[Log] Persie of the Attacking Pants
Who: Persie, Tiriana
When: Day 25, Month 1, Turn 19
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Persie have a run-in at the Snowasis.
It's cold and dark and windy and miserable outside --all blowing snow and howling wind-- but Persie has braved the ill-weather and shows up in the Snowasis with a layer of snow on her head and shoulders, which she now attempts to brush off in the doorway. Her cheeks are bright pink between the striped scarf and the big fluffy green hat.
Unlike the just-arrived Persie, Tiriana looks to have been here a while, holed up inside along with a handful of patrons who don't feel like getting back out into the mess. While most of them are clustered around tables surrounded by the idle hum of conversation, Tiriana hovers at the bar, with a nearly empty glass and a frown aimed at the door. "Still going?" she calls over, resigned, to the latest entrant.
Persie makes a mess of her pale hair when she pulls off her hat and tries her best to shake the show off of it. She starts unwinding the scarf from around her neck too, only become rather entangled and frustrated and stuck. As such, if Tiriana is talking to her, the poor frazzled greenrider is completely oblivious.
Unheeded, Tiriana's frown deepens, but it's hard to take the slight seriously when Persie is losing to a scarf. The younger rider continues to watch the struggle, brows lifting the more tangled-up Persie succeeds in getting herself. As if in sympathy for the dilemma, Tiriana turns back to the bar and finishes off her drink.
There ends up being some serious huffing and puffing and a few naughty words before Persie holds the scarf up triumphantly limp and separated from herself. "Ha!" Though honestly, this fight happens all the time. You'd think she'd give up on the scarves by this point. Of course, there's a bit less enthusiasm these days, too. But now that she's free from the scarf and largely free of snow, she can tromp toward the bar in her damp boots and take the stool beside Tiriana.
Tiriana waits until Persie takes that seat--and more importantly, emerges victorious against her scarf--to try to speak to her again. "Y'know," she begins. "It's not really /that/ difficult." And when the bartender glances their way, she waves him over, more to get herself another drink than to give Persie the opportunity to put in her own order.
"What isn't?" Persie blinks with her usual innocence. She's patting her pink fingers at her pinker cheeks, as if a bit of attention will soothe the ruddiness from her pale skin. Her ayes, at least brighten when the bartender heads their way and she doesn't seem at all eager to place an order before Tiriana does.
"What isn't?" Persie blinks with her usual innocence. She's patting her pink fingers at her pinker cheeks, as if a bit of attention will soothe the ruddiness from her pale skin. Her ayes, at least brighten when the bartender heads their way and she doesn't seem at all eager to place an order before Tiriana does.
"Scarves," Tiriana clarifies, with a vague gesture at Persie's now-bare neck. "Scarves really aren't all that difficult to manage, you know. They go around one way, come back off the other." Helpful of her, really, to explain the finer points of the garment. Meanwhile, the bartender, after getting her order, looks expectantly to Persie.
"Oh." The sheepish smile is on her face immediately, shy and embarassed as she sinks down a bit and her shoulders inch up toward her ears. "They get harder to deal with when they're wet." Persie murmurs her request to the bartender and leans back to squeeze her hand into her pocket and come up with some marks. Which hopefully she has since she's already placed the order.
"Not really," Tiriana differs with a shake of her head, an expressive eye-roll. "They still wrap around in one direction, and then you just undo it the opposite way. Are you, like..." Tiriana doesn't finish, but does regard Persie--even leans back from her to get a better look, with an expression that says the end of that sentence is either 'insane' or 'mentally incompetent.'
"But they stick and they get tangled. If I try to loosen it or if I just trying to unwrap it... it ends up being all twisted and then it's choking me and then I can't just... can't get it off." Persie does try her best to explain, and she just stares back at Tiriana expectantly. She's been given that look before.
The explanation? Yeah, that does basically nothing to change Tiriana's look. "Sorry," she says, in a not-sorry-at-all tone. "Didn't realize it was all so complicated. For you." Not for anyone else. "So do /all/ your clothes give you that much trouble? Go hopping around your weyr all the time because your pants are attacking?"
