Logs:Making Up, Breaking Up
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| RL Date: 28 March, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Farideh |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Drex make up. For about five minutes. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 5, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Itsy/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions |
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Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake. Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done. The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today. While it's a relatively cool spring day, it is pleasant enough for a climb up onto the diving cliff. Probably lucky for Drex, who mumbled a vague invitation to Farideh the evening before. In concession to her arrival, likely, he's perched on the lower, more accessible rocks, legs planted wide and arms folded, like someone's given him How To Sit Like a Manly Man tips in the last seven or so. The weather being cool means no frumpy old coat or bright red hat, but Farideh's fairly noticeable even before she arrives on the cliff from all the huffing and puffing, and stomping she does up the stairs. She takes all moment to catch her breath all and smooth back her wildly tossed hair, before.meandering towards where Drex is sitting with manly aplomb. "Drex," she greets, stiltedly, stopping a couple feet away and crossing her arms, too. At least the pirate's looking less sulky than the last time she saw him, dark eyes tracking the girl's progress as she nears. "Hi," Drex says, after an awkward pause, as if he read the tips on how to sit, but not how to speak. "Going to sit?" he glances at the rock next to him, like he's been saving it just for her. His offer is immediately met with stubborness, lest he get confused. "Fine," Farideh says flippantly, and sits as far away as she can on so near a rock. She's not trying to hide the fact that she's still miffed from their last encounter, or whatever's made her made this month. "It feels wet," might be accusatory, but then it's hard to tell when she's staring off into the distance and pointedly not at Drex. There's certainly no need for her to get stubborn on his account; Drex is clearly already confused by her regardless. "It aint, I sat on it and made sure first." Such a gentleman. He scratches at his face, giving her a darted, sidelong look. After somewhat of a pause, he says, "A dragon aint for me, Fari." It's all good and well until someone brings up the elephant in the room. Farideh's head comes around and she scowls at him. "Why? You haven't even tried it. It's a decent living and you wouldn't have to be on a ship." She keeps on frowning, adding after a short pause, "And '"I'm here." That last bit is important. "You haven't even been on a ship, but you refuse to try it. It's a decent living and you wouldn't have to put up with weyrfolk," Drex is mimicing her, perhaps not intending to incense her so much as to present a counter-argument that doesn't devolve into their normal yelling. His fingers are folded together, tightly. "Aint meant for a Weyr, Itsy and I. We're meant for the sea. Maybe you could be, too," he says, with a not-very-hopeful look. "I have been on a ship. Not in the ocean, but--" Farideh looks disgruntled. "What would I do? Wash your clothes? Cook?" Her tone says she thinks that's absurd, and her arms tighten defensively over her chest, but once her eyes drop from his face, she looks more sad than mad. "I'm not. I want to stay here." She glances up again, her lips pressed into a tight line; at the same time, there's all those emotions in her eyes, which are over bright. "I can't." "Aint much different to what you do now," Drex replies intently, leaning towards her, "Except it'd be fewer people, and you'd be with Itsy and me." He's not so oblivious, however, that he can't read her expression coupled with the words that follow. "'n the sea is my home." He slouches, looking away from her, now. A sigh follows his speech, and then a short silence, broken only by the seemingly faraway sounds of the weyrbowl. "You want me to want it, just like I want you to want this, but if you're not fit for Weyr life, then surely you know I wouldn't last a day on a ship. It's fun when it's docked, but it's--" Farideh scrunches her nose and sighs, again. "I'm not like Itsy. I can't fight and do what she does. I like parties and pretty dresses and baths and--" Her posture becomes somewhat defeated, "you." Her chin drops to the palm she props up, elbow on knee. "I can't go. You can't stay." Woe. "Itsy likes those