Logs:Daydreams
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| RL Date: 21 August, 2015 |
| Who: Everett, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Late night - or early morning - Everett and Faryn make each other's acquaintance. |
| Where: Nighthearth, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
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>---< Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr(#1549RJ) >------------------------------< With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. -----------------------------< Active Players >----------------------------- Everett M 19 6'2" fit, brown hair, blue eyes Faryn F 23 5'4" lean, long brown hair, brown eyes For Everett to just be getting off of work, it is clearly not early in the evening. The exact hour probably doesn't bear noting. No sun up yet, but certainly an hour where he should just go crawl into his own bed and sleep off the noise. Instead, he takes refuge in the relative quiet, here, pouring a cup of klah like he really needs the caffeine. Then he settles into a comfy chair in such a way that one leg is over the arm and he seems about to slide right out of it. Only the hand with the mug is relatively stable. Big sigh. Maybe it's relief. Maybe it's just to hear that a mere breath, however exaggerated, can actually be heard in the quiet. An ungodly hour by all estimations - save the bakers, who apparently start 'round now with their muted clattering of bakeware and the wafting smell of yeast and fresh baking. These things, of course, must start early if they're to be ready for the morning meal, and the still cool of the morning means it might be sooner rather than later. The newly-knotted resident has her connections it seems, enough at least to get her through insomniatic nights like this one, and she cuts into the hearth with a mug of klah in one hand and napkin-wrapped goody in the other and a book stuck in her back pocket. Her beeline is direct and familiar, to a chair near the fire, her steps quiet and her yawn barely stifled before she notices it's claimed. A grunt of dismay. That's the comfy chair. She drops into the other one with her own sigh, juggling her items as she pulls her legs up into the chair and curls into it. Baked goods. However much Everett maybe appreciates his klah, even that can't stop his nose from perking up well before the rest of him. A sniff, a slight raise of his head so that he can actually look over towards the holder of the item in question instead of up at the ceiling. "Where did you get that? I didn't see any of those. I could eat a herdbeast and a half, but I figured I was going to have to wait around for breakfast service before I crash completely." It's late. He's been working. Manners? Right. "Sorry. Everett. I'm Everett." Faryn's juggling is well-practiced, and eventually she has her book out of her pocket on the arm of the couch, the mug of klah gripped in one hand and the napkin-wrapped pastry resting on her thigh as she drapes over the side of her own chair. Everett's rousing - and question - has her raising her eyes to him even as she plucks at the flaky crust. It comes apart easily, and steam rises out. "The kitchen," she answers, looking him up and down. "They used to give them to me because I had to go tend the stables early; said I was too skinny. I should probably stop asking them to save some for me, but." Shrug. Who can blame her when they're fresh, and she doesn't have to claw other people to get them? "Everett," she repeats. "Faryn. A herdbeast and a half, you say?" This warrants some thinking, and apparently Everett thinks better when he's upright and all the blood isn't still kind of rushing to his head. He settles himself into the chair more like a civilized human being. His eyes are fixed on the pastry. Or on her. Or both. Nice to have an excuse, isn't it? "At least," slightly distracted. Then, with a blink, "Faryn. Nice to meet you. All that." It's a little brusque, but in a way that speaks of a day whose length has been much more than the standard issue number of hours. "I don't think I'm going to pass for a skinny girl anytime soon. Alas." "Probably not," Faryn says with a low laugh, softened by the general silence. The smile lingers as she watches him adjust in the chair, and picks at the pastry to take another bite off, looking a little like she's debating...something. "You're a bit skinny. They might feed you, but then you'd have to stay away all day to prove you forgot." She holds her hands out, balanced, then shifts one lower. "You win some, you lose some. Long night for you, or early morning?" "Mmr." It's a noise, not a word, made as Everett stretches with just the one free arm, up and back, and then sort of collapses back into the chair. It's such a comfortable chair, you see. "Not much of a compliment, that," but it's a mild protest. "Not sure I even remember which, at this point. I think I may have just been sleepwalking through my shift at the Snowasis, so maybe I'm just not awake yet. Didn't really figure I'd see anybody in here. Don't, some nights. Though some nights I'm not too wound up to sleep." "Mmm," Faryn echoes back at him, more-or-less. "I wasn't trying to compliment you, see. I was just saying, the hungrier you look, the more they can see your bones," she taps her collarbone, which even beneath her shirt is pronounced, "they want to fatten you up." The corner of her smile ticks. "Late night," she establishes, softly, for clarity's sake. "I just