Logs:Hopes, Fears, and Bloodlines
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| RL Date: 11 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Silva, Rategar, Torlynna, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In the kitchen, Farideh gets to know some of the candidates better, and then Alida joins in! |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Cendon/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Korek/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions |
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| The midday snowfall outside doesn't directly affect the kitchen. They're usually as busy, as loud and grumpy, between the boiling pots, too-hot hearths, and odd requests from hungry weyrfolk. With the lunchtime rush over, they're busy prepping for dinner, though the occasional straggler can be found in any of the nooks. Farideh is there, hidden away from plain view by tucking herself into the very corner of a booth, legs curled under her rump. She's working on a plate of odds and ends -- cake, meatrolls, and various finger other finger foods -- while she observes, and eavesdrops, on the merrymaking that the cooks are.. making. They're not quiet about their conversation, and despite the general consensus of the Weyr, seem to be delighting in gossiping about Monaco's fate. And the candidates, woho! get to be a part of dinner prep. Well, woho if they were actually enjoying it. For which Silva is most decidedly not. She works her way around a tuber, lips set into a deep scowl. It's probably because the peel is leaving dirt under her fingernails. One ear is cocked outwards at the gossip spreading through the area. A particularly juicy bit as her sitting up and leaning forward to eavesdrop without a single ounce of shame for the motion. Lips part slightly into an O and she stores away that rumor to help spread it along later. One of the cooks -- a thin lady with corkscrew curls -- says, "Sure someone'll finish 'im off 'fore he get a trial." Other voices pipe up in conjecture, but Farideh merely twirls her fork in her hand, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling; when they fall back, they find Silva amongst the tuber peelers. She tries to gesture for the girl to come, which is hard, given where she's located and how many people are in the cavern. Luckily, one of the aides notices, and with a few clever, silent motions, he's trudging towards Silva, tugging on one of his sleeves. "Sorry-- she wants ya," he tells Silva, without preamble, pointing to the goldrider tucked into one of the booths. That tuber is half done with the summons come, and Silva is WAY more than happy to set it aside. From her last encounter with the weyrwoman she probably shouldn't expect reprive, but sometimes she's slow. Popping right up from her seat Silva smooths out her expression, and plasters a more-or-less plesant smile on her face. Moving deftly through the kitchen Silva presents herself at Farideh's side. "Weyrwoman! I am at your service." She presents herself with a flourish. The kitchen is a flurry of activity with the after-lunch, pre-dinner prep work in progress, and the topic the kitchen staff are bantering about is Monaco. There are some candidates assisting in the prep work, and a few people sitting in the nooks. Farideh is in one of those booths, taking delicate bites out of her slice of cake, and she's just called Silva over for a chat-- sort of. She almost chokes, but recovers with a wary glance over the candidate. "I'm a goldrider. I'm not Lady of High Reaches. You don't have to do all--" She waves her fork around in an all-encompassing gesture. "Sit," is a command. "Tell me about yourself. Your name? I've forgotten it since the last time." Rategar arrives - all crooked nosed-with a white knot - into the kitchen like a loitering man on a mission. Before he even takes stock of who's there, he angles his way over to grab something. Was he suppose to be working here? One never knows. He's a bit of a nuisance since he greets one of the female kitchen workers and goes to steal a tuber from her. "Hey!" she calls, but it's almost affectionate. There's laughter from him, and then, he turns in time to see the now-recognizable weyrwoman. Silva blinks once for the slight chiding, but obediently tucks her hands behind her back. That bright smile only wavers for a second before it is back in place. The girl is so on her best behavior right now. Sitting she tucks her hands neatly into her lap, and sits with a rail straight back. "Silva, of Tillek. I was a worker here," a slight twitch of her lips to show her distaste, which brightens falsely after, "but now I'm a candidate! There isn't much-much to tell," she adds this with a glance