[Evaly] No business between friends.
RL Date: 6/25/10
IC Date: 1/18/23 --Stole this log from Bailey, because she's quick. :)
Even'Star(#1935R)
Designed with only needing one or two members to crew it, the Even'Star is a modest little vessel of just 55feet long and capable of flying up to five sails at once. Fore-and-aft rigging projects from a single mast that bears a topmast. Currently just one headsail is flying and is strangely festooned with bright fabric flowers, one can only guess at the reasoning for such an outlandish display on an otherwise simply decked out sloop. The chipped and faded black with white trim speaks to this once having been a pretty little vessel and yet while hull and stern are nowhere near their potential glory, the decking is kept meticulously scrubbed and cared for. A singe hatch leads down into cramped private quarters.
With Rukbat’s dying rays leaving streaks of deep pink and gold across the skies, activity is not so much slowing, as changing form. Cabin windows lit up by glowbaskets being unlidded and laughter punctuating the air from those going out for a night on the island lends an ambience to the docks not realized in daylight hours. The Even’Star is one such boat softly lit by glowlight, however her skipper doesn’t seem to be amongst those heading out for a night revelry. A recently acquired rocker chair is set up on foredeck, its occupant for all intents and purposes, asleep.
Evaly could use a shower and cold drink, by the looks of her, but neither of those things seem likely what with her making her way along the docks. She does take a moment to pull her hair up off her neck into a tattered tail, which will help with the drying of sweat when coupled with the evening breezes, but that's still a ways off. By the time she finds the plank up to the Even'Star, she's still pretty much looking like she's been on the far side of hard labor, and evidently won't stand for indolence in light of that-- "Wake up, ya bum," is the ever-so-gentle greeting, applied with a fake, thick accent.
There comes the faintest twitch of lips which may go unnoticed in the fading light. A tell for the feigning of sleep, “Go away Lirian, I’m sleeping.” Because that’s what sleeping people do - talk. Eyes spill open with words tumbling in unison as Bailey, using the arm rests for leverage, pushes herself up out of the chair, leaving it rocking back and forth emptily, “If you’ve come about that corse…” The sentence never ended once the woman aboard is recognized for who she is, “Evaly!” Open joy at seeing the blonde, steps quick to take her over to the other woman. Halting a pace back a quizzical brow goes up for the harried state of her, “You taken to offloading ships or something?”
"Even if I was this Lirian person," Evaly begins, one hand on hip and a skeptical tone, "I wouldn't buy that you were sleeping. You really should rehearse more." She doesn't clamor on up, having not been invited, but she does take a second to look down at her untidy person and answer, "No, but that's a pretty good guess. I've been hiking." She tilts her head from side to side, hedging over that terminology before she clarifies, "That is to say, it's a hike for me to get here, and I'm afraid it shows. But at least it's not raining at the moment, thank goodness for small favors."
Bailey tries on a crestfallen expression as she calls down, “Not? Darn, and I was so sure I had the fake sleeping thing down.” For some or other reason, a smirk slips in and then out again. Her turn to give scepticism a home on her face for the bit about hiking and then sounding almost petulant, “Where have you been? I looked -everywhere- for you!” Clearly not everywhere, for there stands Evaly. “Stop loitering around down there like a docksie and come on up,” Bailey returns with a quick beckon of hand, stepping back so that the blonde may pass by more easily.
Like it was some literal thing Bailey was saying, Evaly counters, "Clearly not everywhere or you would have found me. Should I leave and let you get back to this so-called everywhere?" But there's no leaving, only taking the invitation to come aboard, looking steadily cooler and less gross with sweat now that she's not tramping along at so busy a rate. "But why are you faking sleep? Wouldn't it be easier simply to tell this person to shove off?"
“I didn’t search the Weyr itself,” Bailey agrees with a grin, “But hey, if hide and seek is your thing, then…?” Teasing aside, once Evaly’s aboard, the brunette turns and heads toward her cabin, calling over her shoulder as she goes, “Sit, I’ll go get some juice.” No offer of wine this time round, for obvious reasons. Returning with a pitcher and an extra glass, these get set down on the small table next to the rocker chair and dragging a deck chair over. Only now does reply come with through a sly grin, “You’ll be surprised what kind of things you can find out about people when they think you’re asleep and not paying attention.”
