Logs:A Snowasis Evening In Three Parts
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 10 March, 2012 |
| Who: Damaris, Quinlys, Riorde, Taikrin, Toren |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: First, Damaris and Quinlys talk Tillek and politics. Secondly, Riorde joins them, flightlost, followed by Taikrin, flightwon. Finally, Quinlys and Damaris throw onion rings at Toren, who has earned their wrath. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge / Snowasis, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 3, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Wind and snow make for very bad weather today. The visibility is low, making travel dangerous. |
| Mentions: Aughan/Mentions, B'reiv/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, Rhaelyn/Mentions, Rynien/Mentions, Shaie/Mentions, Thedrin/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
    |
| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. Wind and snow make for very bad weather today. The visibility is low, making travel dangerous.
Light and sound escape even the crooked passage that leads into the Snowasis; Quinlys' laughter can be heard even before she's stepping out into elements, her boots crunching into the snow underfoot. She's probably only a little bit tipsy, and is probably putting on more tipsy than she's actually feeling, if the way she so expertly avoids slipping, while still walking backwards, is any indication. "I'll get you next time, B'reiv," she calls, merrily, swinging around to take another merry step forward. Head turning, she catches sight of Damaris - and pauses. "You've realised that it's, like, freezing cold out here, right? And that stone makes cold and dry and happy?" "I'm under cover," Damaris replies lightly, without immediately turning her gaze away from the lake. It takes her about two heartbeats longer, and then she's summoning up a smile and shifting on her feet to turn towards Quinlys. "I did notice that it was cold, thank you. It's also..." And rather than try and explain what it also is, she gestures with that mug of hers out towards the bowl. Apparently it's supposed to mean something. "I'm not too cold yet." No, but her nose and cheeks are starting to turn a little red. "You like watching the weather," concludes Quinlys, rightly or wrongly, moving to stand across the table from the other woman, her own hands seeking comfortable warmth in the pockets of her riding jacket. "Or just stuff in the weather, maybe. I get that. Me'n'Olly, we like it too, sometimes. When we're out on sweeps-- the whole landscape changes. But it gets kind of boring, eventually, not to mention cold. As long as you don't freeze out here, I guess." Turning her head to mark Quinlys's passage as the other woman moves, Damaris looks back Out once she's stopped. Takes another drink. "It does get boring after a while," she agrees with a shrug, and gives a little shake of her head as if to snap herself out of something. The polite smile grows a touch, and she focuses her full attention on the bluerider. "I would like to think I'm smart enough to go inside before pieces of me start falling off," she says. "But I suppose I can't really make any promises on that note, just because it hasn't happened. I do, though - there's something nice about it. Especially when it's...loud." A look over her shoulder is sent back towards the archway into the Snowasis proper. Quinlys laughs, hanging her elbows down loosely at her sides as she considers Damaris with idle curiosity. "I don't suppose I really thought you were just going to stand here until you become a complete icicle," she allows, cheerfully. "Ice sculpture it'd be, I guess." Her gaze follows the other woman's indoors, a half-nod almost performed unconsciously, except that as she turns her gaze back, there's a knowingness to it. "I hear you. It's much better in summer, when there are more places for people to go. Claustrophobic. It's sort of better than just going home alone, sometimes, though. Winter is lonely time." "I like being able to hear it?" Damaris admits, finally turning away from the Outside entirely to face the other woman. Another good solid drink from her mug, and she offers another - more genuine - smile. "Because it is lonely time. I simply don't always want to be right in the middle of it, and - it was a pretty afternoon. I do miss the summer. But...it'll be back eventually, and I'm sure at some point I'll be wishing for the snow to keep more people around where they were easier to find." "If any of my singing was audible out here, I sincerely apologise," says Quinlys, in the wake of what Damaris has to say. "We were-- that is to say, a number of us were ferrying people to Tillek this morning." Her smile is undeniably less exuberant as she mentions that. "It was depressing. Anyway, I know exactly what you mean about summer, too. In summer, it's hard to find anywhere to be alone at all, people everywhere. We do get nice summers, here. Not, I suppose, that I have a lot to compare them with - but they really are." Her own smile dims a shade at the mention of the ferrying, and Damaris nods in understanding. "You've nothing to apologize for; there was singing, but it - wasn't distinct, and at the distance, my ears were safe," she says with all apparent seriousness save for the bit of amusement in her eyes. "I don't think you have to compare them with anything else, to know that we have it good here," she says. "I like it, you like it, clearly...they are nice, at least for our opinions." She shrugs, and then she's putting on serious face. "How did it - go? Aside from being depressing?" Quinlys seems to find genuine relief in Damaris' words, and nods several times quickly, gratefully, to confirm their receipt. "That's right. Some might complain that it doesn't get hot enough here, but I suppose that's why most of them live elsewhere." She's aiming for light, with that particular statement, but she doesn't quite make it - and knows it, too, given the ruefulness of her expression. "I think it was sort of cruel, really. Mostly. Lady Edeline is clearly not up to-- I didn't see much, but I don't think she stayed for long. Just long enough to thank people for coming. And everyone else clearly felt awful, not knowing what to do with themselves. Not a proper funeral, but not-- not a party or a casual reception or anything." "Just awkward and depressing," Damaris concludes, and the smile that she offers up is sympathetic. "Such things are difficult enough when everyone knows the line they are supposed to be following. My sympathy, for having to deal with it." What's left in her mug is finished off, and she wrinkles her nose down at it, then glances towards inside. A shake of her head, and she looks back. "I know you just came out - but would you like to go sit back inside for a little while? It - I will buy you a drink, as well. You can probably use it." "I'm just glad we didn't count as dignitaries ourselves, you know? Having to go and make our condolences." Quinlys shakes her head, the shudder that shakes her shoulders definitely more to do with distaste than the chill of the wind. "It's over, at least. At least until the whole coverage area goes up in smoke and we have to sweep in and save everyone. I-- sure, all right. I've not exactly got else anywhere to go, or anything in particular in mind." She smiles, and this time it's back to being genuine. "While we're at it... do I know your name? Should I? I'm frightful at these things, I'm afraid. Quinlys." Beat. "Is me, I mean." There's a few blinks, and then Damaris is laughing, even if it is a liiiiittle bit weak. "Damaris," she says, and she grabs her