Logs:Angry Bottles
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 12 June, 2016 |
| Who: Drex, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's Turnover, and neither Drex nor Silva are acting their age. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
  |
Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen
on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a
wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and
organization of supplies into the various storerooms.
Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two
being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves,
while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and
inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public
stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination
is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items
neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them.
Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of
their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept
floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves
providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though
there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from
the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky
dark of deep caves. The weather isn't exactly helpfully conducive to a pleasant Turnover; the heavy rain drives most people indoors, and those that are forced to be outdoors to bring in visitors do so in a hurried manner. The caverns are overflowing with bodies and noise, with food and drink and music, and so, perhaps, it's why the Weyr's semi-resident sailor has found somewhere suitably quiet to wile out the rest of the Turn. Drex has adopted one of the unlocked store rooms as his room for the evening, finding some blankets and making a makeshift nest in which he's reclining, a bottle of something resting near to his hand. His cheerful voice drifts out, perhaps inadvertently inviting inquiry: "If all of the girls were fish in the ocean, and I was a dollphin I would teach them the motion! I wish all of the girls were fish in a pool, and I was a dollphin with a waterproof tool~" Silva //was// flirting with a guy, but that guy turned out to have a girl already, and so rather then //continue// to flirt Silva decided that slapping him across the face was more fun then trying to do anything further. This doesn't make the short rider any more popular so she sweeps through the rooms hunting something quieter. Drex's storeroom isn't at //all// quietier, but it does offer her a chance at a) a drink to capture back to her wery, and b) a snarky remark. "If you were a dolphin the fish would run sweetie, because, like, you'd be trying to eat them." A beat, "and you'd be super ugly." Drex's immediate reaction is a scowl, since she's clearly interrupting his quiet time. Her remark earns a brief pause -- but it's only brief, as he pushes himself to his feet, pointing his rum bottle at her as he continues: "If all them young ladies was up for improvement, I'd give them some help with a ball-bearing movement," is sung complete with a suggestive wiggling of his hips and a laconic sort of grin. "Well," in his normal voice, after a head-to-toe assessment: "Maybe not all..." Silva flicks a glance towards Drex, before rolling her eyes and moving towards the shelves. She's clearly way more experienced with the layout down here then her years suggest she should be as she unerringly goes for the ones holding the best spirits which haven't been opened for the celebration upstairs yet. "That's not the kind of 'eating'," she says it like it's a dirty word, rolling it on her tounge before allowing it to drop forth, "that most girls want." His eyes on her aren't lost and she does put a little more swagger into her step, showing off the way her turn-day dress both clings and drapes //just// like it should. "No?" Drex's grin widens, like he senses the irritation it causes and hones in on it. "Only girls who've never had it done properly'd say that." He takes a generous gulp from his bottle, and watches her examine the leftover bottles with a smirk. "Thought all you riders'd be teaching each other like," he makes an unmistakable gesture using fingers and tongue. "I'd watch an' give some pointers, if ya like?" "Ugh," Silva reaches up on tip-toe to try to grab a bottle from the top shelf. It's //just// out of reach of her fingers and she glares upwards rather then looks back at Drex's induendo movement with his hands. "I," her tone is full of sauce, "doubt //seriously// that someone as loud mouthed about being good, is really as good as he claims. Else, he'd be getting //action// rather than drinking alone in a storeroom." Drex is obviously flaunting his bottle with a little swish so that she can hear the liquid, before he crosses his arms and smirks while he watches Silva's attempts to reach the top shelf liquid. He gives an eyeroll at her response, "As if I'd sleep with just anyone. You weyrfolk have been with more people than a pirate on his last sea voyage. Or any life-times voyage, come to think of it. Sides, my girl's got work