Logs:Dear Faceless Lover
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 5 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Laine |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Laine talk about their concerns early in the morning. |
| Where: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Keysi/Mentions, Lycinea/Mentions, Yesia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| |
| The early hours in the commons this morning are punctuated by the laughter of multiple aunties lounging in chairs, knitting and crocheting and sewing, while they discuss lighter topics; tension still lingers and crackles in the lower caverns from the cave in, and moreover, it's lack of resolution. It's in the remotely safe presence of these elderly women that Farideh's retreated, commandeering the rug in front of the hearth, where she's sitting cross-legged with a pillow in her lap. She's browsing through a well-worn, shoddily-sewn together book, and wears a perpetually bothered expression despite the lack of any outward stimulation, other than the older women, weaving stories of times past. That thick tapestry that hangs over the mouth to the candidate quarters sways, and a sleepy figure still in their sleeping clothes and knuckling tired eyes, shuffles into the warmth of the hearth-heated common room. Some kind soul, probably an early riser, has smuggled in a carafe of klah and a tray of from the living caverns and left it on that old, polished table at the back of the room and, Laine, driven by that heady spiced smell, collects herself a cup before she casts around the cavern with bleary eyes. There's Farideh, and those aunties, and Laine's shambling path takes her directly to the laundress-turned-candidate's rug, where she sinks to a cross-legged seat and grunts what might be a "good morning." Laine's grunt-greeting draws the other girl's attention up from the words on the paper, and she blinks a few time, confusion transforming into fondness. "Morning." Farideh shifts over, opening up a little more room on the rug for her fellow candidate, and sets her book aside. "Did you sleep horribly, too? At first, I think it was Yesia's big mouth flapping. I can hear her snores all the way in the kitchen, sometimes, but I think--" Her lips press tightly and her hazel eyes study Laine's face. "I'm worried. About everyone in the-- have you seen them? Heard anything? I checked, but--" Briefly, her eyes flick to the aunties, and then back to the other brunette. "They said not yet." The tanner buries her nose in her mug for a gulp of that lukewarm klah. When she emerges, it's to lean back, propping herself on one braced arm and balancing the mug on her bent knee, gazing into the crackling hearth. "I swear. She doesn't need food. Or sleep. Just gossip and dirty looks." Yesia, the little scamp. Laine yawns, turning her head into her shoulder to obscure it, then nods slowly. "I feel so useless." Laine's jaw tightens, working without words. She drinks, again, and sets her cup down. "Crafter complex is buzzing," she murmurs. "'Cept us." Us tanners. And: "No. Not yet." A slow, side-to-side wag of her head. "Keysi's in there." Laine's bunkmate neighbour. "I doubt she's used to anything else." Not that that makes it any better, Farideh's tone and frown seem to imply. "They should toss her between when they bring her back home." There's no other option, no dragon for Yesia, in her mind; there can't be. "How does tunnel just cave in? It seemed perfectly secure and fine, and--" She sighs and wraps her skinny arms around the pillow, holding it up to her chest so she can rest her chin on it, all the while staring at Laine with wide, worried eyes. "Keysi," she murmurs sullenly, "and my friend Lya. Both." Beat. "I went there, while the Weyrleader was, and we tried to cheer them up. I don't think it helped. They must be so scared." There's a nearly-imperceptible wince and Laine's grey eyes flick suddenly up from her mug and over at Farideh. Her tone isn't quite scolding, but sharp nonetheless. "Don't joke about that. Yesia sucks, but. Don't." Now that her gaze is fixed on Farideh, Laine searches the other girl's face, her thick brows drawing in over tired, half-lidded eyes. She doesn't speak for a long moment, then lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug. She doesn't speculate. "It must be horrible," Laine echoes. "Can't imagine." Her voice and slumping posture is just as sullen's as Farideh when the apprentice mumbles, "I took 'em some little--balls. To play with. It was stupid." Stupid, stupid, her head shakes to punctuate her words. There's a nearly-imperceptible wince and Laine's grey eyes flick suddenly up from her mug and over at Farideh. Her tone isn't quite scolding, but sharp nonetheless. "Don't joke about that. Yesia sucks, but. Don't." Now that her gaze is fixed on Farideh, Laine searches the other girl's face, her thick brows drawing in over tired, half-lidded eyes. She doesn't speak for a long moment, then lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug. She doesn't speculate. "It must be horrible," Laine echoes. "Can't imagine." Her voice and slumping posture is just as sullen's as Farideh when the apprentice mumbles, "I took 'em some little--balls. To play with. It was stupid." Stupid, stupid, her head shakes to punctuate her words. "It's not a joke. I think I hate her," Farideh admits, with another sullen pout. "You can't say she's pleasant or fun to be around, or even that she deserves to be here." Her lips puff up and out, and her brow lowers, to make an angry face. "Stupid, stupid girl," Yesia, of course. Then, she deflates, and snuggles up closer to the pillow. "How's that stupid? Anything to help. I would bring them books, but it's not likely they can see in there, even with a hundred