Logs:Not Ideal
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| RL Date: 28 August, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex returns. Farideh fesses up. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| The weather outside is pleasant as the day edges into evening and Rukbat begins its lazy descent towards the horizon line, but beautiful skies beyond the walls of the Weyr don't mean much when there is paperwork and all manner of documents to sign off on. It's in this endeavor that Farideh's wrapped, sitting cross-legged on her couch, chewing on the end of a pen with a slew of hides spread out over her legs, the couch, and the low table in front of her. Any signs of a fire in the hearth have long been doused, for the temperature without is warm enough not to warrant it. And the weyr is quiet save for the occasional shuffle of paper or outside sounds that leak in past the narrow entryway. It's not unusual at all for riders to come racing up the road, dropping their still hard-breathing mount at the stables and rushing inside on some important errand, or delivering some important message. Probably not even enough to warrant an annoyed muttering from the stablehand on duty. Certainly Drex doesn't bother stopping for the niceties. The silence inside Farideh's weyr means she can probably hear the stomping of his boots as he comes up the walkway, pausing outside the entrance for a moment, before coming inside. He looks... well, he's definitely been cleaner, -- a lot more so -- and there's a distinctive scent of the sea and fish -- emanating off him when he beelines for the couch to gather Farideh up into a breath-crushing, wordless hug. First comes a bewildered frown, and then Farideh's head turns slowly towards the entrance, where all that noise is coming from, likely expecting something other than an unkempt sailor on her doorstep. Her eyes, once they alight on Drex, widen to unnatural proportions, and she goes pale, but she, luckily, doesn't have time to say anything before he's got her in his smelly embrace. "Drex," is muffled, spoken into some part of his sea-scented shirt, even as she finds her arms wrapping, reciprocating the hug with a fierceness born of separation and longing. Yes, he definitely smells like he's been stuck on a fish trawler for days, sevens, at least. But the fact that Drex is kissing her now might well serve as a bit of a temporary distraction, one hand tangling into her hair. "Fari," he sounds amused, at her muffled naming of him, pausing in the kissing long enough to get a good, close look at her. "Gone so long you forgot my name?" There's no resistance in Farideh, despite the smell, and she leans into him yearningly when he kisses her, returning the fervor. Only when he stops and starts asking questions does she open her eyes, cheeks flushed, to stare up at him with emotion-- desire? guilt? confusion? "No," she assures him, searching his face with her eyes. "How are you here?" She probably shouldn't ask questions she doesn't want the answers to. Drex might know her well enough to see something in Farideh's expression, but for his part, there's an enthusiasm and delight that overrides whatever caution that expression might've otherwise engendered. His eyes go ceiling-wards, as he answers, "We were down Ista way. I took a little trawler to Big Bay, got a ride with a trading family sailing for Fort Sea, rode north for Ruatha River, got a even smaller trawler heading about halfway up the coast, then took a runner--" he stops, very near the end, when he seems to recognize this is probably not the detail she was, exactly, after. His brow furrows. "Of course I'd come. You know I would, Fari. I mean I--" he looks momentarily guilty, "I didn't drop everything. I thought about it for a... a couple of days first. I weren't sure about being a father, you know, because, well..." he shrugs. "But it's you, and me. And if we can figure out you and me, I guess we can work out a kid too, yeah?" And the emotion continues to build as Drex speaks, but it gets clearer and less muddied by any underlying feelings: shame. "Drex," Farideh says softly, strain evident in her features. "You should sit down." Her arms gradually loosen from around him, where before they were holding on desperately, and she tries to take a step back, to distance herself from him before she delivers the blow. "I'm-- I love you-- I'm sure you'd make a wonderful father but I--" is her attempt, whether or not he's chosen to sit down on the couch where all her paperwork still