Logs:All Signs Lead To Drink
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| RL Date: 3 January, 2014 |
| Who: Jo, R'hin, Tacuseth, Leiventh |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and R'hin check out the new drinking digs. Leiventh and Tacuseth share stories. |
| Where: Riders' Lounge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Bristia/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
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| It's no surprise at all that, despite being a relative newcomer (new-returner?) to High Reaches Weyr, R'hin has somehow already found out about the new drinking spot. How the large form of Leiventh managed to squeeze onto the tiny ledge is anyone's guess; maybe some feet of acrobatics? Either way, the bronzerider's made himself quite at home, perusing the contents of the trolley with an eye of someone who relies on good beverages. The cluck of his tongue might suggest he isn't having the best luck, circling around the location, as if he's trying to find the gem amongst the ruff. Leiventh, for his part, has set himself up on the rim again, watching -- a faint cold wind stretching for Tacuseth, a flash of the tiny ledge shared, along with a hint of disgruntlement, brief and gone a second later. It's safe to say that Jo would have heard about the new drinking digs by now, even though her presence wouldn't be all that frequent with her and Tacuseth's presence missing from the Weyr, still, more often than not. This night, with Leiventh reaching out, the blue seems to have just returned to the Weyr since he's winging up from his ledge and sending back the heated winds and shadows to weave through the cold. Jo appears moments later at the entrance, the blue dropping off immediately to land on the rim near the bronze and take up his favorite pastime of watching as well. Leiventh will find an easy companion in sharing disgruntlement over the tiny ledge. With the place not too busy, the bluerider finds R'hin easily enough at the trolley as she tucks her hands into her black leather jacket and approaches his back. "Nothin' good, huh?" she takes a guess at how he's looking over the trolley, not yet bothering to look, herself. Leiventh's mood eases, marginally, the cold wintry winds of his thoughts easing as Tacuseth lands nearby, content to pass the time in relative, reflective silence. That, not long after, he shares a quick image of one of the young browns clumsily killing a herdbeast with a hint of amusement is not a judgement at all. Really. The cooler climes of the Reaches has certainly been an adjustment for R'hin; an unbuttoned shirt is nowhere near sufficient dress, and the thick jacket he's wearing is twitched a little uncomfortably. Perhaps Leiventh was kind enough to warn him, since there's a dark chuckle, but he doesn't turn to look: "Nothing that I'd... hm. An early vintage of Crom's liqueur. Not my first preference, but..." he pulls the dark bottle up, angling it towards Jo for inspection, and apparently approval. The image Leiventh gives works to bring a lightening of the shadows in Tacuseth's mind, the rumble of amusement rough and raw much like his rider. He then sends an image of a young blue engaging in what appears to be, a wild wherry chase. Literally. Jo steps forward to take up the offered bottle looking it over as she answers with, "Ya know who has a good stash? Taikrin. If I was in the mood to poke at that tree-" and she gives a sniff and single nod before passing it back to him "-I'd head to her weyr when she's not around and raid it. Has potential, that," and she nods at the bottle she turned over before giving the place a good once-over as if seeing it for the first time. "If yer takin' it and are willin' to share, I can provide the company." That image earns a hint of distant amusement and curiosity, following the image down. Who, when, where? All these things should be known. "I have a good stash too, I'll have you know," R'hin says, reproachfully. "And if you're bringing yourself, you're welcome to raid my weyr any time you like. But... half the fun of drinking out is that you'll never know what, or where, or with whom you might end up with. No?" When she nods, he seems pleased, tucking the bottle under one arm, and sliding his other hand through Jo's arm as he leans close, "Counted on it," before he nods towards a couch in the corner. The who, where and when of the image sent by Tacuseth is lazily given - the Weyr way down south, one of its young blues in their feeding pens. The image looks fresh and recent, the blue alluding to one of the places he's been to likely this very day. "Yer offerin' for me to raid yer weyr?" Naturally, Jo picks out that conclusion as she looks R'hin over with open, unveiled interest. His reason for drinking out does earn her loq laughter with a touche sort of nod and a, "Uh-huh. Guess that just begs to ask next who're yer plannin' to end up with tonight?" Brows lift at that before he has her arm and starts heading towards the indicated couch as she answers his last. "Yer smooth as brandy, R'hin. The Reaches looks good on ya, by the way." She even notices his clothing along the way, yes. Leiventh's winds twist and curve around every aspect of that, niggling out more nuggets of information. Down south -- Ista? Or, further south, where -- jungle and heat and sand and memory blend together. "For alcohol. If you want my body, that's another story, temptress." Yet the glitter of R'hin's gaze might suggest otherwise. "The night is early. I wouldn't want to commit myself and feel like a heel for getting it wrong," the bronzerider replies, blandly. "Mm. Monaco looked better," a hint of brief heat that's disappeared by the time he sinks down onto the couch, working to open the bottle and proffer it to