downwards for her false modesty. When the young man bursts into a kitchen Silva's attention subtly turns towards him, and she'll just look him over from top to bottom in speculation. Lazily, Farideh's eyes take in the other girl, but her actual words -- or word, Tillek -- has the goldrider's eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Tillek? By what way?" She's suddenly so very interested, leaning on the table with her elbows on the top and her chin balanced on her wrists. "Who were your parents? Ties to any crafts? Hopes and dreams?" Her eyes only slip away from Silva when someone in the kitchen laughs, and they follow the sound to find Rategar; displeasure registers immediately, but briefly on her face. Granted, Rat looks a bit intimidating based on his size alone. He approaches the ladies as if one of them had invited him forward and he greets them with, "Yes. I'd like to hear about your hopes and dreams, if that's the topic for discussion. Weyrwoman," and he nods to her, his smile oily before he turns it on Silva. "Fellow candidate, right? I've seen you in the barracks. Don't mind me joining?" That was only a question. He's joining anyway since he hooks himself a stool to sit on. Intimindating? Or intriguing? Silva tucks those dirty hands out of sight, and smiles widely as Rategar invites himself into their circle. A slight shake of her head has hair cascading over one shoulder. "Oh, my father, he's a craftmaster there. Harper." Silva says this airly, allowing herself the faintest of airs with this information. "But scribbling wasn't //really// my thing, so... not yet. I //maybe// could have had a chance if my mother hadn't gotten it into her head to send me here. I mean," she's quick to add the false note, "It isn't too bad, but like, it's exile." (Because she doesn't have anyone here wrapped around her finger. :( "From home and such. All that, you know? I guess it could be okay, if like, I could stop having to wallow in dirt or some such." "You might as well. Sit," though he's already hooking that chair, which prompts another eye roll from the goldrider. "Where are you from? Who are your parents? What are your plans and objections?" These, Farideh toss towards Rategar, without any real interest, as she spears a berry onto the prongs of her fork. "A harper craftermaster from Tillek-- interesting. And they sent you to a Weyr, why? You could have easily gotten into any craft you wanted to, or maybe if they're ambitious enough, a minor Holder desperate for connections." Her gaze returns to Silva lazily, but she gives the other girl a wide smile. "What if you actually Impress? It's dirt, and blood, and plenty of those nasty things." Silva's attention gets a wink from Rat as he settles down onto that stool, popping the last of his stolen tuber into his mouth. He asks her in his Bitran accent, "Why would your mother exile you here? Usually mothers want to keep their daughters away from Weyrs and their sex-starved dragonriders." Eyes flick towards Farideh. He flashes a grin for the questions she throws his way, draping his arms muscled from work on the table as he leans a bit towards them. His answer - "Bitra, holders from Bitra, I plan to become a better version of myself and see if I can make a home here - even if I'm already pretty great - and the only objection I have is the nature of Reachian women." To Silvia, "I'm related to the Bitran Lord Holder," he tells her, looking oh-so humble. "Going to answer the same, Farideh?" The name is almost a caress. Silva rubs dirt from off her finernails, showing their neat poilsh under. "Well." She starts dramatically, but then falls silent as Rategar turns the question around onto the goldrider. Faintly scandalized at his presumption Silva looks down her nose at him, (A li'l hard to do with the difference in their heights - but she manages it), meeting his own not-so-not-arrgance with her own. "They thought maybe I could learn some things here and maybe make a better match. As for the dirty.. well. I'm sure it can be worked around." Clearly Silva isn't getting the full value out of her candidate lessons. Torlynna heads in from the living cavern. Snow falls outside, but conversation flows in the kitchen. Two candidates and a goldrider are sitting in one of the nooks around the perimeter, having a chat of some sort. "I'm not sex starved," Farideh returns to Rategar, obviously annoyed by his insinuation. "Flights require sex and that's a given." Her eyes keep shifting between the two candidates as she listens, and chews; she doesn't show many reactions to the things they've said, though she does sigh at least once. "You mean they thought you teach you a lesson," she says, staring pointedly at Silva. And Rategar-- oh, Rategar. She