glows, or even pen a letter." She sighs. "Can you sing? You could sing them a song, or--" Back to the drawing board. Mouth pinching and pulling to one side, the tanner again shakes her head. "You can't hate her. You don't even know her. Not," Laine hurries to add, belaying comment from Farideh with narrowed, defensive eyes, "that I don't think she's a total bitch. She is. But. Dragons searched her, or she asked, and someone decided she could stand. Same as us." She drops the subject, setting her mug aside so she can lay back fully, stretching her arms above her head. Then there's a laugh, low and curt, but earnest. "No. Can't sing. And there's that apprentice always posted here--bet he hears the weirdest stuff. Sees it." She considers an auntie from her upside-down vantage. "Take 'em some cards, maybe. Big numbers of 'em, like the aunties and uncles use. Flowers?" "And it's fine for her to go around making assumptions and starting rumors? Don't I have the right given all the things she's said?" Farideh lifts her head from the pillow, expression both defensive and mutinous. "I think whoever made that decision, made a horrible one, which is not the only one that's been made, lately," with narrowed eyes and just a hint of suggestion. There's a huff of annoyance, and a sideways slant of her green-brown eyes. "How could they see the cards? And that's assuming they know how to play." Pause. "Flowers?" she asks, vaguely amused. "What would they do with flowers? Could bring them--" Her eyes widen and she glances over at the aunties, knitting. "'Thread. Needles. You don't need to see to do that." So sprawled on the shaggy carpet, Laine's forced to angle her head so she can meet Farideh's eyes with her own--mild and unperturbed, she wriggles in what might be a lazy-shouldered shrug. "No, 'course not. Didn't say that." What energy it took to lift her head exhausted, she sinks back and tips her chin to watch those chattering aunties. "Just--don't joke about killing her. There's enough shit going around right now." Laine extends a hopeful compromise: "I'll trip her in the hallway to class." Then there's a silence. Eventually: "Pretty sure they've got glows in there." And an amused curve of Laine's lips. "You think there's more people in there who know how to sew than play cards?" The compromise is met with another narrowed eye look, though her lips twitch, with what might be ill-suppressed humor. "Fine," is Farideh's concession, dipping her head in acquiescence. Now they can move onto other pressing matters, like what to get the victims in the cave in that can be done in dim lighting. "I don't know, but there's always time to try. Learning to crochet takes more time than it does to learn cards, and it's mindless work, with repetition. Cards could make them frustrated if they lose or can't figure out the strategy, but needle work-- that's promising. What else would you have them do?" She frowns at the other candidate. "Finger paints? Kneading dough?" "Shells, Farideh." Brows creasing, Laine squirms uncomfortably and flops over onto her stomach, earning herself a disapproving toe-nudge from the nearest auntie, sensibilities offended by stray candidates writhing around on the floor. Laine ignores it, propping her chin in her hands and gazing up at Farideh under her eyelashes. "They're not gonna be in there forever. If I was in there, someone tried to tell me to learn to crochet, I'd throw the yarn right back out again. Much rather cards, myself." She pulls a face for Farideh's ridiculous suggestions. So, in a similarly facetious vein, she offers: "Start squeezing chores in there for them. Butter churning. Toss them a broom, get 'em to sweep out the hallways back there. They'd love that." "No, of course they aren't going to be in there forever, but we don't know how long. It could be days, or weeks, or months. I'm just saying it's an option," Farideh says, defensively. "They're going to get them out. Why shouldn't they occupy themselves until then instead of sitting in the dark and being bored. They can't even take a proper bath or use the latrines." She sighs and shifts, uncomfortably, watching Laine from beneath lowered, furrowed brow. "It was a suggestion. At least, something more than cards and balls--" That's definitely a pout, after. As Farideh speaks, those heavy-lidded grey eyes widen and thick eyebrows creep higher. Laine, shifting her weight to one elbow, has two fingers in her mouth, clipping at the nails with her teeth, as she solemnly watches the other candidate. Once the tanner is certain that Farideh's finished, she offers in a conciliatory way, "it was a good suggestion. They should occupy themselves. You're right." And Laine's words are sincere, despite that flicker of chagrin in her downcast eyes. She continues, earnestly, with firm faith: "But they're going to get out before long. The smiths and woodcrafters know what they're doing. They're good at what they do. Won't have time to learn how to crochet." Not a single word leaves the skinny brunette's lips while Laine speaks, and even at the end she's hesitant, her frown severe. "I don't know what to do then." Farideh looks down at the rug she's sitting on, chewing on the inside of her lip while she thinks. She's quiet for a bit longer, before finally glancing up. "I want to do something to show them - Keysi, Lya - that I care, that I'm worried, that everything will be fine, but what can I do? I'm just a candidate. I've not got any power or marks to push for a resolution, no clout to insist on round-the-clock attempts. What do we do?" Laine chews her finger, her grey eyes trained on Farideh as she speaks, thoughtful and somewhat wistful. At that last question, she doesn't answer, looking down and away--inspecting her ragged fingers, running her thumb