Logs:Downtime
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| RL Date: 15 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Everett |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: During their respective down times, Farideh and Everett chat, and then there's some flattery. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| The garden patio has fantastic vantages of the bowl this afternoon; from there, not taking into account the full expanse of sunshine its exposed to and the errant breezes, one can see far and wide, even the lake on the other side. It's here that Farideh's camped out, sitting at one of the tables by herself, with a small spread of hides in front of her. Her hands are wrapped around a mug, that she sips from intermittently, as she reads whatever is sprawled across the pages. She's unbothered by the other people on the repurposed ledge, even if she occasionally looks up to note certain voices or faces amongst those that come and go. Everett's due to work, but not for hours, yet. There's something to be said for time to relax, but also something to be said for not hanging out at work. Here, the next best thing: He's been able to snag a beer and head outside to where the fresh air is. Two birds, one stone. Or three, maybe three. The glass gets set down on the table, and then he bends like he might have a look at what Farideh's reading. "Is this seat taken?" First, her eyes fall on the glass he sets down, before they left to the bartender it belongs to. "You're--" Farideh's eyebrows twinge together and then smooth, her lips thinning into a smile. "It's not. Have a seat, if you like," she replies, setting her own mug aside to pull the hides into a neater, closer pile; her hands eventually fold on top. Someone with less aplomb might comment wildly on his intrusion, but she merely studies Everett curiously and notes: "It's a lovely day." "Everett," on cue, without the slightest delay. "It is a lovely day, and I thought, you know, if I were outside on a lovely day, I wouldn't want to be working. So," he says as he pulls out a chair and deposits himself in it, "I thought I might give you a break. If you want it." He's settling in, though, now, taking up the glass in one hand, apparently content to the idea that the invitation is a genuine one. "Everett," Farideh repeats, with confidence and a more generous smile. "While I quite like the idea of relocating the Snowasis outside-- we aren't much like Ista, with their beachside bars. It would be a nasty habit to start when the snow came." She wrinkles her nose at the idea; only half serious. "How did you know I was working?" she poses, leaning back in her seat, her arms cradling across her torso. "I could be writing poems or reading love letters from my many, many admirers," she tosses at him, her lips only briefly quirking in amusement. There's a drink, and then Everett eyes her over the glass. "You were reading, not writing. If it was a love letter..." He holds the glass in both hands, close to his chest. "You wouldn't want to let it so far away, I think. I know the look of a lady having a nice time, and that wasn't it." He sets the glass down. "I suppose bartenders are good at reading people." Farideh considers him at length again, her lips pursed. "You chose to spend your off time-- here? Drinking?" she asks, not hiding her amusement at his chose of downtime. "Usually, I stay away if I can." "Sometimes. It's that or sit on my bunk playing solitaire." Pack of cards produced from a pocket, possibly just to ensure that this can't be mistaken for a metaphor, then slipped away again. "I don't know a lot of people here. Yet. I have to start from somewhere, and at least this is familiar territory." A slight pause. "Besides, a beer is hardly drinking. It's just a beer." Proven by having a drink from it, obviously. "Why stay away?" "No? Bartenders would make instant friends, I would think. Too many friends. Plenty of unwanted friends-- none of the drunks? The whole lot of them," Farideh sighs, shrugging one shoulder. "But then, I've never been a bartender, so I suppose I wouldn't know for sure." Her eyes flick from his face to his beer and back. "It's not official yet, but between me and Irianke, we'll be handling the day-to-day running of the Weyr, the politics, the people. I love High Reaches, but sometimes-- sometimes it's nice to get away, and be around people who don't want something, don't have expectations, don't have disparaging thoughts about you." No interruptions, though all of this. A couple more sips from his glass, a few sympathetic nods, attentive eyes. At the end, then, only after a respectful pause: "Everybody wants something from a bartender, especially the drunks, but that's not much of a friend. You get so little back. Most people don't even bother to smile, or say thank you." Everett smiles, though. He at least does that. "And you try so hard to make them happy, to do everything right." "The drunks have the best gossip though. Things I would never hear anywhere else-- except, maybe the laundry or the kitchens, but sometimes that's secondary. They're happy to share what happens in the wings, then." Farideh relaxes back and slants a preoccupied glance to a couple holding hands as they descend the steps into the bowl. "Yes. You owe it to yourself to get away from this every once in a while, however new. Don't you visit home?" Her glance shifts, so does his. Mirror, with a slight delay. "There isn't much left at home, for me. Family, but not family I'm in a big hurry to spend time with." Surely this can't come as any big shock--who would relocate to the Weyr, otherwise? "And I have to arrange transportation to go away, I can't just do it on a whim." But it's not a pure rejection of the idea, just a thoughtful musing on the subject. "But I admit, if you can go anywhere you like, whenever you like, I don't know why you aren't doing your work on a beach somewhere." "Are you a loner? You don't have family you like to spend time with and you aren't quick to make friends," Farideh says, returning her focus to the bartender. "Not that being a loner is a bad thing-- it's just surprising, in someone who chooses to live-- here. There's no peace and quiet." Ever, her tone implies. "Wouldn't that be nice?" she says, her smile edging into an effortless grin. "I might never come back, though, and that wouldn't be good. Leaving High Reaches to the whim of a foreigner," is noted, a bit dryly. This seems to take Everett a few moments to consider. Longer than just a drink, longer than two drinks, so--two drinks and then a little longer of staring at his glass. "I wouldn't think so, but I haven't had the easiest time finding a place where I fit. I think here