Logs:Ugly Sweaters and Pie!
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| RL Date: 4 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Aiden, Everett |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: What happens when you mix an innocent baker, an angry goldrider, and a smart-mouthed bartender with ugly sweaters, pies, and hormones. |
| Where: Central Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions |
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| Snow, rain, and wind, oh my! Dreary weather outside and a frenzy of weyrfolk, blindsided by the staggering egg numbers, inside makes for a tired junior weyrwoman. It must be why she's sitting on a stack of upended crates, in the stores hallway, toes of her boots touching the floor and nothing else. Farideh is bent over with a plate, full of pie, in one hand and a sharp fork in the other. She's ignoring the people who pass by and they, in turn, are mostly ignoring her; however many confused glances are sent her way. Aiden enters the storage room with a basket of dry goods under his arm. It isn't until he's reached the first shelf he needs and puts the first item back before he even notices that someone else is there. He turns to look and does a double take when he realizes who it is. "Do you need anything Weyrwoman?" He lets out a quiet 'oh' when he looks down to see the pie she's eating. "Don't let me interrupt, sorry. But if you do need something please let me know." He turns back to the shelf and puts something else on the shelf. When he does that he also straightens what is already there so all labels are facing forward in a neat and tidy row. If Aiden is worried he's infringing on the goldrider's personal space or private moment, he has little to worry about as Farideh barely even looks up when she's addressed; she's too busy working on the crumbly, gooey mess that is her pie, spearing pieces violently with the prongs of that fork. "No, I don't," she says, through gritted teeth. "Just because I don't have any hands full of dragon or hidework or, or-" She stops talking and her features twist with irritation, and then her eyes shift to Aiden, as she gives him a curt head-to-toe accessment. "Who," bite, "are," muffled, "--oo?" With a glare and all! Poor, poor Aiden. Down the corridor, a bit, in one of the side caverns, there's sounds of things being moved around, and a heavy thump like something weighty but soft hitting the ground, then a male voice doing some cursing that can't be called 'mild' when it's enough to carry out to the main cavern. Then more moving things around. Aiden turns back from turning lables to the front to face the Weyrwoman. "Um...my name is Aiden, Weyrwoman. I'm an apprentice in the Bakercraft." He pauses to swallow like he's trying to clear a suddenly dry throught. "I just thought, maybe... well, this was a storeroom, so you might you be looking for something." His smile is hesistant but he still manages one while being glared at. He's distracted by the cursing and looks in that direction, though he seems kind of relieved at the distraction too. He turns back. "But since you don't need anything, I'll just finish shelving. He starts clearing things from his basket, faster than before. "Aiden." The stare Farideh gives him is not wholly impressed, but he's saved from closer scrutiny by that loud thumping sound, which draws her irritated gaze towards that direction. "Faranth, save us all." Mumbling under her breath, she stabs another section of pie with her fork and turns to consider the baker apprentice once more. "I'm down here all the time. That goes to show you how much people actually notice or care. All. Day. Long. I'm here. Running this way. Running that way. Making sure everyone has enough to eat and clean knives, Aiden. Clean knives." That last almost sounds like a sob, but she's too busy frowning at her plate to see her expression fully. Finally, out from the cavern, Everett, like a man returning from an extended expedition in the frozen wastes, in particular because he's got a scarf on, despite being indoors, and an armload of sweaters. Okay, probably like three, but it's an armload when they're all unfolded, anyway. "Faranth knows we all need clean knives." Sound does carry both directions. "Just who I wanted to see. Well, no. Not who I wanted to see. But you're a girl, so it'll do. Which one of these goes?" As everyone knows, exactly what you should do to someone complaining about being put-upon is ask more of them. "Couldn't find something gray or black to save my life. Half the sweaters in there are either twice my size, half my size, or have kittens on them or something." As an aside, to Aiden, "Hey." Aiden has emptied his basket and turns around again with it in front of him, as if he could use it as a shield. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize that. I guess you spend more time than I do here." He frowns a bit as she continues. "You have to deal with little things like that? People shouldn't bother you with things like that. Shouldn't those kinds of things go to the Headwoman and her assistants?" As if he realized he may have just spoken out of turn to her, he stops talking. He replys to Everett with a "Hello", but when the new arrival starts asking Farideh a question, he steps back a little as if to avoid the blast radius. He reaches to some boxes on the shelf to straighten them. Yes, it's very important to have them *just* so, right now. Is that a sniffle? The screech of her fork on the plate makes it hard to hear. "Of course they do! But they can't do everything. Do this, fix that, stop that guy from sleeping with my weyrmate--" Farideh waves a hand in the air, dismissive of all of the issues she just named. She only half-turns to stare at Everett as he comes down the hallway bearing that armload of ugly sweaters; her face reflects the latter. "Goes with what? Your face? The weather? Roszadyth's eggs? You need to specify," she tells him sharply, pointing her fork at his chest. "Everic-- this is Aiden, he's a baker. I assume he can make me more pie. You can make me more pie, Aiden?" Hazel eyes flick back to the baker, intent. Pie is so fucking important, ok guise! "If I was sleeping with your weyrmate, you're right, I don't think any of the Headwoman's staff would be in the least bit suited to putting a stop to it. But he seems unfortunately attached to you. Something about the legandary sweet temper." Everett says nothing about the name and its accuracy or lack thereof; maybe it's at least close enough. "With anything," he adds, now holding up one of the sweaters in particular. "You're the one who seems to know something about