Logs:Keep Out
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| RL Date: 1 July, 2016 |
| Who: Castivan, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Castivan and Drex meet. And then they fight. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
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Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner
caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a
comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for
who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth
walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and
a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or
work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other
outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the
cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where
snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller,
higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the
daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the
Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within
this maze. It's a winter's night, which means most of the warm places of the Weyr are already staked out, full of crowds of cheerful people. Perhaps that's why Drex has established a claim over one of the larger niches within the inner caverns, repositioning chairs, rearranging them to his liking. Underfoot -- occasionally in the way -- a feline twines through the chairs, undoubtedly thinking this all a game of some sort. "On my honor as a trader, her tits were this big." The stocky youth expands both arms, complete with requisite finger wiggling, as he makes his way through the inner hall with a pack of younger males. Unfortunately, it would seem Castivan's audience doesn't appreciate the story about the supposed busty pirate captain since they brush him. "Eh, no appreciation for the finer things." He mutters as his gaze shifts to where Drex is rearranging furniture. Mostly, the arranging just seems to create a barricade to entry, and then the most comfortable (and largest) chair, taking a central space, along with a second chair on which to prop his feet. Onto this makeshift throne, Drex drapes himself, although not before the feline hops up and somehow manages to squeeze into the space behind his back, preventing him from properly relaxing. Belatedly, he notices the audience, and gives a scowl Castivan-wards that is usually sufficient to deter any further interest. The scowl is taken as an invitation since he's hopping the makeshift barricade with ease and settling himself into one of the empty chairs. "You look like a guy whose got it all figured out. What's a guy gotta do around here to get some decent clothes?" Since Castivan's quite notably don't look like they will do much to deter the weather. "Aint a public area," Drex says shortly, as he notices Castivan invading 'his' space. He even gives a flicker of fingers as if to dismiss the other, even when he's chosen a seat. It's the latter question that furrows his brow. "How the fuck should I know?" is the immediate response, scowl deepening. "Do I look like a weaver?" He half twists, turning his attention away from Castivan. "If it were private man, there'd be a door on it. At least that seems to be the way those things usually work." And for extra measure, he props long legs up along the barricade, (chair-i-cade?) since Drex already did all the hard work. "Fuck, does the weather make all northerners as grumpy or is it just you? Who pissed in your beer?" "You leapt over a bunch of chairs. Ought to be obvious to anyone but a complete fish-brained dolt that means for you to keep out. Or," Drex frowns, leaning forward, as if he's reached a conclusion, "You one of them simple ones?" He ignores the latter insult, other than a snort. "Chairs are not a door. No door or curtain, no expectation of privacy. Besides you already went to the trouble of setting up this nice little spot. It'd be a shame to leave it go unappreciated. " He tones in an accent that marks him pretty easily as a southerner. "You are clearly one of those that walks around with a proverbial stick up your ass. " "Well, duh," Drex rolls his eyes. "Guess you think naming all the things is helpful. Do you get full marks for that? A little clap from your ma?" He shifts his shoulders in one of those half-shrugs. "Aint my fault yer too dumb to realize yer not wanted." Castivan says, "Nah, in your case I can already tell it's pretty hopeless. It isn't that I can't tell that I am not wanted. I just don't give a fuck."" Unaccountably, Drex suddenly smirks. Castivan grins crookedly. "It would seem we finally understand one another. I'm Castivan." Settling into the chair. "Not that you give a shit." "I understand ya just fine," Drex stands now, and behind him, the feline stretches out into the warmth left behind. A couple of steps take him closer to Castivan, and without warning, he reaches back to punch the seated man in the face. He should have expected it, The chair clatters hard, and Castivan is left staring at the cavern ceiling, while his face throbs. "Should have figured you were one of those." Getting up to his feet and grabbing the back of the chair and moving as though to set it back upright. Except that he flings it, hard directly at D'rex, putting as much space between the two of them as possible in the process. Correction. He should have expected it, The chair clatters hard, and Castivan is left staring at the cavern ceiling, while his face throbs. "Should have figured you were one of those." Getting up to his feet and grabbing the back of the chair and moving as though to set it back upright. Except that he flings it, hard directly at Drex, putting as much space between the two of them as possible in the process. Drex is apparently done with talking, and while he looks pleased at the result, he's still smirking when that chair comes flying at him. He manages to fling up an arm to protect his face, although that doesn't actually stop the impact, and he staggers over under the weight of it. Groaning, he pushes the thing off him, his left hand clutching at his left arm gingerly. Hopefully nothing broke, but it is too late for Castivan to be thinking about the consequences. Now is the time for him to do what he does best, which is run like hell. Or at least he'll try to. He might stumble over himself a bit in the process. There's a thump from behind, but if Drex is pursuing he certainly doesn't catch up. The fight -- such that it is -- has drawn a few curious onlookers, though it happened so quickly that no one's tried to intervene. |
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