Evaly's voice chases Bailey even while the blond goes on to test the stability of the deck chair with her foot before taking up residence there; "Unless it's solid ice, don't bother on my account. I intend going for drinks later tonight, and I won't have my stomach all filled up with silly juice beforehand." Which probably means a healthy dose of dehydration is coming her way, but such are the follies of youth. As for the slyness, she laughs shortly to counter, "Such as?"
Two separate emotions war openly with each other on Bailey’s face - wistfulness and surprise. It’s the latter she gives into as she refills the glass already there, “What is this I hear? You’re planning a bender?” Settling back into the rocker, legs curled up to one side of her, the hand curled around the small pouch in it, settling into her lap. A short look of concern appears and flits over Evaly, “Honestly though. How have you been?” And while it avoids the revealing of trade secrets with regards to gaining information, it’s likely not intended as such.
"Generally speaking, I'm almost always planning a bender. Or hoping to get invited to one. I assume there are no benders forthcoming here," Evaly comments with something like a disparaging sniff, though it ends over a sigh that could be taken as sympathetic for Bailey's lack of liquor. "I have been keeping myself busy. What we were saying that one time about sleeping in a pup tent? Is pretty close to the state of things, though I've been getting down to the Hold every day or two for some soap and water with which to lather it." How much of that story is embellished and how much the truth is hard to say, since it's all in a tone of careless levity; at eighteen, would it really be such a hardship if it were all true?
With a slightly disgruntled snort, “Now you’re just being mean,” pouting more than genuine, “but give me a few months and we’ll rip a hole in this island the size of which they’ve never seen before,” Bailey’s grin returning at the thought. Glass to lips, she swallows a few mouthfuls of juice as she listens to the explanation. Keen interest showing up, “You’ve started work on the flower plot? What have you managed to get done so far?” With a bit of effort and the obliging forward rock of the chair, the brunette leans forward and holds out the small pouch toward Evaly, “Which reminds me, I’ve got that investment I’d promised you. It’s not a fortune by any means but maybe it’s enough to buy at least some of the seed you need?”
Evaly doesn't specifically /say/ that she doubts that promise for a few months, but the look she lands on Bailey clearly doesn't see this as a likely possibility. Still, she maintains silence on the matter, turning instead to the matter of what she's accomplished which is-- "Mostly just getting very dirty and sweaty. There's been dreadfully little actually accomplished, though I have been contemplating the purchase of the plans for a greenhouse. If only because I like making plans." As for the offered pouch, she starts to reach for it, then drops her hand to her knee emptily instead. "You know what? Hang on to it. Ultimately, I think my pipe dreams might be a little less realistic and needy than certain more immediate matters."
Quick as a wink, “Nothing quite beats dirty and sweaty,” low laughter choking through the deliberate twist of innuendo. Interest peaks yet again, “A greenhouse? That for the more delicate plants? Where do you get plans for such a thing?” So very many questions. Disappointment greets Evaly’s drop of hand, Bailey’s own retreating back to her lap, small silence forming as brows crinkle together. Then, with a firm shake of head she stands and closes the small distance between herself and her friend, seeking to press the pouch into the other woman’s hand if she doesn’t tuck it away somewhere. Putting a firm look down onto the blonde, “No, I want you to take it. These are my marks to do with as I please, and I believe in you!” shrugging slightly, “Besides, Rio’s always sulking because I won’t let him buy me things. This way,” with her markless, “you both win.”
"Only, my dirty and sweaty?" Evaly gives a pointed look to certain tell-tale changes in Bailey's figure, lifts her eyes afterward with wry mirth. "Hopefully ends in profit and not procreation." She continues eyeing the pouch of marks from afar, going the extra distance to lean back in her chair with her hands now firmly clasped across her lap, resolutely laced fingers. "You can't really make me take them," she points out almost apologetically. "It's flattering that you have such firm belief in my capitalism, it really is, but I'd rather not be responsible for losing the money of someone who's got actual responsibilities. Buy a waterproof bassinet," she suggests with a grin.