the bluerider after an experimental sniff of the contents. After a pause, he admits: "Though... Leiventh is happy to be back." Tacuseth's touch takes Leiventh even further south - Southern, to be exact. Quick images of various parts of the Weyr, the land surrounding the Weyr - of a rider in their infirmary, tanned and propped up on a cot - "Ha!" comes quick from Jo on R'hin's first. "So yer sayin' I should go ahead'n take advantage of ya? The night is definitely young, darlin'," and with a bit of swagger, she drops down onto the couch and slouches down a bit to get comfortable. "Talkin' 'bout bodies'n shit. Don' get this temptress started, hm?" The tease given with a dark gaze full of dark and sensuous promise before she reaches out to take the bottle. While sniffing at the bottle, "Ya really liked it there, huh?" she prompts, stealing a glance over his way before straightening only long enough to knock the bottle back in a full-on taste. There's a brief grimace from her and she gets another one in before passing it back. "The good thing is, at least it's temporary, right? Try to survive all this-" she waves a hand about, indicating the Weyr - "and before ya know it..." A snap of fingers. Southern. Southern conjures up images from Leiventh, too, albeit more generic. Jungles, though not so thick or heated or crowded. White, sandy beaches. The cool under the overhang of trees. "I'd do a striptease right here--" and R'hin takes a hold of the zipper of his jacket as if intending to do exactly that, "Except then I'd freeze to death with the shock to my system." His gaze lingers on Jo, taking in her reaction to the drink in as much anticipation as when he accepts the bottle from her, a dark chuckle at the grimace. "I'm not sure whether I should brace, or--" either way, he's following suit, taking a deep drought, swallowing quickly and exhaling sharply. "I admit, I'm not used to--" he gestures towards the roof, of all things. "It feels very enclosed, after so long away. I'd be sleeping on the ledge if Bristia hadn't given me a lecture about making it look like she's put me in the doghouse, and her reputation is at stake and... there may have been alcohol bribery involved." For all that he's light-hearted about it, the sentiment, and the discomfort, looks to be a genuine thing, hidden under guise of casual confession. Tacuseth warms a little to the images given of the southern land, showing that the south is not his choice to be if it were up to him. Or maybe it's just that Weyr in particular. Still, his shadows linger on the white beaches, something he seems to like, sending Leiventh images along those lines before he sends, « Is yers familiar with Tsanth's? » The image of the man in the infirmary is briefly back, his curiosity present. "I'll just have ya striptease me in my weyr sometime," Jo is quick with the comebacks without even blinking an eye. "Ya won' freeze to death there." She's looking. Openly leering. She's not graceful or modest about it. She watches him drink then, her smile more genuine to casual confession as she takes it all in with silence. "I'd probably feel out of place in Monaco," she states in understanding, her smile lazy and lopsided. "Grew up here in this cold, fucked-up land. Can' imagine ever leavin' it, but I've learned to never say never." Hearing Bristia's name then, "That's the cute blonde, right? Yer weyrmate?" She assumes by his comment about the doghouse, anyway. There's a... not a warmth, but the winds of Leiventh's thoughts are less chill when he thinks of Southern, but perhaps only because it's so similar in a lot of ways to Monaco. « I have heard his voice before, » the bronze returns, musing and lingering over that image of the rider shared. « Yours visits him frequently? » "Will you now?" R'hin's amused by the response, but at least it earns her the bottle back. After a lengthy, contemplative silence -- the bronzerider meeting her gaze without apparent awkwardness -- he says, "It took a while to adjust to. Once I had, though--" his shoulder lifts-and-drops in one smooth motion. A smile, as she mentions Bristia, "The harper, yes." A faint emphasis on that, with a lilt of dark amusement, followed easily by, "Not my weyrmate. We're good friends. Sometimes she lets me into her bed." It's said matter-of-factly and without embarrasement, as if for him this sort of thing is normal. His gaze goes distant for a beat, then he leans forward to press his lips against Jo's forehead, out of nowhere, easing back a moment later. Tacuseth must be in a sharing mood - or, at least in a companionable enough mood where answers wouldn't be strangled out of him. Despite his mindvoice being of beaten and heated winds, the chill of shadows shows his true self. He was certain made of the colder climates. « Not as much anymore, » he sends distantly. Just that. Of course there's a story there, but the blue seems to think that statement suffices for now. Leaning to take up that bottle offered, "Yer thinkin' about it," Jo notes since R'hin doesn't deny his potential striptease in her weyr. "I'll let ya keep on thinkin' about it then." Her gaze alight with mirth, even through his more sober remark on adjusting. She knocks back a drink in that pause before she grates out through the taste, "Suppose ya'll do what ya have to. Shit, I never thought I'd adjust to a Weyr, no less." She snorts to that, shaking her head. "So, I get it." Beat. "So this Bristia's a harper that sometimes lets ya into her bed? Sounds like a really useful friendship to me," and she raises that bottle briefly in a toast his way. "Ain' nothin' wrong with that." His lips to her forehead is sudden, the bluerider meeting his gaze after it before her lips slowly spread into a grin that would make her face more feminine. It peters out quickly into