Difference between revisions of "Logs:Don't Say It"

Well into the evening, Jo shows up on Roszadyth's ground ledge with little fanfare. There's the light shadow touch on the queen dragon's mind from Tacuseth to give warning of his rider's arrival, it acting as a greeting as well as the black leathered woman only pauses on the inner weyr's threshold with the call, "Ya there, Farideh?" She's stopping for a visit.

The blue's shadows are buffeted by sunshine and a light breeze, signaling acknowledgement and veiled amusement, but it's Farideh's head that pokes around the entryway to her bedroom, gaze honing in on Jo. "Yes. Jo," has some type of inflection, if a hard one to decipher. "Is everything alright?" She moves into the main section of her weyr, wiping her hands against her pants as she moves outward, frowning.

"Fine," and Jo seems to take that as an invitation into the weyr. She takes a liberal look around the place, hands shucked into pockets as she moves before her gaze finally lands on Farideh with one of her smirks. There's not much heat to it than usual, but she does look the younger woman over slowly before she says, "Checkin' on ya since yer flight. Roszadyth seems to be fine from what I'm gettin' from Tacuseth. Heard the flight was pretty messy." Of course she's fishing for information as she seeks someplace to sit down. She doesn't look to be leaving anytime soon.

Short of the furniture surrounding the hearth, Farideh comes to a stopping point, to stare at Jo. "It wouldn't have been if someone had kept the Monacoans away, and the Fortians to boot. I doubt one left without a mark," she replies, in a much too serious tone, but her eyes keep flicking between the bluerider and the entrance; like she's expecting someone to walk in at any moment. "I can't believe you came here out of goodwill." One brow lifting, she leans a hip against the nearest chair.

"I came to check on ya," Jo reiterates a touch wryly. "Feline wasn' herself the last time we met. She was quite the kitten, in fact." It's a veiled tease as she settles, watching the goldrider openly now. "Ya have anythin' to drink? Didn' like yer suitors? A pity, really. I'm surprised ya noticed'em at all, up towards yer queen reachin' the sky. I heard yer Drex was there." That draws something close to laughter from her. "Shit. The one time I'm outta the Weyr'n yer dragon decides to go up....."

Color floods Farideh's face all too easily. "Do you have to say it out loud?" is the miffed answer, even as she's moving towards the sideboard; she snags a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, which she brings to the table in front of the couch. "How couldn't I when they were bashing each other's faces in--" Shaking her head, she pours a decent amount in both glasses, and then hands one to Jo. "Yes," of Drex, "he was. Shouldn't have been." At that, she takes a sip, and promptly wrinkles her nose. "You'd only complicate things."

That flush draws something satisfactory to Jo's mouth, the convict rider leaning back on the couch more comfortably as she gives in a low purr, "Or say it at all, y'mean? It happened. I intend to relish every single moment of it. When my gentle kitten comes onto me in public," she whispers the last two words as if it's a scandal, "'n lets me have my way with her in a crafter's room. Ya think I'm goin' to forget somethin' like that, or even let you forget?" Yeah. She's looking far too smug despite its hollowness. She reaches for a filled glass then with a nod, as she listens to what happen during the flight. "Drex should'n've been there," she says unnecessarily with a look. "But he was'n I'd have given my left tit to see all that go down. Kaitlin'n M'ron told me all about it. Things are already complicated, aren' they?" That's the last as she examines the liquid in her glass before taking a drink from it.

"Are you going to shout it from the star stones?" Farideh asks, her chin jutting stubbornly, but she deflates quickly, putting back her claws, and sinks onto the couch next to the bluerider. "It is, and you enjoy the chaos I think. What would you have done? Stir them up more?" She makes an disgruntled sound and takes another, unsatisfied, sip of her whiskey. "Roszadyth rose too early, as is," is thoughtful.

Brow lifting, "Yer sayin' I should?" Jo seems to consider that option as she plays with her glass. "Nah. I like that it's our lil' secret. Might make ya all the more curious to wanna try it again with me. That greenhouse worker won' speak, by the way. Neither will I." Lips quirk even at the suggestive thought though. Once Farideh is seated beside her, she shifts on the couch to face her more with that glass balancing between two fingers as she speaks on chaos with a blunt, "I do. Why shouldn' I? It's one of the few moments that proper holdbreds like you get to act like fucked up holdbreds like myself for a change. I would've done exactly what Kait did. Likely more. I wouldn've minded them watchin'. Serves them right to cause trouble 'round a pretty weyrwoman. When was she 'spose to rise, then?" Roszadyth, presumably.

"No," Farideh replies, making a face and taking one last sip from her drink before setting it aside. "Does it taste weird to you? It tastes--" She grimaces, then shakes her head, arms folding over her chest as she glances aside at Jo. "Is it really that interesting? Watching a bunch of people fuck up relationships and Weyr politics? I would think you'd grow bored. Certainly, nothing like your poison bars or whatever else you do." She shifts her shoulders and frowns. "It shouldn't have been another turn, or two. She's only just a turn old. Too old to rise, but--" And she doesn't finish, chewing on her lip instead.

"Doesn' taste weird to me," Jo takes another drink from the glass before sending Farideh a look. "Maybe I've got a strong stomach." Another sip. Her question seems to get its due attention as she considers her before there's a slight little shrug and a, "Why not, love?" is given back. "It's good study. Anythin' can be useful. Creates opportunity. Nothin' borin' 'bout opportunity for us slick types," and there's a cheeky grin with that. "These dragons choose their own time," she goes on to say casually. "Can't really predict'em. She's alright, right?" and she peeks over towards the ledge. "'N you? I dunno much 'bout the one that caught her."

