Late evening at the Weyr finds its inhabitants either retiring to their homes or drinking it up at the Snowasis. Jo is found at one of her usual haunts at this time - the kitchen. Decked out in her black leathers, her hair its usual mussed up, she claims one of the shadowy little tables and is currently spooning a bowl of stew hungrily into her mouth. There's a sheet of hide with a drawn out map lying in front of her, which gets half of her attention away from her obviously late dinner.
It seems that today Vienne is in favor of off-hours to poke around places - less chance of interrupting people who actually know where they are and what they're doing. Vienne clearly does not. She peeks into the kitchen, eyes big and curious and looking all around at shiny metal pots and quiet stoves, the one cook who is still on duty getting the last bits of stuff dealt with for the night and things perpared for the morning, and the dark-haired, dark-dressed girl sitting by herself. She looks... occupied? And so the slight woman -- with her soft pink sweater and pale trousers a stark contrast to the other rider here -- slips in properly to have a closer look around.
Used to there being much less frequenting the kitchen at this hour, with Vienne's arrival comes Jo's sharp attention. The way Vienne peeks about and explores gets the convict rider to slow on her stew, her piercing gaze watching to see what she was up - because, clearly someone would be up to something at this hour, right? The cook's only given a brief glance to see if she acknowledges the new arrival, but that woman was so into finishing up and getting out of there that a canine could have walked in on two legs it wouldn't have caught her eye. So, it's down to Jo, going even quieter than she was - watching the other woman with a layer of idle curiosity as she chews.
Feeling that sharp gaze on her, Vienne pauses in her passage along the counter to look toward the dark woman again, flashing a quick smile that is equal parts hopeful friendliness and shy apology. "Evening," she offers by way of greeting. And her eyes go to the stew. "Is there more in here or is that out in the..." A thumb gestures to the living cavern to finish the question wordlessly. Maybe it's right that Jo should be suspicious. Vienne does seem to be wearing a demeanor of 'not sure I should be in here'.
Jo eyes that quick smile, both brows lifting in return as she continues to chew. "Hey," she gives to the greeting, her tone low and husky, leaning back against her chair. She jerks her chin towards the pot brewing in the corner when Vienne asks, answering with a droll "Help yerself. I don't try to make it out there for a bite if I don't have to." The living cavern, she means, where she would have to do that thing called 'talking'. Then her head tilts slightly to the side, taking in her manner and demeanor before she adds, "Awfully late to be eatin'," by way of comment. Yeah, nevermind that she herself is sitting there with a bowl of stew on the table.
"I guess," Vienne answers, for the late-eating, but she does head toward that pot, peering in to see if she can make out any discernable ingrediants. "I didn't really eat much at dinner. I don't know. It felt awkward. I guess I was anxious about nothing, really." She's quick to brush it all off with a shake of her head, but she does go about taking up a conveniently located bowl and spoon to try just a little bit of the stew. It's all rather dainty - there's a demeanor for Jo to take in. In the midst of serving herself, the newcomer looks over her shoulder to make a simple introduction. "I'm Vienne."
"Hidin' from someone?" Jo takes a guess on her awkwardness, or the anxiety as she slowly works herself through her bowl of stew. She indeed studies the dainty way Vienne moves and works, her own demeanor quiet the opposite - ungainly, boxy and cocksure. The way she holds herself in that chair is almost like a typical bronzerider in a female package. Eyes narrowing slightly at her, "Don' think I've seen ya around here," she muses aloud before Vienne introduces herself. She lifts a spoon up from the bowl and leans forward with elbows on the table as she returns back, "Jo, blue Tacuseth's."
