Difference between revisions of "Logs:Poison"

It is indeed cold. With the hot springs slightly occupied with a couple of riders far more into each other than her, Jo's occupying the opposite end by herself - app elbows propped up on the spring's edge with a bottle in her left hand. Her hair is messily sticking every which way on top of her head and criss-crossing network of scars seems to be on proud display on the bare skin she shows above water. For all intents and purposes, she seems to be relaxing from a long day.

The bitter cold doesn't bother Roszadyth, who is just happy to be able to stretch her wings beyond High Reaches' spires again. Evening's remaining orange-red light swathes her pale gold hide as she lands in one of the clearings besides the bubbling pool to allow her rider to dismount. It's a weary-looking, careless Farideh who slides down from her straps and starts pulling off her outwear, without glancing around to see who's in attendance; only once she's down to a barely-there top and tiny bottoms does she actually get into the warm water, wading a little ways in and then sinking to waist-level with a sigh. She's sitting there a long moment, before she actual sweeps a look around and behind, and on an exhale, greets, "Jo," warily.

With Tacuseth surely nearby (though not seen), one can be sure the blue's desert-blown presence touches Rozadyth's with a greeting. As for his rider, Jo watches Farideh as she approaches, undressing. Her gaze alternates between her and the couple on the opposite side, and once that wary greeting is given, "Better to get in naked." That seems to be her own greeting, the woman punctuating it with a drink from her bottle before she angles up a look towards the weyrling. A semblance of an amused smile touching her lips now at her wariness, she seems to feel compelled to add now, "I ain' gonna bite, 'less ya want me too, darlin'. Truce, eh?" As if there's war between them.

Roszadyth is not subtle today, not when there are places to see and skies to fly in! Now that she isn't grounded anyway. Her answer is rose-tinged and melodic, a dervish of pleasantry. « Tacuseth. » Less amused than Jo, Farideh stretches her arms out in the water and lifts them, watching the water trickle down in fast-moving droplets. "It's only a truce if you share," she replies, angling her head back so she can give the bluerider a thin, sarcastic smile, and her bottle a more meaningful glance; at least one of them is not as happy as the other.

« Roszadyth. » Tacuseth's touch is tinged with shadows, the blue seeming both wary and curious about the weyrling dragon at the same time. At the same time, "Aww, hard up, are we?" Jo returns in a smooth and syrupy manner in response to Farideh's sarcastic tone. Her hand lifts to bottle, her wiry frame settling more comfortably back against the pool edge as she takes a lingering drink without taking her eyes off of the other. If her bare breasts get revealed as her torso rises from the shift, she doesn't seem to take notice. Then, after a spell, the bottle gets reversed towards her wordlessly with that annoying smile that says she could play nice.

The blue's wariness is met with continued happiness, bubbling over. « How do you fare tonight? Well, I hope? » Roszadyth, after some shuffling, settles down in the snow, wings tucked in. "You would be too if you had to play nicey-nice with a bunch of boring weyrleaders and--" Farideh stops speaking abruptly, and frowns at Jo, even with red-flushed cheeks. "I don't know why I'm explaining myself to you. It would be the nice thing to do, to share," she mutters. "If you don't want to do it just because, I'll give you a new bottle-- I just, didn't think of it-- I just wanted-- get away." It pains her to give so much information to the bluerider, her expression suggests.

With the sudden increase of curiosity more than the wariness, Tacuseth ventures with, « Fuzzy. » There's a pause before he adds in, « I am well. You? What did you do today? » The convict rider, meanwhile, draws an enigmatic smile at Farideh's words. "Cuz, I'm beneath ya?" Jo questions that line conversationally on why the gold weyrling was explaining herself. The bottle held out even more, "While my generosity lasts," she gives, her tone wry and dangerous. "And, for the record, Weyrleaders are bores by default. Perhaps it bothers ya cuz it's yer future ya lookin' at?" A slight tease in her words as she gestures with her chin for her to take the strong drink.