things, too," Drex points out, with a sudden grin, "Could put a bath in the Captain's quarters, stop in at every port for a dance," he starts to say, though his grin doesn't linger as her words sink in. "Aye," he concedes, with a frown. After a moment of silence, he edges closer, invading her rock, reaching an arm around her. "C'mere," he mutters, trying to draw her closer. "Wouldn't you need the Captain's approval for that?" Farideh cocks her head at him, staring dubiously with her eyes barely narrowed. "I'm not good at sharing," her bath, with his Captain, obviously. Her mouth takes on a plainly pouty moue before she's leaning into the half-embrace. "Will you miss me?" she asks, completely guileless, with her head tipped to study his expression. "I'm sure Itsy wouldn't object. Nor to you using it," Drex says with a knowing sort of smirk. Once she's settled close against him, he leans his face down nearer to hers, murmuring, "Aye. I'll think of you every night, when I'm in my bunk..." he's grinning, abruptly, completely unrepentant. "Itsy's going to be the captain of your ship?" Farideh sounds surprised, and taken aback by that news; or maybe it's not new news, just that she's chosen to pay attention to that detail now. "Is Devaki going to let her? How does that work? Does she know how?" She doesn't look convinced, as if suddenly leery of them sailing away with feisty Itsy at the wheel. It's his latter comment that causes her cheeks to bloom with color, at the same time that she pushes against his chest. "That's all you ever think about." "Uh-huh." Drex doesn't seem as concerned as Farideh about the specifics, let alone what that Lord'd think of it. With a snort, "Of course she knows how. She was all but the Captain on the Pirate Queen. It'll just be official now." He seems to take it in stride, at least. His arm tightens around her, with a grin: "Mmhmm. I'll be up on the rigging, high above the waves, supposed to be on the lookout for ships... pirates," he says with a sudden grin, "And I'll be distracted by the thought of you in that tiny closet, and completely forget to warn my shipmates, and we'll be attacked by pirates, and they'll be a great sword battle and I'll get a new scar that you can admire next time we make port." The important part is the but. Still skeptical, Farideh frowns at him. "Don't you have to-- vote in the captain? Or something? Or does anyone get to just decide? Because she wasn't, even if she was all but before." She listens to his storytelling with continued incredulity, bright spots of color in the apples of her cheeks, and wavering between a frown and the start of a smile. "You should pay attention. You could die, even if," she looks away, "winning a sword battle would be very admirable." A beat. "Besides, what if I--" her eyes flick back to his face, "am a rider the next time you see me?" "Things aint quite a democracy on the seas," Drex says with a twitch of shoulders, as if dismissing her questions. "Aint swung a sword in over a Turn, so things look good for the pirates. That's the other thing I miss, besides the sea. They took it away from me when they hauled me here." He pats the empty beltloop. "Least I stopped trying to reach for it." He looks fairly pleased at her agreement that it would be admirable, leaning down to nibble at her neck. His, "What?" is more baffled than anything as he straightens to look at her. "Do you have to punch someone in the nose so Itsy can be captain?" Her question is both inquisitive and amused, but both of this sentiments fade when he straightens and she tries not to look guilty. "I told you I wanted to Stand. I asked and--" Farideh tucks in her chin, and stares mutinously back at the sailor. "I'm a candidate now, Drex. I might Impress at the hatching. I really can't leave then." She might look hopeful, if she thought he'd be accepting, but as it stands, she's watching him warily, likely expecting some kind of fallout. "Aint one to fight Itsy's battles for her. She can punch her own noses," Drex asserts, with a grin. "Ask her sometime, what happened when one of the sailors tried to take her hat." He's not unaware of the guilty look, and he's perhaps seen it often enough in her that it makes him frown even before he's heard what she has to say. He stares at her for a loooong moment. And then: "Oh." Just that. Oh. "I'm positive she cut off his hand," Farideh replies smoothly, though not without amusement backing her words. His lack of reaction, however, brings about another frown. "Oh?" she prompts - so helpful - and stares back at him, like she's expecting something more. With a dismissive snort, "That's what holders do. Sailors