don't sleep well lately. Used to spend nights like these in the stables, but I don't think that's wise, right now. I miss the privacy, though. Nothing but runners who don't give a shit what you're doing there at all hours. I've seen you," she adds, pointing matter-of-factly. "At the Snowasis. You're new here, aren't you?" A hand to chest, a sigh--miming disappointment in the lack of compliments, but Everett doesn't press any harder than that. It's too late to fuss. "New, yes. Reasonably. I feel like I'm getting settled in, but there's more faces that I can't match with names than faces that I can, yet. Even with the regulars. Though I know most of their orders, just not names. The important things in life." He has a drink, sets the mug aside, finally. "I was going to say that I didn't know why you'd sleep in a stable, but the privacy, I would murder for space of my own, so I guess smelling a bit like a barn wouldn't be too bad. I've been avoiding bed before sun-up to wait until one of my snoring neighbors is up for work." "That doesn't go away," observes Faryn with a wry expression, settling back in her chair a little. "You need to only know the important ones. Irianke and K'del. Jounine. Maybe some of Jounine's assistants. Farideh, now, I suppose." If possible, she grows more wry. "But yes, you have the important parts down." For the rest she has a wave, a glance down at her pastry which she isn't touching again. "I worked there for a long time. Since I got here. It...didn't work out. But the smell isn't terrible, and the hay is comfortable. It was warm. Nobody bothered me and I got an extra fifteen minutes of good sleep, not having to deal with the other apprentices." She wrinkles her nose a bit. "The girl who sleeps in the bed beside me now talks in her sleep. Loud, full sentences. It's like they scatter them through, for maximum sleep deprivation." "If you aren't actually eating that, then it's no wonder you're still getting them for free." Everett's attention has not entirely left that pastry of hers. If she's just going to look at it, well, maybe she needs some encouragement? He keeps his hand on his mug but doesn't bother with another drink. He just pauses, awkwardly, for a moment, then says, "I've had jobs not work out before. Herder, then? Only curious, I don't mean to pry." Really. "What is it you do now?" Although it fails to be the most...tactful of ways to get something, Faryn seems to be less sensitive than others might be with his directness. "Have it," she says, lifting the corners of the napkin and holding it like a little sack out to him. "It's no herdbeast, but maybe you'll avoid wasting away." For the rest, she shrugs again, noncommittally. If he takes the twisty pastry from her, she'll wrap both hands around her mug and pull it close. She confirms, "Herder," evenly, then, "It's not prying, really. I work for Farideh now. Cleaning up her messes as I can, taking care of those things that fall through the cracks." The politeness of earlier hours lapses after a certain point. And, well, Everett's been working all night in a bar. How sober is he? Who knows. Sober enough to be enunciating properly. Maybe not sober enough to hesitate about sneaking the pastry away from her and tucking into it more quickly than she did. At least even now there's no talking with his mouth full. Just chewing, swallowing, washing the first couple bites down. "You are a better person than I deserve to have met at this hour. Thanks." Something remaining of manners. "Farideh. She's the only one of those important faces I've actually had the courage to speak to. Barely. Better class of person than I've ever had any contact with. No words for how nervous I was." In absence of talking with mouths full, Faryn is comfortable enough in the silence, her eyes drifting closed but her breathing not evening out in the tell-tale signs of sleep; once she pulls the mug to her lips for a drink, then rests it against her chest again with her head tilted back. She cracks her eye at him when he thanks her, acknowledging it with a little dip of the head. "Breakfast isn't all that far off. I'd be ashamed if I let you just starve in front of me, so close to it. They'll give me another if I want it. Anything to fatten me up, or something." Of Faideh she has only a laugh. "You see someone different than me. She was a bratty, stubborn, spoiled kid when I first met her. She may have nailed me with a snowball. I don't remember. I can't imagine being...pfff. She's good people." "Isn't that how they all are? Blood and shiny dragons. No guarantee of good behavior." Everett shrugs those criticisms off. "Anyway, spoiled, I can see. But however long you've known her, she seems to have grown into some kind of class. Snowasis, attracts all kinds, seems like. Places I've been before, you haven't seen the low-born," indicating self here with a hand gesture, "mixing with the high over beer and cocktails. Takes getting used to. Grew up with miners, myself. People here are cleaner than I've ever seen before." A wry smile. "Which is not a complaint." "Not all of them," Faryn objects to an apt description of her friend, "but yes, she can be. And she has. She tried very hard to grow up like that. I think it would have happened slower if Azaylia hadn't died. She was a herder," Faryn notes as an afterthought, "before she Impressed. She was a good weyrwoman, too. Irianke is too - if maybe temporary." She listens to him recap his own life, that one open eye focused on him in