Logs:A Beer and an Ear
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| RL Date: 29 August, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Everett |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex gets beer, and a listening ear in the form of Everett. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions |
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The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. Autumn it is, but the weather's still been quite temperate all afternoon, so it's probably no surprise that as the sun goes down, the Snowasis has not yet filled up. Might as well enjoy the nice weather while it's there. The bartenders don't have that luxury. Indeed, since there are two of them, it's as lazy an evening so far as either could possibly hope. Everett and his compatriot are discussing something to do with scheduling in between orders--"If you'll take the late shift on the sixth, I'll take tomorrow," he's saying, as he fills a pitcher and hands it over to a couple riders headed out to the patio. But once that's settled, the other fellow's attention is distracted by a discussion with a couple regulars at one end of the bar, and Everett settles into poking at a game of solitaire he seems to have had going for awhile. No doubt that later, those cards are going to have to make way for patrons. Drex certainly isn't anyone to stir the rumor mill -- some dusty ring-in lately arrived at the Weyr, doing some random handyman work around the Weyr here and there. The fact that the weather's good doesn't seem to beat the draw of a cold drink, it would seem, since the sailor slouches his way into the Snowasis from the bowl. "You play?" he asks, nodding towards the cards as he drops onto one of the stools near to Everett. "What? By myself, often. I don't wager much. Happy to watch other people do it, don't have enough marks in my own pocket to take the risk," Everett says, all good-natured smiles despite the question coming from a total stranger. He leans on the bar, gives Drex just the briefest of looking-over. "Beer, liquor, some big fruity thing with an umbrella in it?" This is said as though it's a serious question, not actually a joke. "If I'm supposed to know already, pardon, but I'm pretty sure at this point I've met most of the regulars." Drex makes a noise at the back of his throat, like he's disappointed with the answer -- either that the other man plays solo, or that he doesn't wager, or both. "Not much fun in watching," the sailor suggests. He gives Everett and incredulous look, most probably at that last. "Do I look like..." he snorts. "I aint one of these fancy Weyr types. Give me a cold pitcher of beer, I'm happy." Which seems to suffice for his order. He doesn't seek to clarify if he's a regular or not, instead turning to eye the quite place with a frown. Slight brow raise. "Appearances can be deceiving," Everett observes. "I would hate to deprive someone with my assumptions." Pitcher, not a pint, but that doesn't seem to bother him at all, and he turns to fill it. "You're probably right," to the earlier line of thought. "One of these days. I got here a pauper, but that won't last too long. Folks here are pretty generous. So, you're not a fancy Weyr type--what type are you? Visiting on business?" That earns a roll of eyes from Drex. "Sounds like harper talk. All this worrying about appearances. Sometimes, things are just what they are, y'know?" He shakes his head, slowly, watching the bartender pour. He seems distracted by it, enough that he's a fair while in answering, "Aint nobody special. You weren't here when I was around last." He rubs at his chin for a moment, then offers gruffly, "Drex." "Yes, well. Second choice career. Can't carry a tune to save my life." Easy, easy. Everett couldn't get more relaxed without losing all muscle tone and collapsing into a puddle. He sets down the pitcher, slides over a glass to go with it. "Everett, Drex. Nice to meet you." But the lack of such manners in return isn't going to surprise him, obviously. There's a glance around just in case someone else is just waiting with bated breath to be able to get their order in, but nope. He glances down at the cards, shifts a couple around. "People seem to come and go here with regularity. Makes the job interesting, if nothing else." A brief snort is Drex's response to that -- being a harper. "Better off, I say. More likeable, bringing people beer," his brows go up as if seeking agreement, though he doesn't wait long -- not when his beer has finally arrived. He reaches for the pitcher, splashing some over the side of the glass as he does so. The fact that, when he lifts the glass to his lips and gulps down the contents, some of it drips onto his clothes doesn't much seem to phase the man. He takes a breath after he's done, and it's followed by a satisfied burp, and then he sets the now-empty glass down. "Can't see it," he