« Fuzzy? » Roszadyth, now, is curious too. « I stretched my wings all the way to the clouds and more, » is the golds effusive reply, sharing with the blue images of snow clouds and white-wrapped landscapes seen aerially. « Where have you been, Tacuseth? » It's warily that Farideh wades through the water closer to Jo, reaching a hand to grab the bottle that she's offering; strings attached? "No, not because you're beneath me, but because you think I'm beneath you-- everyone does." She sighs, intent. "That's-- maybe, it is, or maybe because, I'm tired of all the fake smiles and meaningless, cheap words."

Tacuseth sends the image of cases of bottles toward Roszadyth as he sends back, « Where did'ja go? We were in Crom. Not many good places to rest there, » and it's easy to taste the blue's displeasure. Jo watches Farideh with open interest as she comes forth, releasing her hold on the bottle once it's taken. Settling her scarred-up arm against the pool's edge, "The only way yer beneath me is literally," is Jo's return. "Under my furs. Callin' my name." No apology in her tone for her crass words, but she's quick to add more evenly, "That seems to be the way of civillized people, darlin'. Ya won' get any of that with me. I'll tell it like it is'n give no shit what rank ya are. Likely why Aishani'n I got along so well." Brow and chin lifting a bit, a slight slurring of her speech, "Where did'ja go?" she asks now.

« Like that one? » Roszadyth questions, of the bottle being shared between his and hers. « I have yet to experience Crom. I spent the day over the Weyr, flying as far as I could go and then coming back. » It's so simple, but the gold sounds so fulfilled. "Lovely," Farideh says, not hiding her disbelief. She takes a long drink of whatever Jo's got in that bottle, and then coughs, holding it back out, while her face twists in distaste. "Faranth," she gasps, "what is that?" She makes a couple more faces, her eyebrows always drawn tightly together, and shudders away her revulsion. "No, I meant, you don't think much of me. Not literally and--" Regaining some of her composure, she walks backwards until she's against the rim of the pool too. "Fort-- this morning, or, last night? A hatching, with all of the--" She rolls her eyes and gestures with a hand in an exaggerated sort of way.

« Like that one, » Tacuseth confirms, sharing his rider's amusement now. « You should visit Crom, but, there's a lot of scary people there, » he sends like it's a secret, even if his amusement still lingers. When Farideh makes a face at the drink and returns it, "Aw, sip a few more of that a day and ya'll get use to it," Jo suggests with laughter in her voice. "It ain' that bad. It's this drink made from a poison bar. 'Least, that what the place is called. I've yet to be poisoned. Are you?" She'll even eye the weyrling closely to see if she's starting to change colors. "Anyway," she continues with a slight shrug, leaning back after taking a drink right behind her, "'course I think somethin' of ya. I think yer cute. A bit of a snob, but..." and another shrug is given. "If I didn' think anythin' of ya, I wouldn' have anything' to say 'boutcha." On the Fort hatching, there's a nod and a, "Ahh, yeah. Heard a bit 'bout that. 'Course ya had to play nice, ridin' queen and all. Never much met the Weyrleaders over there myself. What're they like?"

A whisper? A secret. Sunlight creates patterns along fabric, and its swish-swish, as by a breeze, is the only sound, other than Roszadyth's timid, « Scary people? What kind of scary people? » Her rider doesn't quite relax against the rim, letting an inch or so breach the distance between her back and it. She's careful to retain that space, and keep her body submerged save for her shoulders. "A poison bar? You let me drink poison?" is barely above a whisper, hoarse, as she stares wide-eyed at the bluerider. "I don't-- what? Thank you," Farideh says, querulous. She's still side-eyeing Jo when she blows out a frosty breath. "I don't know, not exactly. I've met Hattie once at a gather and she was nice, but me and their junior, Lilah, we don't get along. They hatched another gold though."