lies. "I'm not pregnant." "Sit?" Drex stares down at her, bemused by the suggestion. "Been sitting for sevens, feels like. Aint gonna do that soon as I get here. Plus, then I couldn't do," he wraps his arms around her waist, as if to pick her up and spin her around as he usually does -- but pauses at the last minute. "Can I do that? Would it--?" he's frowning in consideration at her stomach, now. When she steps back, the frown deepens into concern. "Fari, what...?" A beat, as he stares at her in mute silence. Then: "I don't understand. You... lost it?" he tries to step closer to her, hand outstretched to draw her back. Drex's misunderstanding of her intentions and the situation just makes Farideh look that much more shamefaced, and when he stretches his hand out to her, she stares at it without moving. "I'm sorry," she says, in a small voice. "I lied." It's not something she says confidently and her eyes can't even meet his momentarily. Drex doesn't seem to know what to do for a few moments; his expression bounces from confusion, to a sudden understanding and tightened-jaw anger. His outstretched hand drops back to his side, fingers curling into a fist. Finally, with a sharp breath that is an unsuccessful attempt not to sound mad: "Why?" At the anger in his voice, Farideh winces, but keeps her eyes down. "Because I missed you," she says, her cheeks flushing ruddier. "I know now it was-- stupid. Rash. I shouldn't have done it and I've thought about taking it back a thousand times since I sent the letter-- but you were-- and I'm--" She looks up then, daring to look hopeful. "Do you want a baby? We can have one, if that's what you want," is obviously just eager to please, to make reparation. The sailor makes an inarticulate noise at the back of his throat. It looks like Drex is trying, and failing, to come up with adequate words and, finally, he turns to stalk off down the tunnel that leads up and through to the dragon's ledge, likely inadvertantly. It's not the sound he makes so much as it is the walking away that puts the stricken expression on Farideh's face. She opens her mouth once to respond, but nothing comes out. As he disappears into the tunnel, her face drops into her hands, and she stays like that for too long; in the end her hands slide down, to only cover her mouth, and her eyes stare hard at the doorway he's just passed through, clearly conflicted. It's like Drex isn't even aware of that big, gold dragon that's up there -- not at first. He finds a wall to lean against, breathing heavily, staring ceilingwards. By the time he becomes aware of the presence of the queen, he's definitely muttering under her breath. Acutely aware of her, now, he sideeyes the dragon nervously, likely unaware if she's even awake or not. "Come here ofte--" he doesn't quite finish the sentence, grimacing over it and dismissing it as quickly as it came, "No, no. Fuck." He clears his throat. "Any good herdbeasts lately?" A beat, while his face goes through several iterations of idiot, and finally, expressively: "Can you believe that shit? I left my Captain, my crew, my ship. Who knows if they'll even take me back. I thought we -- she understood. Ain't ever asked her to give up you." Possibly there's a note of jealousy there, at the end, like maybe he's considered it. The gold -- minding her own business in her own weyr! -- also doesn't immediately respond, or seem to notice, the extra presence in her domain. His incessant prattling brings Roszadyth's head around, wide-set eyes on Drex, but she's silent; it could be considered creepy, that vigilant, quiet staring. "She says you have every reason to be mad," Farideh says quietly, from where she leans against the inside of the tunnel wall, every inch still riddled with guilt. "But that-- it's fundamentally impossible, and if--" Hurt flashes across the goldrider's face as her eyes settle in turn on her dragon. "No." A sigh, followed by, "I can talk to Itsy. I can get you back on your ship. I don't care if I have to give Itsy her weight in marks, if that's what you want, then-- I'm sorry," is soft, plaintive. The sailor starts -- surprised, it seems, as much by Farideh's presence -- so distracted as he was by the creepy gold dragon staring at him -- as he is by the fact that the dragon has an opinion on the matter. Drex scowls, arms folding across his chest, radiating a rigid silence. That is, until her latter words, which prompt a sharp, "No!" from the sailor. "Aint letting you talk to Itsy. Not after last time," even if he's angry, he's