Logs:Dirty Laundry
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 21 August, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh's laundry goes flying. K'del is not amused. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 8, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
  |
| Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr 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. Weyrfolk mill throughout the caverns in their daily routine, heedless of the cloudless day outside. It is warm and smells slightly of lemon here - perhaps due to the close proximity of the laundry. One laundress comes out of the steam-filled laundry carrying an overloaded basket of clothing. Farideh doesn't notice that she is leaving behind a trail of socks and underwear until she's already taken a dragon's length of steps. She'll bend to pick one up, leaving another behind, and so repeats the process. But she looks strangely content for someone enduring the repetitive process of bending and retrieving, innocuously so, without a care in the whole world. K'del, on his way past the bathing pools and laundry, comes to a halt in front of a lacy pair of underwear right in the middle of his path. Frowning, he leans down to get a better look, and then - gingerly - reaches to pick up the offending garment between his fingers. It's only then that he peers ahead of him, gaze sliding from one person to the next before, finally, coming to rest upon Farideh herself. "Think you dropped these," he offers, cheerfully enough. Farideh grabs a washcloth off the floor, and when she looks up, there's K'del with a pair of underwear dangling from his fingers. She straightens and reaches out a hand with her palm up, to receive them. Her face conveys annoyance - whether at him or herself is to be determined - and she opens her mouth to respond, in which no doubt would be a scathing remark. Just then her eyes give him a quick once-over, and his knot is noted; it makes her think again before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "Why, thank you, sir," she says sweetly, giving an obviously forced, fake smile. Ah, fake smiles. K'del's fair brows lift, those pale blue eyes considering Farideh with-- what, amusement? Certainly, some level of consideration. His fingers release the panties, letting them drop to the launderer's palm; then, with an expression that is surely only mock grave, he says, "You're most welcome. Aren't there... baskets, or something, to, you know, prevent things from going missing?" Those unmentionables are shoved into the haphazard pile as she shifts the basket onto her hip. "Had I more than these two arms, I would willing carry more than one basket," Farideh replies, too sweetly, with just enough edge to her tone to convey exasperation. She turns to survey the damage left behind: socks, underwear, shirts, all strewn here and there. With a significant pout, which is obviously just as fake, "I'm sorry, I can't believe what a mess I've made." "Perhaps you could try and carry less at one time?" K'del makes a moue that acknowledges the futility of multiple baskets, and probably his comment in general. It's a little awkward; he's trying. "Or... no, no, it's fine. Don't need to apologise to me, long as you get it all cleaned up and... the floors are clean, right?" He gives them an appraising glance, blue eyes lifting, after a moment, to regard Farideh again. "Carry less," Farideh repeats with a deadpan expression, one corner of her mouth twitching in the remnants of a smirk. Her whole charade drops, eyes narrowing as she regards the Weyrleader; she looks less than satisfied. "You suck at taking hints." It's pointed and simple, meant as an insult, just before she stoops down to start collecting more dropped clothing items, muttering under her breath - words like "idiot" and "bronzerider" are purposefully enunciated. "Why," begins K'del, with a beat where he would probably put in a name, if he had one, "are you suggesting I ought to be offering to help?" 'Nice guy' though his reputation is, he doesn't seem to be making any movements to do so, even now. In fact, his hands have very deliberately folded behind him. "What's your name? Don't think we've met." K'del gets a glare, though it's somewhat ineffectual given she's squatting over a pile of laundry. "Of course, why 'would' you offer to help?" Farideh thrusts her chin out stubbornly and starts putting items in the basket in rapid-fire sequence, not careful at all. "You're just like all the others." Who the 'other's are, he'll have to guess, because more information isn't forthcoming. She hefts the basket as she stands, turning so it comes between them. "Why do you 'care'?" is spoken slowly, carefully, with a pointed stare. By now, K'del's brows are raising steadily towards his eyebrows. "Why not?" he wonders, answering her last remark first. "Care because this is my Weyr; care because I like to know who's doing what and where and when. And," after a moment, "Care because it seems like maybe you're having a bad day. So whether I'm like the others or not, reckon I do actually care." "You care?" she asks with another fake, pitiful face. "Enough to want to know my name and cheer me up, but too grand to actually get your hands dirty and help one of 'your' people?" Farideh regards him askance, a raking glance that takes in everything from head to toe. "How thoughtful of you, really." She angrily tucks back a strand of brown hair and gives him her best glower, shifting her basket when it starts to get too heavy. "Farideh, if you 'must' know, sir," punctuated with the most mocking of curtsies; a quick bob and then she's up. K'del's brows knit, his mouth drawing in towards a purse that is no longer quite so amused, though it falls short of actual irritation. "You've got a mouth on you, haven't you?" he comments, dryly. "Well, Farideh, I'm sorry to have bothered you. You... look, I'm sorry. Should just let you get back to work, then." Awkward. All gloat and little sense: "Yes, and it is a very lovely mouth isn't it?" Farideh is so, so mature, batting her eyelashes and giving that little sassy smirk of hers. She stands her ground, basket in hand, and gives him her best intense stare. Yes, this could get awkward. Who's going to leave first? K'del has the advantage of height... and of age... and of rank, even, too, but... he stands here, now, looking just the faintest bit awkward. He opens his mouth to say something, and then seems to think better of it, letting it hover open for a long moment. Finally; "Are you always this... did no one ever wash your mouth out with soapsand?" He can't seem to help himself. Annoyance flickers, however faintly, before it is replaced by a winsome, self-serving smile. "This.. wonderful? Lovely? Beautiful? Why, yes, always." Farideh is deliberately taunting, it's true, but she seems to have come off her edge.. for the moment. She scoffs at his suggestion, "Soapsand? Does anyone do that anymore? They just sent me to bed without dinner, which didn't work at all." Angelic smile. "If you were one of my children..." Luckily, Farideh is not. "Let me give you a suggestion, Farideh: mouthing off to people of rank is a bad idea. I'm not going to get you in trouble for it, but some people might. Will. Learn to keep your mouth shut. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He takes a step forward, aiming to angle around past the launderer; well out of her way. "You're old enough," Farideh retorts, again immaturely, with a sarcastic twist to her mouth. But hey, they're just starting to have fun and he's already walking away. It's a quick movement, and certainly sloppy enough that he could dodge it completely, but she tosses her basket within his path, clothing spilling everywhere. "Oops," she says, unconvincingly, from behind a hand. There's definitely the spark of amusement in her eyes. K'del manages - just barely - to dodge the flying basket, though it involves jamming himself against the wall of the corridor, which can't have been comfortable. The look on his face as he turns is no longer amused, though not angry: he just looks at her, pityingly. "Reckon you should clean that up," he says, coolly, before turning away, and walking off altogether. Not that she gets away scott-free, mind you: there's a summons to the Headwoman's office within the hour, and a round of punishment duty to follow. "Honestly, Farideh," says Giorda, angrily, before showing the launderer to the door. "Why can't you learn to mind your tongue?" |
Comments
Azaylia (20:56, 21 August 2014 (EDT)) said...
Ohmygoodness. This was a scream! Farideh for Weyrleader! (Poor, sweet K'del is not prepared for such nastiness. Aw. xD)
Leave A Comment