Well Vienne can clear up the assumptions and unfamiliarity with a simple explanation. "I'm new. Blue Oswinth's. We're just in from Igen." So there it is in a nutshell. And maybe the new girl doesn't pick up on Jo's overall wariness -- or maybe she just doesn't care -- but she takes a seat across from her, perching lightly on the edge of the chair and setting her bowl down 'just so'. At least she's got the spoon gripped in her fist for now, as opposed to something more ladylike? She just rotates it around and around instead of digging in. "What wing are you..." she doesn't finish, but it's probable that last word should be 'in?'. "I haven't met anyone in my wing yet. I mean, the wingleader, official introductions, but... I report tomorrow for drills." Surely Jo is just chock full of sympathy for a stranger who hasn't made any friends yet? Right? Vienne isn't so foolish to wait for that. She lets out a laugh and shakes her head and finally rights that spoon so she can taste her stew.
When Vienne explains, Jo's chin lifts at it. A fellow bluerider. "Igen, huh?" she comments on that, setting her bowl down as she reaches for the map hide and starts to roll it up once she takes a seat across from her. "Must be like night and day here for ya, with the weather alone. How long have ya been over?" Eyes take in every nuance of the woman, her constant, lingering stare could be taken as invasive - or disturbing, considering. To the question on wings, "Glacier," she gives the word, deadpan. "I doubt yer in mine, so which ya got placed?" She shovels the last of the stew in her bowl into her mouth and chews it down while the other speaks, dropping the spoon in and pushing her bowl to the side with breathy exhalation. She's certainly not one to welcome any newcomers, but the bluerider does state "Ya should try out the Snowasis sometime. Just checked it out myself the other night. A little too clean for my tastes, but, the brew's good. Ya'll meet plenty, there. Wings go there a lot, I hear." Clearly she's a special case that doesn't.
Her sip of soup is hurried on the end -- mouth quick to close, finger quick to dab her lips clean -- all so she can answer. "I got here yesterday morning. Had some meetings, moved some stuff. Today I mostly just.. wandered around trying to figure out where everything is." She's neither overly bewildered by this process nor drippingly excited. It is what it is. Vienne goes for another spoonful and pauses to answer: "Snowdrift?" Maybe Jo will have some useful pointers or something. And after the second mouthful is down she wonders, "The Snowasis is too clean but the kitchen isn't?" Her smile quirks wrly to one side and she pokes with a touch of feigned prudency. So maybe she's not quiet as shy as those first moments could have painted her.
There's a flash of something akin to understanding Vienne's position of being new in a different place - there and gone in a blink. "And how do ya like the place?" Jo asks, settling back with a mug of something steamy in both hands. Her head tilts left and right in indication of the Weyr. Eyes then narrow a fraction when the name of her wing is produced, going silent for a moment before she says, "Decent wing, I guess. Different from mine. They might stop by the bar, too." Most of the wings were decent, but Glacier. Glacier was known for its rough, hardy wingriders. Vienne's question gets a crooked smile from her finally, and she lifts hands away briefly before she drawls, "Different kind of "dirty", darlin'. S'not all the same."
Vienne might be many things, but rough and hardy probably aren't the first that come to mind. And she doesn't have any thoughts on the wings as of yet because, "They're all just intimidating words for 'cold' to me," she laughs. "I'm going to freeze! It does get cold at Igen, in the winter, but not... Well, I'm guessing this will be a whole different kind of winter. I have to spend a day in the stores looking for layers. That's what they tell me. Layers." At least she seems to view it as some kind of climate-driven adventure. A properly-dressed adventure. And maybe, just maybe, she's drawn in by the easily tossed-out pet name. Vienne inches forward a bit, interest keener. "So where do you go?" If the Snowasis doesn't suit, that is.
There's a small chuff of laughter from the convict rider on the weather, shrugging lightly to it. "Born and raised in the cold," Jo gives on her end, her tone one of non-chalance. "I think I would melt my hard ass if I was taken into Igen. How would I be able to wear "this" there?" and a hand sweeps up and down before herself, indicating her black leathers. Deadpan, "I'd be ruined." Evidently. Vienne's interest and question on places to go gets her consideration, a pause that lingers a bit as she takes a long sip of her drink. "There's the Rusty Nail close to the mountains," she offers in answer with the faint glimmers of a smirk. "Ya don't wanna go in there announcin' yer a 'rider, though. Strong brew and ya know ya can get in a good brawl by just insultin' someone's auntie. Not that I do," she's oh-so quick to add, of course. Of course. "Certain days, ya might even get some good eye candy in there," she adds, as if that would sweeten the pot of a bar called "The Rusty Nail".