clothes. Which one, if I wanted to, say, not freeze to death but actually keep a girl's attention before spring? He's got better things to do than bake you pies, and Faranth knows you probably don't need a personal pie-maker. What do you think?" That last to Aiden, and one migh tthink it was about Farideh's need for pie, but he's brandishing a sweater at the same time, so who knows. Aiden stops with his hand on a box when Farideh addresses him again. He timidly turns back to the conversation, but he is smiling when he does it. "I can bake pie, but probably not as good as some of the journeyranks. I could ask them? What kind of pie would you like?" He seems eager to please. He turns his head towards Everett and looks at the sweaters. "Well, I think you were right not to take the one with kittens. But other than that, what's your favorite color? If there's a color you like to wear, then you should go with that. I don't really know a lot about fashion." "Are you jealous? I'm sure you could win him over, and I doubt I would stop you." As whimsical as Farideh seems about giving her weyrmate over to the bartender, she attacks what's left of her pie with her fork with voracity. "You and two would suit. Assholes. Both of you." She sniffs indelicately, and turns to give Aiden her attention in the interim. "I like the desserts they serve at Nerat and Igen. The pastries with sugar sculptures inside and the cherry-soaked cakes, but I love all types of pie, even the bad ones. Apples, lemon, bubbly, cherry. All of them. Can you make those breakfast puffs with the cream on the inside and the sugar on top?" It's the first time she's actually looked happy during this exchange; talking about food. "Shut up, Elvrit. Who asked you?" Except, he is asking about sweaters, to which she points at one with her fork and turns her nose up at the rest. "That one will make you look like only slightly less annoying." "Yes," straight-faced. "Jealous. Wildly. But the last of my other sweaters has started to unravel and I'm not going to be winning over anyone if I freeze to death or look like I was dressed by somebody's grandmother," says Everett. He gives the options a squinting look-over, adding to Aiden, "I don't know. I wanted gray. But there isn't anything gray. There were a couple that were more white but they might've fit you, wouldn't fit me even if I held my breath." He sucks it in, dramatically. Hamming it up a little for the sake of the kid, though maybe this is just to offset all of Farideh's overt appreciation for baked goods. "Anyway. The least annoying one it is. Thank you. Was that so hard?" He turns back to return the others to their storage cavern. Aiden thinks for a moment. "I can make pies, but I don't think I have enough experience to make a cream filled breakfast puff. I only recently learned how to get the pies and bubblies right. But I wouldn't mind making that my next thing I work on, if you don't mind waiting for your favorite one. Or I can check with a Baker with more experience." He nods at Everett. "It's a good one. Though I don't know about less annoying, I didn't think clothing *could* be annoying." "I don't blame you," Farideh says, innocent-wide eyes and all. "He is quite handsome." She doesn't even show any shame for her admission, but watches the interaction between the two young men with unconcealed lack of interest. "Yes. You should have looked when the tithes first came in. Better pickings then than now." Scrapping up the last of her pie, she cants her head at Aiden, giving him a dazzling smile. "I would appreciate that a lot. I don't mind taste-testing your tries either. For the sake of learning and teaching--" She salutes him with her fork and shoves the last bite in her mouth, eyes closing as she, apparently, savors it overmuch. "You'll understand when you're older," Everett says to Aiden, all good-natured and avuncular, even though he hasn't got nearly enough years to pull it off properly yet. When he returns from the storage cavern, that errand taking only a moment, he adds, "You don't need a private baker, but I guess on the up side, you might finally fill out a little bit, and I bet your fellow will appreciate it." He drapes the remaining sweater over his arm. "Thanks for the help, and good luck with the pies," both to both of them, before he starts to make his way back out of the storage cavern. Aiden nods with a smile at Farideh. "Okay then, I'll work hard on learning how to do it. Though I'd like to wait until I'm sure it's edible for you to try one." He looks at Everett with a confused look on his face. "I'll understand what when I'm older? Sweaters?" When Everett says goodbye he smiles at him. "It was nice meeting you." "Aiden, don't listen to him." Farideh looks completely not enthralled by Everett's good-naturedness, as she returns her focus to the baker apprentice. "Whatever you're comfortable with. I will not say no to dessert, not--" Her words come to a halt and her back stiffens; she turns, slowly, to stare at Everett with slowly-amassing anger. "What did you just say?" A wise man certainly doesn't turn his back on an angry woman, especially one with a fork and a plate to throw. "I'm not fat. I'm pregnant, you stupid, porcine-headed son of a one-finned mermaid--" And there, just there, the plate goes sailing after Everett. Overreactions, eh? Everett is young, reasonably spry, and apparently aware enough of this possibility to turn around as she's throwing it, duck, keep making his departure, if more slowly, while grinning back at them. "Did I say you were fat? I don't think fat was the word I used. I was going to say it suits you, but I think I've learned my lesson." And having learned his lesson means making a quick retreat before she can throw anything else. Aiden seems to have decided it's best to stay out of the more personal discussions between Farideh and Everett, but he can't help but be startled when a plate is thrown. But he wasn't fast enough to warn Everett of the threat so it's just as well that he avoided it himself. "Um..." He doesn't seem sure what to say, so he turned to Farideh and simply says, "Congratulations." He walks over to where the plate ended up and starts picking up pieces and putting them in his now empty food basket. Belatedly, the weyrwoman remembers, through the cloud of her anger, that Aiden is audience to her temper tantrum. "Thank you," Farideh manages to get out, albeit strangled sounding. It only takes that to prompt the tears to fall, and as fast as her legs will carry her, she's moving off in the opposite direction, not even bidding the baker a farewell. |
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