cup and extends her free hand over for a shake as she starts to walk back towards inside. "It's very nice to meet you, Quinlys. I'm sorry, you caught me midst daydreaming, so I wasn't really with it in the moment I would normally introduce myself. And - yes, I know. I...really hope everything does not go up in smoke. Do you think that's likely?" Yeah, there's some concern shown about that. Quinlys' grip is firm, though her hands are surprisingly soft for someone who must - if her attire and knot are anything to go by - spend a lot of her time in more active pursuits. "It's nice to meet you, too, Damaris. It's fine, really. It's not like I introduced myself when I walked up and interrupted you, anyway." The question draws a sucked in breath; she gives it some thought as they walk, finally concluding in a low-but-audible voice, as they enter the Snowasis, "It might. Lord Aughan's not exactly known for being... temperate? Is that even the right word? Tillek's pissed at him, and Lord Rynien probably won't want to get in the middle, but he and Tillek have more to do with each other, normally, with the whole coastline bit. And I bet Lady Shaie won't want her daughter marrying someone who might have been involved in kidnapping. Whichever way you look at it, complete mess." Oh. Damaris pauses just inside the archway, and then she's shaking her head and frowning some. Bringing a hand up to ruffle it through her hair. "What do you want to drink?" It's not just a stalling tactic, because - hey, she did say she'd buy. "It - I hear about these things a little bit," she admits. "But it's not something that I've ever...bothered to pay a whole lot of attention to. It does sound like a mess, though. You can tell me more in a minute." And she gestures towards a table in indication, one of the few empty seats. She's off to the bar to fetch the alcohol. Quinlys smiles, but it's definitely back to the not-quite-genuine variety. "Hot buttered rum, please," is her order, followed almost immediately by, "It's hard to keep track of. We covered some of it when I was a weyrling - leadership program stuff - but the rest... it's just messy, so I try and keep up to make sure I don't put my foot in it." She bobs her head obligingly as the other woman indicates the table, and turns to head towards it, ignoring the jeers and catcalls of the group that, up until recently, she was hanging out with. Once at the table, she pulls off her coat again, revealing the formal, dark blue shirt beneath. Resting her forearms on the tabletop, she waits. There's a look sent towards the jeering and catcalling table, but Damaris doesn't react beyond that - she simply goes and gets the drinks, bringing them back to the table. One is set down in front of Quinlys, and she settles herself into her own chair with the other - same thing, because that's easy. Feet are tucked under her. "I just work in the kitchen," she says wryly. "So - I don't have to worry about putting my foot into anything. It seems like...perhaps that may have not been the wisest thing to do." "Sorry about them," says Quinlys, in lieu - at least at first - of answering Damaris' actual remarks. "They're all a lot drunker than me, and a lot more inclined to, uh, tease." She accepts her drink with a grateful smile, wrapping both hands around the warmed glass and considering it for a few moments before turning her attention back upon Damaris. "I worked with the cleaning crews, before Olly," she says. "That seemed safe, too. But then people decided I was a possibility for Iovniath's gold egg - Ysavaeth, as turns out - and after that it seemed important to keep up with things. Why do you say not the wisest thing?" One hand is lifted, for the apology. It's fine. She doesn't look that way again. That sort of behavior...yeah, so used to it. An agreeable sort of nod is given to the latter words - yes, cleaning crews would be safe. Damaris takes a deep drink from her own glass, coughing a little bit as it's lowered, but not actually _choking_. "Not the wisest thing, if - it's as messy as you say," she replies. "And it very much sounds as if it is. Which means that...I don't know. If everything starts to go up in smoke, I'd really rather prefer to understand _why_ I am burning?" The statement turned question by her tone is followed by an impish sort of smile. "I mean, I'm sure that makes a difference, right?" Quinlys' got attention on Damaris, and a sympathetic smile for that cough; when she drinks, she manages to do without the coughing, though her sip is minute. Setting it back down again, both hands still entwined about it, she allows, "I guess I'd like to know why I was burning, too. I mean, you like to think that your leaders have a situation under control, and that you don't need to worry, but-- I think that might be a little naive, these days. I'm not really sure how this one dies down without everyone wanting to kill each other. If Issedi marries Aughan, Tillek is pissed at both of them. If she doesn't, Crom is pissed at High Reaches, and Tillek is still pissed at them. And we're in the middle." This is all considered very heavily. Damaris frowns down at her glass, rolling it all over in her mind. Eventually she shakes her head lightly and sips (no coughing, yay), refocuses her eyes up on Quinlys. "There has to be a way," she says. "I'd really like to think that everything was under control, yes - but...well, I expect they have it as under control as it's -possible- to be. And really, them wanting to kill one another would be alright, I think. Provided they did not start lighting people on fire." Quinlys laughs, her mouth twisting as she does so. "Right," she agrees. "No setting people on fire. That would be ideal. Honestly - yeah. I don't really care what happens, as long as we don't get dragged down into it. It's been hard enough dealing with Tillek, of late, when they all think we failed them. I guess we did? But - it's not like we didn't try and find him." Her expression is moody, now, and she has to take a deep breath before she can take another drink. "Sorry. It just gets to me, I think. And Olly's got his eye on a green, but he agreed not to chase her, but it still - well, I can feel it." "I, no," Damaris says, and she shakes her head with a frown. "You aren't a failure because you did not manage the impossible. They're welcome to think that, if it helps them - but really." Another sharper shake of her head. "It's absurd. You don't have to apologize, either." She offers up another smile, but this one is touched with a reassuring sort of note. "You're fine, I didn't even - notice, the moody. Honestly. With everything that you're talking about, I think - it would bother anyone, green involved or not." "Thank you," says Quinlys, genuinely. "You're right, of course. On all counts. We did everything we possibly could, and I understand completely why Lady Edeline is hurting, so it's not like I... blame her? Still." She shakes her head, lowering her gaze towards the contents of her drink to ponder over it. "Still, I'd rather try and be upbeat about it all. No use just getting upset about stuff one has no control over. So." She glances up again. "Damaris. You work in the kitchens. You're probably around my sister Rysa's age. Tell me about yourself." Well, that's a topic change. Damaris's nose wrinkles up, but she does nod her head in agreement about remaining upbeat. Yes. And then...the very fun 'tell me about yourself'. After the nosewrinkle, she makes a face, and then she's putting on a smile. The rest of it? It's let alone, for now. To be mulled over in the back of her mind. Her reply is surely a -total complete shock-. "What do you want to know?" Still, she