admits, "Being stuck in one place." Another look, appraising, thoughtful. Then back at the cards. "I like what I do," Everett agrees, mildly. "Wouldn't see it as stuck. I could leave tomorrow, if I wanted. But I like knowing there's a place for me, here. Stable work. Place where I can make some plans, don't have to scramble. It's a good life. Didn't have it that good when I was a kid." They're likely both kids by somebody's estimate, of course. "You done a lot of travel?" Drex splashes some more of the beer, mostly, into the glass, and takes a generous gulp of the contents. "Plans? Still deciding what you want to do?" he wonders, with only half an interest. Of travel, "A fair bit," he allows, with a grin. "Always more to see, though." His shoulder lifts and drops, not quite completing the gesture. "Aint one for stability, meself." "Usual sort of thing, you know? Find a girl, maybe buy a place of my own someday. Maybe buy this place, I dunno. That'd be something." Everett could pass for that, couldn't he? Face of the boy next door, and his hopes and dreams, too. It can't be said to be scintillating, of course. He's frowning down at the cards, but he's backed himself into a corner and there might really be no moves left to him. "So if you're not after stability, what do you get out of it? Just... seeing stuff?" Either Drex doesn't buy it, or he doesn't buy into the dream. Either way, he's scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Thought my girl was pregnant. Kinda... relieved she aint. Can you imagine someone like me owning a place like this?" Even he snorts at the idea. And apparently that deserves another half a glass of that beer, and the splashing follow-up of half a glass more. "I belong on the seas," he says, simply, giving another of those half-shrugs. "Leave the land for the landlubbers. Once you get a taste for sailing, aint much draw to the land." "Oof." There's some feeling in that sympathetic noise, like Everett might have briefly really felt it, a kick in the gut. "Someday, sure, but even I'm not in any hurry to deal with that 'late' shit today." A brisk shake of the head wards it off. "A sailor. Huh. Wouldn't have figured... here, so much, I suppose. Grew up in Crom. Wasn't the sort of thing I thought about, boats. Ships. To each his own, though, huh?" A bland smile. "But, no. Your sort hardly belongs here." His tone isn't nearly as dismissive as those words might indicate. "Glad you're off the hook, as it were." There's something to be said for the unspoken prop of another guy's sympathy with his girl; Drex is nodding, downing another glass, though this doesn't seem to have diminished his capacities in any way. "Aye." He's frowning, now, at the mention of Crom, giving another of those half-shrugs. "Aint ever thought about working in the mines or digging up firestone for riders, either," which seems to be the extent of what he associates with Crom. A snort of amusement follows the declaration that he doesn't belong. "Don't need ta be told that. Get those looks all the time. Something to be said about that saying... fish outta water, y'know?" "I thought about it. Just long enough to think better of it. Which is why I'm not there anymore." Keeping things simple, Everett is. "Fish outta water." He doesn't have to copy the accent; it might not have been entirely deliberate. "I've seen a dragon swim. Can fish fly? Maybe sometimes it's worth visiting even the places you don't belong forever." There's his wisdom for the day, or something like that. It gives him some small satisfaction. His solitaire game does not. He ends up collecting all the cards back up, shuffling them again. Drex seems to need to think about it. "Some do. Dollfins do. So, maybe it aint such a good phrase after all," his fingers tap against his glass for a moment, before he takes another gulp. He digs around in his pocket for a moment, drops a handful of coins, and announces, "Need to take a piss." Given he's consumed a good half of the pitcher already, it's probably not a surprise, heading off towards the back steps with the surety of someone familiar with the quickest way to the lavatory. There's a quick glance over the marks left, obviously a momentarily totalling up of whether this matches what he's owed. Brow furrows, momentarily, as Everett sweeps them into his hand, and his lips purse like he's about to say something. But discretion is the better part of customer service, isn't that how the saying goes? Certainly not worth nagging a man on urgent business for his bladder. Maybe he intends to say something later, but in the meantime there are other orders to fill. The sailor must have a considerable bladder, since it's not until Everett's busy with a couple of other customers that Drex finally returns, claims his half-full pitcher and glass, and retreats to a table out on the patio to consume the remainder. |
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