Persie chews at her lip. "Sometimes?" Where -is- that bartender with their drinks. She puts her fist of marks on the counter, waiting. "A lot of things give me trouble. I don't really know why. You never have trouble? I mean, no. You wouldn't." Her smile shines bashfully again as she looks over at the goldrider.
Tiriana breathes out a sigh for Persie's admission; what else can you do? The bartender at least turns up again about then, bringing a drink for each, and the goldrider guzzles the first sip. "Not my clothes, anyway," she says then. "The clothes are definitely the easiest part of the day. Not like... work. And the people, dealing with them."
"Oh, well... I don't mind dealing with people," Persie points out, her smiling brightening just a bit. "So maybe it all balances out. Plus, I haven't had much work to do with the... weyrlings done. Nothing pressing at least." She wraps both her hands around her glass possessively, taking a moment to enjoy the anticipation, just the having of the glass.
"/You/ wouldn't," says Tiriana; and this declaration of Persie's, even more than her frequent struggles with fashion, seems to earn her the label of simple-minded. She takes another sip of her drink, slower this time, then glances sideways at her companion. "The weyrlings and their master, yeah?"
Persie looks down at the bar with a flick of lashes. She presses her knuckles to her cheek to test their warmth and pinkness, but mostly to stall. "Yeah." She blinks at counter again and steals a glance at Tiriana.
Maybe Tiriana expected more gossip, from somebody who was right there at the weyrlingmaster's side. Or maybe something more dramatic--tears, wailing, tearing of troublesome clothes. But Persie's mutedness produces a slightly disappointed frown and her own silence in Tiriana. "Yeah," she repeats, and glances around the bar, then to the other girl. She tries again. "So... you think the next one will keep you on?"
"I don't know," Persie answers quietly. "I hope so? I've been trying to make sure all the records are together and everything is all cleaned up and cleaned out and ready for.. you know. Someone else." She takes a breath and then finally gets into her drink. "I'd like to. As long someone wants me."
Tiriana's nose wrinkles up at Persie's description of her current occupation. "Sounds exciting," she notes with a snort. Again, that silence pervades, however, just for a few moments, until a new thought occurs to the goldrider. "They don't make you teach anything like straps, do they?"
"Huh? Oh, because of the..." Persie jabs her thumb at scarf. "I do alright with straps. They don't get so tangled." She lifts a hand to rub at her forhead, trying to scrub the frown from her brow. "Did you know him?" Tiriana brought him up after all.
"Uh-huh," says Tiriana. She doesn't believe it at all, her agreement blatantly patronizing. As for the other question-- "Who? Oh, the weyrlingmaster?" she picks up that thread of conversation a beat later. "Nah, not really. Saw him in here all the time, that's about it."
Persie just nods now, pensive and uneasy, keeping her eyes down even if she remains constantly aware of Tiriana sitting disapprovingly beside her. "I know most people don't fight with their clothes very much," she gets out eventually, apologetically.
The subdued greenrider at her side garners another sideways glance from Tiriana, before the goldrider takes a long drink. Dryly, she agrees, "No, they don't."
"I suppose that everyone has trouble with something, though. All different sorts of things." Persie manages to make it sound somewhat hopeful, some little sign that she's not alone in being kind of ridiculously inept. "There must be things that you're..." Her lips purse. She won't say it.
Tiriana's mouth purses up too, and she levels a longer look at Persie, drink pushed away for the moment.. "Some things that I'm good at, or some things that I'm bad at?" she wants to know.
Persie gives a quick, curt nod. Yes, that would be the question she was asking.
Narrowing her eyes, Tiriana swivels around on her stool to face Persie, an elbow propped up on the counter. "Yes. Yes, there are," she decides then. She can be ambiguous too!
Persie looks just a wee bit nervous, having garnered all of the weyrwoman's attention. She steals another sideways glance, hesitates and then, with an anxious smile, turns to face Tiriana in return. "Well?" Her smile brightens. "Name something."