laughs after and does actually answer. "I've been here for a few turns, now - my father was posted here some time back, a harper. When he left, I stayed. I like snowstorms, and I'm a fairly good cook who talks too much." It's all rattled off like it's an answer she's got practice with giving. At least Quinlys has the grace to allow, "I know, I know, most boring and predictable conversational topic in all of history. Sorry. I can't help it: I like knowing about people. I can't find fault with any of that," and, a moment later, grinning, "I talk too much, too. It gets me into trouble, sometimes, and I'm learning to be better about it, but even so. Intending to take over as Head Cook one day, I suppose? Or are you not terribly ambitious? Shells, listen to me. So boring. I am sorry." "Head Cook?" Damaris stares over her glass all of a sudden, like - for whatever reason, that specific question has completely shocked her. One, two, three heartbeats, and she's shaking her head sharply. "No," she says. "No. I'm - not ambitious like that. For that. I don't really - not Head Cook." While she's trying her best to mask it with another smile, there's something a little horrified in her eyes for the thought. "You're not boring, though - honestly." Yes, recovery. That does not involve //Head Cook//. "Most of the trouble I get into is more of the 'less talking and more working' variety," she admits. "It's not really as big of a deal as it could be. I just like people. What did you aspire to, before - Olly, you said?" That reaction is significant enough that it startles - and then, interests - Quinlys a great deal; she pauses in the sip she's taking from her drink in order to consider Damaris, brow knotting thoughtfully. "Fair enough," she says, levelly, eventually, as though she's decided, now, to skirt around the topic and move on to things that don't cause quite such reactions. "Olveraeth. I was still hoping I'd Impress - I stood once before I found him, see - but I guess I figured if I didn't, I'd work my way up a bit, see what happened. I guess I wasn't particularly ambitious, either. I figured I had time." She and Damaris are sitting at a table not too far from the bar, the bluerider still in the formal clothes she wore, earlier, to ferry people to and from Tillek's memorial. The Snowasis is raucous: a whole group of Icicle riders are jeering and carrying on, not too far away. Riorde enters from the direction she's unaccustomed to taking, flushed and all out of sorts. And pissed. She lost her leather jacket, somewhere between here and wherever she was last, and so is only half dressed for flight in a way that's utterly inappropriate for a snowy day: tight trousers, and a forest green long-sleeved top that's open at the throat to show the blush of pink skin. "Fuck." The curse is altogether lost in the atmosphere of the bar as Riorde storms towards the bar and demands attention, now. Eyes catch on and follow Riorde, and Damaris tilts her head, watching the woman. Hmm. When she replies to Quinlys, her tone is touched with a little bit of distraction. "I - like working in the kitchens," she says. "Don't get me wrong - but...really, I'm not interested in running it. My ambitions run more towards having more time for talking, not less." A fluttered smile. And then, "She looks. Angry." If she weren't staring, that might be a confusing statement, out of the blue as it is and all. "No, that makes perfect sense," says Quinlys, who, facing the opposite way, can't see Riorde at all at this point. That doesn't mean she's not aware of Damaris' distraction, but she doesn't turn to see what she's looking at immediately. "It's kind of nice, just being a standard Wingrider, at the moment. No extra duties, nothing weighing me down. That said, I am hoping to get to help with the Weyrlings, one day, so I guess I'm not completely without ambition for more responsibility. Who's angry?" Now she turns, shifting her body around so that she can track down the source. Then: "Ah. Amareth was caught. Hang on-- Ri?" Her voice raises. "RIorde." Fortunately, the bartender is used to this sort of thing and slides over a tumbler of something strong that Riorde throws back and slams down on the bar only to have it refilled generously. "WHAT?" she yells back, before turning to see who's seen her and shouted her name. That comes later, after she's fumbled in her pockets and failed to produce marks; the bartender lifts a hand with an understanding smile, and then the brownrider turns. Riorde steps away without paying -- there's a tab for Glacier riders whose dragons have just lost -- and approaches the two women at their table, movements still graceful despite the way she stalks. "Quin." Riorde drapes herself over her clutchmate from behind, chin resting on the bluerider's shoulder. "Will you sleep with me? You can come too," she generously includes Damaris. She starts to answer, but then Quinlys is turning and hollering and oh. Damaris sort of sinks in her chair a little bit, her eyes going a little bit wide as the brownrider is called over and then comes. At least the angry isn't pointed her way, and has an explanation. This is good. She takes a very long drink from her glass, and is midst lowering it when there is draping and then questioning and including. While her cheeks do color a touch, she doesn't start coughing and sputtering or anything. "That's - very kind of you, to include me," she says. It's as safe of an answer as she can come up with on the spot. While Quinlys doesn't seem even remotely embarrassed or concerned at having a brownrider drape herself upon her shoulders, the glance she aims at Damaris is inclined towards the apologetic. One arm reaches up, blindly, to rest snugly on the brownrider's side, but it's an awkward manoeuvre despite any promise inlaid into it. "Sure, Ri," she says, with equanimity. "Sit and have your drink first, though, and then we'll go. Do you know Damaris?" "I'm very kind," Riorde assures Damaris over Quinlys' shoulder, with that adjective taking on a completely unsubtle insinuation. She doesn't disentangle herself immediately -- Quinlys is practically encouraging her, here -- and her bad mood breaks enough for a grin to appear in the wake of the bluerider's response. "Sure. Raisins. You guys are like the hottest people in the bar outside of Anvori, and if I went there Leova would cut Sforzath's balls off." Metaphorically; dragon anatomy is another thing altogether. "Taikrin's sleeping with Rhaelyn, did you know? Rhaelyn, of all people." She sounds disgusted and only pauses in her rambling to take a hearty mouthful of what looks like whisky. A huff of air is exhaled, and Damaris settles back into her chair and relaxes again. Mostly. There's a smile for the assurances of kindness, though...no comment, no, none at all. She does manage to not blush any further. The brownrider's reaction to the question of knowing her does bring out a touch of relief, and when she laughs it might just be a little nervous...but it's still a laugh. Even so, she's taking her own healthy drink from her glass. Eying it, given there's not much more left. "Do you want another?" Her mouth is opened only to allow for a potential escape, and she tips her chin towards Quinlys's glass in indication. What's left of her own is drained, and she's sliding to her feet. Maybe a little unsteadily, but who's counting? Quinlys aims, though how successful she is remains to be seen, to tug Riorde down into a seat - there's an empty one nearby, or, hell, it's not as though the bluerider is sitting that close to the table. "It's just a flight," she tells the brownrider, soothingly. "I'm sure she wishes it