still protective, and it makes him clench his jaw for a moment. More silence, then begrudingly, "What did she say?" with the slightest tip of head towards Roszadyth. "Roszadyth--" Farideh's eyes flick back and forth, from Drex to the gold and back to Drex. "She just wants me to happy, but it's-- unacceptable," the emphasis given as she glances disapprovingly at the gold. "That--" She seems unhappy to even be speaking the words out loud when they are explicitly spoken within their bond, originally. "If it would make me happy, to see you happy, that if she could, she would--" Grave. "Leave." She shifts her focus onto the sailor, looking repentant. "It's impossible to separate us, and I know-- I should try to separate you from what you love. I know." Drex's expression is confused, at first, staring at Roszadyth like she's done something surprising and unexpected -- at least from his perspective. "I didn't think they were that..." he doesn't finish the thought, frowning. If anything, the unexpected support seems to have him unnerved, edging further back towards the tunnel, away from the queen. "Not saying I aint thought about asking it," he confesses, staring at Farideh in turn, exhaling sharply. "I missed you, Fari, but... is it going to be like this every time?" "Capable of thought and feelings?" Farideh watches Drex move away from Roszadyth and towards her, vaguely sympathetic. "Roszadyth has her own personality and her own opinion. She's-- reasonable, kind, and patient; completely the opposite of me. She makes sense when I don't," she says, glancing at the gold again. But the closer he gets, she straightens away from the wall, lips compressed until it's her turn to answer. "No-- well, yes. I'm going to miss you every time. I'll still have the same feelings, the same desire to bring you back, but I won't. It really was--" She gives her head a shake. "I realize I shouldn't have. I won't, again." "Love aint reasonable," Drex utters, forcefully. "It makes you crazy. Do you know how much shit I got from my crew for spending my nights in port with a harper, rather than in a bar or a brothel like a normal fuckin' sailor? You've about ruined all the credibility I have as a sailor, and a man." But he steps towards her all the same, as if drawn, and seeks to draw her in towards him likewise. "Drex--" Farideh attempts to interrupt him in the beginning, but falls inevitably silent. "You admit it? You had a harper's help, or multiple harpers?" Her smile is sincere and relieved, and eagerly, she goes to him when he moves towards her, without a flicker of doubt or indecision. "I don't think you're the first man who has ever written a love letter or gotten a harper's assistance in doing so. I loved getting the letters, even the one from-- whoever he was, from Far Wells." "Aint proud," Drex admits, "Wasn't easy. But easier than trying to ask Itsy. She'd just spend the whole time giving me shit for it, no doubt." While one arm wraps around her, the way he half turns suggests he's keeping a vague eye on Roszadyth's location, aware of any movement. "Don't need to worry about getting a letter from him again," the sailor says with a certain heat. His body is tense, and he's silent for moments more. "Understand why you did it, Fari," he says, "But I..." he pauses to take a breath, "Don't lie to me. Maybe... next time, I can arrange to come during one of our layovers. Or let you know when so we can meet up." "You did well," Farideh says, clearly pleased, and she at least isn't bothered by her dragon's proximity or Drex's aversion. "No?" She's too distracted by his nearness and staring up at him with wide, doting eyes to put much stock in that thread of the conversation; RIP Far Wells dude. "No, I--" Her smile wavers and she hesitates, but after leans forward to capture his lips in an enthusiastic kiss, his face framed by her hands. Breathless, too soon, she pulls back and nods her understanding. "I won't ever lie to you again. I promise." If Drex is a little less enthusiastic than her in returning the kiss, it's probably not all that obvious, given, well, she's a girl and he loves her and she's kissing him. He's probably the one to break it off sooner than her, glancing towards the gold, as if all-too-aware of being watched. "Good," he says, kind of gruffly. "I, uh, ought to... aint had a bath in a few sevens." "A bath?" Farideh stares at him blankly until the light clicks and she wrinkles her nose, as if just now realizing he smells as nice as a vat of old, smelly socks in the