Logs:Touchy
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| RL Date: 21 June, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Faryn |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex and Faryn happen upon each other at the Hold's winter gather; Drex shows her his ship - and is generally touchy. |
| Where: High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 21, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Itsy/Mentions, Fadra/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions |
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| It seems the weather has made good for High Reaches' winter gather, with a cloudless day and a hint of sunshine, though the temperature is cold enough that it barely touches the snow that already covers the ground. This is probably for the best, since the gather seems to focus around snow activities, from sledding to snowman making to less structured activities for the younger visitors. The trees of the orchard may be bare of leaves and fruit, but it makes for a nice setting for the tents set up amongst them, some tying ribbons of different colors to the tree to indicate the sort of food or items they have on offer. Drex is seated at the tables set up near the food and drink, barrels housing bonfires to keep the area relatively warm. There's several others nearby, the group rowdy and loud, barely noticing when Drex stands, lets out a burp, and trudges unseeingly amongst the tables for the main thoroughfare. Faryn could almost pass for a boy, the way she's bundled herself up. She's never been particularly feminine in shape, so with the oversized jacket and a thick wool hat pulled down over her head, her braid tucked somewhere within, and her cheeks reddened from cold, she approximates a twelve-turn-old in appearance. Even so, she's still managed a drink and a plate of tiny rolls and tacitly expressed her low tolerance for the cold by posting somewhere in the center, between a bonfire and one of the tents, making conversation with the woman who is tying what looks to be a hundred green ribbons on the overhanging branches. She's not entirely interested, and her gaze wanders to the others in the area with curiosity if not interest, until it lands on Drex, whose face is familiar enough that she works to place it. When it clicks, she calls at him, "Oi! How's your ship?" Drex takes several steps past Faryn without second look, before he seems to realize she's talking to him, stopping, and scowling back in that direction. "Fine," he starts to growl, expression fading into something less antagonistic when he recognizes her, after a moment. His, "Oh. You," isn't overly enthusiastic, but: "She's good. Can give you a tour sometime, if you aint gonna get that seasick in dock," he lifts and drops his shoulder in the minutest of shrugs, something suspicious creeping into his gaze as he stares at her. Faryn's eyebrows shoot up at that growl. "Touchy. You sure she's not sick?" the herder asks him, cautiously. "If she's not, I'd like that. I can't promise anything - I think I got seasick at port when I was little - but I usually do alright to get it overboard, at worst." Maybe she's kidding. Or maybe not. Either way. She excuses her self politely from the merchant to close the volume of their conversation after someone moves through the large gap between them, saying, apparently in good and talkative cheer, "Want a roll?" offering the plate, and, "You docked here all winter?" Another of those half-finished shrugs, before Drex says, "Long as you clean it up," with an abrupt grin, as if maybe he'd enjoy it either way. He watches her approach, silently, shakes his head at the offer of a roll, and shifts his weight on to his heels, frowning at her. "Unfortunately," is his assessment. "Gonna winter at Ista next Turn. Should've, this Turn," with a grimace. He glances around, as if to see who's near enough to hear, before he asks her abruptly: "Do they treat you differently, now?" Faryn pops one of the mini rolls in her mouth with a shrug - his loss. "I'd choose Ista every time, if I could," she agrees easily enough, tipping her head a little. A ditance away, a group of very small children are playing between the tents, laying there and making snow angels while the adults chatter away at their table. "Snow's got its appeal, I guess, but not quite enough." Her smile at the children flickers and fades, though, and she turns back to him, confused. "I'm sorry?" Drex stares at her for a moment, then with a muttered, "Nevermind," turns and stalks off between the tables. Stomps, more accurately, kicking up tufts of snow as he goes. "You - wait no, come back here. Don't stomp off like I just hurt your feelings. I'm not Farideh, I'm not going to chase you." It's not so much a threat, as a fact. Faryn stands there watching him, perplexed and a little amused, though she does seem to always have that little smirk. "I just don't know who you were talking about. My dad's a sailor and even he knows how to use nouns before he uses pronouns. Shards." It's not the accusation of hurt feelings so much as her mention of Farideh that makes the sailor stop, turn, and glower at her. Drex has stomped far enough that it's not precisely a subtle conversation anymore, folding arms across his chest. "You'd know what I meant if you knew, unless you're playing dumb about it," and he eyes her suspiciously like she might just be doing that. "The ever-present they? The they we use whenever we feel like something's gone wrong?" Faryn asks, though she's slower about it, not yelling back, possibly just loud enough to hear. The rumors if she had a shouting match with Drex. He's at least stopped, though, and she takes it upon herself to smile apologetically at the people nearby - don't mind my