were you. Rhaelyn-- I don't think Rhaelyn will appreciate her." She turns her attention back on Damaris, again, mouthing 'I'm sorry' with a very rueful expression. Outloud, "Sure. Another one would be great. Let me get this one, though?" There are marks in her pouch, and whether or not Damaris attempts to object, she aims to pull some out and push them across the table. "Oh I don't care about the flight," Riorde says dismissively, letting herself be directed towards the chair. Just in time: Ri was just starting to nuzzle Quinlys' neck right below her ear. "About time, really. Maybe now she'll finally be able to -- hey, you're not going to cut and run, are you?" She eyes Damaris while sprawled out in that open seat, glass held with loose inattention. "If you're buying, I'll definitely take another." The marks are scooped up, and Damaris smiles for Riorde at her question, shaking her head. "No," she says. "I'll be back." She shakes her head at Quinlys, and then she's turning to head back for the bar, and...well, while she's not disappearing, she isn't exactly /hurrying/ back with the drinks, either. There might be a little bit of stalling involved. She may have asked the bartender to get the drinks for her _slowly_. But she has Quinlys's marks, and...well, she's not going for the archway. It's something. Neck-nuzzling doesn't seem to bother Quinlys, either, but still-- she clearly thinks Riorde is safer in a chair. After finishing the rest of her glass, she adds, "Thanks, Damaris," though it's largely to the kitchen worker's retreating back. She gets eyed for a few moments, but the bluerider doesn't seem too concerned about her running away, and finally, she looks back at Riorde. "Oh, that's right. Szadath doesn't really chase. So - good for her. I'm glad. Please don't scare Damaris off completely, hm?" Riorde leans out slightly to watch Damaris leave before resettling, eyes on Quinlys. "Yeah," she acknowledges. "So it's good, it just had to be Rhaelyn. That fucking bitch." It's not like Quinlys doesn't know how Ri feels about their clutchmate; no holding back here. Ri manages a faint smile before tossing back the rest of her drink. It didn't last long. "I'll try." "Never mind," Quinlys is saying, soothingly, currently in quiet conversation with Riorde as they finish their drinks - Damaris being off at the bar getting more. "At least it wasn't someone you wanted to sleep with, right? And you get to sleep with me, so that's got to be worth something, too." She's making absolute light of it; she's grinning. "Good. Just try. That's all I ask. I don't know how used to-- this she is." "Yeah, no," Riorde answers quite definitively. "Much rather sleep with you." She sets her empty glass down on the table and leans forward, elbows on her knees. Damaris is, for the moment, apparently forgotten. "You're not just humoring me, are you?" Nobody expected Taikrin to be staggering into the Snowasis hot on the heels of a flight she /won/, least of all Taikrin. And yet here she is, mussed and sweaty and flushed with her clothes in disarray (is her shirt backwards? Where did her belt go?!) She's got the dazed post-flight look to her though; it's all she can do to get herself to the bar and grunt something that might be a drink order; the bartender certainly doesn't seem to have trouble interpreting it. Good answer, Riorde! Right answer! "Humouring you? No." Quinlys is cheerful and uncomplicated about her answer. "It's not like I've been dreaming about sleeping with you for ages or anything," she adds, without emphasis. "But it's not like I'm objecting to the idea." Her back is to the bar, which makes it difficult for her to spot Taikrin - perhaps, for now, that's for the best. Riorde, meanwhile, has the entirety of her attention focused on Quinlys. Her chair's at an angle, so sighting Taikrin wouldn't really be that hard were she inclined to look, but instead she's giving Quinlys a small smile as the tense pissiness slowly starts to drain away. "Before she gets back and her heart stops or something, maybe we should just test out how it would go?" The flirtation's casual, between friends, but doesn't lack for intensity; Riorde's looking at her clutchmate in a particular light and slowly shifting towards Quinlys with clear intention of kissing her. Dawdle, dawdle, dawdle - oh no. Damaris spots Taikrin, just about the time she's gathering up the drinks, and ohhhhh. A look back towards the table she just left - and then back towards Taikrin. Two of the three glasses she has are set back down on the bar, and she turns back around to face them as she goes about very swiftly making that third one disappear. Eventually the others will get their drinks. /Really/. Unless she drinks them first. Taikrin slumps further and further and further against the bar, until by the time her glass is set down in front of her she's half-laying on the countertop. Still, the arrival of her drink revives her enough that, after she's tossed it back with uncharacteristic coughing and spluttering, she has the presence of mind to ask the bartender about Riorde. He, likewise, has the presence of mind to redirect her towards Damaris instead. Blearily, Taikrin takes her already-refilled drink down the length of the bar to slump instead by Damaris' shoulder. "'E said you saw Riorde," she begins, without preamble. "Where?" Apparently, in her swift glance over the caverns, she didn't recognize her girlfriend and her maybe-makeout with Quinlys. Oh, hey: kissing. Quinlys doesn't, of course, have the excuse of being flight lost (though she does have a blue dragon denied the opportunity to chase, so maybe that counts for something), and public makeouts aren't usually her thing; this doesn't mean that, after she works out what Riorde is doing, she doesn't lean in the rest of the way so that they can meet in the middle. And put one hand on Riorde's leg, halfway between knee and thigh as she does so. It's a curious kind of kiss -- this kissing friends thing, one never knows how it will go. At least that's how it starts out, before Riorde reaches out to pull Quinlys a little closer. Then it's moving into the territory of proper making out. Lifting her chin, Damaris stares up at the ceiling for a moment when Taikrin slumps beside her. Her expression is very much 'you have got to be kidding me'. Then she's putting on her sweet little smile and absolutely not looking back towards Quinlys and Riorde. "I did," she agrees. "But - I think she might be a little busy? I mean - she was awful mad, earlier." Fidget. Smile. And...well, she eventually tips her head backwards towards the table in indication. Yeah. "... awful mad?" Taikrin echoes, tasting the words as if trying to discern a meaning that's just beyond her grasp. "Really?" Her next drink is gone from one blink to the next, and then Taikrin is raking a hand through her (mussed, sweaty) hair while she stares in the direction Damaris indicates. Stares, and stares, and stares some more. She must have spotted the makeout session, because all she does is grunt in response. Then she's picking her way across the cavern, tripping over chairs and running into people, to flop heavily into one of the chairs at the table where there is /making out/ happening. Then? CLONK. It's the sound of her head hitting the table, followed by incomprehensible (but likely profane) mutterings. By the time Taikrin gets there? it's fair to say that it's definitely 'proper' making out. By then, Quinlys has wound one arm around Riorde's neck, and is mostly out of her own seat though not exactly aiming to sit in Riorde's. Still. The sound of Taikrin's head, however - that CLONK - is distraction enough to have her