Logs:Learning Not To Share
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| RL Date: 30 December, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh has a present for Drex. |
| Where: Resident Dorms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 8, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm. |
| Mentions: Itsy/Mentions, Lycinea/Mentions, Tomic/Mentions, Z'riah/Mentions |
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| Good little boys and girls are tucked into their cots, dreaming sweet dreams of becoming outstanding crafters and infamous dragonriders, but Farideh doesn't fall into that category. She's strayed from her smaller niche in the resident dorms, and has planted herself on someone else's cot; it's been this way for over an hour, when she dropped onto the bedding with a flounce and a spare blanket. But given time's passed and its occupant hasn't shown up, she's presently lying down at the end, her legs hanging off, with a fluffy ball of kitten held in the air above her head. She's making those annoying sounds she likes to make at it, though it cries in protest, and disturbs everyone else around her. Whomever sleeps here, whomever she's waiting for, is going to have annoyed neighbors to deal with later. Neither does Drex fall into any category above, slouching his way into the dorms long after most are asleep, making his way by habit rather than anything towards his cot. He's not paying much attention to the occupants, again by habit, passing a snoring healer apprentice, and a group of weyrbrats. It's only as he sights his cot that he slows, and then frowns. When he gets moving again, his long legs take him to his cot, where he stares down at her. And the kitten. "If you wanted me to have the kitten that badly, you had only to ask. I was gonna steal it from you when I get my ship, anyway. Be happier there." He does, mostly keep his voice low in deference to his neighbors. The kissy-face she'd been making at the feline melts into a smile when the laundress spots the cot's owner, and she pushes up on one elbow. "Wonderful, you're here, and no, she's mine. She would probably get washed overboard and die," so shameful, her moue says. "We got a new load of blankets in with the tithes, fresh from weaver, and, fresh." Farideh's moving - after setting the kitten down - to grab the cozy pile of knit she's brought along, offering up with her two hands. "Smells like flowers, see?" Freshly laundered - peace offering? There's a roll of eyes from the sailor. "They stay below decks during storms. They're not dumb," Drex says, with an implication of like some people. When she sets the kitten down, Drex steps over and settles on the cot, running fingers against the blanket in an enticing, to be caught temptation for the little creature. It might be a mistake given his attention shifts away from the kitten and to Farideh, perplexed. "Flowers ain't my thing," he says, staring at the blankets. "What happens if your ship-- sinks?" That wasn't an insult, surely; just another innocent comment. Farideh holds the blanket out farther, obviously trying to shove it in his face. "You don't like things that smell nice? Beats sleeping in the cold, damp, and musty, right?" She's got a hopeful gleam in her eyes - or, is that a feral? Hard to tell. Kitten chases what it's given to chase, pouncing on the bedding, with little care for its tiny claws that pierce. "That happened once," is said derisively, Drex rolling his eyes. His nose wrinkles as she shoves the blanket towards him, and he yelps and snatches his fingers back as the kitten successfully strikes. Sucking his index finger, he stares at her a moment over it. "There's this girl," he waves, to a cot vaguely over the other side of the room, "That wears a flower scent so strong you can tell she's been in a room five minutes after she's left. It gives me a headache." But, she's trying to be nice, and he says, "Just put it on the press. Maybe Itsy'd like it," he grudgingly says. Attention momentarily diverted, towards that vague cot over there, but it slides easily back to Drex with renewed purpose. Farideh's shoulders droop and she frowns at him over the mound of cable-knit blanket-y goodness. "You haven't tried it," she accuses with scrunched brows. "I didn't bring it for her. I'll bring her a brush." Drex stares at Farideh like she's lost her mind. "Why would you give her a brush?" "For her hair," Farideh says in a mockery of a whisper, letting the blanket, her hands cushioned under, fall into her lap. Her eyes drop from Drex, only to stare at the kitten, who's still pouncing around on the cot with wild abandon. "I'm curious to see what it would look like brushed," and her eyes flick back up to the sailor. "Have you seen her hair?" Drex retorts, probably louder than he means to. "The whole idea is not to need a brush." He's recovered enough from his earlier injury that he's game to slide a hand under the sheet and provide further distraction for the kitten. "Who wouldn't want to brush their hair? Despite what you and she think," Farideh rolls her eyes, this time, "she is a girl." That's big talk right there, and she breaks her nice behavior to favor him with a glare, but just after, it's right back to the blanket. "Aren't you tired? You could lie down and get comfortable, and use this nice, new blanket to sleep with?" Hint, hint. Smile. Farideh's declaring of Itsy being a girl earns a snort from Drex. "Fine, if it'll get rid of you," he reaches for the blanket. Drex's giving in earns him a wide, happy smile from the laundress, but it's more his win than hers; that blanket is pretty cozy, and warm, and a marshmallow-y kind of smooshy. "Lovely," is all Farideh says, scooping the kitten up into her arms, where she layers on more affection and praise. Drex sniffs the blanket, a little suspiciously, before tossing it onto the cot, making a few wiggling motions under it to try and attract the kitten's attention again. "Well, you gonna sit there and watch me sleep?" he says to her, staring. "No," Farideh says grudgingly, while the feline is busy squirming to get away and back to the wiggling thing under the blanket; she lets go, also grudgingly, and crosses her arms with the faintest traces of dissent. "You could say thank you." What's more disconcerting is the fact that the feline is clearly happier playing with Drex's fingers than being smothered under Farideh's affections. That's definitely a pout. He stares at her again for a long moment. Maybe he's distracted by the kitten, because only after a while, does he say, "Thanks." With a sudden grin, Drex says, "You could leave her with me. She likes me better." Apparently she isn't the only one to notice. Acknowledgement of his gratitude is given in a pert nod, and then she's back to staring balefully at that erstwhile kitten of hers. "Why would I do that? She's mine. You could have picked one, there were three." Farideh's gaze shifts to Drex, her brow puckered and her lips likewise. Thinking. "You got one, and that rider, and that other guy." Drex points out. "Besides, they're distracting when they're little. I'll wait till yours is older." "Why can't you take one from one of them, then? Or any other kitten anywhere!" Frustration - it's a foot stamp, at Drex, with all the pent up teenage aggression she can muster. "You can't take her away," Farideh says, bending down to collect her kitten, and slanting the tall boy a stern look. "Maybe if you asked nice, we could share." "I don't want to share," Drex says, with a shrug. He looks almost pleased with himself when Farideh snatches up the kitten, almost like he was deliberately goading her. "Find a kitten somewhere else, then," the brunette growls at him, clutching her cat to her chest, again, where it mewls in objection. "Lya was right. You are a dumb boy," which is definitely one of the more mature things she's ever said. Farideh makes a face at Drex and turns, prepared to leave. "Have a great night. I hope you sleep so well." There's a bit of a smug quality to her face when she gives him one last farewell glance, but she absolutely doesn't tell him what she's put in his pillow. Yup. Drex looks pretty satisfied with himself, and even as Farideh is leaving, he's pulling off his boots and sliding under the covers. He's going to get a good night's sleep! Maybe. |
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