Logs:Quiet Time to Heal
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| RL Date: 27 October, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Ista Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Edyis hunts Faryn down at the Sandbar. |
| Where: The Sandbar, Ista Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| The Istan weather is warm if a little gloomy, and frankly the low, flat grey clouds at intermittent points in the sky don't hold a torch to anything that the skies of the Reaches might produce, and it certainly is not enough to put a damper on the people who are loitering around the weyr's bar. There are plenty of empty seats at the bar, between drinkers who have left a seat to avoid conversation with their neighbors. Faryn's got one of them, with a space on either side, and a drink half-finished before her. She's drinking from the long straw--and alternately chewing on it while her eyes roam the small space. Let it be noted, some browns can make buddies anywhere and also? They look out for their own. So that Akluseth and Sulizath have shared intel shouldn't be too surprising. Since the Reachian brown can be spotted out in waters just a short distance away. That Edyis is dressed like a native, the tropical sea green sarong styled as a sundress probably is, since she seems to be attempting to sneak up on the up on the gloomy straw chewer. "What can I getcha?" Edyis is betrayed by Istan hospitality the moment she gets close to the bar, and Faryn turns to glance over her shoulder and follow the man's gaze and see who he's addressing. She takes in the brownrider, her forehead furrowing, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the garb and the sneak. Her mouth goes briefly slack, like she might form a greeting, but nothing comes. That straw must be delicious. "Mm, something sweet with lots of ice." Edyis murmurs, flashing a smile and claiming a chair next to Faryn. "I figured you'd possibly run the other direction if I didn't catch you off guard. I looked for you, after. By then you were already gone." She notes, as her drink arrives. "Would have been nice to get a note at least." Faryn, to her credit, doesn't run the other direction. She does lay off the straw, pushing it around the rim of the glass so she can drink down what's left efficiently and shove the glass forward too in taciturn request. The bartender flashes his own practiced smile at the both of them, plucks up the glass, and carries it away with a cheerful whistle that makes Faryn's mouth curl in a tiny, annoyed sneer. Or maybe that's for Edyis. "I figured no note said enough," she says, watching one drink come and waiting for her own. Maybe it's complex. "So we are doing the whole you are pissed at the world because you didn't impress thing again?" Edyis states mildly, "Because I left the boxing gloves in Akluseth's bags if that is the case." There's a shake of her head then, and something gentler in her expression. "Or did you think that any of those you left behind would care about you any less." "No, Edyis. I'm doing--" she starts. Stops. Takes her drink from the bartender on his next pass like it's a life preserver and swallows down a quarter of it without missing a beat. Then, "I'm trying to figure out my life. Where to go. What to do. I can't think, with you all there and all your opinions and," like spitting poison, "caring. And I certainly didn't need you all there to look at me like you're looking at me now." "And how am I looking at you now?" Edyis wonders, drawing the straw into her glass and sipping. Faryn makes a clicking sound with her tongue behind her teeth before the straw finds its way back, her chewing almost pensive in its pace. "I think I'm too drunk to find the word," she says with a notable lack of slur despite the quickness of her drinking. "Let me be, Edyis. You're clouding up my thoughts." "I didn't come here out of pity Faryn." Edyis notes with a click of her tongue, "I came because I happen to have a friend who needs an assistant, and your probably the only person whose stubborn enough to put up with him for longer than a few months." She shrugs, "But hey if you want to play the pity me game I can oblige, but I know you better than that." Faryn's jaw tightens in slow increments around the straw. Were it not flexible beneath her teeth, she'd be breaking something. "Sounds a lot like you came here to taunt me. One minute, I'm enjoying my drink and the weather and thinking about whether laying at Hanson's feet would get me my job back, the next?" She gesticulates at Edyis. "You of all people -- I figured you'd at least