Through a soft snort that speaks of self-effacing amusement, “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to come up with a quip about that.” Bailey’s mouth twists into a sly little smirk, “Just so that you know, this,” fingers circling the air above her increased mid-section, “is living proof that those herbs and potions that healers swear by are only effective around eighty percent of the time.” Just in case she was wondering. A second refusal from Evaly, however apologetically couched within humour, has a bland mask settling into place to cover over a second bout of disappointment as the brunette nods and returns to the rocker in silence. Pale eyes drifting out to sea, words finally come in quiet admission, “I wasn’t one of those little girls that grew up planning her wedding. In fact I’d decided I was never going to get married. Still a little unsure about that. But to have done so surrounded by a field of flowers...” Shameless use of emotional blackmail.
The emotional blackmail might go a long way except were it not the ideal of a male heterosexual world. The mere idea of it makes Evaly make a face, and not a touched 'awww, let me help make that dream a reality' kind of face, more the 'ew, gross, stop' kind of face. "I'll pick them for you myself if it comes to that," she says, tail-ended by a snort. But seriously-- "Look, in a few months, if I'm actually even starting to look like I might one day turn a profit, we can revisit this whole situation, how does that sound?"
Perhaps there was a hint of truth somewhere in that ‘tragic’ little tale of Bailey’s for all response the blonde gets for her face making is a brittle little smile and the topic of weddings given a wide berth thereafter. Shifting in the rocker and taking a long swallow of juice, the brunette shrugs lightly, “The offer still stands but if that’s how you want to handle it, it’s your business to do so as you please.” Just a touch off of being delivered in a monotone.
Evaly deduces brilliantly, "You're upset." And she exhales a long, calm breath with her feet lifted off the deck beneath her, tapping a couple of times in an aimless way before they actually find purchase. "I suppose that's understandable, given..." What she's 'giving' in that isn't exactly clear, since she doesn't give any clear indicator to that end. "I'm sorry, Bailey, it just seems wrong somehow. If things start going well and you still have all these unspent marks, we'll see then." And she stands, looking like she wants to find some better apology but, instead, just floundering.
Fringed by the edges of weariness is the next smile Bailey turns out, “Yes. No,” Awkward admission padding into her tone, “A little, I guess. It doesn’t matter. Just me filling my own head with silly daydreams.” Trying to brush it aside by injecting a false brightness to her tone, “And you’re right, I should probably use the marks for more…practical things.” The light frown that was hovering now forms as Evaly stands, “Don’t go. I’m sorry, Evaly, I shouldn’t have pushed it,” gentle pleading uncommon for the woman, “Please stay and tell me more about the greenhouse.”
"There is no greenhouse yet," Evaly reminds lightly, reaching to pat her back-pocket where the edges of a few pages just peek out from the fabric. "It's still confined to blueprints at the moment, and may stay that way for a while. My handiness is not quite up to the task of construction, I have a feeling." She answers the frown with an easy smile, friendly but still unyielding. "I really better. If you've never tried finding your way through the jungle at night... it's not exactly like taking a stroll through the inner Hold, and dark seems to come early in the winter."
“No, I realized that. I was meaning your ideas of what to put in it.” And then Evaly’s outlining her need to leave with valid reasoning that puts weight behind doing so. Bailey’s mouth opens and then presses closed again, keeping whatever she was going to say, to herself. A smile of similar, though restrained, friendliness meets the blonde’s, tone by contrast somewhat sardonic, “Then best you be sure to have a glowbasket at hand to light your way when returning from that bender of yours.”
Evaly's curse is brief, under her breath even, as if she forgot all about the fact that she intended to drink and that's going to be problematic if she wants to make it back while there's still some daylight left. "I guess if I get quite drunk enough," she says musingly, "I won't really notice where I land. Which could really solve the problem, come to think of it. Anyway-- get some rest, Bailey. I had better get myself cleaned up unless I plan to buy my own drinks."
“Or who you land on,” Bailey utters low through a chuckle, though it’s unclear if it was meant to be heard by Evaly or not. Walking with the blonde toward the gangplank, the trader tipples fingers in a shooing gesture, “Off you go then.” She’ll watch to make sure the other woman clears the plank, and then the docks themselves before turning to clear up pitcher and glasses and head over to the Orchid Rain. All thoughts and feelings on the conversation with Evaly, neatly bundled up and packed away too.
Evaly twists her lips to repeat, "Who. I suppose that would at least soften the landing." But she shakes her head, pretty certainly, and trots on off to make herself presentable-- or at least as presentable as a decent-looking blond has to be in order to get drinks.
