Logs:Lepers and Dragonmen
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| RL Date: 19 August, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, K'zin |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and K'zin almost get along. Damn those lepers and dragonmen. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 7, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Leida/Mentions, Lepers/Mentions, Thraland/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day. ---
One of the colorful people crossing the bowl is more ash and soot-marked than most of the rest. His path has him leaving the forge by the craft complex and trekking directly toward the Garden Patio Ledge, pulling on his sleeveless shirt as he walks. It's at least clean...er than he is, though it gets wet with sweat at the curve of his lower back and some spots across his chest. His left arm bears a long burn scar that stretches across his forearm but even that has smudges on it. K'zin carries in that hand a rolled sheaf of hides that swings a little as he climbs the stairs onto the ledge, his eyes squinted against the brightness of the day until he comes into the shade the ledge provides. Farideh's hazel eyes follow the curious path of the dragonrider, right up from the bowl onto the garden patio stairs and up onto the ledge. She turns on the bench, folding her arms over the back of the iron detailing and resting her chin on them. Then, she just stares, munching way on her apple. It's very obvious where she's looking too - she's making not strives to hide her blatant interest; but a girl can look, right? K'zin has a reputation for being selectively oblivious. True to that, the dirty bronzerider doesn't seem to notice Farideh's attention until he's almost to the bench, whereupon he addresses her, so naturally at this point and any point after he started angling toward the bench it's only natural she should be looking at him. He flashes an easy smile and gestures to the bench, "Mind if I sit?" Dark brows lift as K'zin comes her way. "Sure, it isn't my bench. You can sit wherever you want." Farideh angles herself back towards the lake view and tucks her crossed ankles underneath the bench. She might steal another curious glance at the dragonrider, but in the end, she'll take a too-large bite of her apple - perhaps to keep herself from saying anything else. K'zin's drop onto the bench does make the boards shift just a touch - all that muscle has to weigh something, right? He takes the sheaf in both hands and unrolls it, eying the diagram there for a moment, but with the look of one who's been at studying too long, and just as quickly it's rolled right back up and left to loll across one of his thighs. After a moment, perhaps just when Farideh is finishing that too-large bite, he looks to her, "I don't think I've seen you around," which isn't uncommon, although K'zin says it in a way that suggest if he had seen her around, he'd likely have remembered. "I'm K'zin." Because who needs ceremony to introduce oneself. He offers a hand over toward the young woman. There is a moment where Farideh doesn't realize he's speaking to 'her', and once that awareness hits, she has the look of a deer caught in the headlights, hazel eyes impossibly wide. "Oh, hi." She juggles her apple, from one hand to the other; once it's safely planted in the opposite hand, she gives his a grip and a shake. "I'm Farideh. I'm not from here. I work in the laundry." Her startled mien dissipates with a welcome relaxedness, her lips splitting into a pleased smile. "It's nice to meet you, K'zin." "Well met, Farideh," the dirty man offers politely. "Some of my favorite people work in the laundry." Probably the ones who launder his clothes, though he might be hard pressed to name names. "I'm mostly from here. Are you recently arrived?" He shifts his fingers to the sheaf and shifts it to the side of the bench before orienting himself a little more toward her for easier conversation. Farideh wrinkles her nose, turning her eyes back to the lake, where a couple of dragons are splashing through the depths. "Who?" Simple question, followed by another bite of fruit; she's getting low on viable apple to eat. Through full cheeks, she manages a mumbled, "Yeah, I came this way by Igen. It's nothing like Igen, but, it'll do. A couple sevendays now." If he can decipher all that through chewing. He's still rewarded with another smile. "Uh." Give him a minute. "Leata?" Leida, he means Leida, who almost certainly is liked not for her laundering skills but for her ample bosom, trim waist and easy-rise skirts. "Igen," if K'zin draws slightly away from her, it must be because he has to ask, "The Weyr or the Hold? Where there's... you know." The lepers. K'zin makes gesture to his face as though peeling off bits of skin. Most attractive pantomime ever. "Leata," Farideh repeats, tilting her head as she thinks. "I don't know a.. oh, you mean Leida." There's a