Logs:Runners Don't Cry
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| RL Date: 31 October, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo encounters Drex and shares a lot of his rum. There's talk of respecting the dead, and no one comes to blows. |
| Where: Stables, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language. |
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Stables, High Reaches Weyr Taking advantage of a natural overhang in the side of the mountain for its roof, this building boasts sturdy stone construction braced by beams of tough-as-nails skybroom. Just inside a pair of broad doors, the ceiling rises a full two stories high for the full length and half the width of the building. Beneath the overhang, wide windows admit light and more fresh air, while opposite is the second-story hayloft. The stables' main focus, however, is the double rows of stalls that line the walls below: one large stall serving as tack room, the rest housing a remarkable variety of beasts. It's nighttime and the stablehands have gone on to enjoy the rest of their day in food and drink, leaving the stables empty save for one. The woman in dark leathers is in one of the open stalls, brushing down one of the runners settled for the night. With reins and saddle not yet hung up, it looks like she had just gotten in from riding in the fields with him. Except that she's not quite alone. No, there's the odd thunk from the loft above her head. All activity stops at the sound, and Jo'e eyes flick upwards for only a moment. The silence lengthens save for a runner looking for more to eat from her and then in the silence, her voice rings out. "I've done worse than gut a man for spyin' on me." It's simple, the words, as she deliberately returns to tending the beast. From above, there's a snort. Dismissive. Derisive, even. "Was here first. Yer spying on me," the voice is familiar, male, and the words are slurred enough to suggest the owner has been drinking, at least somewhat. "Why would I be spyin' on someone who I can't see?" Jo asks now to the ceiling, eyes narrowing on the voice. "Ya sound familiar, too. Who are ya?" she's calling now, pausing in her brushing. "Aint rightly sure. You weyrfolk are so... weird though," comes the somewhat musing voice. Another snort follows, apparently declining the offer to name himself. There is a ladder leading up to the loft, though, so it wouldn't be that hard to determine. "I ain' weyrfolk, man," Jo counters with a snort. All the same, when she comes out of the stalk to place the brush away, she notices the ladder as she closes the runner's stall up. She seems to deliberate before her booted steps could be heard climbing up, her wild mess of hair seen first before the rest of her before she emerges onto the loft....and seeing who it was, she pauses. "'Course," she says, lips thinning. "It'd be you." The erstwhile sailor's made an rough kind of chair out of the bags of grain and fodder stocked up here, and even a mostly-level arm on which to perch the bottle of rum he's clearly been imbibing. Drex eyes the bluerider as she appears, echoing her sentiment almost exactly: "You," with a shake of head. "Aint gonna try and seduce me, are ya? Last rider did that to me here, well," he tips his bottle, "They say it was his dragon that caused all that noise this mornin'." "Seduce ya," Jo echoes that, pausing to take a look around the loft. "Huh. Haven' been up here since before I Impressed. Over ten turns ago. If I seduced ya, it'd be awhile 'fore ya find yer legs again to get down that ladder. Then I'd have an angry pregnant goldrider on my hands. I'd rather not, but I'd take some rum though." Pause. "H'vier," she says his name, watching him. "He was the one that seduced ya." Almost a question. "As if I'd let you," because Drex, now that he's no longer a teenager by a hair, has such solid control of his libido. He glances down at the bottle, as if considering her request, and after a moment starts to offer it -- at least until the latter. "He tried. All, come get a dragon," in his best, deep impression of H'vier, which is honestly not all that accurate, "And shit. Must work on impressionable girls, I'll bet." Snorting as she moves to flank him, "Let? Boy, ya haven' been seduced before," Jo tells him with roll of her eyes. "Dragontalk ain' seducin'. 