IC Date: 1/18/23 --Stole this log from Bailey, because she's quick. :)
Even'Star(#1935R)
Designed with only needing one or two members to crew it, the Even'Star is a modest little vessel of just 55feet long and capable of flying up to five sails at once. Fore-and-aft rigging projects from a single mast that bears a topmast. Currently just one headsail is flying and is strangely festooned with bright fabric flowers, one can only guess at the reasoning for such an outlandish display on an otherwise simply decked out sloop. The chipped and faded black with white trim speaks to this once having been a pretty little vessel and yet while hull and stern are nowhere near their potential glory, the decking is kept meticulously scrubbed and cared for. A singe hatch leads down into cramped private quarters.
With Rukbat’s dying rays leaving streaks of deep pink and gold across the skies, activity is not so much slowing, as changing form. Cabin windows lit up by glowbaskets being unlidded and laughter punctuating the air from those going out for a night on the island lends an ambience to the docks not realized in daylight hours. The Even’Star is one such boat softly lit by glowlight, however her skipper doesn’t seem to be amongst those heading out for a night revelry. A recently acquired rocker chair is set up on foredeck, its occupant for all intents and purposes, asleep.
Evaly could use a shower and cold drink, by the looks of her, but neither of those things seem likely what with her making her way along the docks. She does take a moment to pull her hair up off her neck into a tattered tail, which will help with the drying of sweat when coupled with the evening breezes, but that's still a ways off. By the time she finds the plank up to the Even'Star, she's still pretty much looking like she's been on the far side of hard labor, and evidently won't stand for indolence in light of that-- "Wake up, ya bum," is the ever-so-gentle greeting, applied with a fake, thick accent.
There comes the faintest twitch of lips which may go unnoticed in the fading light. A tell for the feigning of sleep, “Go away Lirian, I’m sleeping.” Because that’s what sleeping people do - talk. Eyes spill open with words tumbling in unison as Bailey, using the arm rests for leverage, pushes herself up out of the chair, leaving it rocking back and forth emptily, “If you’ve come about that corse…” The sentence never ended once the woman aboard is recognized for who she is, “Evaly!” Open joy at seeing the blonde, steps quick to take her over to the other woman. Halting a pace back a quizzical brow goes up for the harried state of her, “You taken to offloading ships or something?”
"Even if I was this Lirian person," Evaly begins, one hand on hip and a skeptical tone, "I wouldn't buy that you were sleeping. You really should rehearse more." She doesn't clamor on up, having not been invited, but she does take a second to look down at her untidy person and answer, "No, but that's a pretty good guess. I've been hiking." She tilts her head from side to side, hedging over that terminology before she clarifies, "That is to say, it's a hike for me to get here, and I'm afraid it shows. But at least it's not raining at the moment, thank goodness for small favors."
Bailey tries on a crestfallen expression as she calls down, “Not? Darn, and I was so sure I had the fake sleeping thing down.” For some or other reason, a smirk slips in and then out again. Her turn to give scepticism a home on her face for the bit about hiking and then sounding almost petulant, “Where have you been? I looked -everywhere- for you!” Clearly not everywhere, for there stands Evaly. “Stop loitering around down there like a docksie and come on up,” Bailey returns with a quick beckon of hand, stepping back so that the blonde may pass by more easily.
Like it was some literal thing Bailey was saying, Evaly counters, "Clearly not everywhere or you would have found me. Should I leave and let you get back to this so-called everywhere?" But there's no leaving, only taking the invitation to come aboard, looking steadily cooler and less gross with sweat now that she's not tramping along at so busy a rate. "But why are you faking sleep? Wouldn't it be easier simply to tell this person to shove off?"
“I didn’t search the Weyr itself,” Bailey agrees with a grin, “But hey, if hide and seek is your thing, then…?” Teasing aside, once Evaly’s aboard, the brunette turns and heads toward her cabin, calling over her shoulder as she goes, “Sit, I’ll go get some juice.” No offer of wine this time round, for obvious reasons. Returning with a pitcher and an extra glass, these get set down on the small table next to the rocker chair and dragging a deck chair over. Only now does reply come with through a sly grin, “You’ll be surprised what kind of things you can find out about people when they think you’re asleep and not paying attention.”