laughs, abruptly. "You? Related to Lord Cendon? Hardly." Scraping her fork through the bits of cake leftover, she slants first Silva, then Rategar, blank glances. "My family are minor Blood of Igen. I'm just hoping I live to see my thirtieth. I wish the cooks here would be more creative with their desserts." Shrugging, perhaps oblivious to Silvia's scandalized look, "I didn't call out names," Rategar answers on sex-starved riders. "They're just the reality of the Weyr. I have a friend here that's a rider and he's told me everything. There's nothing wrong with being sex-starved. Lots to learn here." That last is for Silvia specifically with a nod as he starts looking at any stray pieces of food between the pair of them. Since his lineage is being question, Farideh gets his eye as he says, "Completely related. My father is his cousin on their mother's side. We would raise runners for him, whenever he deigned to acknowledge our presence. Minor Blood. You should ask Fira there," he gestures towards the kitchen worker he teased earlier, "and she'll make something nice for you." As if he knows. Silva is so feeling out classed here among those with actual blood in their veins. She twitches her shoulders and will just let her assumed airs speak for her. "Well. I came out on top didn't I?" Even if that white knot on her shoulder puts her on the lowest rung. "Teach them, that is. They don't have any say in what I do now. And I've met some of the best people. Like, there's this greenrider. Yesia. I mean, legit." A sigh of longing as Silva sets herself to daydreaming, "So beautiful." New meat, that's what comes into the kitchen. Torlynna holds herself stiffly, eyes alert and posture taut but these are subtile cues. There's a smile on her lips and her narrow eyes gleam with interest as she moves towards the source of warmth, hands slipping from her pockets to hold them up to the fire there. She gives a nod of greeting towards the group chatting, curiously sizing them up, paying attention to attire and knots while she gets her balance in this new place among strangers. "I'm sure Fira can." Less focused on the desserts for now, more into that completely related-- Farideh keeps eyeing Rategar disbelievingly. "I don't believe you. Even Lord Cendon wouldn't have blood relations tending stables in a Weyr. He's a brute, but he's not daft," she replies, showing her roots. It's a precarious topic, and she's quick to turn back to Silva, back to having her chin balanced on her wrists and her amused eyes taking in the candidate's posture. "Yesia? My, she must have told you a story or two." Her tone isn't entirely unkind towards the greenrider, but it's deprecating, while her eyes flick towards the newcomer with mild interest. "You did," Rat agrees with Silvia coming out on top, nodding. "Mean women aside, this place isn't all that bad. Beats the boredom of a cothold." Farideh gets a look for her logic as the former stablehand shrugs as he says, "My father didn't want to stick around so we didn't really live at the Hold. Whenever I've tried to ask him what happened, he'd just shut down. Still does to this day. I suppose I'll never get the real story of why. Anyway, they don't know I'm here. I left a long time ago." A story for everything. Really. He notes Torlynna's arrival as he quiets down to listen about a greenrider in question. Silva is so going to stick up for her new friend. Her shoulders straighen and she's just going to flouce herself right to her feet. "I think I hear someone calling my name." Her voice is prim, and oh-so-proper. That false smile of hers pretends that ALL OF THEM are super best friends, but really, she'll probably go and talk about them behind their backs. Seeing Torlynna Silva gives her an insta once-over, with full judgment in place. "I think the weyrwoman wants you to sit over here" She nods towards her now vacated seat and is -out-. Oh, tubers, poor thing. Torlynna's eyebrows wing upward as Silva pins her with all that judgement and her posture tightens a few degrees harder, fingers curling into a fist before her hand vanishes into a pocket to hide the response. "Oh?" SHe asks to the womans' back but then there's no target for her so she whirls towards the people at the table, sweeping a look over them with more than a little edge to that look as she stalks closer and flicks a look at each person in turn. "You wanted me?" She asks, trying not to make it sound disrespectful, but it's a close thing. The girl's response doesn't appear to faze Farideh, who smiles indulgently as she watches Silva get up and flounce away. "We shall all be fast friends," she says, to no one in particular, though '"Rategar is sitting there, so presumably him. "You know, there are lineage