friend, he hit his head - and close the distance again, echoing, "You'd know what I meant if you knew. I don't play dumb about anything. So, since I am so ignorant, who and what are you talking about?" "Nevermind," Drex repeats, more firmly this time. He's used to getting attention, just as he's used to ignoring it. "I need a fucking drink." Now, he changes his path, and his direction, setting a slower pace that might be considered inviting. Faryn holds her hands up defensively. "Fine," she says, almost mocking, rolling her eyes. If it's an invitation - and if it's not - she follows him anyways, filling her own drink when they make it to the drinks table and looking at him like he's something foreign to her. "Sorry. For whatever's got you all pissed off." He's silent while they wait in line, arms still crossed, expression set. For his part, Drex gets beer -- and not even nice beer, just the cheapest there, knocking back half of it while still at the table, collecting a second to carry with him as they're forced to make room for others waiting to follow them. Her apology gets a sidelong look, a lift-and-drop of shoulder in one motion, before he gestures towards a table and slumps into a seat. "Aint your fault. Weyrfolk are just... different." He leans forward. "Your ma was a sailor, right?" After some contemplation of her half-empty glass, and Drex's acquisition of a second beer, Faryn gets another as well. She carries hers along as well, slipping into a seat opposite him and looking at him closely. "Well, yes. That comes with the dragon. Or before it. Hard to tell. Who even knows." It's her turn to shrug, dismissively. "Yes. Before she Impressed." Drex's face ripples through a variety of expressions, too quickly to interpret. He drains the rest of the first glass, pushing the mug towards the edge of the table, leaning back. "Why would she give it up?" Being a sailor, presumably. "Doesn't even make any sense." Faryn misses those expressions, or doesn't have anything to say since she can't decipher them, so she just takes a drink and thinks about it. "I don't know," she says. "She was younger than me, when she did it. I don't really pretend to understand her, most of the time." Her mouth turns down at the corners. "You regret not Standing?" "No," Drex replies, immediately and sharply. "Fuck, no. I belong on the sea," he sounds immensely sure of that. "Just," a pause, while he takes a generous gulp of his second beer, "Hard to make people understand what that means to a sailor." He's watching her a little warily, like he's not sure she'll understand, either. A sharp bark of laughter prefaces, "You probably got the best of it, then. They're always busy, and tired, and stuck in lessons. I see them more now, but for a while?" She waves her hand so as to say, forget about it. Resting her elbows on the table, she eventually huffs a low laugh. "I suppose it would be. I can't say I understand it, but then again, I can't keep my lunch, so I imagine nobody holds it against me when I don't like going out to sea. I don't think I love anything the way some sailors love being out there, but I've seen it." Drex gives a dismissive shake of his head, as if he doesn't much care what the weyrlings were doing. There's somewhat of a disappointment in the sailor's expression at Faryn's response, swallowing another mouthful of beer before he sits up. "If you want to see her, ought to do it before the sun goes down." It's an offer even with the warning, draining the rest of his beer. Faryn frowns at him for his disappointment, but manages to bite her tongue on it. She's happy enough for the offer though, something that (ostensibly) makes Drex happy, company more like the drunkard she met in the hayloft and not this...negative nancy. "Okay," she agrees without hesitating. "Don't know when I'll make it down here again, anyways. Maybe not before you leave again." The glass slams down, not with anger, but with the sort of gusto that one does when appreciating the drink. Pushing to his feet, Drex waits long enough to be sure Faryn's ready before he leads the way down towards the docks. The ship is impressive, as ships go -- and it's clear the sailor is proud of it, pointing out the height of the mast ("the largest the seacrafters have done to date" might be a boast, or might not), talking through the figurehead they've chosen, and other such nautical features. The sailor is clearly animated and proud of her -- the ship that's talked about like a fond mistress. That Drex accompanies a girl that is not Itsy gets some looks and guffaws from the other crew on board, but perhaps mercifully it's at best a skeleton staff. And well, she's lucky, if she does happen to get sea sick, Drex might well tag one of them to clean up. Tillek-bred and born of sailors, Faryn has the proper respect for the ship, even if she goes slightly green in the first few minutes of being on board. She doesn't lose her tiny meatrolls (they have to pause for a long while though, just to be safe) and as she gets a little more comfortable with the broad rocking of the big ship, she also goes back to her natural tone. So, no, nobody has to clean up a mess just yet, and moreover, she ignores the cre except for one scathing look that she can't quite tamp down. She grins at Drex's boasting, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, properly 'ooo'ing and 'aww'ing when it's appropriate, and she knows the parts of the ship, and what makes the craftsmanship fine aboard it. "My da's just got a fishing boat, much smaller." She shows him with her hands, obviously exaggerating, since they're about a foot apart. "This is so much different. You could fit my family on here. What do you do? You never said. Not fishing." Which is to say, that would be a total waste.