« Just scary, » is all Tacuseth seems willing to give, his presence an easy one. « We can handle them. » His cockiness matches his rider's, and he turns the tables with « Where did'ja go? » "Well the place is called a Poison bar," Jo clarifies lightly, holding the bottle up as if Farideh would totally want another drink from it. "I doubt any of this stuff is poisonous. Been drinkin' it for turns'n I'm still breathin'. Somethin' like this, thickens yer tits. Gets yer lady-balls growin'. Adds grit to yer voice." The way she sounds, these must be attributes one would want. I can take ya there sometime, if ya curious." As for Fort, she seems to mull over the names gives, seeming to mentally file what's said away as she says, "Another gold. Hmmmph. Heard that Lilah's got a temper. I'd imagine rubbin' shoulders there would be anti-climatic."

Roszadyth isn't cocky, but she is less sure than ever before. « I do not know that that is a place I would like to go, » she replies, gently. « Farther than here, but not as far as the holds. I wanted to fly and Farideh was with Niahvth's. » Farideh frowns at Jo. "I don't want my tits thickened or my-- lady--" She can't quite bring herself to say it and sucks in a breath instead. "Nor do I need a gritty voice," but she gives the bottle a wistful stare all the same. "To the poison bar? What kind of reprobates hang out at a place called a poison bar." That might be a no, even if she doesn't say it explicitly. "I guess she does. She's-- I went there and we talked. She didn't like what I had to say, so I told her something different, and that made her mad too. Everything makes her upset, it seems."

« Many parts of Crom are good, » Tacuseth gives in encouragement. « Just, avoid many of the bars. » Beat. « At night. » Some good blue wisdom there. « Do ya fly with Niahvth often? » he nows asks. As for Jo, it's clear that she's trying her best to hold in the brunt of her laughter and trying to maintain a composed face. "Lady balls," she's helpful in murmuring the words for her. Catching that wistful stare, she holds out the bottle as she says, "Go on now. It'll taste better the second time, that I can promise. Ya likely need it more'n me this night, anyway." What Farideh says next about the bar finally has that laughter dam breaking, the convict rider throwing her head back in dramatic fashion. "Reprobates," she echoes that word through the laughter, shaking her head at it. "Well, I can tell ya whoever's there'll be folks ya wouldn' have to play nice to, right? Good, hard-workin' shifty folk, just like me," and she flashes a smile at the end. "Ya might get pick-pocketed in the end, but 'least they'll be nice about it. 'Less I'm there. No one'll touch'ya if I'm there." As for the Fortian junior, "Sounds like she's hard to please," she notes idly. "She must be a joy to be 'round in Fort."

Still, Roszadyth is uncertain. « We do not frequent bars, Tacuseth. At day or night, » is polite, but a solid refusal. More color suffuses Farideh's cheeks when Jo fills in her blank, and she makes a pretense of watching the water bubble around her hands. "And will you be responsible when I turned up dead from bad drink?" She grabs the bottle anyway, and squeezes her eyes shut, taking an unfortunately (for her) long pull that ends in her making another pained face; it's harder to swallow the second time around. "No, it's not-- no, take it," holding it back to Jo. "So, I wouldn't fit it in at all and I would get pick-pocketed, but I should definitely go see this place?" She sounds less than convinced, wiping at the corners of her mouth delicately. "I've no reason now to go. I hear she's close with K'del however."

Tacuseth is respectful, and, his curiosity about the little gold grows ever more as he sends in return, « Then ya should be just well. » It seemed simple to the blue, in any case. Leaning back herself, "Ya won' die," Jo states that pointedly with a look. "Does it matter that I'm still livin'? And I see ya managed to survive the one sip ya had from the bottle, so..." Lips purse. Farideh drinks a second time and the convict rider takes the bottle back, shaking her head as she says, "Lightweight." After a pause, "No, ya wouldn' fit in," she agrees dryly. "Ya don' need to. Keep yer pockets clear'n it wouldn' matter if yer pickpocketed or not. Learn to survive, Farideh," she quips with a slight raise of the bottle in a toast to her. "If ya can survive out there, then dealin' with borin' Weyrleaders would be pie." Soberly, "No one'll treat ya as if yer beneath them. Ain' surprised 'bout K'del none."