books and charts out there. It's not hard to--" But then she's waving a hand towards the seat Silva's just vacated, smiling up at Torlynna. "Sit. Tell me your name. Where you're from. Who your parents are. What are your hopes, dreams, and most embarrassing moment." It's grown, now. That Silva's leaving has Rat straightening up to watch her go, inviting over Torlynna in her wake. Eyes fall on the fist created that gets secreted away before he's studying the newcomer with open interest. It's the disrespectful air that draws slight smile and look to watch Farideh for her reaction, and her answer on looking up lineage gets a blithe, "Please do. You'll find my father's line is not even in it. Removed. It's a shame, really, but, why are we even comparing whose Bloodlines is bigger? Those things don't matter in a Weyr, right?" Bare teeth. Now Torlynna gets his attention. Torlynna's shoulders stay strung tight but the rest of her body eases slightly as she settles into the chair offered. Like the hot seat it is, she slowly adjusts into it while uncurling the scarf from her neck. She leaves the scarf hanging around her shoulders. "Torlynna, Lemos, apprenticed to Woodcraft hall and posted to Crom. You wouldn't know my family and I don't get embarrassed." She rattles off the answers and adds a lopsided smile, as though in apology for her barbed defenses. "How is someone's line removed from the book? What did he do wrong?" "They don't, but," Farideh makes a point of holding out the vowel sound in the last word, "I don't want to get on Lord Cendon's bad side by inviting his actual, long lost relative, to stand for one of our clutches. What do you think? Would he care?" Presumably not, if Rategar's story is to be believed. "Torlynna." Now, the goldrider's only got eyes for the crafter girl, and a pleased smile. "Lemos-- that's a lovely place, and Crom-- what a tragedy." She sits back then, passing an absent hand down the front of her dress. "She's quite right. How did his line get removed? Usually, they reserve that for the worst sorts." Rat seems to find watching Torlynna interesting as he listens to her answers to Farideh. There's a nod to that before he turns to address the weyrwoman with a rather wry, "Trust me. Lord Cendon won' give two shits about his cousin removed. Even less about me. Perhaps my father did do something bad. You'd have to find him and ask him, Weyrwoman. Make sure you tell him that you're asking for me while you're at it." Worst sorts? Rat's smile is just a tad too mischievious at that. But on Crom, "Yes. Tragedy. Do dragonriders often get killed? In case that's something I'll have to worry about." Torlynna allows, "The assignment has taught me to persevere inless than pleasurable conditions," spoken with the practiced ease of someone who has resolved to shoulder their punishment with grace. "I think I missed your introductions." The answer about the removal of lines from histories has her attention. When his answer is hedged rather than providing meat for a story she sucks through her teeth in disappointment. "I hardly think it's worth bragging about if you can't even prove it as fact." Snow! Snow outside. Snow not inside, where the conversation is warmer as goldrider and two candidates sit around a table in the kitchen, chatting. "I'll be sure to ask around whenever I visit Bitra next. I do not, by habit, particularly enjoy that part of the continent, but concessions can be made." Farideh's smile is thin, and then completely disappears as she considers Rategar, soberly. "Not anymore. Not unless they're sick or-- High Reaches has a history of odd deaths, but it's usually only goldriders, so I wouldn't worry just yet." Assurances made, her gaze settles on Torlynna. "You didn't. I'm Farideh. Junior Weyrwoman," tapping her knot with a finger. "From Igen. I miss the warmer weather." It's some sort of introduction, anyway. "If you go there, I'm taking that as an invitation to a date," Rategar seems to warn Farideh with a look. "We can go out and take a stroll in the rain. I'll drape my jacket over your head. We can eat stolen redfruit together under a tree, and talk about how Lord Bitra brought us together." It's a likely story, the way he says it, and since introductions haven't been made, He turns to offer Torlynna his hand to shake as he says, "Call me Rat. Yours?" Pause. "If only I and my father got along enough for me to truly care about my lineage," he answers on bragging rights in his Bitran accent. As for deaths, that seems a bit sobering as he goes quiet in consideration of it. "Goldrider deaths. You don't worry, then?" he asks now. Torlynna inclines her head to the goldrider politely, "Pleasure." She says with that crooked smile and more relaxing of her