Evaly's voice chases Bailey even while the blond goes on to test the stability of the deck chair with her foot before taking up residence there; "Unless it's solid ice, don't bother on my account. I intend going for drinks later tonight, and I won't have my stomach all filled up with silly juice beforehand." Which probably means a healthy dose of dehydration is coming her way, but such are the follies of youth. As for the slyness, she laughs shortly to counter, "Such as?"
Two separate emotions war openly with each other on Bailey’s face - wistfulness and surprise. It’s the latter she gives into as she refills the glass already there, “What is this I hear? You’re planning a bender?” Settling back into the rocker, legs curled up to one side of her, the hand curled around the small pouch in it, settling into her lap. A short look of concern appears and flits over Evaly, “Honestly though. How have you been?” And while it avoids the revealing of trade secrets with regards to gaining information, it’s likely not intended as such.
"Generally speaking, I'm almost always planning a bender. Or hoping to get invited to one. I assume there are no benders forthcoming here," Evaly comments with something like a disparaging sniff, though it ends over a sigh that could be taken as sympathetic for Bailey's lack of liquor. "I have been keeping myself busy. What we were saying that one time about sleeping in a pup tent? Is pretty close to the state of things, though I've been getting down to the Hold every day or two for some soap and water with which to lather it." How much of that story is embellished and how much the truth is hard to say, since it's all in a tone of careless levity; at eighteen, would it really be such a hardship if it were all true?
With a slightly disgruntled snort, “Now you’re just being mean,” pouting more than genuine, “but give me a few months and we’ll rip a hole in this island the size of which they’ve never seen before,” Bailey’s grin returning at the thought. Glass to lips, she swallows a few mouthfuls of juice as she listens to the explanation. Keen interest showing up, “You’ve started work on the flower plot? What have you managed to get done so far?” With a bit of effort and the obliging forward rock of the chair, the brunette leans forward and holds out the small pouch toward Evaly, “Which reminds me, I’ve got that investment I’d promised you. It’s not a fortune by any means but maybe it’s enough to buy at least some of the seed you need?”
Evaly doesn't specifically /say/ that she doubts that promise for a few months, but the look she lands on Bailey clearly doesn't see this as a likely possibility. Still, she maintains silence on the matter, turning instead to the matter of what she's accomplished which is-- "Mostly just getting very dirty and sweaty. There's been dreadfully little actually accomplished, though I have been contemplating the purchase of the plans for a greenhouse. If only because I like making plans." As for the offered pouch, she starts to reach for it, then drops her hand to her knee emptily instead. "You know what? Hang on to it. Ultimately, I think my pipe dreams might be a little less realistic and needy than certain more immediate matters."
Quick as a wink, “Nothing quite beats dirty and sweaty,” low laughter choking through the deliberate twist of innuendo. Interest peaks yet again, “A greenhouse? That for the more delicate plants? Where do you get plans for such a thing?” So very many questions. Disappointment greets Evaly’s drop of hand, Bailey’s own retreating back to her lap, small silence forming as brows crinkle together. Then, with a firm shake of head she stands and closes the small distance between herself and her friend, seeking to press the pouch into the other woman’s hand if she doesn’t tuck it away somewhere. Putting a firm look down onto the blonde, “No, I want you to take it. These are my marks to do with as I please, and I believe in you!” shrugging slightly, “Besides, Rio’s always sulking because I won’t let him buy me things. This way,” with her markless, “you both win.”
"Only, my dirty and sweaty?" Evaly gives a pointed look to certain tell-tale changes in Bailey's figure, lifts her eyes afterward with wry mirth. "Hopefully ends in profit and not procreation." She continues eyeing the pouch of marks from afar, going the extra distance to lean back in her chair with her hands now firmly clasped across her lap, resolutely laced fingers. "You can't really make me take them," she points out almost apologetically. "It's flattering that you have such firm belief in my capitalism, it really is, but I'd rather not be responsible for losing the money of someone who's got actual responsibilities. Buy a waterproof bassinet," she suggests with a grin.
