Logs:Goals
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| RL Date: 11 September, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Drex tackle their issues head on.. kind of. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: X'vin/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, Faryn/Mentions, Everett/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language! Sort of NSFW-y. |
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| Since the onslaught of autumn, there have been more than a few days of rainfall, leaving the weyrbowl and passages to the Weyr a muddy mess; that doesn't stop the tithes from rolling in, and certainly doesn't stop the day-to-day activities of the lower caverns staff (the responsible ones anyway). It's in the trek of these daily routines that Farideh happens, while moving from one structure to the other early in the day, to spot Drex; it's distracting enough that she stops and stares, and it's after a few tries of Aleigha calling the goldrider's name that she snaps close to the other woman's face, disrupting the spell. "Sorry," Farideh mumbles, embarrassed, but they're quickly resuming their discussion as they move off to the lower caverns. Much later in the day, when there's more paperwork than actual things to attend to, and time allows for it, Farideh is settled comfortably in one of the chairs flanking her couch, relaxed enough that she's got her feet crossed in top of the low table. She's likely supposed to be reading that stack of hides on the table, but she's choosing instead of lounge leisurely and stare at the ceiling; there is some type of letter in her lap, that she's choosing to ignore as she chews on her bottom lip instead, fingers curled around her chin. After near a week of evenings spent in the Snowasis, Drex has kept a low profile for the last couple of days, though his work on the fence of the feeding grounds has undoubtedly attracted a few glances, some in passing, others longer. The sailor seems oblivious to most, and it seems like he doesn't even notice Farideh's look, except for the glance he gives the goldrider and the assistant headwoman as they head inside. It's not quite yet dinnertime when booted feet can be heard stomping around outside -- approaching, pausing, and retreating at least twice, before the sailor finally, begrudingly, makes his way inside. He's carrying a bottle of something, the lid still one, and he stands kind of awkwardly just past the entrance, staring at Farideh. Only the most recent approach penetrates whatever thought process -- delusion? -- Farideh is working through, and she sits up guiltily in her chair, peering towards the entryway warily. Her look of surprise isn't as fleeting as she might like, and then she's up, on her feet, knocking hides all over the floor; she doesn't appear to notice. "Uh-- oh-- hi," she says, her hands fidgeting at her eyes, but her eyes, not yet moving from Drex. "Hi," Drex says back after a pause, holding up the bottle as if it is the solution to their (many) problems: "I figured we could use this. You got some fancy glasses or somethin'?" He's not so much looking at her, now that she's looking at him, eyes darting away as he takes a few more steps inside. "I--" Farideh's gaze flicks to the sideboard, and her body follows, moving around the chair quickly to get to the glasses. "I have a few--" She pulls out a couple different types, starts to hold them up, but a chance glance at Drex has her lowering them and just picking two. "We-- I should found you sooner," she says, frowning and walking back to the table, where she sets the glasses down. His gaze trails her path to the sideboard, for a moment. The table is where she sets the glasses, and thus, after a pause, that's where Drex heads, too, fiddling with the bottle before opening it. He fills both glasses near to the brim, and sets the bottle aside, reaching for the nearest glass. "Aint made it easy," he admits, of her finding him. "Needed to think." That, apparently, deserves a drink. "That is-- understandable," Farideh murmurs, but her expression isn't easily readable, from his angle anyway, while she's busy gathering those hides she knocked down in her haste to stand. She finally sets them to the side and returns to the chair she earlier vacated, perching in the edge and gazing wistfully at Drex. "A lot has happened." Drink untouched, for now. "Aye." Drex's brow is furrowed. He appears to be distracted, maybe even disturbed by the fact that Farideh hasn't touched her drink, if his narrow-eyed stare at her untouched glass is any indication. Or maybe it's just an excuse not to look at her. He takes another generous gulp; the liquid is by no means fancy, which is probably no great surprise given it's an unlabelled bottle, but it is suitably strong. He stays where he is, standing by the table, frowning at her glass, as he says, "You slept with someone. Maybe more than one?" A beat passes, but he presses on before she can respond, "I slept with someone." The frown deepens. His hand, the one that's not wrapped around his glass, is curled into a fist. "Everyone says that's what happens when you're in a Weyr, and when your girl is a rider. I say, fuck that. I don't want you sleeping with other people. I don't want to sleep with other people." That glass is certainly getting a good frowning-at. Where the sailor is looking seems not to concern Farideh, who keeps staring at him, looking for all the world like someone killed her cat, and that's before to drops bombshell after bombshell. She pales somewhat, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair. "You-- you slept with someone?" whisper soft, obviously shocked. Hurt, frustration, guilt, all flash across her face in rapid succession, before she lowers her eyes to the table. "You can't-- stop