over the broken nail. Slowly, uncertainly, the tanner says, "I don't know." There's a look, now, hestitant and fitful, up at the other candidate. "I think... the only thing we can do is go there. Be there for them. Talk to them. Tell-- tell them you care, that you're worried." Laine searches Farideh's face, as though she might find a better answer, then brings her hand down, suddenly, an angry fist that strikes the carpet harmlessly. "Can't do anything else." It's a sad, exhausted expression that settles, pulling her gaze down again, deflating any anger leftover. "Do you know how hard that is to do when there's always other people around? When there's always that crafter on duty? It's not that I don't know the words, but-- it's weird, telling someone something, through a hole in the wall." Farideh's lips purse and then flatten, her eyes searching out Laine again. "Are you that close to Keysi? I wish I knew her-- better. Before this. So I could be more-- comforting? When I went and tried to talk to Lya, she just cried, but she thinks I'm mad at her." "No." Laine shifts herself so she can stare into the crackling hearth, not looking at Farideh. "I don't know her that well." She bites her lip, falls silent for another breath. "You could write her a letter? I know they have glows in there. Seen them passing them in. That way you can tell her how you feel," her mouth quirks, even though she's turned away from the other candidate, perhaps aware that she sounds like she's talking about two jilted lovers. "Why would you be mad at her?" Puzzled. "I want to, when she gets out," is a random admission, and has Farideh shifting uncomfortably again, almost embarrassedly. "I doubt she would read it. I hate writing letters, besides, unless it's some kind of juicy love letter. Something scandalous, probably." She rubs her fingers over the coarse fur of the rug, idly. "Dear faceless lover, I thought of you today while I took my bath. My bathmates were never the wiser--" Remarkably, she keeps a straight face, and even slants Laine a look at the end. "Because she's got a big mouth and went around, telling people things she shouldn't, and acting all high and mighty, so we had a spat. But I can't be mad at her now, not when she's stuck in a wall." "Why wait? Planning to write one anyway." Failing to see the logic in that, Laine grimaces at the fire, then, struck by an idea, rolls over again so she's once again on her back and facing Farideh and there's a brightness in her eyes. "Write her one. Just like that. Big dramatic letter to your forsaken lover. She'd be crazy not to read it. Get a letter like that, you know someone's not mad at you. I mean, don't write the sexy bits." She hesitates, eyes narrowing for half an instant, as though considering the merits of including the sexy bits. But that passes. "I don't think that Lya would get the humor. She doesn't understand attraction or kissing or men," Farideh says, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling; her smile is fond. "I've tried to talk to her about those things before and she hates it. I'm sure she would get madder and throw the letter back out, and then everyone would read my business, including that crafter who hovers around." She heaves a dramatic sigh, dropping her chin back down onto her pillow. "I tried telling her that story. I thought I would make it sound familiar, you know, but the Weyrleader was there and he made it so droll. About morals and virtues, and blah blah." Laine fills her cheeks with air, holds that breath, then exhales it all at once as she makes a dismissive, I-give-up gesture. "Well. Clearly she'll be mad at you forever, in that black hole, 'til she dies--shells, Farideh, it bothers you, just talk to her. I'll lure away the crafter-sentinel with my little boobs, you need some privacy so bad." Laine: a strong advocate for Just Talking It Out. "No one cares about your business half as much as you do," the tanner comments--it's not an accusation, or even intended harshly, only a observation, and she attempts to soften the blow of it with a wan smile, one that hikes up a notch at Farideh's last words. "Typical Weyrleader," Laine drawls. "Would you?" Farideh looks impressed by the offer, and then experimentally tips her head back and forth, eyes pinned somewhere above the hearth. "That is a generous offer, Laine. I didn't know you cared that much." Her smile stretches and her eyes practically shine with laughter. "No one else will appreciate it half as much. You're right, though. That I should talk to her. Not about the rest. Yesia would love to know who I think about during my baths." Shrugging, she loosens her arms and lets the pillow drop back into her lap, fingers kneading into the plushness of it. "Have you met him? K'del?" Laine, still on her back, motions at her small breasts with an idle wave. "There's nothing impressive going on there, so all I can promise is to try." That light in Farideh's eyes is met with outright laughter on Laine's part, her fingers lacing over her stomach as she looks up at her fellow candidate. "Okay. Point about Yesia. But we've already established that Yesia sucks buckets. No, I haven't." Met him. K'del. "Trying is as good as caring, really." Farideh sighs and pushes up with the pads of her hands, slipping into a crouch first, where she can give Laine a downward-angled, sunny smile. "You should. He's-- interesting. How did you say it? Typical Weyrleader--" There's a hand wave, where she almost unbalances and tips over, but she catches herself and then pushes all the way up to stand. "I have to go to work, but, it was nice chatting. I'll see you soon?" And with that, she bends to grab both pillow and book, and flounces her way, Farideh style, out of the commons, towards the dorms. |
Leave A Comment