to do tonight. Yanno," he makes kissy faces, "Pretend to like dull old men. Shouldn't you be doing that, too?" "Piss poor man if you're letting your girl do that without being in eye range." Silva drops back to her feet and looks around. Ah, yes, there, a stool just for people like her. Marching towards it she sweeps it up in her arms and carries it over to the booze. Problem. Solution. Bam. "You should watch who you're calling loose there. I," Silva grabs her bottle and spins around to look, well, straight at him considering she's at his height upon that stool, "don't dally without some prep first." "Aint that possessive," Drex says, with a shrug of shoulders. "Well," with a scowl, "Least not until her dragon goes all glowy, then all those bronzeriders try to throw themselves on her like they've just seen their first breast or somethin'," he's glowering in remembrance. The distraction means he doesn't look at Silva again until after she's claimed her own booze. "Eh?" he frowns, before a snort follows. "Oh. You're the sort that teases and taunts and never goes through with it, then? Lil' miss priss eh?" "Or, you're just so pathetic that even if you //did// try to go with her, she'd not want you for fear it'd piss off someone important." Silva has to put some super attention on the bottle right now, and see if she can figure out a way to open it. Yes, she is looking to drink that whole thing ON HER OWN thank you very much. "And you?" She flicks a 'seriously' look up. "If you have just //one// girl, then what's up with the bragging about your skill," sarcasm there, "and uh, fishery? Don't piss on me until you look in a mirror." The sailor, surprisingly, actually seems to consider that a moment and guffaws a laugh. "Aye, probably true too. She's the one that made me wear this," Drex tugs at the collar of his clothes -- they're fine looking, and they certainly look good on him, yet there's an air of discomfort in the way the sailor wears them that screams that he's unused to such things. "My girl could crook her finger and any man in the Weyr'd come running. Think it speaks for itself that she only one she looks to is me." His chin goes up and everything, complete with smirk. While he might be aware of Silva's struggle with the bottle, he's neither moving to help her, nor does he think it at all strange that she's trying to snag a whole bottle for herself -- he has one of his own, after all. Silva glances up at his clothes, finds nothing to fault in them, and frowns just because of //that//. Irritation after irritation compounds. It //should// be a celebration, but Silva is very much //not// in the mood. When she doesn't get the bottle open she jumps down from the stool and kicks it back to it's corner. "Screw you." Which is probably paramount to 'I just lost this word battle'. And Drex knows it, too, judging by that shit-eating grin. "Just told ya, can't do it. Unless my girl agreed -- you're welcome to ask her?" "I don't need to fuck someone else's guy just to get off." Silva's voice is curt as if something in the conversation has turned her attention into //true// ire. There's nothing like knowing she //should// probably be getting laid, but also knowing that it's a profoundly bad idea to choose some guy at random less it turn out to be something she //really// doesn't want. "Aint judging," Drex says, just in case this is the reason for her sudden ire. "You weyrfolk are pretty out there, but I've been all over. You'd be surprised the sort of things people need to do to... get off," he smirks as he uses her words. "Don't let me stop you, though," he says, with an expansive wave, as he takes a gulp from his bottle, moving like he intends to follow. Silva whirls around as his steps shows he //might// follow her. "Don't." There's a serious sharpness in her voice as she points at him with that bottle. "Go curl up in your pathetic little corner and wait for your girl to come get you after she's done dicking around with old men." "What?" Drex goes for wide-eyed innocence, perhaps ruined by the knowing smirk. "Trying to keep me trapped here in the storerooms with you?" "No, I'm leaving. You //aren't// coming." Silva whirls around and heads for the doorway, and what will probably be just one more move on a sticky slide of self-destruction because, hey, why not. She's not doing anything ~else~ with her life after all. Everyone needs hobbies. This time, Drex waits until she clears the doorway before he, too, leaves. He's not exactly stealthy, but not trying to be either: just following at a distance at which he can't be accused of following Silva, exactly. He just happens to be heading in the same direction. Outside the stores Silva doesn't break into a run - mostly because she's wearing stupid shoes that would be stupid to run in. She does walk briskly though, breezing past a group that turns to stare at her before shrugging and going back to their own attentions. Past them, and into a side hallway where no one is. In one move, pushed on by internal rage (and probably the fact that Silva can't seem to get the stupid thing open) Silva turns and smashes the bottle against the