The gold isn't nearly as enthused, but her presence, as it recedes into the cold, white of snow and leaden sky, is colored by affectionate amusement and that original rosy tinge. "You've probably been drinking that since you were a baby. Your parents probably put it in on your gums when you were fussy like--" Farideh makes a frustrated sound and sinks back against the rim; space now forgotten. "That's not even the same," she says, her head lolling towards Jo so she can impart a pointed look, "as dealing with weyrleaders. I could -- if I wanted -- do that in my sleep, but surviving amongst what-- thieves? Drunks? Murders?" Her hand waves inscrutably in the air in front of her face, and she makes another, dissatisfied sound with her tongue. "So, it's true? He's been with everyone then?"

Tacuseth's presence lingers - his amusement mingling with the little queen's, letting it recede into its shadows. "I was a good lil' holdbred girl who wouldn' touch this shit with gloves on," Jo counters dryly to her. "My father didn' believe in his kids drinkin', even if it was perfectly fine for him. And, it is the same. Ain' my fault ya can' see beyond the surface of it. When ya can, come find me." As for K'del, there's a slight snort as she takes a drink and answers back, "As far as I know. Isn' that the way with bronzeriders? Just cuz he's been Weyrleader doesn' make him immuned."

"What?" Farideh is genuinely surprised by Jo's history as a holdbred girl. "You? You were a nice, upstanding, non-drinking holder?" She can't keep the disbelief out of her voice; not quite. "I'm-- I wouldn't have ever thought you-- not that I know where you came from to begin with, you just always seemed like you were-- born, to this." Pursing her lips, she slants the bluerider a sideways glance. "Just because? Weyrleader should be enough to curb his enthusiasm. He's supposed to be a role model and the poster of what a leader is, not a can't-keep-his-hands-to-himself lecher."

"Shows how ya shouldn' judge a person," Jo drawls, setting the bottle aside on the pool edge. "Assumin' I was born this way, when the real question is what got me this way," and she clicks her tongue at the gold weyrling, almost in admonishment. With a rolling stretch of her shoulders, "Careful how ya treat folks, weyrlin'," she continues to say before her dark gaze falls on her. "Even lowly ones like me wear disguises." There's something cold in those words, something that slips out before it's removed to that cocky composure she has back on. Then with non-chalance, she adds, "I'm from Keogh. Only girl in a family of boys. Was even destined to be a guard like I'm sure they are, 'til I left." Pause. "Weyrleaders are allowed to fuck whomever they please," she notes wryly, now openly studying Farideh. "Weyrwomen, too. Who ya fuck is yer private business. Doesn' affect how well ya lead a Weyr, or even a Hold. It's all 'bout control, and keepin' yer shit private. Show folks who ya want them to see, not who ya really are. Perhaps K'del plays that game better'n the rest of us is all."

"I was just saying I didn't know," Farideh replies, sounding the slightest bit sullen to be accused. "I didn't and now I do-- know-- that you're, Jo? Jo, from Keogh, the only girl in a family of boys who was destined to be a guard and now is a bluerider who frequents places called a poison bar." She wraps her arms around her torso and yawns, flicking the bluerider a glazed-eyed glance. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should, and it looks bad if he is, if he's with Southern's Weyrwoman and sleeping with Fort's junior, and then--" Well, he'll be sleeping with one of their goldriders too, soon, in all likelihood; not that she needs to voice that.

It's an amused snort this time. "Much doesn' faze ya, does it?" Jo makes an open observation, her lopsided grin laid bare as she shakes her head. "I knew girls like ya back in Keogh. Beautiful'n frustratin'. They knew it, too. Probably married well by now, if they're my age." She gives a slight non-chalant shrug on reputations before she answers, "Done right, won' be nothin' folks can judge. If he's really fuckin' the both of'em, then someone's doin' a shoddy job of keepin' a lid on it. Real life lesson learned, right there. Not that I care who he plows. Do you?" she asks now with open interest.