'Less his pants were off when he was sayin' it." Hands slides over with the fingers flapping in a 'gimme' gesture for the bottle as she adds, "But anyway. Ya shouldn' speak ill of the departed. Man's barely been dead for a whole day." Nevermind that she's talking about pants and all. "Aint ill," Drex replies with a grousing reluctance, as he lets her secure hold of the bottle. "Just the truth." If he's overly unsettled by her flanking him, he doesn't show it; instead, one booted foot nudges one of the stray bags of grain he hasn't claimed as part of his throne. "Sit," he insists, "Don't want no landlubber puking her guts all over me because she can't hold her rum." Dropping heavily down to the hat ground beside him as she drinks, "I can hold my rum," Jo banters back with a dark look in Drex's direction. "I've been drinkin' a lot longer than you. I've drank old men under tables that only piss out liquor. I'm guardstock." As if that should explain it. "What're ya doin' up here drinkin' 'n scarin' the runners, eh? Don'cha got a pregnant girl to look after?" Drex purses his lips, and regards Jo sidelong. "Suppose you are old," he begrudgingly allows her that, at least. "Aint ever seen any girl able to out drink Itsy, though," he adds, as a point of pride. His eyes narrow as she mentions Farideh. "Aint any business of yours," he says, leaning over to try and secure the bottle back into his possession. Jo looks dramatically aghast. "I am not old," she retorts with a face in Drex's directly before she's drinking again. "Who's Itsy, anyway?" Another drink on business and she's flapping her free hand at him. "Yeah, yeah," she says to that as she tries to keep the bottle from him. "Cuz yer so tough'n all. Must be all those turns out to sea." Finally, she lets him have the rum back but not without adding, "Easy on that shit. The man that seduced ya died from the bottle, darlin'." "No?" Drex looks genuinely perplexed at her assertion she's not old. "How old are ya?" While he might not be willing to give up too much information on his relationship with Farideh, his with Itsy is apparently common knowledge enough that he answers, "My Captain," without any kind of hesitation. When she attempts to hold the bottle from him, he actually sits up from his lounging, makeshift chair to stretch with long arms, looking pleased when he secures it (even if she gave it up). Booty, however it's secured, is to be celebrated -- apparently with a deep draught straight from the mouth. "Aint no drunk-ass rider," is dismissive response, complete with the certainty of the youth. "Besides, if you can drink men under the table, seems you oughta be takin' your own advice." "Thirty-four," Jo answers with her age with a heavy glare. "Ain' nothin' wrong with that, either. Captain." Pause. "She let's ya come here a lot, does she?" she asks on Itsy. She snorts simply on drunk riders and taking her own advice as she shakes her head to that and sits back. "Nah," she answers casually. "Ain' goin' out that way. I'll pro'bly get a blade to the gut before that. Us from Keogh can hold our liquor. Were ya born on the sea, pirate?" Drex's expression says it all: thirty-four is positively ancient. "Yer as old as he was." H'vier. Not that he knew how old H'vier was exactly, except that he was probably over thirty and anything over thirty is old. He makes a face when she talks about Itsy. "Aint like that. It's winter." Now, even if he was here before winter. He takes another swig from the bottle, too rude to offer it to her again without some sort of prompting. He grunts acknowledgement of her taking a blade, taking it relatively in stride -- it's her latter question that requires some thought. "Like as not," he answers, finally, with a little smile, as if satisfied. "Now yer pushin' it," Jo states flatly when Drex is comparing her age to the deceased. Hand reaches out for the bottle from being folded. "Does yer captain visit here sometimes?" she asks now. "Yer family on the sea? How old are you? How did'ja meet Farideh anyway?" It's one question after another, the bluerider arching a brow at him. Perhaps Drex recognizes the flat tone, or something in the look she gives him. Either way, the sailor gives up the bottle without further prompting. "Used to. Think she and Laine might've had a falling out though. We don't talk about... that stuff." Relationship stuff. Girl stuff. It's the questions -- multiple -- that earn a scowl and arms crossed over his chest. "Aint no business of yours. Unless you're going to offer up your life story first, ol' woman?" his brow goes up, like he's fairly certain what the answer will be. Taking up the bottle with a nod of thanks, "Ain' that a shame," Jo comments lightly before taking a drink. "I 'spose Weyr love is like that sometimes. Ya want my life story?" She takes a pause to look the younger man up and down in good measure, leaning back a bit as if she needs to see the whole of him first. "Well. Call me old again'n we're fightin' up here. I'll just have to take one for the gang with Farideh. Tol'ja I'm from Keogh. Didn' stay there. Did some questionable things'n ended up here with a dragon." It's probably the shortest version ever told. "'Spose to be married with a baby on my hip'n outta my father's way since girls ain' no more useful than that. I carry knives with me. What's your story?" She looks at him as holds up the bottle for another pass. "Not really," Drex answers honestly, of wanting her life story. He smirks, too, at her threat, but at least seems to take it into account, since the word is missing from the response that follows, "Girls are more useful than