Vienne arches a playful brow as Jo gives her own attire a gesture. "You might be surprised," is all she says, a little nugget of a promise that the other bluerider could make it work, even in the desert. Though, perhaps not during the summer. Anyway, climates and clothes aside, there's this Rusty Nail place to consider, and the newcomer pairs some soup-progress with interested listening. Don't tell them she's a dragonrider? That's probably be the least of her problems! "Oh, I'd fit right in there. After all, at Igen they called me Old Fisticuffs. No joke." She delivers it earnestly, with a nod that readily expects the disbelief. "I could go there and show off my special fightin' skills. Screaming, crying and pulling hair." The game of pretend breaks with an impish grin sent across the table. "So is it, like, miners? Do they usually make good eye candy?" Now she's dubious.
Old Fisticuffs? Jo regards the woman anew, taking her far more feminine demeanor in comparison to her own with open humor. Then, with a slight snort, "I think I'd sell my left tit to see yer fists in some Rusty Nail patron's face," Jo quips back, amusement lacing her tone. Nursing her drink as Vienne cops to the latter involving hair-pulling and crying, "I'm almost convinced to drop ya there one night and see how ya'll survive," she notes, almost a witty warning laced with her brand of light sarcasm. "The Rusy Nail ain't for the faint of heart." She sets the mug down on the last about eye candy, seeming to find the line of conversation amusing enough that her intimidating demeanor is taking a backseat. A half-shrug and she answers, "Always miners there. Usually crooks and busty barmaids, too. The crooks and barmaids tend to be the eye candy." She could be teasing at this point, but since her tone doesn't have those tall-tale signs, one could only guess on whether or not she's blowing smoke up Vienne's proverbial skirt.
With a big smile, Vienne says, "If I find a buyer for your left tit, we're on!" Deal struck! Or not so much. She has to laugh because, well, Jo has the right of it. "I think if I went there, I'd probably end up tossed on the grill and served as the daily special. I'm so curious but... I'm thinking I probably wouldn't get the chance to enjoy any of it before some horrible fate befell me. Maybe if you dressed me up and taught me the secret handshake or something?" She looks down at her chest, which is not exactly underwhelming, particularly given how skinny her limbs are. "I could maybe pass for a busty girl," she considers, though her shoulders round to hide it. "But I feel like that would probably just welcome trouble." Somewhere in the midst of this train of thought, a question comes to her suddenly and her attention spears across the table again. "So which are you? Miner, crook, boobs..." She doesn't -really- look at Jo's chest, except that she totally sneaks a peek at Jo's chest.
"But then, I'd be all lopsided," Jo is quick to send a faux-dubious look Vienne's way on giving over her own left breast. "Who would want that?" She's amused, yes. Vienne's answers and responses entertain, and so the convict rider idly plays with the rolled up hide, shuffling it back and forth as they talk about serving Vienne up as a dinner special at the Rusty Nail. "Well," she muses on the dressing up part, "ya certainly can't go in there like "that", unless ya want yer ass pinched or something. It's all about attitude in there, mostly." Pause. "Unless, ya "want" to be one of those barmaids that gets their asses pinched all the time. Ya don't strike me as that kind of girl." And, since Vienne's staring down at her own chest, Jo's staring at her chest, too. She at least has the decency to meet her gaze when she looks up. As for Jo, she's not really "that" busty herself, though it's hard to tell, really, with her jacket all closed up. That last question gets one corner of her mouth lifting, the challenge in her gaze as she pauses in shuffling the hide and counters with, "I don't deal with rocks, and I know for a fact that the last man that pinched my ass ended up under table." Which naturally leaves... But, oh, she can't really say that, can she? So she merely, after a pregnant pause, states back. "Nah. I'm just the girl lookin' for a good, stiff drink at the end of a day." Right.