it, not when you're on the dragon side-- not like--" she manages to work out, tense. "You can't. What are you saying?" Then, her eyes lift to Drex. Her whisper, as quiet as it is, is heard, and Drex nods -- still without looking at her. "That's what they say. You can't stop it, during. Before." There's a hardness that suggests, perhaps, disbelief, but, after a sharp exhale and another drink, "Aint righty sure." He grimaces again, mouth tight. "No, I'm saying I fucking hate the idea of you with someone else. I'm supposed to adjust and live with it. Aint so easy, you know? Can't stop," a snort now, "Feeling." And now, finally, he looks at her, dark eyes troubled, that fist still clenched at his side. The more he talks, the harder her fingers dig into the arm cushions. "No, you can't, stop it. It's like-- it's--" Farideh's face screws up with frustration, and then she exhales and it softens. "It's only everyone--" She hesitates, but presses forward, shaking her head. "Every two to three turns. Only-- it's not--often." By admitting that much, she looks embarrassed; still softening. "You can't think that I-- that I want that, that I like it better," is earnest. "You lose control. You can't-- think straight-- I-- I'm sorry. I never meant-- I'm sorry." There's a scoff at the only, from Drex, and he takes another gulp from his glass. "It's fucking barbaric is what it is. You weyrfolk act like you're all forward thinking and then let a bunch of old, sex-crazed bronzeriders try to paw you--" his voice is growing louder, near a yell, face red as he catches himself. He drops the glass onto the table, not quite a slam, but close, before he stalks up to Farideh, his hands settling onto her arms for a beat, before he pulls her into a tight, breath-stealing hug. "It's not like we wa--" stops just as it's began, and Farideh blushes spectacularly. She's still red-cheeked when he starts yelling and gets up, but she doesn't shrink back into the chair, however alarmed she does look. "They're just projecting their dragons' feelings. They couldn't help it either. I didn't even know any of them--" Taken by surprise, she inhales sharply, and once in that embrace, makes a sound quite suspiciously like a sob-- or is it a hiccup? Whichever it is, it makes Drex's embrace tighten. "Did he hurt you?" the sailor asks with a murmur into her ear, his voice almost gentle compared to moments ago. In reciprocation, both of Farideh's arms encircle his waist and hug, gentler. She is silent for much longer than necessary, and then, her answers is quiet, her face still buried somewhere against his chest. "Do you really want to know? You're not going to--" followed by a soft sigh. Drex's, "Yes," kind of sounds like it really wants to be no, but he still stands by it. He doesn't try to clarify what he might do with this information, instead easing back enough to try and catch sight of her expression. Getting Farideh to look up once she's not smothering herself with his shirt is harder than just stepping back, and she takes her own time in speaking; staring forward, frowning. "Don't get mad," she tells him, her arms slipping down, so her hands can settle on his arms. "He was--" Tentatively, she glances up, blatantly uncomfortable. "Rough." He's trying. Trying not to get mad, or maybe just trying not to show it, neither of which he does entirely successfully. Drex's fingers tighten, marginally, the muscles in his arms tensing under Farideh's touch. "Really," he grinds out. "Well," with a heavy breath, "Don't worry about him. He won't get near you again if you don't want him to." The look Farideh settles on Drex is almost sympathetic. "Not like that, no," while her fingers rub soothingly over his arms. "But we will have to be seen together. His dragon sired a clutch. He will want to be there for-- the important parts. Feasts, touchings, or simply--" Her hands still for a moment and then squeeze, reassuringly, and then she leans up, pressing a warm kiss against his lips. "I am sorry. I missed you," is breathed, against them. "You don't have to," Drex insists, "Just because his dragon fucked yours, don't mean--" his voice is rising again, and he catches himself, releasing his hold on Farideh for a moment. That kiss earns one in turn, all too readily, though it's clear he's being exceedingly gentle despite his current demeanor, in a way that might come across as stiff compared to normal, though he reaches up to brush hair back from her face after. "Me too," he says, presumably to missing her, although it could just as well be for being sorry, as well. Another exhale, and then: "I want the bottle, I want to take off all your clothes, and crawl into bed with you. Drink and fuck until we can't do any more of either. What do you say?" Such a romantic! Wisely, time is given to Drex, to vent his frustrations, while Farideh watches quietly; no refutations and no agreements. She doesn't move from where she's been standing the whole time, though she her hands do, eventually, drop to her sides. Her face only shows a slightly sad, soft emotion that's hard to classify, up until he poses his question. Abruptly, she laughs, and tries to stop it with a hand over her mouth, which does nothing for the amusement in her eyes. "Yes," is breathless, and by then she's already stepping around Drex and reaching for her glass, still untouched. "In that order?" she tosses back over her shoulder, smiling as she takes a sip. When she laughs, it makes Drex grin, just as abruptly. He's turning as she passes him, moving in her wake, already tugging at the complex piece of clothing that is her shirt. Reaching past her, he claims the bottle, and doesn't bother with his glass. "I aint no weyrbred man, but I like to think I'm flexible," he answers her question, leaning down to press a kiss into the curve of her