acknowledgement that she's still conscious, her mouth flattened into a line. "I think it's a nice blend. Better than that creepy reverence some Holders get. Or the mistrust because they don't understand it." She gives him another look-over, a little more critically, like she might find evidence of this low breeding. "Where're you from? Crom?" In absence of talking with mouths full, Faryn is comfortable enough in the silence, her eyes drifting closed but her breathing not evening out in the tell-tale signs of sleep; once she pulls the mug to her lips for a drink, then rests it against her chest again with her head tilted back. She cracks her eye at him when he thanks her, acknowledging it with a little dip of the head. "Breakfast isn't all that far off. I'd be ashamed if I let you just starve in front of me, so close to it. They'll give me another if I want it. Anything to fatten me up, or something." Of Faideh she has only a laugh. "You see someone different than me. She was a bratty, stubborn, spoiled kid when I first met her. She may have nailed me with a snowball. I don't remember. I can't imagine being...pfff. She's good people." "Isn't that how they all are? Blood and shiny dragons. No guarantee of good behavior." Everett shrugs those criticisms off. "Anyway, spoiled, I can see. But however long you've known her, she seems to have grown into some kind of class. Snowasis, attracts all kinds, seems like. Places I've been before, you haven't seen the low-born," indicating self here with a hand gesture, "mixing with the high over beer and cocktails. Takes getting used to. Grew up with miners, myself. People here are cleaner than I've ever seen before." A wry smile. "Which is not a complaint." "Not all of them," Faryn objects to an apt description of her friend, "but yes, she can be. And she has. She tried very hard to grow up like that. I think it would have happened slower if Azaylia hadn't died. She was a herder," Faryn notes as an afterthought, "before she Impressed. She was a good weyrwoman, too. Irianke is too - if maybe temporary." She listens to him recap his own life, that one open eye focused on him in acknowledgement that she's still conscious, her mouth flattened into a line. "I think it's a nice blend. Better than that creepy reverence some Holders get. Or the mistrust because they don't understand it." She gives him another look-over, a little more critically, like she might find evidence of this low breeding. "Where're you from? Crom?" "Being Weyrwoman here seems dangerous. Never really thought about it back home. Crom, yeah, and thereabouts. Different, there. Folks out there who just by accident of birth can ruin your life on a whim." Everett takes a few more moments to finish off the rest of the pastry, uses the napkin to wipe the crumbs away. "Birth or marriage," revised, thoughtfully. "And here it's accident of Impression? Maybe it's not so different, but it feels different. Don't know. Doesn't seem like my business, mostly. I pour drinks and dream about the day I can somehow get a bed without snoring neighbors." The sound Faryn makes in the back of her throat is dismissive. "It's not any more dangerous here than it is being a weyrwoman anywhere else. Ista does fine. Igen too. Southern. Until recently, Fort." A pinched expression crosses her face, briefly. "Impressions aren't an accident. Dragons don't make mistakes. People grow into their potential." As much as it might seem like she's defending it, it sounds like rote memorization, and the woman uses her hand to mime a speaking gesture: blah blah. "It's not so different, though. I'd rate your chances of getting Searched out of your low class and Impressing right up there with the chances some Blooded girl is going to fall in love and convince her daddy to let you marry her." She regards him as she finishes the last of her klah, her eyes sharp over the mug. "Fair enough. How do you figure you'll do that, bartender?" It's very small, the little bit of a flinch, there. At his chances at Impression, or his chances of marriage, one or the other, both? Very small, soon washed away with a drink from his mug, and a look at the mug as though it might have some solution. "I think I have about as much of a plan right now as I do for wooing any Holder's daughter. But I'll figure something out. Have plenty of time to make better friends in the right places." And a smile, to go with that. "I work out the trick, promise I'll let you know." Faryn recognizes that flinch. She's done it. The insensitivity of her words catches up with her quickly when she sees it, and she grimaces. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean -- I Stood for the last clutch." She holds her hands out, palms up, demonstrably. See how that worked? "Friends like junior weyrwomen, I presume." That's barely a question, her eyebrow doing most of the inquiry. "I wouldn't waste my time, I were you. I can tell you how that connection works out for me, unless you think you've got a hand up on her boyfriend and can steal her heart, be more than friends." She studies him carefully, then stands to make her way to the klah pot and refill her mug. "No, I get it, it's dumb," that first bit is dismissed without any further elaboration, though there's an admission in it. Everett finally drags himself out of the chair, there, comfortable as though it has been--oh, so comfortable, says the pace with which he stands, it's too young to be sore knees--because his mug needs some freshening up. "I wasn't thinking of