flippant quality to her voice, like she's already written off the whole conversation about that certain light skirt. Her easy smile disappears when she notices his reticence, her lips scrunching up together in a disapproving sort of purse. "Do I 'look' like a leper?" It's summer, so there's ample enough skin exposed to prove his worries false, but she's there to give him the death stare if he tries to imply anything else. Neatly, she dodges the question of her origins. "Right," there's a justified blush for the correction and a deepening for the -- "Wait, what?" Because surely K'zin did not mean to imply such a thing. "No," he hurries to answer, "shells no; you have very nice skin," which is probably everything the man knows about leprosy in a nutshell. "I just meant," what did he mean? Awkwardly, "Were they gross? Did you see them there?" Two fingers touch her temple, given at the same time as a shake of her head. "'You have nice skin?' That's all you can come up with?" Farideh looks insulted, fine brown brows drawn together over cold eyes. "I didn't live anywhere any lepers, and even if I did, that doesn't give me any right to make fun of them or call them 'gross'." She frowns, now disapprovingly looking her benchmate over. "They can't help their.. problem." "Their gross problem." K'zin mumbles under his breath, not looking nearly contrite enough. He's silent, scolded for the moment as he looks at one of the blue flower pots along the ledge's edge. "Isn't having nice skin a good thing?" He finally asks, revealing the true source if the brooding silence. A dramatic roll of her eyes precedes her next comment. "'Yes' it's good, but how do you think they feel? It's not like they can help it." Farideh is obviously annoyed, posture shifted so her arms are crossed over her chest, apple forgotten. She is frowning, still, with a drawn expression. "Nobody can 'help' how they're born. Leprosy or assholes alike." Could be she's talking about him. Could be. "I'm not talking to them," the bronzerider protests. Probably, she'd have to hog-tie him and drag him to where none but they could hear his pleas for freedom before he would. "Who says they're born that way?" K'zin wants to know then. "Isn't that sort of what the healers are trying to find out with their studies and all?" It's likely the rumor he's heard since it's unlikely he's actually been to get a first hand account. "Maybe it's because they don't wash enough." This suggestion makes him suddenly conscious of his own grime, a finger moving to scratch a patch of soot on his arm over the scar. "What is wrong with you!" Farideh has had about enough - she's openly disgusted, disbelief painted all across her features. She moves so she can fully face him, gesturing wildly as she speaks. "Do they teach you nothing here!? Go ask a healer how someone gets leprosy. I don't think being dirty is on the list, otherwise this whole Weyr would be condemned!" Towards the end, she notices her voice has risen, and calms herself enough to add, in quieter tones, "Think before you speak." Maybe if K'zin were trying to win her favor, such a rebuke might have more weight. As is, he arches a single dark brow at her. It's casually that he replies, "Maybe you ought to petition for a position as a Harper's assistant if the quality or content of our education is of such concern. As it happens, thinking is not my area of expertise. Perhaps you'd prefer to speak to my dragon if you're looking for smarts." He gestures toward the small-for-a-bronze, big-for-a-dragon burnt cinnabar beast observing them with interest some distance away in the bowl. Farideh just.. stares, and shakes her head. "Whatever. I'm tired of this bench 'anyway'." Her voice is all teenage attitude and stubbornness, a quick slicing glare at the bronzerider before she pops up from the bench. "Bye," she grumbles, and stalks off towards the stairs. "Hey, wait a minute," K'zin is leaning, reaching, trying to catch the young woman's wrist, but gently. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry for talking bad about the lepers?" He seems willing enough. "Or for being ignorant of Igen? I'm sorry." That sounds genuine enough, but as a bronzerider he surely gets enough practice. "Can we start over? Please?" Farideh slows to a stop as he catches her by the wrist, and switches her attention back to K'zin. "Sorry is a start." She tugs her hand loose and folds her arms tight over her chest again, standing where she stopped. "Look, I don't like arrogant assholes who think they're better than everyone else, especially 'sick people'. Everyone has their problems, even lepers, and you don't get to call them gross anymore than they get to call you gross." "Hey, hey, hey," K'zin's hands go up in defense. "I don't think I'm better than anyone. I'm just a big dumb guy who got lucky on the Sands. They can call me gross if they want, probably should some days." There's hopeful humor there and he makes