pulling back, arm unwinding, and-- she licks her lips, looking surprised and maybe a little confused. "Taikrin?" Riorde manages to murmur, "See, this could be good," at the point when Quinlys is coming out of her chair, which Riorde is most definitely encouraging. She doesn't let go immediately, far too focused on the bluerider than the sound of someone else joining them at their table, and even when Quinlys pulls back Ri hangs on a little, reluctant to let go. Even when she realizes that it's Taikrin right there. Ri's at a loss, but unembarrassed. Finally, she says, "That was quick." Frown. Damaris exhales a little puff of air to blow some hair out of her face as she looks after Taikrin, expression...briefly disgruntled. Eventually she just rolls her eyes and turns back to the bartender, getting the two drank drinks replaced - plus one. They're paid for, collected, and she picks them up, balancing them on her way back without much difficulty. Walking seems a little harder right now, really. She is not going to be any good for her turn in the kitchen tonight. "I don't even know what happened," Taikrin mumbles to the table. At least she doesn't seem to have the wherewithal to be bothered by all the making-out-ness. "She was-- and then we were-- and-- only thing I know's Szad's all-- with /that green/." She lifts her head, though her face remains half-masked behind her hands, to ask, "Did he /really/ catch her? You're sure?" The two drinks seem to have gone straight to her head -- but then, that'll happen on a stomach as empty as Taikrin's is now. As soon as Damaris is back to the table, Taikrin is snatching one of the drinks and downing it, offering by way of explanation, "Almost got sick all over her jacket. Or my jacket. One of those things." Quinlys, in contrast to Riorde, is definitely a little embarrassed, though she's quick to straighten herself back up, safely in her seat, and give Taikrin a half-sympathetic glance. It's Damaris, however, who earns most of her attention: the bluerider looks half appalled, and utterly, absolutely apologetic - yet again, she's mouthing those words: 'I'm sorry'. "Maybe you should eat something, Taikrin," she says, finally, glancing at Riorde only once before turning her attention back. "And then you can take Riorde home. Unless you want me to do it." "He really caught her. You sure you're okay?" Riorde's hands are safely back in her lap now, at least until Damaris comes back with the next round. Trying to sound soothing, she picks up where Quinlys left off, looking at the other brownrider outside of the quick, amused smile flashed at her clutchmate for her latter comment -- it hasn't been ruled out. "Yeah, eat something. You'll feel better then." Pause. "I lost my jacket. Hope you didn't get sick all over that." Glasses are set around, and Damaris takes one to her chair to sit down with it. There's another little shake of her head for Quinlys and her mouthed apology, one shoulder lifted and dropped. She doesn't really look all that disturbed, to be honest. She does, however, look like maybe she shouldn't be sipping on yet another glass. So much quiet, though. There is much paying attention! Being three drinks in has put more of a flush into Taikrin's cheeks, visible now that she's dropped her hands to rest on the table, curled around her empty glass. "No, fuck-- I ain't hungry. 'M okay." Even if her words are a little slurred. "I think-- fuck. He did. He's out there, and he's sleeping with a green, and /HAH/." She seems to be building up a head of steam; the brownrider slams her drink glass down against the table, then pushes unsteadily back to her feet to aim a hard smile at Riorde. "Where the fuck's my drink? Ain't this supposed to be a party? HEY!" That last is shouted back at the bar and the bemused bartenders. "DRINKS! NOW!" However undisturbed Damaris is, Quinlys is definitely keeping half an eye on her, now - something about the way she looks, perhaps, or the way she drinks. The rest of her attention slides effortlessly between the two brownriders, and, cheerfully, she says, "Well, I think I would like something to eat, if we're getting more drinks. I'll be right back, okay? You two-- have fun." She slides out of her chair, relatively steady for all that she's been in the vicinity of the Snowasis for a few hours, now, aiming her steps towards the bar. Riorde's slumped back in her chair, feet out, as she nurses her own third drink and watches Taikrin. "Yeah, he did," she affirms. "Well done, you." Her own, pleased smile is growing, still there when she leans back even further to call over her shoulder, "Bring us back something, yeah, Quin?" As the drinks keep hitting her with one-two punches, she at least sounds more like the Taikrin of old -- thick accent and all. "I reckon she was so /embarrased/ on account of how good we were that she had t'run off, anyways," she breezes while watching Quinlys walk away; the cant of her head implies she's mostly interested in how the bluerider walks, and not where she's going. She leans in, then, palms flat on the table, and asks huskily, "So, y'all were settin' up a party for me, I reckon, 'fore I got here?" Oh, oh. Oh. Damaris turns her head to watch after Quinlys, blinking a few times, and then she's looking back to Riorde and Taikrin. More quietness, and watching the pair of them interact. At least this drink, she's not doing anything more to than sipping. Her feet get tugged up beneath her in the chair, and she settles herself against the arm, and - generally looks comfortable. Conveniently, when the Snowasis is as busy as it is, today, food doesn't take long. Quinlys hangs at the bar while she waits, chatting idly with one of the barstaff, though most of her attention is still across the room focused on the table with the two brownriders and Damaris. "Sounds like Rhaelyn," Riorde agrees, tone mostly even in contrast to all that venom earlier. Her hair slides to one side as she tilts her head, regarding Taikrin with her close-lipped smile still in place. "Yeah. Party for you. You just got here a little early." "S'what I reckoned," Taikrin agrees, sliding back down into-- whoops, well, that was /supposed/ to be her chair, but the slippery thing seems to have gone and moved itself on her. With a startled curse, Taikrin ends up sprawled on her back on the floor. Of course, once she's down there, all she can do is ask, "Where the bloody shells is my /drink/?!" One hand comes up to cover her face, and Damaris leans over and peers at Taikrin-on-the-floor through her fingers. Oh. She clears her throat, settles back in her chair - looks at Riorde. She even puts on a smile. A little shake of her head, and she jsut goes back to silently sipping from her drink and...twisting around a little to look for Quinlys and watch -her- for a while, instead. Yes. When Quinlys returns, a few minutes later, bearing a couple bowls of fried foods - and with a bartender walking behind her carrying drinks - it's to find Taikrin on the floor, something she's clearly missed in the course of actually carrying food. "Uh," she says, stepping around the brownrider in order to put her burdens down and wave the server to do likewise. "Miss your seat there, Taikrin?" "Shit," Riorde swears softly, putting her drink down on the table so she can go to Taikrin's aid. "Hey, take it easy." The remark's quiet, aimed for the other brownrider's ears as she gets a hand under Taikrin's upper arm and tries to help her up. She glances at Damaris, witness to Taikrin's embarrassment -- assuming Taikrin could even get embarrassed -- and says nothing, smile gone. As Quinlys comes back bearing gifts, Riorde says promptly, "Food first. Eat." "Nope! 