Logs:Fairy Tales And Harper Stories
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| RL Date: 8 February, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Love is only for fairy tales and harper stories. |
| Where: Random Tunnel, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 13, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Winter. It's cold! |
| Mentions: Issedi/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions, Wulfan/Mentions |
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| Two days have passed since the incident at High Reaches Hold, and while the initial shock has passed for a majority of the Reaches' weyrfolk, there are those still can't seem to move past Issedi's death. It's in one of the windy, seldom used tunnels that Farideh's sought solace from the chatter and constant hum-drum of Weyr life. She's sitting against the tunnel wall with her knees drawn up under her skirt, bare toes poking out from underneath the frayed hem. Her arms are hooked around her legs, her chin settled on top of her knees, and uncharacteristically, her expression is bleak. Red-rimmed eyes stare blankly at the opposite wall, but if someone does happen down the dimly like corridor, she draws up tighter, trying to make herself smaller, all the while avoiding the inevitable stares. The thud, thud, thud of booted heels gives her warning, at least, of someone approaching, in time for her to do her turtle impression. Drex isn't really looking left or right, determinedly walking, and nearly walking right past Farideh -- until he slows as recognition sets in. He stops, frowning down at her. "If you're waiting for me, I am definitely not going to my secret room hidden away somewhere down there," his fingers flick down the corridor, though dark eyes are on the girl. And right on cue, sounds of impending company causes the brunette to draw her knees tighter against her chest, duck in her head. Tension stiffens her shoulders even before Farideh hears the familiar voice and lifts her head, her eyes flitting to Drex's face. "No," she says quickly, defensively, "I was just--your room?" Her brow furrows, lips likewise puckering with disapproval. "What happened to the closet you claimed? Wasn't it big enough?" She'd undoubtedly be laughing at his expense if she weren't in such a morose mood. Drex gives one of those half, not-quite shrugs of his. "Found a better one," he says, with a sudden grin. And then his eyes narrow, briefly. "You better not follow me to my secret hide out." And then he's... stomping past her. Loudly and obviously. A hot retort is on Farideh's lips, ready to be dispatched and ruffle his feathers in return, but his words give her pause. Her head tips back, eyes rolling towards the rock-hewn ceiling. "Boys," she mumbles to herself, using her palms and the wall to hoist herself up on her feet; then, she's following him at a slower pace, bare feet hardly making a sound, arms crossed over her chest. More stomping. Further down the end of the tunnel, he turns right into a cross tunnel, the lighting sparse and the glows near to done. It twists back and forth, though the sailor's stomping is a loud draw, and the tunnel finally opens out into a small room -- larger than his broom closet, at least -- some sort of abandoned storage area. His throne of boxes has been rearranged slightly, to actually make it look more like a throne, with boxes serving as arms. One some of the smaller boxes off to one side, she'll spot her scarf, along with a few other odds and ends -- a necklace, a rolled hide, a wooden block that's been half worn away by a sharp knife, and a hat. With hands on his hips, Drex starts to whistle, not looking behind him as he goes further into the room. The loud stomping makes it easy to follow the sailor's movements, and the whistling even more so. Moving slower, about four or five paces behind, Farideh doesn't make it over the threshold until he's already deeper within the room. Her eyes are giving it a sweep, from floor to ceiling, in particular taking note of her scarf and the throne of boxes. "You've outdone yourself," the brunette notes dryly, moving inward and to the left, searching the shelves with restless eyes. "How'd you find this place?" She glances back at Drex, inquisitive. He does look pretty pleased with himself, all told. With a shrug, Drex answers, "Just went walking. Figured if they don't change the glows too much, no one really gets down here too much." He leans against a stack of boxes, arms folding, a frown sliding over his features. "I met her once, you know." Farideh's fingertips run along the edge of one of the shelves, streaking through the dust, and causing a residual frown of distaste. Her gaze had been wandering off again, but his words pull it back. "You met Lady Issedi?" because there can be no other, just now. "How did that happen?" Rather than insulting, she's openly curious, moving to sit on the floor next to his empty throne, cross-legged. Drex gives a little grin, as if pleased he's surprising her. "He made Itsy and I have dinner with them. Should've seen her in a dress, looking all fancy," he's chuckling at the very memory of it, and it's probably a good thing Itsy isn't here to hear his amusement. "She didn't like me much, kept staring at me when I was eating. Not used to all those fancy," he makes a vague gesture indicating cutlery, "Why can't they use one fork like normal folk?" The he and she are obvious, as much for the emphasis as the fact that he doesn't name the Lord and Lady Reaches specifically. The story gains another frown. "Does Lord Devaki make it a habit of eating with his ship's sailors?" From the way she