Damn it. Tiriana's ingenuity fails her, and she drums fingers on the counter for a few moments while she tries to think of something--good or bad. Finally, defensively, she answers, "Well, I don't know. There's a lot of stuff. This is a dumb question."
"Is it? I don't know. There must be something you can think of that you're good at. Or that you're bad at. Right?" Persie's smile starts to try to encourage, her brows lifting; she's ready to hear what Tiriana can come up with.
"I'm... bad with people, we said that one," Tiriana eventally decides, her brows furrowing all up with just that effort. "Good at beating the crap out of them, though."
"See, I don't think I could beat the crap out of anyone. I don't think I could even come up with something mean to say." Persie actually laughs a bit at that. "Well maybe that isn't true. I bet I say mean things all the time because I'm not thinking. So... what else?"
Tiriana looks Persie up and down, and after giving her that once-over, nods. "Definitely not," is her verdict on the skinny blonde. And the latter question, well. That earns a query of, "Awfully nosy, aren't you."
"Am I? I don't mean to be." Finally having thawed out, Persie unbuttons her jacket and lets it hang open. "We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to. I don't have to talk at all, really."
Instead of answering, Tiriana turns to glance back over her shoulder at the doorway. "Do you think the wind's died down any?" she wonders. "S'getting late, should go home."
"It was pretty bad when I came in. I don't think it was getting any better." Persie twists toward the doorway as well, frowning at it. Or maybe she's frowning at herself.
Tiriana slides off her stool and snags her heavy coat from where she's thrown it over the stool on her other side. With it pulled on, then, she takes a couple of steps toward the door. "Should go, then," she tells Persie. "Before it gets worse, I guess."
Persie nods, turning back toward the counter as Tiriana gets her stuff together. "Good night," she offers over her shoulder, looking a bit disappointed to have her would-be companion heading off. She smiles nonetheless.
"Night," Tiriana echoes, turning away. She misses all the disappointment, busy fiddling with the buttons of her coat to get it fastened up properly. Then, bundled up--without any of Persie's mishaps in dressing--Tiriana heads out into the wind and the dark, toward home.
When: Day 25, Month 1, Turn 19
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Persie have a run-in at the Snowasis.
It's cold and dark and windy and miserable outside --all blowing snow and howling wind-- but Persie has braved the ill-weather and shows up in the Snowasis with a layer of snow on her head and shoulders, which she now attempts to brush off in the doorway. Her cheeks are bright pink between the striped scarf and the big fluffy green hat.
Unlike the just-arrived Persie, Tiriana looks to have been here a while, holed up inside along with a handful of patrons who don't feel like getting back out into the mess. While most of them are clustered around tables surrounded by the idle hum of conversation, Tiriana hovers at the bar, with a nearly empty glass and a frown aimed at the door. "Still going?" she calls over, resigned, to the latest entrant.
Persie makes a mess of her pale hair when she pulls off her hat and tries her best to shake the show off of it. She starts unwinding the scarf from around her neck too, only become rather entangled and frustrated and stuck. As such, if Tiriana is talking to her, the poor frazzled greenrider is completely oblivious.
Unheeded, Tiriana's frown deepens, but it's hard to take the slight seriously when Persie is losing to a scarf. The younger rider continues to watch the struggle, brows lifting the more tangled-up Persie succeeds in getting herself. As if in sympathy for the dilemma, Tiriana turns back to the bar and finishes off her drink.
There ends up being some serious huffing and puffing and a few naughty words before Persie holds the scarf up triumphantly limp and separated from herself. "Ha!" Though honestly, this fight happens all the time. You'd think she'd give up on the scarves by this point. Of course, there's a bit less enthusiasm these days, too. But now that she's free from the scarf and largely free of snow, she can tromp toward the bar in her damp boots and take the stool beside Tiriana.
Tiriana waits until Persie takes that seat--and more importantly, emerges victorious against her scarf--to try to speak to her again. "Y'know," she begins. "It's not really /that/ difficult." And when the bartender glances their way, she waves him over, more to get herself another drink than to give Persie the opportunity to put in her own order.