neck. "You got the first one," Farideh says, reaching her free hand to swat at the bottle and managing only to graze his, but she's not fussed, as sublimely satisfied as she looks when he kisses her skin. "And for the second--" She takes a last swallow from her glass, only to set it back down. "It might be close," she sighs at him, mischievously. Her purpose is likely apparent when she starts undoing the buttons on her shirt, after she back steps away from Drex with a laugh, on her way to the bedroom; given enough time that shirt will get tossed behind when she rounds the bedroom entrance. While she retreats, he stalks, making a noise like he's some kind of wild animal from the Southern jungles, pausing to circle and inspect her discarded shirt, before he turns to run after her, intending to chase her towards the bed. He still has the bottle (of course), but hopefully the lid is on tight enough to withstand being tossed carelessly onto the foot of the bed as he nears "What are you?" Farideh gets as far as the end of the bed, when the backs of her legs hit the frame, and she waits, hands on her bare waist. She's trying not to smile, but not quite succeeding, with the way the corners of her mouth keep edging up. "You should," she says, her eyes flicking distractedly to the bottle when he tosses it on the bed, "take off your clothes, too." Drex slows as he nears Farideh at the foot of the bed, frowning a moment. "Aint never seen it, but there's this big animal that stalks the coast a bit. Can hear it when you moor the ship near. They say it's got tufted ears and huge claws," he holds his hands apart near as far as his arms will stretch as if to demonstrate, "And it prefers to eat naked women." He bends down, intending to scoop the goldrider up and toss her onto the bed, making that weird noise again. "Really? What would--" Farideh had been frowning, listening, and trying to decipher whatever creature Drex had been describing, but the last part gets a pert look right before she's upended on the bed with a giggling shriek. She bounces once and gets her elbows under her, half-propped up and out of breath, to mock-glower at him through another round of laughter. "Are you sure you didn't have one bottle already?" she accuses. Climbing onto the bed after her, Drex pauses only to discard his shirt, lying over her legs and reaching for the bottle. "Maybe," the sailor admits, "Would've had more if you kept letting me use your tab." It might be reproachful at first, but it ends a little bit guilty, cut off by a generous gulp from the bottle, which he offers to Farideh, while his fingers work and unbuttoning her pants. "That was you?" Farideh's voice is colored by amusement and disbelief at once, her mouth hanging open just slightly after. "They wouldn't tell me who started this tab. I thought it was one of the riders, being funny, but--" and here she groans, taking the bottle with a miserable glance at Drex, "What did you tell him? He was rude," she points out, and, shaking her head, takes a long swallow from the bottle. "All you had to do was ask," when she's had enough, holding the bottle out. Drex seems surprised that she's surprised. "Aint gonna drink watered down wine after a day like that," his voice darkens briefly, but her question bemuses him enough that he stops tugging down her pants, albeit briefly. "Can't see why not. Told 'im to ask you. Doubted you'd say no, and I couldn't ask. You were busy fucking a bronzerider you kicked me out of here for." He reminds her, expression going dark to match his voice. "Just... I dunno. Guy shit, you know? I was mad, letting off steam." After a beat, he takes the bottle and takes a deep drought. "Evidentially, he thought he was standing in solidarity. It all makes sense not. He called me classless," is accusing, again, but Farideh sighs deeply after that and wiggles her hips to aid in her undressing. "I can set it up, again. It's better if I know. I can pay it on time then, but not if I don't know." Wrinkling her nose, she struggles to sit up, and when she makes it, reaches for his shoulder, to pull him forward and into a kiss. "I love you," she tells him, "even when you give me debt." "Huh," Drex seems pleasantly surprised by the show of male solidarity. His, "Guess I owe him one, then," is probably joking, but then... well, maybe not. Her wiggling of his hips serves as a suitable distraction, and a timely reminder he was in the middle of that, tugging them free before crawling on top of her, meeting her lips. "I love you," he replies in turn, "Even when you make me want to go bash some poor guy's head in," he's grinning, now, in between kisses. Farideh could easily be affronted by his reaction, but she chooses to focus on the pleasant part of their interaction. "Some of them deserved it," she responds bluntly, without rancor and a little insistence; it's less about the words after that, when she starts to work on getting his pants off, removing the last obstruction between him and achieving his goals. Drex, too, has given up on words, looking to tire them both out before the evening is done with. It's abundantly clear the bottle is going to lose out to far more insistent needs. He might even wake up clear-headed, for the first time in a seven. |
Comments
Faryn (07:40, 12 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
"I love you even when you give me debt," is the best testament of true love I've ever seen. And also, thanks Drex, for keeping secrets the way we're SUPPOSED TO.
Edyis (15:38, 12 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
"It's fucking barbaric is what it is. You weyrfolk act like you're all forward thinking [. . .]"
Ed: The pirate is calling us barbaric.
Akluseth: Meh, I am ok with this.
This was a cute read.
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