actually love you and I want to spend more than a couple sevendays a turn with you, and you'd rather be aboard your stupid--" She stops and turns away, covering her mouth with her hand. "You'd prefer to be sailing. I'd prefer to stay in my cave. That's fine."'

"No, I don't," Drex asserts, staring up at her for moments more, before there's a stiffening surprise in his posture at her response. He unfolds his arms, but doesn't move from the box. "It'll be more than that. We'll sail into port and dock for sevens here and there. I can figure out some way to let you know when and where, or... something. We could make it work. If you want to."

"Here and there. Are you hearing yourself?" Farideh's face twists with doubt, but she remains partially turned away, her arms folding across her chest. "I want to, but you're talking about living our lives away from each other and-- and you seem to have a problem with the place that I live besides that-- and your best friend hates me for no reason-- and you think it's ok to run away anytime something doesn't go like it should instead of talking to me about it. But you want to try and what-- be together through long distances, and then you can have Itsy write home about all the busty women you thought about sleeping with but didn't?"

"Aint ideal," Drex concedes. "Better than nothing." His chin lifts, obviously ill pleased with the way she characterizes events. A long pause follows, expression hardening. "Fari. Aint any women throwing themselves at me. I got more to be worried about then you. All those bronzeriders, wanting you. You think I like that idea?" There's a slight creak, as he stands, one, two crunches of steps, not quite at her side, but close enough. "Having you by my side all the time would be music to my dick. But it aint gonna happen. We both know that."

"Aint ideal," Drex concedes. "Better than nothing." His chin lifts, obviously ill pleased with the way she characterizes events. A long pause follows, expression hardening. "Fari. Aint any women throwing themselves at me. I got more to be worried about then you. All those bronzeriders, wanting you. You think I like that idea?" There's a slight creak, as he stands, one, two crunches of steps, not quite at her side, but close enough. "Having you by my side all the time is what I want. But it aint gonna happen. We both know that."

"Is it? Better than nothing?" Farideh sounds bitter about it, already, and tenses when he gets close, though she doesn't move away. "That doesn't even make sense. None of them want me," she answers belatedly, her cheeks flushing ruddier, eyes slanting to the side. "Why can't it? Would it be so bad to stay? I don't know what else to do. You were gone too long the first time, and you're asking me to just accept it as normal."

"Aye," Drex replies, easily. He makes a brief noise, a mixture of frustration and something else, heated, as his footsteps retreat. "You can't even bring yourself to step onto my ship -- something I'm proud of, that's part of my life. No wonder you can't understand why I can't stay." He's staring down at the box, and he gives it a solid kick, frustration visible in his expression.

"How is that-- you think I'll understand why you won't stay, why you won't give Weyr life a chance, why you refuse to be with me, if I see your ship? Then, fine, let's go see your ship." Farideh turns the rest of the way to face him, her arms tightening across her chest. "Lead the way," isn't even emphasized with a sarcastic gesture.

"I gave it a chance. You haven't given my way of life a chance. You still think it's something I can give up, something that doesn't matter. Have I asked you to give up the Weyr? Your fancy cave? Your dragon?" Drex hisses out a breath to catch himself before he reaches yelling stage, though it's perhaps not far off, though at least it's cold enough outside that they're likely the only ones lingering, the occasional curious onlooker aside.

"It takes you away from everything and everyone. You're on a ship in the middle of the ocean, for Faranth's sake," Farideh shoots back. "It's not the same-- it's-- you're right that I wouldn't give up Roszadyth, but even if I wanted to, I couldn't, and you know that. It's not the same at all." She gives her head a shake and looks down at her feet. "We're going to keep talking in circles."

"I didn't ask you because those things matter to you, Fari. Just as sailing, my ship, my crew, my Captain matter to me. It may not seem the same to you, but it does to me." Drex is vehement on that, posture tense, until he exhales a sharp breath. "Aye," he acknowledges, reluctantly, of her conclusion.

"I thought that maybe I would too," Farideh says, after taking a sharp breath. "I don't-- this-- shit. I don't know what to say, now." She lifts her eyes to his face, her expression dejected, and shrugs her shoulders up to her ears. "Goodbye?"

Drex stares at her for a long moment, visibly shifting as she says that final word. He says nothing, but he does move towards her, intent on wrapping her in a wordless, possibly breathless, hug.

The embrace isn't met with any resistance, quite the opposite, as Farideh buries her face against his chest when he's close enough to. Her voice is small and muffled by his shirt when she says, "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he rumbles into the top of her head, squeezing tightly. And then, after some indeterminate time, Drex extricates himself from her, face a mingling of emotions, quickly turning to collect his box and continue on his way towards his ship.

A lady waits until no one else is around to see her cry, and that's exactly what Farideh does, mindless of the tears that track down her cheeks once he's on his way. She takes some time, in the cold, to put herself back together and wipe away the evidence; only then does she track the rest of the way through the courtyard and into the warmth the Hold's hall has to offer.