might be it, but it's too soon to tell." He's slowed down, saying it, like even now he's still piecing the words together, carefully. "Sometimes quiet is good. Sometimes it's not. There's quiet, and then there's 'left to stew with your own thoughts for too many hours'." His drink this time is quicker, like it might wash the last words away. The goldrider is patient in that she waits, without interrupting, for the man to finish thinking and come up with the words, and then offers a sympathetic smile. "Have you thought about standing at the next hatching? I'm sure it gets old, having riders throw that at you, but-- if you're looking for a fit, it might not be a place, it might be a dragon." And with that offer, Farideh reaches for her mug and savors a lengthy sip. "'I like quiet. And not quiet. I grew up with my own room, and then I came here and I shared until-- six months ago? Even now-- it's still not the same. There's a dragon always there, and people think they can just stomp into your weyr like--" She bites off her words and gives him a bland smile. "Maybe." This time, there's no delay about the answer. "I've considered it," Everett admits. "I..." Deep breath. "Never knew my father, not really, but my mama used to say he was a bronzerider. Grow up with that, well. I didn't have my own room, or my own anything. Just a fancy that maybe someday I'd fly away." He mimes this with his hands, fingers like dragon wings. "But it's not a bad life, this, in the meantime." His admission earns a furrowing of the woman's brow. "It's possible. Discretions are-- hm. I can't imagine why, if he was, she didn't come here and let the Weyr provide." Farideh's forehead smooths soon after, and she tips in head in an acknowledgement. "No. There are worse situations, but you should certainly give it some thought. You're young yet. You never know what might happen." She laughs, then, light and whimsical. "We're taking so seriously when the weather is so nice." Shoulders lift in a shrug that's supposed to look more noncommital than it really does. "She married my stepfather not long after." Everything all wrapped up so tidily, there, for what no doubt was not at all tidy a couple decades ago. "Maybe the nice weather makes everything seem like less of a big deal. My life brought me here with a good brew and a sunny afternoon and... a nice bit of company, too." Glass raised, to this. "How can I complain?" "Perhaps," is Farideh's noncommittal answer, and then she's lifting her own mug along with his, laughing again for his insinuation. "No. These days there is less to complain about. Less so than turns before, but-- you should take a rest day if they'll allow it, and visit if you can. Some riders will ferry you there if you're nice-- or, they're going that way anyway. It's only a short trip between, after all." Apparently the serious can't hold up for all that long. "I'm always nice," Everett assures her, relaxed enough to laugh, himself. "I'm sure I'll manage it one of these days. Maybe find someone who feels like a day at the beach, but might as well save that for when we don't have our own sun, here." One more drink, and he eyes the glass. Not empty, but headed awfully far in that direction. "So, you like your quiet, you're not usually a bar-crawler, what is it that you do do for fun?" "The days are numbered. Fall is just around the corner, and then, there goes all of our sunny days and beautiful weather. It's all snow, snow, snow from there," Farideh replies, waving one hand around in a flippant gesture. "I'm not a bar crawler, but I do enjoy parties, gathers, and the like. It's easy to get lost in a crowd and no, it's not quiet-- but there's so much noise it just becomes a steady stream, like a-- song. Sort of. And there's desserts and drinks and pretty gowns, and important people, and dancing until you can't feel your feet with attractive strangers--" She turns a light-hearted laugh on him. "Which is why, I have to go away, because that lifestyle isn't here." Leaning forward, Everett rests on his elbows on the table, turning his glass around with his hands. "Surely you don't think that only the important people ever have that kind of fun. You think you need a pretty dress to watch the sun come up? Tsk." Still, gently-put, kind-spirited. "But," sitting back again, "I'm sure you look amazing in your pretty dresses, dancing with your attractive and important strangers." Just a little sigh there. Hard to miss. Almost. "Watching the sun come up is your idea of fun?" Farideh gives Everett a half-censorious stare, but it's evened out by her broadening smile. "I'm more interested in the dresses than the people, but you can't deny the relevancy of rubbing elbows with dignitaries. What you can do for them, what they can do for you." Her smile only loses some of its potency at his flattery, but she's quick to boost it back up again in a show of mock-arrogance. "I'm from Igen. It's in my blood. We're born to-- turn heads," she says, laughter imbuing her voice. "Well, what else do you do, up all night? You drink, and maybe you dance, and you talk, and at the end of the night you find somewhere good to watch the sun rise and then try to make it back to your own bed." A beat. "Or not, as the case may be. Do your parties end tidily at midnight? Pity." Seated back, his posture more relaxed, Everett's eyes aren't relaxed at all, on her, like he's trying to read something in a foreign language he's only just started learning. "You could turn heads in a flour sack, you know that, don't you?" There, more genuine, but it lasts only a moment. "Speaking of late nights, if I don't want to survive on bar snacks all night, I need to go eat something before my shift." But he doesn't seem in a rush to stand, or else maybe he's waiting like a schoolboy to be excused. "Midnight! After the sun rises. That's why they all sleep until noon or later. That privilege," Farideh says, still as entertained about the subject of their conversation as she is that they're having such a discussion at all. His second gamble at flattery earns a longer hesitation, her expression unclear, but she's saved from coming up with a clever response. "Do you? Please, don't let me keep you. I'll just go back to my work. It was nice talking to you, Everett. I'll see you around?" comes with the implication that he will; likely at his job. "Some of us just get to sleep until noon by usually working all those hours everyone else gets to play. But I have my nights off. Maybe I'll get to see you one of those, too." But it's a statement, not a question. "Farideh," by way of taking his leave; he drains the rest of his glass on the way back in to drop it off. |
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