something more Jo - rakish and cavalier. "What was that for?" she asks, passing the bottle over. And Leiventh doesn't pry, either out of respect, or a lack of interest in further details. Instead, there are other images: a distant Igen desert, the wind whipping the sand over the dunes, the coolness of tents, the taste of liquid and flash of color and heat. R'hin is oddly silent as Jo talks, just studying the bluerider's expression. He stretches a hand out -- not for the bottle, but to push a stray bit of hair back from her forehead. "He'll get better," is all the bronzerider says, with certainty, like it's answer to her question and sufficient explaination for his behavior. Tacuseth lingers on the Igen desert, its heat and tents and the sensations with remembered relish. Despite its heated climate, there's a fondness for the place. Jo picks up on R'hin's silence, and when he chooses to touch her than claim the bottle, her gaze lingers on him as she studies his face. It's only until he speaks that there's a flicker of understanding, her gaze growing briefly distant before going back into focus and she tilts her head slightly to his touch. Her expression wars between a Faranth-may-care look or something more honest. She opts for both. "He will," she finally breaks her silence, brows furrowing a little. "He is. Either way, he doesn' want it to be my concern anymore." Giving a shift of one shoulder in a shrug as she looks to his jaw, "In case the accident wasn' so much of one," she adds with a shake of her head. "His foolish way of keepin' this girl safe." Complicated. Meeting his gaze with a dry semblance of a smile, "Bronzeriders and their need to protect." "Seems to me you're quite able to take care of yourself," R'hin says, after a pause. "But, you have to do what you have to do," he says, suggesting he was listening to what she was saying earlier. When she shrugs, he chuckles briefly, stretching out to take the bottle from her. "It's ingrained," he says, with a hint of apology, as if he's answering for every bronzerider. "Can't help ourselves." "Damn straight, I am," Jo is quick to agree with a firm nod. "I've never been no damsel. Not unless it involved some sort of sweet payback. I know where he's comin' from, but that doesn' mean I have to like what he's tryin' to do." She flicks a hand to it, lips pressing together before she lets go of the bottle to R'hin's care. She regards him for a moment before letting that bravado fade as she reaches out to touch his hand, saying, "Thanks for sayin' that. Most folks 'round here that knew, they have been walkin' on shells when I come around. Not sure what to say'n shit. We weren' weyrmates or anythin' like that, but, still." R'hin takes the bottle, but doesn't immediately take a sip; instead, he nods for her thanks, saying, "I have the... joy of being blissfully ignorant of local politics," which is probably a stretch; the Monacoan seems to have sources of information for all that he's been gone Turns. "It's not easy, when you come to rely on someone to be around. Did you--" he glances down at the bottle briefly, then up to her again, "--what did you learn about his accident?" It's not until after he's asked that he takes a gulp from the bottle, though his eyes never leave the bluerider. Watching R'hin with the bottle, Jo chuckles shortly on being blissfully ignorant. "If only I could be the same," she quips, looking around at the other riders present. "And, I agree. Managed a long time keepin' people at an arm's length here'n he slipped through. I know what it's like to lose someone, or have someone rely on ya. To watch'em die, or, have to walk away...." Much the same to her, the woman frowning at her own words. When he asks about the accident, it takes her a moment to answer on it. She looks away as she states, "Not much more than what's been goin' around. Looks shifty, though," and she looks at him then. "Some things don' add up. If it was made to look like an accident, then these fuckers were professionals. Knew what they were doin'. Certain folks think that the hit was meant for me, or, as a warnin'. I dunno. I can' say I don' have enemies out there, and towards the end of it he'n I weren' really all that discrete. It's possible, but I don' wanna jump to that conclusion just yet." "Maybe it was just an accident?" But R'hin doesn't look like he believes that, if just because Jo doesn't appear to believe that. He starts to hand her the bottle, then hesitates, and with a grimace, deposits it on the table and instead, extends an empty hand towards Jo. "Want to go and raid someone's alcohol stash? Your choice which one, I'm game." "All signs lead to it bein' so," Jo almost looks resigned on that fact, despite what she says before. "He wants me to stop lookin' into it, but I know some folks. Ya think he'd know by now that stickin' my nose in places it shouldn' be is my forte." Not apologetic about it, either. She straightens up when R'hin sets the bottle down, grabbing his hand and getting to her feet. Putting that topic to rest with the resurgence of her ego and bravado on display, "Come on," and she gestures with her head towards the ledge where their dragons are likely to be waiting. "I've got clutchmates that don' mind a little thievery. For us, it's considered sharing." That surprises R'hin -- her admittance -- what surprises him less is her tenacity, earning a rueful, familiar chuckle as he stands alongside her. He seems apt to let her lead, keeping pace with an amused cant of head. "Alcohol does taste better when it's stolen," he says, pale eyes glittering as he follows her to the ledge. And if later, there's that promised strip tease, well... it's the alcohol's fault, and entirely not indulgence of her. |
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