Vienne holds a palm up, hand-to-god style, if such a thing existed. "I can roll with a little ass pinching," she vows with another laugh. "It's the stuff beyond ass pinching that..." She doesn't finish, but the sentiment is plain enough. "Anyway, I have a feeling that, in this case, 'ass pinching' is a euphemism." Maybe she gets some credit for being able to say words like 'tit' and 'ass', since that first impression, with the pink sweater and the shy smile, might have made it seem like she was too prudish for any kind of language. Apparently not. And now she waits for Jo to own up to the third option, no judgement on Vienne's face, though she surely seems able to read between the lines. "But not tonight. Tonight, it's the kitchen and..." She tips a finger toward the hides, kindly giving the other bluerider a change of subject if she wants it. But with one last spoonful, she finishes her stew and mentions, "I would like to be able to go." Her smile could almost be sly if it weren't sprinkled with with residual amusement. "Maybe someday. When I'm sure you won't sell me off to the highest bidder and laugh your way through round after round of free drinks." Cheeky thing, she sneaks in a little wink.
"I'm givin' ya the kiddie version, with the ass pinchin', darlin'," Jo notes on the first, lips quirked. "The place just ain't the sort for a decent person, ya feel?" And then, since she doesn't supply answer on the third option - perhaps it being obvious, maybe, if one has heard any rumors and gossip about the bluerider in the Reaches, she slowly shakes her head and answers, "No, not tonite. Got some map studyin' to do," and she lifts up the rolled hide in its brief indication. Brows do lift a fraction then upon hearing Vienne's expressed wish to go, perhaps not expecting it. "Barely a seven in the Reaches, and already yer lookin' for trouble," she drawls in comment, not sure if she should be impressed or amused. "That's a move "I" would make. I should do the 'good dragonrider's honorable' thing and give fair warnin'," she adds, tossing her dark hair back, "that I'm a very bad influence." Dark eyes openly looking her over without apology, "Unless ya wanna be sold, I'd stay away from me if I were ya." At least she's smiling, even if it's a crooked one.
The kiddie version. It makes Vienne grin more deeply (though maybe it was the 'darlin' again, who knows) and she teases back, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you were looking out for my sensibilities." Surely that kind of thing isn't good for Jo's rep. As for looking for trouble, the transplanted rider laughs quickly, "Well, I didn't mean tonight! I'd need, like, training and stuff. Time to prepare. And entirely different outfit. So it wouldn't be in my first seven, because I'm totally a good, honroable dragonrider." She smiles, perhaps engimatically since she seems neither to be joking nor serious. "Just... some day in the future. Plus, I should really spend some time in the Snowasis, warming up. And I might need to practice my screaming. It's been a while." With one more impish grin, she slips from her seat, bowl in hand. "And tonight, you need to study."
"Good," Jo counters back drolly on her looking out for anyone or anything for that matter. "Consider my bad influence of introducin' ya to the Rusty Nail one day my contribution to yer welcome." Most would simply welcome someone to the Weyr. Jo offers up the existence of a seedy bar instead. No one can say she's not hospitable. Collecting up her empty bowl and mug as she swiftly gets to her feet, a stretch to follow afterwards, "Check out the place," she agrees on her visiting the Snowasis, inclining her head as she walks over to deposit her mug and bowl where it should be before turning back and returning to the table for her map. "Some pretty good people in there. Far more accommodating than me." She looks to be departing too, and so she lifts the map in a gesture of acknowledgement and farewell before she steps away from the table and towards the exit. "Yeah, I better get back to this," she says on studying, her late dinner concluded. "Guess I'll see ya around sometime, Vienne."
"I will," she promises of the Snowasis. "I have a lot of things to check out here. The Rusty Nail will have to wait its turn. Next up: going home to Oswinth." Ah, home. It has such appeal, it even gets a wistful sigh. She leaves her bowl and spoon as Jo does, but there's no particular swiftness to it, and so the other bluerider can make it to the exit first while Vienne lingers in the empty kitchen just a little longer. And in reply to being seen around, she offers a rather quieter smile and the little wave of one slim hand. "I hope so. Have a good night, Jo."
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