Through a soft snort that speaks of self-effacing amusement, “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to come up with a quip about that.” Bailey’s mouth twists into a sly little smirk, “Just so that you know, this,” fingers circling the air above her increased mid-section, “is living proof that those herbs and potions that healers swear by are only effective around eighty percent of the time.” Just in case she was wondering. A second refusal from Evaly, however apologetically couched within humour, has a bland mask settling into place to cover over a second bout of disappointment as the brunette nods and returns to the rocker in silence. Pale eyes drifting out to sea, words finally come in quiet admission, “I wasn’t one of those little girls that grew up planning her wedding. In fact I’d decided I was never going to get married. Still a little unsure about that. But to have done so surrounded by a field of flowers...” Shameless use of emotional blackmail.
The emotional blackmail might go a long way except were it not the ideal of a male heterosexual world. The mere idea of it makes Evaly make a face, and not a touched 'awww, let me help make that dream a reality' kind of face, more the 'ew, gross, stop' kind of face. "I'll pick them for you myself if it comes to that," she says, tail-ended by a snort. But seriously-- "Look, in a few months, if I'm actually even starting to look like I might one day turn a profit, we can revisit this whole situation, how does that sound?"
Perhaps there was a hint of truth somewhere in that ‘tragic’ little tale of Bailey’s for all response the blonde gets for her face making is a brittle little smile and the topic of weddings given a wide berth thereafter. Shifting in the rocker and taking a long swallow of juice, the brunette shrugs lightly, “The offer still stands but if that’s how you want to handle it, it’s your business to do so as you please.” Just a touch off of being delivered in a monotone.
Evaly deduces brilliantly, "You're upset." And she exhales a long, calm breath with her feet lifted off the deck beneath her, tapping a couple of times in an aimless way before they actually find purchase. "I suppose that's understandable, given..." What she's 'giving' in that isn't exactly clear, since she doesn't give any clear indicator to that end. "I'm sorry, Bailey, it just seems wrong somehow. If things start going well and you still have all these unspent marks, we'll see then." And she stands, looking like she wants to find some better apology but, instead, just floundering.
Fringed by the edges of weariness is the next smile Bailey turns out, “Yes. No,” Awkward admission padding into her tone, “A little, I guess. It doesn’t matter. Just me filling my own head with silly daydreams.” Trying to brush it aside by injecting a false brightness to her tone, “And you’re right, I should probably use the marks for more…practical things.” The light frown that was hovering now forms as Evaly stands, “Don’t go. I’m sorry, Evaly, I shouldn’t have pushed it,” gentle pleading uncommon for the woman, “Please stay and tell me more about the greenhouse.”
"There is no greenhouse yet," Evaly reminds lightly, reaching to pat her back-pocket where the edges of a few pages just peek out from the fabric. "It's still confined to blueprints at the moment, and may stay that way for a while. My handiness is not quite up to the task of construction, I have a feeling." She answers the frown with an easy smile, friendly but still unyielding. "I really better. If you've never tried finding your way through the jungle at night... it's not exactly like taking a stroll through the inner Hold, and dark seems to come early in the winter."
“No, I realized that. I was meaning your ideas of what to put in it.” And then Evaly’s outlining her need to leave with valid reasoning that puts weight behind doing so. Bailey’s mouth opens and then presses closed again, keeping whatever she was going to say, to herself. A smile of similar, though restrained, friendliness meets the blonde’s, tone by contrast somewhat sardonic, “Then best you be sure to have a glowbasket at hand to light your way when returning from that bender of yours.”
Evaly's curse is brief, under her breath even, as if she forgot all about the fact that she intended to drink and that's going to be problematic if she wants to make it back while there's still some daylight left. "I guess if I get quite drunk enough," she says musingly, "I won't really notice where I land. Which could really solve the problem, come to think of it. Anyway-- get some rest, Bailey. I had better get myself cleaned up unless I plan to buy my own drinks."
“Or who you land on,” Bailey utters low through a chuckle, though it’s unclear if it was meant to be heard by Evaly or not. Walking with the blonde toward the gangplank, the trader tipples fingers in a shooing gesture, “Off you go then.” She’ll watch to make sure the other woman clears the plank, and then the docks themselves before turning to clear up pitcher and glasses and head over to the Orchid Rain. All thoughts and feelings on the conversation with Evaly, neatly bundled up and packed away too.
Evaly twists her lips to repeat, "Who. I suppose that would at least soften the landing." But she shakes her head, pretty certainly, and trots on off to make herself presentable-- or at least as presentable as a decent-looking blond has to be in order to get drinks.