Logs:Where Bodies Are Buried
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| RL Date: 9 July, 2016 |
| Who: Alysce, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A harper and a sailor run into each other in the hallway. |
| Where: Hallway, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 3, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quint/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions |
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One of the many corridors that extends through the caldera of the High Reaches bowl. Passages and doorways lead off in different directions. There are many tunnels that lead from the inner caverns to more obscure and unused parts of the Weyr, deep inside the caldera. And it's easy to get lost if you don't know your way, or don't have a glow. Fortunately, Drex has both, and he's not hiding either, stomping down one of the hallways with his grumbling, "Stupid fish-shitting weyrfolk." Alysce isn't lost; there may have been some vague noises on the part of a certain Journeyman that she should explore more of the Weyr, and that may be what has led her down here. Her own glow is held limply at her side, illuminating her far-side in its light as she stands at the point of an intersection of tunnels. The harper is clad not very much like a harper at all, with perfectly tailored white pants and a dark jacket that looks to be modelled off those of a dragonrider's. (though it is certainly more for style than practicality. No dragonrider would seriously consider wearing a jacket that sacrifices pockets for a slimmer fit.) It's only at the sounds of the grumbling that she turns away from the etchings in stone she was studying, to query, "I haven't found even one of them that shits fish, you know. Drex." She doesn't forget a voice, or perhaps it is the way he walks that gives him away. Hard to mistake that pristine, prissy harper for anything else; Drex slows as scowls as their paths intersect. "You," he snorts, eyeing her narrowly. "Only because yer pretty freakin' blind for a harper," Drex says that word like it's something dirty. He halts some steps from her, adjusts the glow he's carrying so that it shines more at her, and asks accusingly, "What are you doing here? You aint supposed to be here." "Uhm," is drawls out at that accusation, in that precisely prissy way that makes Alysce unmistakable. "Last I checked, I could be anywhere I wanted to be, thank you very much." Well, as long as her Journeyman allows, but she doesn't add that information to her sassy retort as she flashes a smile at Drex. As he adjusts his glow, so does she, lifting it to shine more pointedly on Drex in turn as her dark eyes sweep over him. "Why? Did I catch you doing something bad? Were you about to steal something or murder someone or something?" "Oh, really? Thought I heard you complaining at the lunch table the other day you wanted to be somewhere warm with a beach so you could parade around with hardly any clothes?" Of course, that could have been some other teenage girl, because frankly, they all sound alike. His face shifts at that accusation, scowling deeper, but then abruptly, grinning. "Aye. About to murder someone," he growls convincingly, taking a step towards the harper with an outstretched hand. "I think what I said was less clothes. You only wish it was hardly any," Alysce answers back flippantly, lifting her free hand to brush her dark hair over one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. But then there's that growled threat, and for a split second the harper looks like she may be convinced he would, battled against perhaps common sense or some inherent belief of youth that no that could never happen to her. The latter wins out and she only bats at his hand. "You could try. Even if you did, would you really want my ghost haunting you?" "As if," Drex snorts. "Yer tits aint even worth looking at." Though he's staring now, because well, topic of conversation. When she bats his hand away, he drops it, but still does his best to loom, aided by the shadows thrown around by the glows. "Aint no ghosts. Where I bury the bodies aint none comin' back," he says, with an overly confident grin, undoubtedly meant to throw of that common sense of hers. "Oh, right. Unlike your girlfriend's, right? Who everyone wants to stare at her tits," recalls Alysce dryly, shrugging up a shoulder. She may have batted away his hand, but so much looming and intimidation is enough to get through to even her, and she takes one little step backwards, giving way ground even as she levels a challengingly look on Drex. "I'm sure. Even if you did, you know, Quint would find my body and then I'd be able to haunt you. So, I win." The scowl that Drex produces comes of genuine irritation. "They fuckin' do. Well, not when I'm lookin' at 'em, not anymore." The dirty pirate radiates smugness at that single step, taking it as a victory. "Quint?" he echoes, "Oh, is that your precious Journeyman? Is he your heeeeroo?" he sing-songs the word, mockingly. "Do you dream about him sweeping you away and ravishing your body?" Alysce's eyes slide slowly into narrowed, dark daggers at Drex's words. And that step is regained even as she warns him in a hissed, "You know, not everyone is so scared of you, ok. Think about that before you think about saying one more word about, yes, my Journeyman. Because he's worth a thousand of you and a hundred of your little girlfriends." A moment, two, and then her hair is flipped again before she adds dryly, "And before you ask, no, I don't dream about you sweeping me off my feet either." Drex's scowl deepens as she mentions his girlfriend. He's quiet for a moment, before he growls, "Do ya dream about me sneaking into your room and slitting yer throat?" "I don't dream about you at all, promise," deadpans Alysce in return, dark eyes only showing irritation. If there's fear there, it's been tampered down behind it. But she then moves to brush past him dismissively, towards the way he came. Drex, now, grins. "You will," he promises. While he shifts his weight like he means to block her, he falls back and allows her to pass, dimming his glow to near nothing. If there's a noise or two behind her as she leaves, it's surely not the dirty pirate. He's not that childish. Really. There's only a sardonic, disbelieving huff from the harper, and perhaps a glance back or two despite the lack of light. She doesn't stop to retort, though, so Drex wins the last word this round. |
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