understand enough to keep that bullshit off the table." Dark eyes study and assess, and there's a thoughtful quietness to Edyis the more anger that rolls off of Faryn, the calmer the brownrider seems. "What the fuck does Hanson have to do with it?" Quiet and bewildered, there's a soft exhale then and a studying look given as fingers are raked through dark curls. "You, you don't lay down and fade quietly Faryn, I understand why you can't be at Reaches right now, trust me. I know what it's like to want something only to realize that it's impossible. Or that it won't happen the way you imagined, but - you are more than this. You can do so much more than this." The words fervent. Anger, yes, and jealousy and resentment and pain. She is her mother's daughter, hunkered down there with the hatches battened for all those emotions, and Edyis is just rapping away on the door. But Faryn listens, her jaw spasming at the hinge from the pressure it's under. "Hanson," she tries, but doesn't get any strength of voice behind the thought, or even the full thought, before Edyis continues. She scoffs. "Hanson wouldn't take me anyways. I know that, got the letter somewhere. It's just another fanciful thought doesn't deserve entertaining. Head in the clouds." A very long beat passes before she scratches the side of her nose before she ventures, flatly, "What sort of assistant." It doesn't have the intonation of a question, but probably should. Maybe Ed is oblivious to those emotions or maybe she understands. She exhales slowly, listening. "Vintcrafter gone rogue.'' Edyis murmurs then, perhaps not entirely sure what else to say, or perhaps giving Faryn a chance to let the storm calm or rage as she wishes. Letting silence fall. "And how," still even, still affectless, "exactly does a Vintcrafter go rogue? Mislabel his stock? 'Bottled in Cloud-Cuckoo Land, in the year infinity-redfruits-plus-three, by Master Shittershins of the Vintner Hall', perhaps?" Faryn at least isn't raging or white knuckling her glass anymore. Progress! Both brows arch at the sarcastic display, there's almost the wicked curve of a smile. It lingers but doesn't quite show itself. "He ran afoul of craft politics but was too daft to give up the thing he loved." It might be admiration, or perhaps a sense of kindred spirits that accounts for the fondness in the brownrider's tone. "An easy mistake." Faryn toasts the currently-invisible and as-of-yet-nameless crafter in question before her next sip. "And now, what? He sneaks into collections of Lord Holders in the dead of night and changes their labels? He tears the labels off?" She gasps, half-hearted with mocking horror. "Oh, the humanity." "No, he brews that spiced rum that I always keep about. But forget I asked. If your going to mock his art." She snickers into her glass. "I was kind of surprised you went to Ista, but I guess it makes sense in a way." Faryn's interest piques for a moment, betrayed by a rising eyebrow and a sidelong look that is better than the way she's been staring at the bartop. "Mum loves that. She'd buy a barrel if she could find it." Which is totally not throwing her mother under the metaphorical stampeding dragon. "I mock everyone's art," she points out, and then with a shrug, "She wouldn't take me anywhere else." "Irreverence isn't an attractive quality." The former scribe notes with a slant of her mouth that belies the deadpan tone. "I'm not saying he'd teach you his art, that my friend would be up to you to charm him out of it, but there's nothing wrong with trying different things until you find where you fit." "Isn't it? Surely somebody must think it is. I'm sure your vintner would find it hilarious. At the very least if he's what you say, he'd have to appreciate the truth to it all." Her mouth twitches. Not a smile. Just a something, in passing. "I fit pretty well in this stool, I hear." Edyis lifts her shoulders ambiguously. "You'd have to ask him in person for that I think." Though that smile still lingers. "Well we all need our quiet time to heal, but I figured I'd offer it, and if you wanted to try it, more power to you. Faryn flicks her fingers. "Maybe I will," does not constitute any agreement to anything being offered. "I know how to find you, if I want to. But right now, I think, you're clouding my thoughts." There's a pressure, an urging. She's not mad; she just needs, as suggested, quiet time to heal. Edyis salutes, "Mm, think I'll go over there where the sunshine and the water are." Since she's dressed for the beach after all. Dissapearing from Faryn's view. |
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