wall. The glass shatters in her hand, the liquid and glass spreading across the hallway. She takes it on her dress in a spectacular way, the light tan instantly stained red. It's hard, at first, to see the damage she does to her own hand in the move amid the red of the wine, and she freezes looking down at the shattered bottle in her hand, and the hand holding it as if they belong to someone else completely. "Aww, come on, that's just sad." Drex, leaning against the corridor further up, is just disappointed. "You couldn't even awkwardly hit on your Wingleader or something? Fish's tits," he says with a shake of his head. With a long suffering sigh, he gestures preemptorily at her, "Come on then." Silva's attention is riveted on her hand and the shattered bottle. One finger at a time she opens her hand, till the neck slips down and pings against the floor and adding more to the mess down there. Bringing up her hand she looks at it. With most of the wine having dripped off it's clear she's cut herself at least once deeply, the blood welling up to drip down her arm in a thin stream. Sorry Drex, she seems completely entranced by the sight of her own bleeding and doesn't heed him. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Useless bloody riders. Would think you've never been in a fight or nothin' before." Drex is just plain disgusted at this stage, stalking closer and reaching for her arm, if she'll let him, so that he can better see the damage to her hand. When Drex reaches for her Silva snaps to, closing her hand (and probably digging shattered glass in deeper) and pulling it against her chest. "What do you want?! Just go away." The blood seeps through her closed fingers and begins to soak into the wine-splattered fabric of her dress. (Clearly, this one isn't going to be used again.) "Trying to help, idiot," because yelling at someone and insulting someone is clearly the way sailors gain trust. Drex makes a disgusted noise in his throat. Well, the first time these two met, Drex threw her into the baths fully closed. There was no way this was going to go well. "Just get away from me. I'll take care of it." She's icy now, stepping back and looking down at her hand. "You don't give a damn, and I don't want you to give a damn. I'll take it to the healers or whatever." "Fine then," Drex doesn't seem overly upset by her response, more bemused than anything. He folds his arms across his chest and just stares instead. Clearly Silva has taken some leave of her senses, because instead of moving to act on her plan to go get cleaned up she just stands there looking down at her hand as it bleeds. "Fine then." It's a stand off now, to see who moves first. The sailor stares at her for moments longer, and then he begins to mutter under his breath. Some of it is audible: "Fish-faced, dollphin-dongled landlubber," and some of it less so: as Drex skirts around the rider and to the other side, before stepping close -- like he's trying to herd her in the right direction like a simple animal. Some of that icy composure that pressed in when rage shattered along with the bottle Silva whirls and comes face to face with the pirate. She's drawn up to her full height, but it's nothing compared to his and she has to look way up. "You're right." Cool. Calm. Collected. Bleeding from her hand. "I should have been more polite. My apologies." Drex, while used to the mercurial whims of a woman's moods, is astute enough to be wary of the change all the same. "Yeah, I am. But yer still bleeding all over the floor, so... ya gonna move or not?" A beat, "I mean, I can carry you over my shoulder to the healers, but think my girl might take exception to that." Crisply, "No. I can take care of this. It simply suprised me." She nods once and turns on her toes to go towards the doorway. "You have somewhere to be at the moment." Wherever that //is//, Silva makes it plain is it //not// with her. A shrug answers that. "Got everything I need right here," Drex lifts up the bottle -- he didn't abandon his prize possession, after all. Being oblivious to the normal social clues, clearly the sailor doesn't pick up on the fact that he's unwanted, trailing her at a distance again -- at least until they reach the more populated areas of the Weyr. Normal people would go wind their way towards the healers. But Silva's got an option #2, and his name is Zaisyreth. She'll ignore EVERY stare that her wine stained and bloodied appearance causes to those few people to stare. Out of the weyr Silva moves till she meets up with her blue. Mutely she pulls herself one handed onto his back and they'll disappear upwards into the sky. Maybe if Drex was closer he'd have done something. Maybe, but then... maybe not, because it is Drex. With a shrug, and another, "Flat-eared landlubbers," with a roll of his eyes, he disappears off to find somewhere warm and quiet to finish off his bottle. |
Comments
Roz (15:29, 13 June 2016 (PDT)) said...
This is why we can't have nice things, guys!!!! DDDD:
Drex (21:55, 17 June 2016 (PDT)) said...
No, this is why FARIDEH can't have nice things. (Because Drex will just destroy them >.>)
Leave A Comment