"What isn't?" Persie blinks with her usual innocence. She's patting her pink fingers at her pinker cheeks, as if a bit of attention will soothe the ruddiness from her pale skin. Her ayes, at least brighten when the bartender heads their way and she doesn't seem at all eager to place an order before Tiriana does.
"What isn't?" Persie blinks with her usual innocence. She's patting her pink fingers at her pinker cheeks, as if a bit of attention will soothe the ruddiness from her pale skin. Her ayes, at least brighten when the bartender heads their way and she doesn't seem at all eager to place an order before Tiriana does.
"Scarves," Tiriana clarifies, with a vague gesture at Persie's now-bare neck. "Scarves really aren't all that difficult to manage, you know. They go around one way, come back off the other." Helpful of her, really, to explain the finer points of the garment. Meanwhile, the bartender, after getting her order, looks expectantly to Persie.
"Oh." The sheepish smile is on her face immediately, shy and embarassed as she sinks down a bit and her shoulders inch up toward her ears. "They get harder to deal with when they're wet." Persie murmurs her request to the bartender and leans back to squeeze her hand into her pocket and come up with some marks. Which hopefully she has since she's already placed the order.
"Not really," Tiriana differs with a shake of her head, an expressive eye-roll. "They still wrap around in one direction, and then you just undo it the opposite way. Are you, like..." Tiriana doesn't finish, but does regard Persie--even leans back from her to get a better look, with an expression that says the end of that sentence is either 'insane' or 'mentally incompetent.'
"But they stick and they get tangled. If I try to loosen it or if I just trying to unwrap it... it ends up being all twisted and then it's choking me and then I can't just... can't get it off." Persie does try her best to explain, and she just stares back at Tiriana expectantly. She's been given that look before.
The explanation? Yeah, that does basically nothing to change Tiriana's look. "Sorry," she says, in a not-sorry-at-all tone. "Didn't realize it was all so complicated. For you." Not for anyone else. "So do /all/ your clothes give you that much trouble? Go hopping around your weyr all the time because your pants are attacking?"
Persie chews at her lip. "Sometimes?" Where -is- that bartender with their drinks. She puts her fist of marks on the counter, waiting. "A lot of things give me trouble. I don't really know why. You never have trouble? I mean, no. You wouldn't." Her smile shines bashfully again as she looks over at the goldrider.
Tiriana breathes out a sigh for Persie's admission; what else can you do? The bartender at least turns up again about then, bringing a drink for each, and the goldrider guzzles the first sip. "Not my clothes, anyway," she says then. "The clothes are definitely the easiest part of the day. Not like... work. And the people, dealing with them."
"Oh, well... I don't mind dealing with people," Persie points out, her smiling brightening just a bit. "So maybe it all balances out. Plus, I haven't had much work to do with the... weyrlings done. Nothing pressing at least." She wraps both her hands around her glass possessively, taking a moment to enjoy the anticipation, just the having of the glass.
"/You/ wouldn't," says Tiriana; and this declaration of Persie's, even more than her frequent struggles with fashion, seems to earn her the label of simple-minded. She takes another sip of her drink, slower this time, then glances sideways at her companion. "The weyrlings and their master, yeah?"
Persie looks down at the bar with a flick of lashes. She presses her knuckles to her cheek to test their warmth and pinkness, but mostly to stall. "Yeah." She blinks at counter again and steals a glance at Tiriana.
Maybe Tiriana expected more gossip, from somebody who was right there at the weyrlingmaster's side. Or maybe something more dramatic--tears, wailing, tearing of troublesome clothes. But Persie's mutedness produces a slightly disappointed frown and her own silence in Tiriana. "Yeah," she repeats, and glances around the bar, then to the other girl. She tries again. "So... you think the next one will keep you on?"
"I don't know," Persie answers quietly. "I hope so? I've been trying to make sure all the records are together and everything is all cleaned up and cleaned out and ready for.. you know. Someone else." She takes a breath and then finally gets into her drink. "I'd like to. As long someone wants me."