a gesture to the bench, inviting her back. "You can call me gross if it'd make you feel better." The offer is genuine as he does a sniff of himself (at least it's his shoulder and not the full on pit-sniff), "I really qualify right now. I was just working on sewing needles. Sharding hard for things so tiny let me tell you." It's an obvious topic change, but he means well. Somehow her gaze becomes appraising, narrowed, as she listens to him speak. Something in his words must have earned her forgiveness, because she does sit upon invitation. "I'm not going to call you gross," Farideh mutters, leaning her back against the iron bench. "Sewing needles. You're making 'sewing needles'?" Imagine her disbelief this time - it's warranted. "Yep." K'zin is, to all appearances, thoroughly contented to move on from the thing he had to apologize for. "Smiths end up making all kind of useful things. The tiny ones are hard. And hard to get sharp enough. And painful to polish." He holds up his right hand to display where he's been pricked in the finger a number of times. "You're a smith?" Farideh asks, not unkindly; she is genuinely impressed. "I would have never guessed." She still has her apple, though it's starting to brown, and gives it a twirl in her hands. "I like to sew," she starts, hastily adding, "but I don't anymore." Balancing the fruit between her palms, she tries to focus back on the weyrlife and low-key energy of the people passing through the bowl. "How do you like being a smith? Is being a dragonrider too any more stressful?" "Only ever an apprentice. I was going to sit for my senior exams and Stood instead. But my Journeyman here is teaching me again, so I expect to make some progress even if the craft will only ever consider me an apprentice." K'zin isn't bragging, just telling what there is to tell. "Why don't you sew anymore?" It might not seem the most obvious question, but there's curiosity in his eyes. "I like smithing. Sometimes better than dragonriding. But there are perks to dragonriding too." "How did you come by that decision?" Farideh queries, regarding the bronzerider with an unapologetically curious gaze. "It's kind of a big one, deciding between craft or being a rider." She averts her eyes and keeps spinning the fruit between her fingers, sliding easily into a calm, unaffected voice, "Oh, no time, you know, busy busy, besides there's seamstresses who do that sort of thing. I wash, dry, and fold." Duh, didn't he know what laundresses do. "But I thought you like it?" Isn't that what she just said of the sewing? K'zin looks confused. Perhaps not unduly. He shifts on the bench letting the wrinkles in his brow smooth out as he leans back on the bench. "It wasn't a well thought out thing, really. I knew they'd move me somewhere else if I made Senior apprentice or Journeyman at the latest and High Reaches is home. I just wanted a way to stay at first, though by the end of candidacy that was different." He drums the fingers of one hand on his knee before asking, "Thinking of Standing yourself? Iesaryth's eggs are getting hard, I'd imagine." And therefore ripe for the Standing. Farideh waves away his concerns about her sewing. "You'd rather be 'home' than be a Journeyman?" She is incredulous, for now. "I don't think I could pass that up. You could be a well-respected crafter by now, and instead you're.." Those impertinent eyes glance over him, undeterred. "..this." Bronzerider, dragonrider, disappointment - could be many things she's implying, but what she doesn't imply is if she'd impressed by his change of career. "Mm, I don't think so. I just got here." Not likely any dragon has found her desirable Search material either. In the bowl, Rasavyth shifts. "This. A bronzerider that serves to protect my home and the people of its sweep?" The arch of his brow is not dissimilar in effect to how she looked at him about the lepers. "You don't like dragonmen?" K'zin questions quite directly. Giving as good as she getting, Farideh has a sarcastic smile for him. "Why would I live at a Weyr if I didn't like dragonmen? I love dragonmen! You fly, you fight Thread, and hey, maybe most of you look great without a shirt on, but that doesn't change the fact that you could have been a great crafter." She ends with a point and a purposeful stare, "Don't be so serious." "That was going to be my next question," K'zin admits. Hopefully he has more imagination for Smithing than for conversation. But then he's rising, "Sorry to offend you by my chosen occupation." Although really, it seems more likely that he's the one offended here as he tucks his sheaf under his arm. "Enjoy your day, Farideh," he offers with more politeness than can be genuine before turning to head inside. Narrowed eyes follow his retreat, but, in the end all Farideh does is shrug and make a leisurely exit herself, down the stairs, and towards the lower caverns. |
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