Logs:Not Feeling Feisty
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 October, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, H'vier, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'vier tries his wiles on the two female candidates least likely to give him the attention he wants. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: T'mic/Mentions |
   |
| It's cold and raining outside, so the Snowasis is pretty crowded. H'vier is still somehow sitting at the bar with seats between himself and the people nearest to him. He's mostly in his leathers, jacket opened casually, and a glass of newly refilled whiskey on the counter that he's leaning against, body turned just enough to be able to watch the rest of the bar. Despite not having the reputation of a social butterfly, Jocelyn occasionally puts in an appearance at the Snowasis, usually solo or in the company of one or two others for a working drink. Tonight, she's the last of a small group of candidates to enter; the others are quick to grab a table and initiate conversation around who will order what, punctuated by jovial gestures and jocular interjections. There's a glance spared for them as she heads instead toward the bar, hands pulled from her pockets to begin loosening scarf and jacket collar while she strides up to the counter. Fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the surface once she gets there, pale eyes alighting on the nearest bartender with an expectant look. Her order? Something dry and white. Tap-tap-tap, goes her hand as the man behind the bar steps away to fulfill her request. Due to certain restrictions, candidates don't necessarily draw the bronzerider's attention. Not until one of them separates from the rest, anyway. Dark eyes linger on Jocelyn as she approaches the bar, but it's only once she's waiting impatiently for her drink that H'vier says in some semblance of a charming manner, "Hey, pretty. Let me buy that for you?" He pats the seat of the stool next to him twice. This is evidently the price of his investment. Jocelyn's hand freezes mid-motion, impatience stilled in the wake of being so addressed. Pretty. Eyebrows lift in a manner more skeptical than indicative of interest as she shifts her attention to H'vier and the vacant seat next to him. "You should take the time to learn names, " is her cool response. Her drink arrives not long after, and she's prompt to slide the appropriate number of marks forward to the server with a neutral mutter of thanks. A couple seated nearby gets up to depart, leaving the redhead quite able to slide onto one of the empty stools moments later - not next to H'vier. There's an appreciative exhale once she's taken first one sip, then two of the pale bubbly she's been served. Faryn arrives not long after Jocelyn and the group of candidates, a brief enough window that it's not immediately possible to rule her out as a straggler to Jocelyn's small group. Probably not, since she looks windblown and doesn't seem to scan the bar for anyone in particular. She tugs off her knit cap and deigns to lower the zipper of her jacket so her throat is exposed to the air, navigating through the crowd to the bar, where there's no seat for her but a space just her size. In contrast to Jocelyn she orders, "Something dark," and waits, cutting a look down the bar as the couple leaves. She hastens to claim one of them, without regard for the person who takes the other. Conveniently, she does know names, and demonstrates by greeting, "Jocelyn." "Your loss, gorgeous," says H'vier with a shrug, turning slightly to face Jocelyn more than the rest of the bar, because he's not going to just ignore her now. He doesn't notice Faryn until she says the other woman's name. "You'll sit next to me, Faryn, won't you?" See? H'vier totally knows some names. And now that he knows the other? "Jocelyn here is even chillier than you are. Not sure how willing she is to stab me, but I kind of like it when you girls get feisty." If Faryn doesn't move, H'vier will have to so he can settle in next to her instead. Sorry, ladies. He must be bored. A side-glance cuts the other candidate's way at the sound of her name, followed by the smallest of head tilts to pass for a polite enough nod. "Faryn, " says Jocelyn evenly by way of return, half-turning so that she's more facing her contemporary than the bronzerider down the way, whom she's apparently decided to ignore to the best of her ability. "You also tagged along, I see." It's a dry observation, delivered with half a glance back toward the cluster of candidates who entered before them. They're all being social