that. I had some faint idea that enough free drinks to some assistant headwoman might help, but I don't know any of them. That, I mean, it's not that I wouldn't fancy that, but that's right up there with any other daydream. I," gesturing with his refilled mug to punctuate this, almost enough to spill but not quite, "would have made a damn good Lord Holder, I'll tell you." Faryn fills her own mug and immediately sips at it, though it's too hot for a proper drink. "Farideh is an alright friend, and she does love wine. You get her the right kind, I bet she'd love you for a night. Maybe not literally, but still." A shrug, and a pause so she can blow on the hot drink while she thinks about it, giving him an up-and-down look now that they're standing, managing to look down at him a bit despite their disparate heights. "Daydreams are probably why I still think I might make an excellent dragonrider." A slight pause, but only a small one. "Who is he? The boyfriend." Didn't he just say... clearly he knows full well what he just said. "Met more than enough guys don't think a lot of their girls having male friends. Can't hurt to at least be on her good side, but the Snowasis seems like the sort of establishment where the staff are expected to have all their teeth." Everett is such a practical fellow, you see. "If you stood once, do they let you keep trying?" He returns back over to the chair with the mug in both hands, but this time sits down like a normal adult grown-up person. It's impossible to tell if Faryn is joking when she says, nonchalant as all getout, "I hear he's a pirate. I think he's nice enough, for a pirate. Saw him deck the shit out of a holder at the hatching feast, actually. Never did find out why." She looks like she's picking through the memory, her mouth twisting a little and her brows furrowing down, but the expression is fleet. "Until you're too old, they do. So long as you aren't trouble, I guess. Don't get booted off the sands or, say, murder a weyrwoman." Heavy breath blown out through his lips. "Wouldn't have thought she was that type," is what Everett finally settles on by way of a response. "Guess she can be whatever type she wants to be, now, in her position. Are you planning on it? Murdering a weyrwoman? You don't seem that type, either." It allows the lightening of things a bit, allows him a smile and then a sip from his mug. Faryn takes a deep breath, shoulders lifting, and tilts her head. "People will surprise you, here. I don't peg half the personalities right on the first try." As for her motivations, Faryn shakes her head in the negative. "Nah. Don't get me wrong, some days it's everything I can do not to strangle her with my bare hands, but...no." Faryn rolls the mug between her palms, selecting her words carefully as she admits, "Once you get past how prickly she can be, it's hard not to feel protective of her. Only slightly more protective than angry, some days, but still." Another sip, a soft "mm" of acknowledgment as far as the first part. As she goes on, though, Everett smiles. "Well, it seems as though you're going to be fine, then. Just keep it down to a light assault here and there and I can't see as they could possibly have any problem with it, you know? No, I know. I've known people like that. People you're fond of can get on your nerves more easily than anyone else. Anyway, maybe you'll have better luck the next time around. Or the next. Is quite a wait, though. Have you ever thought about seeing if you could try somewhere else?" "I make no promises. The line between light assault and regular assault is a fine one, you know?" Faryn lifts one hand from her mug, waves away the point like an annoying little bug. "This is my last chance, if neither of the Reaches golds wait to go up. I probably should go somewhere else, but - well. You follow the work. I've dropped all my marketable skills on a daydream, haven't I? Gotta make my own future now, so I'll give it a last hurrah, and if I get to have a posh little job to go with it for now, then so be it." She makes a face. "If I can do a little good with her - for her - then I'll live with that." Faint frown. "You're older than I would have guessed." Certainly not an insult, but could go either way on whether this is a genuine sentiment on Everett's part or just a bit of flattery. "Anyway, it sounds like what you're doing now is a good deal even if the dragon thing never happens. I couldn't bear the idea of spending the rest of my life down a mine. I could absolutely tolerate the idea of spending the rest of my life behind a bar. That's the important thing." A sigh down at the mug. "One pastry is significantly smaller than a herdbeast," he reflects. "You think if I went down to the kitchen I could snag something that bore some semblance of breakfast, even if they aren't serving yet?" Faryn, who does indeed bear striking resemblance to a twelve-year-old boy in many regards, doesn't seem terribly surprised or offended. Or flattered. "Thanks. I think." She eyes the contents of her mug, listening to him talk with a little nod of approval. "I gotta find something that really makes me feel like that," she says absently, not really to him, and then, "They're not. But if you go with me, I can probably get you a bowl of ...something. I'll even put a good word in for you, tell them I found you half-starved in the hall." She winks at him, flashing a brilliant but quick smile as she turns towards the door. |
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