says it, it sounds as though Farideh finds this unusual. Of Itsy and dresses-- she's conspicuously silent, arranging her skirt around her legs so no bare flesh touches the floor and unwilling to meet his eyes. "Different utensils have different purposes," she says breezily, and then more reserved, "Aren't you sad? You met her? I haven't even, and I'm--" Well. They both saw what happened in the tunnels out there. Another of those shrugs. "Everyone knows Itsy's his favorite," like it's some sort of given. Drex doesn't seem aware of her conspicuous silence, at all, frowning instead at her latter words. "I said I met her, didn't say I knew her. Why would I be sad?" he seems genuinely puzzled at her insistence otherwise. "Itsy." Farideh can't help it. She tries hard to keep the bubble of laughing from bursting, but suddenly she's all giggles behind a hand. "Itsy? Itsy." More giggling. "Lord Devaki's favorite? How absurd." Obviously, she doesn't believe him, but it's better than tears, at least. Some of her laughter subsides enough for her to shoot him a disapproving glance. "You're not sad? That she got murdered?" As she speaks the last word, she goes suddenly still, all her mirth gone as she lifts concerned eyes to Drex; probably just remembered he's confessed to murdering someone. "Why do you think she doesn't want to wait out our ship at the Hold?" Drex says, grinning as she giggles. "Think if we were there long enough they might try and mess with her hair." Which apparently would be terrible. He gives a dismissive shrug, "People get murdered," and he seems awfully casual about it, "Usually because they've done something to deserve it." "I happen to think that her hair would be very pretty if it wasn't all," Farideh waves her hands around her head to indicate the dreadlocks. "Don't you think?" She gives him a wide grin, despite her earlier trepidation. "Lady Issedi? You think Lady Issedi did something to deserve being murdered? She was pregnant. What could a pregnant lady do that would make her deserving of death? Unless it was--" but no, she stops that fount of words and shakes her head, completely dismissing what she was going to say. Drex gives Farideh a look like she's totally crazy. "I like her hair the way it is. It suits her." And that's probably about the extent of his opinion on girl hair. He starts to shrug, like he doesn't really know, but it's hard for him to miss that unfinished sentence. "Unless what?" he asks, suddenly interested, though probably only because he likes being right. "Nothing." Immediate, firm. Farideh's not giving up the goods, and not looking at him either, picking instead at the unraveling threads on the hem of her skirt. Drex continues to stare at her. "C'mon. Who am I gonna tell?" then, guessing, "Did she sleep with someone? That why that Igen Lord was there?" "I have no idea whom Lady Issedi did or didn't sleep with," Farideh says stridently. "I'm sure, being that you've dined with that family, you would know more than I." And then she pushes herself up to her feet again, moving to poke at some boxes on one of the shelves in a continuation of her restless behavior. "I aint exactly best friends with them," Drex says with a snort. "S'long as he still gives us our ship..." the sailor apparently doesn't care what happens to that family. "How kind of you." While Farideh's busy examining the shelves for any long lost treasure and noticeably not looking at Drex, her voice is simply dripping with derision. "Your loyalty is nearly as strong as a bit of yarn." It's possible Drex is actually affronted by that accusation, judging by the sudden sharpness of his reply, and the defensive folding of arms across his chest, "I'm loyal to Itsy, my crew. They're who matter. Not some... rich guy who had the benefit of being shot out of the right pussy." The laundress is in disbelief, with a slack-jawed stare. "What did you just say?" But Farideh doesn't give him any time to reply before she's angrily closing the space between them, and once she's stopped, toe to toe if he hasn't moved back, she's trying to point her finger in his face. "You," breathlessly, furiously, "are a dick. You have no respect for anyone, not even the dead or the ones who feed you." Drex straightens from his slouch against the box, when she storms closer, though he doesn't unfold arms. "Y'heard me. Can't see why I should cry about a women I didn't know and didn't do anything for me, but if you want to waste your time on someone like that," he gives a shrug. Farideh smiles unpleasantly for his response, and while it might look like she's about to cuss him out, her intent is a little more violent. Her hand rears back before moving, swiftly, towards his face in an intended open-palm slap. It's not hard for him to read her intentions when she lifts her hand like that; Drex's arms unfold and he's snatching her her wrist before the slap can connected. "Don't," he warns her with a sudden growl. He's still bruised after all. The sailor leans closer, practically in her face, though his voice is low: "People I've known have died. You avenge them, or you drink to them, but you never fuckin' mourn 'em, or you make it seem like what they did for you was meaningless." There's an outraged gasp when he grabs her wrist, but her struggling ceases when he leans in. Her eyes are round, filled with a mixture of hurt and fear, and her chest rises and falls with quick breaths; if he could feel her pulse in her wrist, it's racing from her agitation. "You don't have to talk about her that way," Farideh says quietly. "Maybe she didn't mean anything to you, but she did to many." Drex doesn't let go of her wrist, not