"It tastes like something--" Farideh's face pinches, and then she presses a finger to her lips. "It smells horrible. I can smell it from here," the goldrider says, looking suddenly quite repulsed. "I don't think I could go about everyday looking for people to fall, waiting for my opportunity. It sounds exhausting." As she talks, she's steadily giving Jo's glass a sidelong glare. "Yes. She's fine. I'm fine. We're both-- A'rist? He's different. He seems alright," gets punctuated by a shrug.

Making a face, "'N yer servin' it to me?" Jo is now holding the glass away from herself as if it's toxic. "I wouldn' be surprised if yer trying to kill me or somethin'. Talkin' 'bout poison bars," as if such a thing doesn't even exist. Right. On opportunities, there's a shake of her head before saying, "Ain' 'bout lookin' for folks to fail. As in, that 'problem' of yers," and now her face clears as she speaks on the deal they made awhile ago. Leaning forward, "It's been taken care of," she states with a brief incline of her head. "The girl ain' workin' there anymore. As expected, she couldn' resist a better opportunity risin' up to take her to greener pastures. I put in a favor for her, so it's legit. Ya owe me one." The convict rider seems to like having her owe her one, it seems.

"You don't have to drink it!" Farideh holds out a hand to accept said drink, her expression sour, not only from the bluerider's words but, presumably, from the smell. "What would I gain from killing you? It's not like I know where to even find that," she continues to grouse. Her face only clears at mention of the girl at High Reaches Hold -- or, formerly at -- and that, to morph into something more wary and guilt-stricken. "I forgot about that. Thank you, anyway. Not that it matters, anymore."

Passing the glass back, "I'm bringin' a bottle next time," Jo notes with a pointed look. "Ya should come with me to the Poison bar. See how it is. They serve far better than whatever that is," even though moments before, the bluerider was content to drink it anyway. When she spies that guilty look on the goldrider's face, though, "Whaddya mean 'not that it matters'? Don' tell me you 'n Drex are on the outs really!"

Like it could be a bug or repulsive creature, the glass is held by Farideh's fingers before she deposits it on the table next to hers. "You brought me to one and I'm not eager to go back," she says, pertly. She eases back against the couch cushions after, and frowns. "No. We're-- fine, but--" Her mouths opens and closes, and she blows out a frustrated breath. "I slept with people and-- so did he. When-- then. I don't know who, so it doesn't matter now, not after everything. I hope-- that girl-- finds something good, in life."

"I dunno why not," Jo is blithe in saying to Farideh on her assessment of dirty bars. "Shouldn' a weyrwoman get used to bein' in all sorts of places? Bein' around all sorts of folks? In my opinion, anyway. Yer missin' great opportunities is all." The other gets her stares when she answers about Drex and her, seeming to notice that frustration before stating, "Ya both 'slept with' people," borrowing her words. "Seems like, everythin' should be squared. Ya were proddy'n stuck up in that dragon of yers. As much as I enjoyed it. I'm assumin' his happened durin' yer flight? Was there another besides me?" On the last, about the blonde, the convict rider nods once before she answers, "She'll get a better one than what she had. That was outta favor for you." As in, it could have gone any other way, which is implied.

"Why? What would that do? Unless it means walking in on Lady Edeline in a compromising situation, and using it as blackmail, I don't see how it could be an opportunity." Farideh doesn't look at Jo after that, especially when they begin talking about Drex. She's much more interested in staring sourly at those glasses of unfinished whiskey. "Of course there was. I slept with A'rist. Everyone knows that. And I don't know, exactly. I didn't think to ask the where, when, who, and what's. It was bad enough when it was just me," she says, frowning. One hand lifts and reaches to pat at one of Jo's, comfortingly. "Thank you. You didn't have to-- but, you did. Thank you. I do appreciate it."

"Yer lookin' at the word 'opportunity' in a negative way," Jo is lofty in her tone to Farideh. All the same, "I wouldn' worry 'bout Drex," as if she knows him. "Y'all have the makin's of a 'love conquers all' story. If he's stickin' around after all of that. I think I might shed a tear over here." Instead, there's a chuckle as she wipes at one eye, getting to her feet in the same process. To that pat on her shoulder, there's a grinning nod to go with it along with a wry, "Just servin' the Weyr in any way that I can," she states, the wink full of message. "I should pro'bly let ya take care of yer....drink problem."

"I'm waiting for you to prove me wrong," is only half resolute. "I think most of my issues can be resolved with extra thought and compromise, not--" Farideh tilts her head towards the bluerider's then, eyes slanting towards her, but her frown only deepens; she's even still making that face when Jo stands, brow furrowed, glancing up from under her lashes. "I would hate to hear that harper's ballad," she settles on, flippantly, already refocusing her perturbed gaze on the glasses. "Go," has some weight, but doesn't sound brusque; it's a playful push, as the goldrider herself rises to dispense of that ill-tasting liquor,

"I hope our lil' meet in the crafter's room was the start of that 'proof' yer lookin' for," Jo openly teases, the smug look unmistakable. "Folks like me make for great allies, gentle kitten." There's a chuckle for that as she heads towards the ledge, only pausing to look back as she adds in with a brief lift of her chin, "Need anythin' else, darlin'. Ya know where Tac's ledge is."

"I'm starting to see, but that doesn't mean--" Perhaps Farideh realizes the futility of arguing with Jo, or perhaps the smell of the whiskey gets to her; she grows quiet as she moves from table to sideboard, and for the last, there's a staunch nod of recognition and no words.