'M all good down here!" As Riorde is trying to pull her up, Taikrin is trying to pull her back /down/ in a terribly-timed effort to plant a booze-fueled kiss on her lips. "'M gonna eat, alright." The look from Riorde has Damaris's expression losing the smile. Real quick. Her drink is now terribly interesting, again. No commentary, no smiles for Quinlys, and certainly no more peering down towards Taikrin-on-the-floor. Quinlys slumps into her chair, grabbing one of the new drinks that have just been deposited-- along with a bottle of water and some glasses. Damaris may not be smiling at her, but the bluerider is glancing at the kitchen worker, and her own expression is awkward and - yet again - apologetic. "Let's get some food into you," she says, finally, in Taikrin's direction. "And maybe some water. And then we'll get you home." Very little embarrasses Riorde (they're Glacier riders, after all) but getting down and dirty on the floor of the Snowasis with Taikrin is one of those things she can skip unless it's a bet from the wing. "Taikrin. Come on." Her tug at Taikrin's arm is, this time, a whole lot sharper; once she regains her balance after being pulled down by the other brownrider, she's trying to haul Taikrin up. "Eat some food." "Aw, c'mon you, Ri," Taikrin protests as Riorde pulls her back upright. "You /know/ you like it." Since the other brownrider refuses to make out, Taikrin is leering at her with all her might. "I ain't hungry; you want a go, since Ri ain't playin'? Or you?" She's only barely managed to perch on the edge of her chair before she's propositioning the table at large -- and reaching for another drink. "Food is a good idea," Damaris replies neutrally, and - yep, what's left in this glass disappears, too. Then it's set down on the table, and she's putting a hand against her chair and rising carefully. Smile for Quinlys. "It was nice meeting you." And...the brownriders just get another smile, before she's turning to go. This is where she cuts and runs. "I--" Quinlys turns her attention away from the brownriders to stare, balefully, at Damaris as she leaves. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs, hurriedly. "It was-- nice to meet you, too. Maybe next time--" It will be less... like this. Maybe. At least it means she has good reason to ignore Taikrin's proposition - especially when, a moment later, she's stuffing her mouth with onion rings. Riorde is no fun. She plucks that drink away when she sees Taikrin reaching for it, quick as can be. "Eat some damn food and then I'll play." There's another glance for Damaris, but Ri has her hands full with trying to keep the drink away from Taikrin and the food near, and her reply's restrained to a short, "Bye." "See y'later!" Taikrin is calling after Damaris. "Remember how I promised, about the mud!" Must not have been today, whatever it was. And-- woe be to Damaris, when she gets to the kitchen and finds out /exactly/ what Taikrin and Rhaelyn did in the store rooms. "Hey!" she protests at Riorde, though she doesn't try to snatch the drink back. Yet. She slides a chair over (thankfully, without mishap) to press up against Quinlys and take an onion ring out of her basket. Then, plaintively, "/Now/?" "Maybe next time, bye, - mud?" Damaris pauses briefly to give a really confused look back over towards the trio at the table, but particularly Taikrin. It doesn't appear to be ringing any bells. She stares for one, two, three moments, then shakes it off and turns to continue making her own drunken way towards the archway back out to safety. SAFETY. "Mud?" repeats Quinlys, looking confused, though before she can ask anything further about that one, Taikrin's pressing up against her, stealing onion rings. She pushes the basket closer towards the brownrider - drunken vomit breath does not seem to do it for her - and gives the brownrider a long stare. "I think you'd better eat more than that. And some water." She gives Riorde a rueful glance, as she pours out a glass of the water and slides it towards the drunken rider. Toren comes in with his guitar as he managed to convince whoever runs the bar that he can play over the crowd and he'd do it for free. He is coming into the bar and he sees Damaris. He gives her a polite nod, 'Good evening Damaris. Are you leaving?" He asks politely as he doesn't want to get slapped tonight. Firmly, "Eat." Riorde, thief that she is, steals an onion ring as well while continuing to hold Taikrin's drink hostage -- except it's less hostage holding and more slowly doing away with it, since she's decided that drinks needs drinking. By her. Now. "Promised her mud wrestling, last time. Reckon we could give it a go now, if you like?" Now she's looking between Quinlys and Riorde, all hopeful, leering optimism. "I ain't too sore, and it ain't real cold out there. Actually, it's hot /in here/." Let's take off all our clothes -- or, at least, her jacket. Her shirt definitely /is/ inside-out and backwards, and one of her sleeves is oddly stretched and torn. Another onion ring, and then she's demanding, "My drink. Or 'm I gonna have to come over there'n get it? Reckon Quinlys'll help me." She nudges the bluerider, smirking, as if she couldn't fathom a reality in which that might not be true. Stumble, stumble - oh look, it's Toren. Damaris stops, to peer up towards him for a long moment - her eyes narrow, and she takes a not entirely steady step towards him, puffing up all hostile-like. "Yeah? What's so good about it? And - I was." That...sounded distinctly like past tense. "Why are you talking to me?" So for the record, the young woman is _not_ a happy drunk. At least not tonight. "You gonna make some more comments about me being in the kitchen forever?" "It's freezing out there," corrects Quinlys, shifting away from Taikrin with as much subtlety as she can muster - Riorde gets a half-shaken head, though it's more difficult to tell exactly what she means by it. "No, I won't help," she says, firmly. "Taikrin, I think you've had enough. Drink some water instead, okay?" It's only then, caught through the corner of her eye, that she seems to register that Damaris has not made it to the exit unaccosted: she frowns, focusing her attention on the pair with a sucked in breath. closer..danger...danger...danger young harper. He takes a slight step back. "I'm here to play a set or two for anyone that cares to listen. If you would like to stay you are free to do so. It's not my place to tell anyone anything." He says in a very polite tone as he starts to edge around her before she can hit him. "If you would please excuse me I'd like to get to the stage to play some." In response, Riorde knocks the rest of the drink back. Gone, all of it. She eats another onion ring and licks her fingers for lack of a napkin to wipe them on, then gets to her feet. "C'mon Taikrin, let's go." She steals the jacket that the other brownrider's just taken off and starts to put it on, then -- stops. It doesn't exactly smell fresh. "Here," she says, adjusting and offering it out to Taikrin again. "Cold outside. Sforzath'll take us, I'll let you use my bath." The way she stresses the end of that sentence is meant to make it sound appealing. "Quin--" Ri pauses on the name, looking at the other woman, and settles for an apologetic smile. "But, my drink," Taikrin protests, shooting a betrayed look at Quinlys. "Now I know why you ain't in Glacier. Too much, my ass." No such thing, even if she /is/ having a hard time standing upright. The best she can manage with her clumsy fingers is to swing the jacket back around her shoulders, but at least she manages to cut around the table to wrap an arm around Riorde's waist without ending up on the floor again. "Bath, huh." Aw, look, she's leering. It's cute. "Promise? 