yet, eyes narrowing at her quiet words. "You didn't even know her, and you're crying for her." It could be taken as dismissive, but there's a hint confusion in the sailor's gaze. Exhaling softly, Farideh stares directly into those narrowed eyes. "You've never had anyone that you didn't know well but you respected? For what they stood for? For the ideals they believed in? Lord Devaki and Lady Issedi had a love story." She might look a bit embarrassed, admitting to that, but her gaze hasn't faltered yet. There's a beat, a flicker of movement and memory and certainty in the sailor's gaze. "Itsy was that person. And I've paid her back with my loyalty ever since." Drex, at least, manages not to snort at her talk of a love story, though he does shake his head. "That's what you want? Fairy tales and harper stories." "Itsy," again. There's no disguising the mild annoyance in the singular utterance, but the emotion doesn't bleed into the rest of her words. "It's not a fairytale. It's real, they said. They were a love match." Farideh's nose twitches and her voice gets small, next. "Maybe. No. I don't know. I've never been in love. Have you?" Now he sorts, as if disgusted. "No," Drex says, releasing her wrist, now, straightening. "Sailors don't fall in love and get married." Well, pirates don't, but he doesn't say that. "Why does everyone always think if you love someone you have to get married?" Farideh grumbles, glowering at him appropriately and rubbing her wrist where he'd held it. "Besides, I'm pretty sure there are plenty of sailors who are married." Drex actually looks surprised. "Isn't that what you landlubbers do?" Her correction of his assertion about sailors has him glowering sullenly for a moment, though there's no verbal response. "Holders generally do, but dragonrider's don't." Farideh releases her wrist to rake her fingers through her hair in an absent-minded gesture. "I think, if you love someone, that should be enough. It's not like you can't get a divorce or," she frowns at Drex, "widowed." Drex slouches back onto the wall, still staring at her nevertheless. "You aint a dragonrider." As if that bears pointing out, or she might've forgotten somehow. "Why does that matter? I'm not a mindless idiot. I can choose to do what I want, and love who and how I want," with an uplift of Farideh's chin, stubbornly. "I would think you, of all people, would understand." Drex is looking at her kind of oddly, as if in a new light. "Guess," he concedes, with a grunt of surprise. "You just always seem so... ladylike." Which might be a compliment from anyone else but is probably less so with the way the sailor emphasizes it. Farideh's stubbornness becomes more malleable, her eyes narrowing and focusing on Drex's face. "I am a lady, but that doesn't mean I have to be boring and useless and believe everything everyone tells me to believe just because. I can think for myself," crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't know me at all." And now, Drex grins. "You believed me, 'bout being a murderer." He looks far too pleased with himself for that. The reminder causes Farideh to frown. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?" Her response is spoken levelly, her arms tucking in tighter; protective. A beat. "I didn't murder no one," Drex says. "Just said it to be, you know," one of those half-shrugs. "Funny." It's almost an apology! What does he expect? Forgiveness? Farideh's staring at him with unimpressed eyes, remaining silent down to the last word. "Are you quite done?" because she's waiting, apparently. Not yet. "Yer friend wanted to pretend like I'd murdered her as a joke." Drex says this kind of absently, like it's no big deal, "But I didn't." Nevermind it was because there was nothing in it for him. And there goes the foot, tapping out a calm, slow rhythm while she waits for the suddenly talkative sailor to be quiet. It's a role-reversal! Farideh's got that unimpressed expression on her face, one slim brow lifted, waiting for what else he might need to get off his chest. "Anything else?" Drex finally subsides into silence, with a kind of shrug, that seems to be a no. Farideh keeps staring for a short span, just to be sure, and when it's certain that he's finished, her arms slip down and her hands plunk on her slim hips. She's giving him a considering look. "Are you going to kiss me or not? Because if you're not, I'm going to go find someone who will, instead of standing here and arguing with you all day about fake murders that don't even matter." Drex opens his mouth, then quickly shuts it again. He looks surprised. And he doesn't kiss her. That considering look turns into something shaded by rueful humor. "Have a good day, Drex," and Farideh's turning, picking her skirt up above her feet, as she walks back out the way she came, albeit in a completely different mood. There's a sound, like Drex is taking a breath and he's going to say something. But if it's his intention, it never gets voiced before she leaves. |
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Comments
Itsy (02:35, 9 February 2015 (EST)) said...
"Are you going to kiss me or not? Because if you're not, I'm going to go find someone who will, instead of standing here and arguing with you all day about fake murders that don't even matter."
>.> <.<
Drex (02:42, 9 February 2015 (EST)) said...
>.< Siiiigh.
Being a teenage boy is HARD ok?
No, not like that. But yes, also like that. >.>
Edyis (05:59, 9 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Edyis snickers.
Poor Itsy and her dreadlocks. Seems like someone always has dastardly plans for them.
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