laundry. "Right. It's still in the same place," she answers, starting to move back towards the inner weyr, and away from the gold, who isn't as interested in the pair as she once was. "I can see about a change of clothes if you didn't bring any with you," she says, looking back at him questioningly. The wrinkling of nose earns a genuine laugh from Drex, as he paces the goldrider down the tunnel, with only a single glance over his shoulder. "I brought clothes," he says, defensively. Nevermind they smell just as fishy as the clothes he has on him; that'll be a little present for Farideh to discover later! A single, incredulous look is given to Drex for his comment about clothes. "Someone will bring your dirty clothes to the laundry, in the meantime," Farideh says. She walks without stopping, from the short tunnel to the sitting room with its myriad furniture pieces, through the bedroom, and then, she stops at the entrance to the bathroom. "There are towels, soapsand, and-- oh, I don't think you need any lotions or perfumes." And for his part, the sailor makes a face, but doesn't complain. Drex, frankly, looks bemused at anything more complex than soapsand. "Aye," is all he says, looking awkward. Any other time, he'd probably ask her to join him, but he's looking distinctly uncomfortable as he slouches there in the bathroom. What more can you say about bathtime other than "don't overflow the tub" or "wash behind your ears"? And so, it's with one more bemused look at Drex that Farideh quickly removes herself from the room, disappearing back into the open portion of the weyr where she can keep herself busy with hidework and a too-fill glass of wine; probably not in that order. Drex, for his part, takes an inordinately long time in the bath. Surely he's wrinkled up like one of those old aunties twice over, before the sound of water draining away can finally be heard. Undoubtedly he's used the time to think -- not his strongest suit -- and when he emerges he's wrapped in a towel with hair still wet. Walking over towards her, he stops, running a hand through his hair, and finally says, "The Pirate Queen II aint gonna be back at High Reaches for another two months and a half, or so. By the time I caught up with her, I might as well stay here, find some work, rather then spending another two months on fishing trawlers just as likely to stink." By the time he emerges, Farideh's back to sitting cross-legged on the couch, bent over a short stack of hides, squinting hard and feverishly counting. She's legitimately surprised when he speaks, her eyes flying up to his face. "Oh." A beat. "Will you be-- fine with that? Another one, maybe two, at the Weyr? I don't want you to--" Her cheeks flush again and she sits up straighter, making a rueful face. "I suppose you have the right to resent me for-- taking you away from it, anyway. It's not ideal." "Aint ideal. But neither is our relationship," Drex points out with one of his half-shrugs. He steps closer, leaning to brush hair back from her forehead, planting a kiss there. "I do love you, Fari." It feels like there should be a 'but' following that, and he pauses like there might be, but instead: "I'm going to hit the hammock. Let you finish... whatever it is." "No," Farideh admits, quietly, and for once doesn't appear inclined to argue. "Are you sure? I have--" She glances down at her unfinished work, makes a face, and then looks back up, rueful smile and all. "It shouldn't take that long, but I'm sure you're tired. I really am," her lips compressing, "sorry. For everything." Without anything else to say -- that she hasn't apologized for profusely already -- she returns her attention to the topmost hide on her lap, which looks suspiciously like some type of ledger. "Aye," Drex assures her. "Good night, Fari." And he disappears off into the bedroom. By the time she gets there, he's fast asleep, snoring lightly, sprawled spread-eagled across the bed. There might just be enough room for her if she nudges him over a bit. |
Comments
Alida (01:50, 29 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
i was wondering if Farideh would just add another lie to her first one (I lost the baby) and make it easier on everybody. Sometimes lies are easier in the long run than truths. *tips hat* :)
Faryn (12:09, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I love this scene. I'm surprised she fessed up so quickly, so I'm going to imagine it had a lot to do with Ros. Anyways, you crazy kids delight me.
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