that. My Captain's a girl," he says, somewhat defensively. "Why the fuck you did you want a dragon for anyway?" Like that's the most incomprehensible part of her whole story. He reaches for the bottle, but doesn't immediately drink from it, wonder of wonders. "I'm a sailor," he says, simply. "It's my life. Caught caught in that storm back a few Turns ago. The one that killed that goldrider?" he doesn't seem to remember her name, like it's the least important detail, from his perspective. "Got dumped at the Weyr while we got a new ship built. Aint much to it." "So honest in one so young," Jo notes dryly to his honesty, but at least the convict rider doesn't look offended. As for useful girls, "Not accordin' to Guard trainer, Jothan," she counters with a thin smile. "They don' make good good guards, he said. Didn' go huntin' for a dragon," she admits with a slight shrug. "Got my reasons, though. Didn' turn out so bad. Tac's the only one in Pern that can put up with me. Whatcha have against 'riders?" she asks now a long look. "Yer girl's a 'rider." But his story does seem to ring since she goes slightly stiff the more he tells it and she looks him over soberly before she drops the name he doesn't recall: "Aishani. Her name's Aishani." With an inelegant snort, "The fuck does some backwater guard know anyway?" is Drex's opinion on the matter, gulping down a mouthful of rum, now. "Aint got nothin' against riders." Mostly, anyway. "Just can't see how some people go crazy for 'em. Wouldn't give up the sea for no dragon. Fuck no." He gives a dismissive shrug of his shoulders when Jo names the goldrider he couldn't remember. "Well, that backwater guard's my father," Jo relates blithely to Drex, "'n, nothing. The bastard knows nothin'. 'Swhy I fuckin' left in the first place. What happened to your folks?" It's alluded that something must have happened to his parents since he's a pirate. On dragonriders there's more of an amused snort this time along with a, "Sounds like ya found yer freedom another way. 'N, Aishani's worth ten of yer pirates. She was a good friend of mine." It's likely given towards his dismissive shrug, and the bluerider's waving her fingers towards that bottle again. "Shit, I'll even drink to her as much as the others I've lost since steppin' foot in this Weyr. Pass it over." Drex's brows go upwards, perhaps at first misinterpreting the response, judging by the slight tensing of posture. As she speaks more, though, he seems to relax, with an understanding snort. "Aint ever known squat of my parents. Could've been seafarers, drudges or whores for all I know." His gaze narrows. "My Captain -- our former Captain -- died in the storm. Just because he weren't picked by some dragon doesn't make his life worthless. Fuck. You riders all think the same, yer all better than everyone because some overgrown lizard looked your way." He snatches the bottle out of her reach, drawing himself up. "We all gotta make it, man," Jo says heavily, her outstretched hand dropping. "Whether it's with some overgrown lizard, livin' on the sea or a girl spreadin' her legs. Sorry 'bout yer captain." Leaning towards him, "But then, I tend to give respect to the dead," she adds before falling back and drawing her knees up under her in preparation to stand. "Ya know nothin' 'bout me, Drex," she says to him then, her words deadly sober despite the rum. "Ya have no fuckin' idea what I think." The sailor stares at her, expression hard and posture tense. Then, after a moment, Drex tips the bottle, enough to splash onto the floor. "Fer my Captain." And then a second. "Fer yer goldrider." That's, it's seems, as far as he's willing to respect the dead. "Yer right, I don't. All I know is what you've said, and it sounds just like every other fuckin' rider out there." That Drex spills some drink onto the floor for some and not all of the dead, Jo just shakes her head as she gets to her feet. It's to the last she addresses, brushing the hay from her leathers before she states, "Meet more 'riders. Ya'll find we're not all the same. 'Specially not the ones I fuck with." She steps towards him, eyeing him up and and down with a nod before she notes, "Don' die up here. Runners can't cry for help." It's given dryly as she moves backwards toward the ladder. If Drex comprehends why Jo shakes her head, it doesn't show, the sailor scowling a little at the advice given. "Aint found a one yet who's not much cut of the same cloth, 'cept the newly impressed. I don't know or care who you fuck, though." Whether the latter is a threat, or just friendly advice, the sailor shakes it off, wary gaze on the bluerider until she retreats to the ladder. "It's folks I fuck with, pirate," Jo tosses over her shoulder back at him as she climbs down, leaving Drex with a final look without too much heat before she's disappears from his view. |
Comments
Squishy (01:30, 1 November 2015 (PDT)) said...
- Slow Claps.
More please!!
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