Tiriana's nose wrinkles up at Persie's description of her current occupation. "Sounds exciting," she notes with a snort. Again, that silence pervades, however, just for a few moments, until a new thought occurs to the goldrider. "They don't make you teach anything like straps, do they?"
"Huh? Oh, because of the..." Persie jabs her thumb at scarf. "I do alright with straps. They don't get so tangled." She lifts a hand to rub at her forhead, trying to scrub the frown from her brow. "Did you know him?" Tiriana brought him up after all.
"Uh-huh," says Tiriana. She doesn't believe it at all, her agreement blatantly patronizing. As for the other question-- "Who? Oh, the weyrlingmaster?" she picks up that thread of conversation a beat later. "Nah, not really. Saw him in here all the time, that's about it."
Persie just nods now, pensive and uneasy, keeping her eyes down even if she remains constantly aware of Tiriana sitting disapprovingly beside her. "I know most people don't fight with their clothes very much," she gets out eventually, apologetically.
The subdued greenrider at her side garners another sideways glance from Tiriana, before the goldrider takes a long drink. Dryly, she agrees, "No, they don't."
"I suppose that everyone has trouble with something, though. All different sorts of things." Persie manages to make it sound somewhat hopeful, some little sign that she's not alone in being kind of ridiculously inept. "There must be things that you're..." Her lips purse. She won't say it.
Tiriana's mouth purses up too, and she levels a longer look at Persie, drink pushed away for the moment.. "Some things that I'm good at, or some things that I'm bad at?" she wants to know.
Persie gives a quick, curt nod. Yes, that would be the question she was asking.
Narrowing her eyes, Tiriana swivels around on her stool to face Persie, an elbow propped up on the counter. "Yes. Yes, there are," she decides then. She can be ambiguous too!
Persie looks just a wee bit nervous, having garnered all of the weyrwoman's attention. She steals another sideways glance, hesitates and then, with an anxious smile, turns to face Tiriana in return. "Well?" Her smile brightens. "Name something."
Damn it. Tiriana's ingenuity fails her, and she drums fingers on the counter for a few moments while she tries to think of something--good or bad. Finally, defensively, she answers, "Well, I don't know. There's a lot of stuff. This is a dumb question."
"Is it? I don't know. There must be something you can think of that you're good at. Or that you're bad at. Right?" Persie's smile starts to try to encourage, her brows lifting; she's ready to hear what Tiriana can come up with.
"I'm... bad with people, we said that one," Tiriana eventally decides, her brows furrowing all up with just that effort. "Good at beating the crap out of them, though."
"See, I don't think I could beat the crap out of anyone. I don't think I could even come up with something mean to say." Persie actually laughs a bit at that. "Well maybe that isn't true. I bet I say mean things all the time because I'm not thinking. So... what else?"
Tiriana looks Persie up and down, and after giving her that once-over, nods. "Definitely not," is her verdict on the skinny blonde. And the latter question, well. That earns a query of, "Awfully nosy, aren't you."
"Am I? I don't mean to be." Finally having thawed out, Persie unbuttons her jacket and lets it hang open. "We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to. I don't have to talk at all, really."
Instead of answering, Tiriana turns to glance back over her shoulder at the doorway. "Do you think the wind's died down any?" she wonders. "S'getting late, should go home."
"It was pretty bad when I came in. I don't think it was getting any better." Persie twists toward the doorway as well, frowning at it. Or maybe she's frowning at herself.
Tiriana slides off her stool and snags her heavy coat from where she's thrown it over the stool on her other side. With it pulled on, then, she takes a couple of steps toward the door. "Should go, then," she tells Persie. "Before it gets worse, I guess."
Persie nods, turning back toward the counter as Tiriana gets her stuff together. "Good night," she offers over her shoulder, looking a bit disappointed to have her would-be companion heading off. She smiles nonetheless.
"Night," Tiriana echoes, turning away. She misses all the disappointment, busy fiddling with the buttons of her coat to get it fastened up properly. Then, bundled up--without any of Persie's mishaps in dressing--Tiriana heads out into the wind and the dark, toward home.