at their table, cheerful and in high spirits even before a server comes their way with glasses and snacks. The line of her shoulders tenses slightly as H'vier continues on, but her focus remains fixated in the other direction. "Sure," Faryn replies with mock-cheer. "And then, for fun, I'll walk right off the patio and hope I break my legs. That would round my day out perfectly. Thanks." Her gratitude is not for H'vier, but the bartender, who swings back around with her order. Not whiskey; rum, smelling strongly of spice. "Tagged?" Faryn asks, following Jocelyn's glance. "Oh, no. Not with them. I just got back." From somewhere she doesn't elaborate on, distracted by testing her liquor. She finds it satisfactory and her fingers relax around the glass, possessive but easier than a moment prior -- for a few wonderful seconds, gone when H'vier decides to tag along closer. She sighs, annoyed, through her nose, lacking Jocelyn's focus. "Unlucky for you, I'm not feeling feisty at all. But I think someone in here must. You should find her." "I don't know why you girls are so against having some fun. Both of you look like you could use some of it. Too damned young to be so... this." H'vier waves a hand to gesture vaguely at them both. The hand turns into waving for the bartender to get him another whiskey because he's going to finish this one off in the next few moments. "What's got you both in such a sour mood? That time of the month?" Obviously he would think that's an option. Looking every bit as though 'fun' is nowhere in her personal lexicon, Jocelyn gives a noncommittal noise while she nurses her own glass, sniffing briefly as the other woman's drink arrives. "Not what I usually enjoy, " she decides after a moment, "but if that tastes as palatable as it smells, I might have to order it next time." One arm comes forward to lean on the bar in such a way that her elbow takes up just that much more space around her, a non-verbal barrier that all but broadcasts her total lack of invitation as H'vier approaches. "I don't know about you, but I do need a new hiding place for the inevitable pile of bodies, " she says drily, still to Faryn. "I figure I'll have another seven to plan their disposals." Sorry, sir: this is non-hormonal Jocelyn. Faryn's mouth twitches in a small grimace. "My mum used to drink this. Still probably does. It reminds me of home." She takes another pensive sip. "I wish he'd given me whiskey, but it's good and warm for the winter." The grimace slips into a softer smile. "Might still have some from last my mum came around, if you'd like to try it some time." The other woman huffs a small snort of amusement. "I know lots of places!" Her volunteering for hiding bodies is entirely too eager, her voice only lowering in faux conspiracy to whisper, "Most of them are in Igen." At a normal volume again, she lifts her drink to wave it a little dismissively. "Bet you know lots of places closer to home though." H'vier? Faryn's trying really hard not to acknowledge him, but he's got a way. "Right now, I'd say you." H'vier settles comfortably beside Faryn, so Jocelyn is safe in that regard. "If you want to get rid of bodies, the best place to put them is between." Not that H'vier has any experience with this sort of thing, obviously, but he says it so casually that one might think he at least isn't taking Jocelyn very seriously. "You wouldn't be sour if you'd just let it happen, gorgeous. I promise that you'd have a good time. Both of you would have a good time." He has a very high opinion of himself. But something about him must make up for his personality. "I might, " Jocelyn says after a few moments about that drink, much in the sort of manner that someone says they might come by for a visit, except that they don't. "Oh, I don't know, " mild, "you might know of more places in Igen than I do around here." Since the off-handed link established between murder and menses hasn't seemed to have had any effect on H'vier, the redhead simply arches an eyebrow for the suggestion of between, eyes narrowing as she slides off of her stool. Frankly, "You seem to be the only one who is, " having a good time, and with those parting words, she promptly re-wraps her scarf and heads for the outdoors, leaving the majority of her drink unfinished. Exit Jocelyn, stage left. Two fingers, flicked off in a wave above the rim of Faryn's glass in farewell to Jocelyn, tangentially familiar with the way the woman dismisses herself. The ex-crafter looks a little dismayed, still. Now it's just her and H'vier, and one free seat she can see. Glass in hand, Faryn leverages herself over one