'Cause--" She leans in to whisper something (probably filthy) in Riorde's ear, smirking all the while. Isn't her breath great? He steps back, she steps after him. On the bright side, Damaris does not actually lunge at him or anything. No hitting (yet)! Apparently his words are enough to calm her down from the irate-just-to-see-him though, because she blows some hair out of her face and steps back again, bringing her arms up to cross them over her chest. Grr! If she were bigger, it would be way more intimidating. It's - not. At all. "Okay," she says, glaring. "Fine. I don't need your permission, though." Quinlys matches Riorde's expression, smile for smile, though hers is more inclined towards the regretful and understanding. "It's fine, Riorde. Go look after her. I'll see you around. Taikrin's insults draw a snort of derisive laughter, but the bluerider isn't going to descend to that level - instead, she waves the pair of them off, adding, finally, "If you run into trouble, let me know?" Anyway, she's picking up the basket of onion rings and turning back around to see what Damaris and Toren are up to-- because this, too, is clearly of interest. Toren holds his hands up and he's glad that he has his guitar strapped to his back, "Of course you don't you are your own woman. I'd be happy to have you stay and hear me play if you want." He looks over towards the others and he waves to the two leaving, "Bye." He moves over to the side into the bar and a little further out of slapping range..he hopes. "I drank it," Riorde announces. Her nose wrinkles, but still she answers, "Promise. Come on. Yeah, I'll see you later," she settles for saying to Quinlys as her arm goes around Taikrin to support the other brownrider on their path out, half-stumbling past Damaris and the harper. And also, because it's freezing and Riorde's now minus one flight jacket. Taikrin cracks herself up: she's giggling madly at whatever she told Riorde, whether or not the other brownrider seems amused with it. That won't stop her, either, from leaning in and adding more to the punchline. Oh, poor Riorde. She'll have her hands full tonight once she gets Taikrin back to her weyr. Her attention is caught away from Toren long enough for him to get well out of slapping range. Damaris smiles after Riorde and Taikrin, apparently having forgotten that she was fleeing. There's a wave, and then she's looking back only to not have a harper in front of her that she can hit. Hmm. Her eyes go to the floor - nope, not there - and then back up, and around - oh, there he is. She slinks after him, still wobbly on her feet. Abandoned by the two brownriders (and probably for the best, at that), Quinlys glances around the carnage of their table, then gets to her feet, throwing her jacket over one arm. She's still relatively stable, despite the drink she swings down before moving away, and crosses uneventfully towards the little stage - and, of course, Damaris and Toren. "Is he bothering you?" she wants to know of the kitchen worker, adjusting the jacket on her arm, as she moves to match her steps. Toren can't leave a lady in distress and he offers Damaris his hand, "Can I help you find a seat?" He blinks as he gets accused of bothering Damaris and he shakes his head, 'No I'm just trying to head towards the stage so I can play. Damaris looks at if she needs some help but that's up to her." "Yes," Damaris says, recoiling from the hand that's extended in her direction. "But he's not done anything tonight that means I can punch him. Which is what's /really/ making me mad, right now." The explanation is for Quinlys, of course, when the other woman asks if Toren is bothering her. She's definitely unsteady, but she's certainly not falling down yet. "If I just - hit him, when he wants to play." Her tone sounds so frustrated. It...does not seem to matter that the young man is standing -right there-. If Damaris is recoiling from Toren, that's reason enough for Quinlys to give the harper a glowering look. "I'd suggest you leave her alone," she tells him, coolly, never mind what he's just said; she's clearly on the kitchen worker's side. For now. "I hate that. When there's someone you just want to smack, but they haven't done anything to really deserve it." She's all sympathy. Then: with more enthusiasm: "We could throw onion rings at him while he plays." Maybe she's drunker than she looks. Toren lets his hand drop and he's not going to argue. "If you'll please excuse me I'd like to get to the stage so that I can play." He tries to move away from both of them so that he can get to the stage. He doesn't want to get hit and he's trying not to give either of them any excuse to hit him. Oh, throwing onion rings. With Quinlys being right there, she doesn't seem quite so ready to actively go after Toren. Thus, Damaris does not actually follow him up onto the stage. Instead, she's looking around for the closest empty table. Not finding one, she turns to the closest table with people at it and puts on her sweetest smile. "If you let us have your table, I'll buy you a round of drinks," she offers. Then for Quinlys she notes, "I'd love to throw onion rings at him." The thought is cheering. As she turns to follow Damaris, Quinlys waggles some fingers in Toren's direction: it's really not very nice of her. That's all the recognition he'll get, though, because the bluerider seems intent to draw up alongside Damaris' shoulder and put on a smile of her own, as though the combined adorableness will make all the difference. It's possibly it just makes it seem creepy, because it really doesn't take long for the people to, hastily, begin gathering together their things. "Onion rings it is," says Quin, sounding very satisfied. Poor Toren. Hooray, they start packing up. Damaris produces enough marks for them to each buy a drink, hands them over, and scoots in the instant that there is a free seat for her to do so. The chair next to her is tugged /right/ next to her, and then she's wiggling in to comfortable and smiling up towards Quin. "He tried to bully me into being a harper," she explains. "Even though I'm way too old to start, really. And then he was all 'I'm sorry I was just trying to save you from being a kitchen girl for the rest of your life'." Retellings of events - so much fun. Toren takes a deep breath as he gets on stage. He remembers his breathing training and his voice control. He moves his fingers into place and he strums once on the guitar before he starts to play. He starts with a fast and rousing song. His tenor voice clearly being heard as it fills the travern. He stamps his feet in time with the music. The basket of onion rings is set down between then, once Quinlys has folded herself into a chair and turned her attention towards Toren. They might, from an observer's perspective, look like they're enjoying the music; listening the conversation, however, would quickly put paid to that. "That's so dumb," she says, fervently. "No wonder you didn't like my suggestion of head cook; sorry about that. There's nothing wrong with being a kitchen girl. Or a cleaner. Or-- anything like that." She pauses, then pushes the basket a little closer, "Go on. Take aim." "I know there isn't," Damaris says, picking up an onion ring. She watches Toren and his playing for a long few moments before - yep, there goes a flying onion ring in his direction. It's not a bad toss, but...it isn't necessarily -going- to hit. Still, the intent is very clear, and she _is_ trying. "I don't, I wouldn't have liked 'head cook' even if he hadn't been pushy about it. I