"Beautiful and frustrating? What does that mean? I'm not frustrating at all--" Farideh opens her mouth to say more, flounders, and sighs. "Fine, I'm frustrating, but I don't mean to be." Her arms tighten around her middle. "I do because Roszadyth might rise first and that would make me Weyrwoman. Cadejoth hasn't failed to catch except-- what-- once? The odds are in his favor and, I don't want a perpetually distracted Weyrleader who's screwing everything with a gold dragon and a hole between her legs," and even she blushes, at her own vulgarity.

"Just who ya are," Jo says simply on being frustrating. "Don' think ya can help it, which, seems rather rare in a weyrwoman." She studies every nuance, every movement from her position, and while Farideh blushes at her own vulgarity, the bluerider appears to be pleased by it. "I doubt all the holes in Pern will distract that one," she borrows the vulgarity with an expressive roll of her eyes. "Ya can try throwin' a hot blonde his way and seein' what happens, though. Naw, even when this Weyr had Azaylia, he was on the straight. Or, appeared so. Yer really think yer ready to lead this Weyr with him? Ready to take on someone like him?"

"Why is that rare?" Farideh wants to know. "I've certainly got qualities none of them had, the ones I've read about in the last so many turns. Satiet, Tiriana, Lujayn, Teris, Iolene, Azaylia, Aishani," she supplies like she's reading off a list. "No?" And after a pause, a more meaningful, "No" I'm not ready. I've never pretended like I was." Shifting slightly, she studies the bluerider. "Would you be ready to take on the running of this whole place? Just like that? After what? Two turns? I wanted to Impress something smaller-- blue, green? Nothing with all of the responsibility that Roszadyth gives me, but it'll have to do."

"Cuz the weyrwomen I've been 'round, tend to keep their emotions on a shelf," Jo is easy to supply. "For the most part. Granted, I've only been 'round a few since bein' here, so," a shrug is given, suggesting to take her word with a grain of salt. "I dunno. Haven' exactly been around ya enough to figure ya out." As for leading, "Yeah, I'd jump right into it," is her quick answer to leading the Weyr. "Why not? Even if ya wait ten turns, yer still gonna make mistakes. Way I see it, no time like now to get all the mistakes out the way. And, I'd make a kickass Weyrleader," and nod is quite sage. "But that ain' my path," she goes on to say. "I'd do it on the ready, but Tac's hide looks awfully blue to me out there. It's yer path, though. Can' cry over dragon hides now. If yer ain' ready, get ready."

"I'm not exactly good at that, but I'm learning." Farideh's chin a bit stubbornly, as she levels hazel eyes on the bluerider. "It's not like you're supposed to be good at everything right away." She quickly grows more agitated, the more Jo talks, and eventually turns to the pool rim. "You go be the Weyrwoman then. You have my permission. I'd rather be squatting in a jungle somewhere," she bites out, and uses her leverage on the side of the pool to drag herself out. "It was enlightening, really."

"I'm callin' ya feline from now on," Jo decides, watching Farideh get more and more agitated. "A girl gives words of encouragement to ya, ya take it as a shank to the gut just like them Southern felines. Always quick to attack. Ya might have more in common with us lowly Poison bar types than I initially thought." She herself doesn't look to be going anywhere as Farideh gets out of the springs, reaching lazily for her set aside bottle as she remarks on the latter, "Anyway, I said nothin' 'bout bein' good at shit right away, ya ornery feline. Just let me know when ya want me to take over bein' Weyrwoman. I'm sure I could find some gold paint somewhere. I might need a few lessons on bein' frustratingly hot, though." The bottle goes to her lips, drinks, and then at last ticks off, "Been a pleasure, darlin'."

"Right, because I'm just pussy to you?" And only Faranth knows where she picked up that language. Farideh snubs her nose with her thumb, teeth biting her lip, before she pads off, leaving the bluerider to the hot springs and the booze; she will, of course, make sure she changes behind Roszadyth's golden bulk and once settled, go aloft, and home.

Yes, that's laughter following in Farideh's wake. Even Tacuseth can be heard in the little queen's mind, the sound very much similar to his rider's.