shoulders. Her mouth moves slightly while the young woman tries to come up with some remark on the pretty date-picture Rategar is painting but decides to bite back her words, certainly the other woman can fight her own battles. "I'm Torlynna." She says instead and takes the offered hand, her grip quite strong which isn't shocking given her overall muscular appearance and craft of choice. It's post-lunch time for the entire Weyr, but - though she ate not an hour and a half ago - Alida is still feeling the need for *something* that cannot be had at the night hearth's large pot. Perhaps the reason for the palest-blonde's pointed seeking of more food might be the lingering scent of bubbly-pies on the air, or perhaps it's the extra-intense, left-over heat of this particular part of the Weyr that draws her. No matter; the taciturn woman - sans knot, though clad in her riding jacket with Glacier's patch on the arm - moves quite quietly into the large cavern, clear green eyes moving about with animation amongst the few staff people left within. Along her search, she cannot help but notice the table with the non-Staff people arranged around it, and so when muted bootfalls mark the bluie as moving past the triad of Rategar/Torlynna/Farideh, she offers them a stiff, vaguely polite little nod...and continues onward, deeper within the place. If she's overheard anything of their conversation, the expressionless woman gives no sign. "Really?" Farideh glances sharply at Rategar. "I'm always surprised by other people's proclivities, but you hardly look like the man who strolls a woman, pregnant with some other man's baby, through an orchard." She arches a brow at him amusedly, before resuming her apt-listening expression towards Torlynna. "I hope you're settling in well. No bothers? No requests?" However unimpressed she is by the taller candidate's words, she seems to be in a giving mood. She even marks Alida's drive-by nod with a smile and wiggle of her fingers. "I thought I said I hoped to live to my thirtieth," the goldrider reiterates, poking at the sad leftovers on her plate. "I'm only twenty-one, after all." His hand gripped by Torlynna, "Well met," Rat tells her, not seeming to register the strong grip, but his becomes just a bit firm before releasing her. With Alida's entrance being watched by him, Farideh's answer on their 'date' earns a, "Pregnant, huh? Don't really mind that," he tells her with a look going towards her belly. "I hear walking helps. You've got a long ways to live through, after all. I do have a request, though. I can have a hammock instead of a cot, right?" Since Farideh's in a giving mood and he looks to Torlynna to see if she coughs up a list too. Torlynna draws her hand back and rubs her palms together. "Requests? Nope. Things are just fine as can be." She scrapes her chair back with a widening grin. "I should be finding my cot however and make sure no one has decided to raid the new girl's things. It's a real pleasure to meet you all." She hooks a thumb in the leather belt after a wave and turns to saunter back to the dorms. Farideh's finger-wiggle gets only what might be one of Alida's standard, non-syllabic replies - a soft grunt - while Rategar's peering at her finds the self-contained woman only staring back at him for some moments, like she's performing some sort of silent, scientific study. Torlynna gets the same, if even more abbrieviated study just as she departs. "What a pity-- let me know if you need anything. Or Jounine. Or any of her assistants." One hand flounders in the air, half wave, half dismissive gesture. "It was a pleasure, Torlynna," Farideh says, watching the other woman walk away. "Strange, strange proclivities." Rategar gets her disbelieving regard then, and a sigh. "A hammock? A hammock. If you can find one, without stealing it from someone, and you can do it in such a way as not to bothers others, I don't see why not. It's your sleep and comfort that's suffering." And then, eyes briefly touching on Alida again, she scoots to the end of her seat and rises, momentarily unsteady on her feet. "You'll excuse me, but I should likely stop talking and do some actual work, before they come find me. Another time?" There's the trace of a smile on the goldrider's lips, just before she turns and makes her way out. Rat nods Torlynna out before he says to the goldrider, "Does something about me screams 'thief'? I will get me that hammock." But, Farideh's leaving the candidate nods her out as well along with a grinning, "Another." There's a pause before he turns now towards Alida, asking her at large, "Do you know where I can find a hammock to hang?" Because it's important. <insert rest of log here!> |
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