need both their hands," Drex counters. "But there are other things they don't need to sail." He could be -- is probably -- exaggerating. But it's hard to tell, since he's trying fairly hard to keep an even expression, even if it crumbles a little bit the more she stares at him, jaw clenching. "What do you expect me to say? You've made up your mind." "I can't say that I've ever met a man with only the one hand," Farideh answers, a bit haughtily. "And don't sailors just push people they don't want into the ocean, anyways." Obviously, she's a sailing expert; call Farideh for all your thalassic needs. She reacts as one would expect, with a subtle lifting of the chin and chilling of demeanor. "I have. What do you want me to do? I'm not going to live on your ship with you while we float our way around Pern, and," her shoulders straighten, "I'm not going to sit around and wait for you either. You haven't made me any promises. I can do what I like." And now, Drex withdraws his arm from around her, pushing up and pacing a couple of steps away, angrily. "I didn't tell you not to do it. And I didn't tell you to wait. But, fuck, Farideh. What reaction were you expecting? That I'd leap for joy that you're going to turn into one of them, go crazy and forget about me completely? I'm not thrilled, and I'm not going to pretend to be, either." His back, now facing her, is tense, arms folded across his chest. When he moves away, to pace and grump, there's a scrunching of her features and a moment where she looks like she might be thinking of trying to push him into the lake, but it passes. "What are you talking about? What do you have against dragons? Just because you Impress one doesn't make you go crazy, or forget about people." Farideh's trying to be reasonable, at least. "I thought you'd take H'vier's offer, or--" Her mouth compresses and she jerks her gaze elsewhere, to stare moody in another direction. "You can't have it all." Drex finally half turns to look at her, and after a beat, walks towards her, extending a hand. "Maybe we can't. Maybe we can. I don't want to fight again today. Let's go and find somewhere to say goodbye. Practice at saying goodbye," with a sudden grin. Anger is still evident in her eyes when they lift back to Drex. She looks down at his hand, up at him, back down at his hand, and-- her brow does a weird twitch and then her lower lip wobbles. It's not hard to guess what's coming, but Farideh has the foresight enough to bury her face in her hands when she starts her ugly cry. Emotions are hard, and stuff. It's probably good that Farideh buries her head, because then she can't see the roll of eyes and the silent sigh from Drex, before he settles down onto the rock next to her and wraps and arm around her. "Aint gone yet," he mutters. Gratefully, it's not sobs or extensive weeping, just the average, run-of-the-mill type crying that she's trying ever so diligently to hide behind her fingers. "I'm--" and a shaky breath, "fine." Farideh doesn't fight his presence, but she's not welcoming it either; too busy focusing on not showing the world her splotchy red, tremble-y lip, tear streaked face. "Fine," because if she repeats it, it's certainly true. Drex rubs her arm, comforting. Or attempts to be, anyway; he's clearly not used to dealing with crying women -- Itsy doesn't seem the sort. He's mostly just kind of waiting it out for the lack of any better idea. Farideh makes an annoyed sound, and though she lifts her head from her hands, she's quick to start wiping away any evidence of tears; not that they've stopped or her face is any less reddened. "Would you stop?" She tries to glare through her upset, at him, with that accusing tone. "You make it all worse. Just go, already." Or better yet, she stands up, and keeps trying to swipe the wetness from her cheeks with her fingertips. And now, it's Drex that's flat confused, standing after she does, but frowning at her. "What?" It's after a scoff and a glare, that Farideh says, "Nothing gets better if everything is the same. We can't and the closer it gets, the more--" She stops, frowns, and puts both hands on her waist. "I don't want to get anymore attached than I already am. You're leaving. I'm staying. Having sex with you will make it worse. Doing-- this, whatever this is, makes it worse." Her face is severe, despite the watery eyes and red spots. "It would be better if we didn't. At all." "That's just... you're..." Drex tries to speak a few different times, stymied by the, to him, illogical response. Finally, with a narrow-eyed look and a snort, he turns and wordlessly stalks away. |
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