seat, putting space between her and H'vier. He isn't her chosen company, and even so, she picks up the thread of conversation and continue along it. "If you commit a crime, it's best to do it alone. More people means more chances you get caught. You ever heard of the prisoner's dilemma?" H'vier makes sure to watch Jocelyn as she leaves, probably more lewdly than he would otherwise. Once his attention turns back to Faryn, he doesn't bother moving over a seat again. "Have you committed a lot of crimes, sweetheart? I can't say that'd make me any less willing to fuck you. Moreso, actually." He considers that for a moment, then asks, "What if I let you hold a knife while we did it? Would that make you feel better?" Faryn takes a deep breath, exhaling her exasperation at the rum. Which, it's worth noting, is staying in hand and very close to her mouth, like she's worried about putting it down in case she needs a quick fix of patience. She doesn't deign to answer his first question -- or his second really. There's only, "I hate you." "Hate is kind of a strong word," says the bronzerider with the sort of sigh that might suggest she's hurt his feelings. Except that would mean H'vier has feelings, and he obviously doesn't. "You're not my favorite person, either, you know. Always threatening me or saying mean things when I'm just trying to show you a good time. It's kind of rude, darling. I didn't even deck that boy of yours when he got in my face." H'vier is a super nice guy, Faryn. "Mmmm." Faryn thinks about that, what it implies, and for once is civil. "You're right. I'd have to care about you quite a lot more than I do for that sort of thing." She drums her fingers along the edge of her glass. "It's kind of rude to continue pursuing people when they've told you no." "Mmmm." Faryn thinks about that, what it implies, and for once is civil. "You're right. I'd have to care about you quite a lot more than I do for that sort of thing." She drums her fingers along the edge of her glass. "It's kind of rude to continue pursuing people when they've told you no." Her rhythm on the glass stops at his last, and she turns to face him. "I don't know what you're talking about, so I'm sure I don't owe you my gratitude for it." "The tall, ugly one. That's yours, isn't he? He was kind of pissy about me touching you, I guess. But he doesn't follow through very well. More the reason I didn't hit him than anything to do with you, truthfully." H'vier is facing the counter now, taking a drink of his whiskey and watching while the bartender makes a drink for someone else. "No, not you, describe him," Faryn presses with dry humour, looking at him peripherally. She can't pretend she doesn't know what -- who -- he means, though. "Not mine. And I'm still not going to praise you for him catching you the one-in-a-hundred time you're not a prick." "Ha," H'vier says it dryly. "I wasn't asking for praise. But maybe if you stopped acting like a bitch for a few seconds, I'd stop treating you like one. I know you find it hard to believe, but plenty of women enjoy my company just fine." He gestures vaguely toward the rest of the bar behind him with his drink, but he's still sitting right here. "Bad taste, low self-esteem," attributes Faryn without missing a beat, and she doesn't rise to his insult so much as she once did. "You don't treat me like I'm a bitch. You treat me like a piece of meat, one with plenty of holes you can stick it. We can do this all night. Why do you keep trying if you don't like me? Does it just kill you to not be told yes?" "Who enjoy amazing sex." H'vier adds the last to her list of attributes. "You'll say yes one day. And then you'll kick yourself for missing out for so long. I can be a very good friend to have, Faryn." He looks over at her, but he's shifting to his feet now. It brings him a little closer to her, but getting closer doesn't seem to be his ultimate intention. "I'll let you brood while I go find another piece of meat to stick. Enjoy." He moves further down the bar, then, to make sure he gets his drink topped off. Faryn knocks the rest of her drink back with a snarl of displeasure -- too much alcohol, too much arrogance from him, whatever. "That must be why people clamber to be in your social circle. I lost credibility by being seen talking to you." And so, it's lucky that Jocelyn left her glass behind. Waste not. "Cute," says H'vier before he's turning to go find one of the women who actually do enjoy his company. Or maybe he'll just go brood by himself in a booth somewhere out of sight instead. It's kind of hard to tell with him sometimes. |
Leave A Comment