just...there's nothing wrong with what I do. I like it, I'm good at it, and I'm content most of the time. I do not see anything _wrong_ with it." Toren continues to play trying to appeal to the crowd besides the two that are throwing onion rings at him. He continues with the song and his guitar playing is good. He doesn't hit any sour notes to give the rest of the crowd to throw food at him. He was hired to play so he's going to play. He tries to ignore the onion ring that lands next to him and he tries to subtle use his foot to push it off the stage. Between the Tillek memorial earlier today, and the greenflight later, the Snowasis crowd is probably not in the best state of mind for music, however lively. Still, it does seem to be only the two women at the front who are inclined to throw food - and that's not really a comment on the music as such. "Mmm," agrees Quinlys, reaching for her own onion ring to throw: her aim is better, and there's more power to it, though where, exactly it hits remains to be seen. "We need people to make our food, anyway. If you're happy, that's what matters. And you are, so that's good." Frowning, she adds, "I can't imagine Apprenticing past, like, fourteen or so, anyway. Way too old. You'd be an Apprentice forever." "That was my point!" Damaris sounds so relieved that Quinlys seems to get it, and she beams a grateful smile to the other woman. It even keeps her from throwing an onion ring for - a few more moments, at least. "My parents - by the time they realized it needed to happen, they decided it was too late for it. And this wasn't - recently. And then there he was trying to fight with me about it." And she's reminded. Another onion ring is picked up, zinged towards the stage and the harper on it. "This isn't a bad life," she points out. "Everybody who acts like working in the kitchen in a Weyr is the worst thing in the world ought to spend a year trying to manage a cothold with a bunch of screaming little brats underfoot." Toren finishes the song and it doesn't seem that the crows isn't into lively music tonight. He switches up the music to play a more heartfelt song about lost and life and the merits of moving on. He doesn't see any more food coming his way so he takes his eyes off the table with the onionrings so he can give it all in his singing. The shift in Toren's music draws a frown - and then a definite stiffening - from Quinlys, who looks all-but-offended. "Right," she mutters, taking aim and throwing several onion rings, one after another, aiming them directly for Toren's face. One of them may fly straight over his shoulder, but hopefully at least one of the others will connect. To Damaris: "No, it's definitely not. We've got it so easy, all of us. And not everyone with a talent needs to become a harper or anything. They don't have a monopoly on it." When she glances back at the other woman, it's with a more-or-less genuine smile. "Harpers can be so narrow minded." They might need more onion rings, soon. Damaris grabs another to throw herself, smile growing a little bit more as she does so. This food flinging thing is cathartic. "My - parents, really, are both the same way. But thankfully, I think, they didn't think I was talented enough." She shrugs her shoulders, smiles. "I really don't mind where I've ended up. Life here is good, nobody expects me to have babies. I don't have to traipse around the continent at someone else's whim...really. It's good." Toren continues to play as he's trying to see the song through til the end. Once the song is finished he shifts to some more traditional songs and ballads as he's trying to entertain the crowd while they drink and relax. "I'd sort of hoped that he'd react more," admits Quinlys, giving Toren the stink-eye; poor boy. "Not talented enough?" she turns back to Damaris, expression rueful. "It's funny, when that turns out to be an advantage. I definitely agree, though. I mean, not that I was ever at risk of any of those things - my parents are riders, my grandparents were riders, the whole bit - but I can't imagine. I don't think I ever want kids, and if I do? It'll be on my terms. That's what I want from life: control over my destiny." Her hand scrapes the bottom of the basket as she reaches for another onion ring; her expression turns immediately disappointed. No more onion rings! No alcohol! It's tragic. Damaris exhales a long sigh that's all epic tragedy, putting the back of her wrist to her forehead for a moment and sending a glare Toren-wards. It's dropped before long at all, though - her attention is right back on Quinlys before much time passes. "He's - he knows we're trying to get his dander up," she says. "So he's going to ignore us. It's probably why he's playing so badly." And that last bit? Yeah, she lifts her voice, to make certain that the words are heard. Not that she's looking away from Quin. "I don't want children." So sure of this. "They scream and - it's horrible. Really. I like this. I work, I goof around. This place is _wonderful_. Control over your destiny...is - a very good thing to want. I want it too." Yes. Toren is focusing on his singing and his plaing so that it's the best that he can do. His voice is strong as he sings some of the traditional songs and he does see some people tapping their feet in time with his music. He continues to play traditional ballads as that's what it appears the crowd is in the mood for. Never mind that she's wearing formal leathers: Quinlys wipes her onion-ringy hands on her trousers. "Ah, I wondered. I didn't think they let people who played this badly into the Harper craft!" Just look at that dimpled smile. Toren's lack of reaction, however, is dispiriting, whatever Damaris says. "I agree," she says, firmly. "About kids. I had a couple of younger siblings and that was-- plenty. Nope, not for me." If she had a drink, she'd probably toast the other woman right now; as she doesn't, she looks down at her hands dispiritedly for a moment before finally admitting, "I should probably go home. I think I'm drunker than I thought I was, and it's all hitting me at once." Oh. Right. Damaris doesn't manage to keep the disappointment off of her face at all, even if her alcoholstream is starting to get a little bit more blood in it again. She pouts at Quinlys briefly, but then she's putting back on a sunny smile and nodding her head agreeably enough. "It's - I think that's not a bad idea," she says. "I was going to go earlier, but then I didn't. I'm..." She starts out uncertain, but seems to realize - there's a glance for the stage and then back again to Quin. "It was really nice to meet you. Thanks for the onion rings and letting me throw them." Toren finishes up his first set and he gets a smattering of applauds. He gives a polite bow and he heads off the stage to get a drink. Toren looks over towards the unnamed rider who was throwing rings at him as he take as a drink. He wipes off his face as it's hot up there preforming. Quinlys looks-- guilty. And regretful, too. Damaris' expression, not to mention that pout, are clearly doing a number on her resolve, but finally, head shaking, she rises herself - a little wobbly, now - towards her feet. "It was my pleasure, Damaris. We'll have to do it again, sometime. Preferably without Taikrin in, uh, that kind of mood." She sounds apologetic all over again for that, but it doesn't stop her from taking her leave. As she passes, she snaps Toren a cheeky salute, sticking her tongue out at him. And then? She's gone. |
Comments
Hypatia (Evali) left a comment on Sun, 11 Mar 2012 06:00:07 GMT.
At first I was going to just say I loved Ri, but no, I actually love everyone. So, so much.
Leave A Comment