The way his demeanor has changed is not lost on the herder, not for a moment, and she graces him with an easy smile in return. "I see why you're proud. And why you missed her. She's as impressive as you said she was." She has a chuckle for his complaint, shaking her head. "Life's waiting for important people to do important things, though. It's not fun, just is. Can't get around it, except to be important yourself, I think." Her tone suggests she's not even sure that would do it, but it's as good an option as any. For Itsy, Faryn shakes her head. "Nah. It's okay, anyways. Get me up there, I'm sure to chuck on someone's bed and then there'll be trouble." Drex nods, and the nod is kind of of course she is, as if he's not in the least surprised by Faryn's words. There's a snort, either for her talk of important people, or getting around it by being one. "Reckon she'd be pissed. Could be fun," like he's considering it for a moment. "Maybe another time." He's heading for the gangplank instead, for the relative stability of the docks instead. "For you," murmurs Faryn darkly, though not entirely seriously. And she echoes his maybe, but seems more inclined to disembark for something that rocks not the least underfoot. "When do you plan to leave again?" she asks curiously as she steps off. Drex looks distractedly thoughtful as he strides along the dock, belatedly glancing towards her. "When the weather's better. Spring," is suggested, with a shrug. "Before that, if the storms finish early." There might be a why in the look, though it goes unvoiced. "Figured," she says, without answering why at all. "She's very nice," the herder repeats with a glance back at the ship again. "Makes me a little sad I can't try it once. My parents were so disappointed. I think that's why my mum put me at Tillek in the first place, and didn't just foster me in the weyr. Ah, well." When they reach land again, fully off the docks, she adds, almost afterthought, "Thanks for showing me. I'm glad you got her back. Keeps you out of my hayloft." "Some people get over it out on the open sea," Drex half-suggests, after a moment of silence, shooting another sidelong glance at her. His gaze, too, goes back to the ship, smile tugging his lips upwards. "Aye, she is." And then, with an amused snort: "Your hayloft? It was mine before it was yours. Might claim it back again one day," he threatens, though without any weight behind it. "So I've heard. It didn't work. We couldn't get to port fast enough. I thought I'd die first." Faryn sounds rueful about it. And for his threat? "Pff. You commandeered it, in absence of that back there." A gesture over her shoulder: the ship, the sea. "You can't have the best of both worlds." "Sounds like you half-assed it," Drex accuses, with a snort. "I mean, you only thought you'd die... that's weak." A half-completed shrug, and a grin: "It was good. Runners don't complain 'bout the noise." His easy demeanor changes visibly at her latter words, hardening into something else. "Aye." Then, gruffly: "Ought to back back to her. Let a few more of the crew get out to the gather." He's already turning on a heel to stride back towards the dock. "Weak's not the worst thing I've been called," Faryn observes good-naturedly. She can't miss the change in his mood - too abrupt - but she already told him: she's not chasing it. All she does to acknowledge it is to purse her lips and knit her brows in a displeased expression that might be a little worried. "Equal opportunity party," is what she says instead of his dismissal. She pulls her coat closer around her, in anticipation of the short walk back. "G'night, Drex. Tell me, before you go. Maybe I'll try again." There's likely no truth to it, but he won't get a chance to see, because she turns to stride quickly back for the orchards, and the warmth of the bonfires before the sun is gone. |
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