It's dinnertime at the Weyr. Jo is found here in the stores, rummaging through a few chosen boxes as her little bronze fire lizard, Mime, occupies himself with snooping through a few boxes himself. They're a team, really. Her black leather jacket is off and draped over a stool, letting her bare shoulders free in her tank top as she picks through some bathing tools.
With her usual goldrider-in-training duties put on hold, it's presumed a certain short-haired weyrling won't be a regular face around the stores this month; and yet here she is. Except this time, Farideh isn't assisting the headwoman and her staff, but moves swiftly to the open stores, giving the whole thing a quick perusal. "Jo," she remarks in greeting to the bluerider, sounding bemused, and pausing in her assessment.
"My lil' feline," Jo greets with Farideh's new name, turning to eye the gold weyrling as she pauses her perusal. "Figured I'd run into ya again sometime." Setting the box she going through back to its place, "So," she states, as if they're picking up a conversation previously left off, "ya thought 'bout my proposition?" She seems to want to leave it suggestively vague on purpose.
The slim young woman's lips purse at the pet name and her eyes, with brows raised, take in the bluerider as she moves closer with purposeful, plodding steps. "Jo," Farideh reiterates, "just what proposition was that? I think I remember a few."
Arms folding as she leans casually against a stack of boxes, "That ya remembered them all means yer at least curious," is Jo's tease, her brazen smile growing more at the expression given for her pet name. "I meant gettin' yer hands dirty a lil' at a dive bar. Have a drink, see some brawls, get pawed at a lil..." she ticks them off like these are fun activities one could expect at such an establishment. "More important, it'll be fun," the convict rider adds with a meaningful look. "See how the other half lives for a change. What say you?" Because, it's an attractive proposition, see.
One last glance is given to the shelves and whatever it is that she originally came for, before her eyes inevitably gravitate back towards Jo. "Will I need to change? Arm myself with a weapon? Bang up my face, so I fit in?" Farideh suggests, though her eyes have narrowed; still, she's not saying no.
Snorting, "Half-naked'll do just fine, if yer that worried 'bout fittin' in," Jo answers with a deliberate study of Farideh's body. "We respond well to viewable tits'n ass." She hoists her little basket of acquired bathing tools under one arm as she whistles for Mime. "Meet me out in the bowl. I'll need to run this up first." Jo seems to be taking Farideh's questioning for agreement as she saunters out of the storeroom. "Tac'n me will get ya there in no time. Just make sure yer next of kin'll know where yer at. Just in case." A shallow wink at best as she passes by the weyrling on her way out.
"I'm not trying to get fondled," Farideh complains, but otherwise doesn't make much of a fuss. "Fine. I'll meet you out in the bowl. Roszadyth won't be pleased, but I-- think she trusts Tacuseth for some reason." She follows the bluerider out not too long after, in search of her own weyr, and eventually, she makes her way to the bowl in search of Jo and her dragon. By that time, she's dressed in her uniform weyrling leathers, with a simple gray blouse underneath and her short curls brushed back from her face.
"That's cuz that dragon of yers has taste," Jo answers for Roszadyth with a flashy grin as she makes it out to her waiting blue dragon. It doesn't take the blue pair long, really. It's only a few moments before they're back in the bowl, the convict rider calling down to her, "Just follow me! It's not that far!" And then Tacuseth is in the air and floating to the west.
A frustrated sigh leaves Farideh, as her eyes lift to the woman astride her dragon. "I've lost my senses," she mumbles under her breath. Quickly, she mounts the patiently waiting gold, and once aloft, they're following the blue pair. Up, up, and beyond.
A gladiatorial crowd of laughter, muted, is what get sent to the weyrling dragon as they're aloft, perhaps in imitation of his rider's own laughter. Then Tacuseth takes the lead, keeping up a slow enough meandering that Roszadyth can follow as the pairs leave the airspace of the Weyr towards the mountains. Indeed, the dive bar in question wasn't far by flying standards at all. Ten minutes or so later, the blue aims for a landing a long ways from the bar clearing, keeping out of sight of those patrons lingering outside. Jo dismounts and straightens up her leathers as she takes a look around and waits for Farideh. « It's best to walk from here, » the blue sends to the weyrling queen in explanation as he settles back and snaps his wings firmly to his back. It could be a long time before their riders return, after all.
Roszadyth is silent throughout their flight to the west, towards the dive bar. She only speaks up once her rider has dismounted, and her wide-eyed gaze sweeps the area with no small concern. « I am ill at ease, Tacuseth, » but not scared, not paused enough to say no; simply wary for the situation their riders are putting themselves in. « It is safe? » as she comes alongside the blue, perhaps bumping into his side in the process. Farideh, meantime, fluffs her hair and twists around, inspecting her leathers, after she's taken off the flight gear and gotten feet on the ground. She walks to Jo, arms already crossed in a defensive pose. "Well?"
« Safe enough, » Tacuseth doesn't appear the least bit distressed, and it shows in the shadowy comfort he sends the young queen's way. « You're with us, though, young'in. Mine isn't going to let anything happen. » It's such a devout trust in his rider that shows, and Jo is non-chalant and casual in every way of appearance as she steps from the blue's side and sends to him aloud over her shoulder (and likely for Farideh's benefit), "Keep an eye on things, Tac." Farideh is given a cocky wink as she heads off towards the dive bar, perhaps expecting the weyrling to follow suit as she goes. "Be friendly, but not overtly so," she says over her shoulder to her as she walks. "If someone grabs yer ass, I'll take care of'em. Best not to provoke anyone, eh?" She'll send Farideh a look. "An' whatever ya do," she adds in all mock seriousness, "please don' spit out the ale in front of the barkeep. Even if it tastes like shit's baby, lil' feline. Good?"
There's an undercurrent of worry to the gold's mind, but she's ultimately willing to believe Tacuseth's assurances. She settles there to watch while her rider follows, much more warily, in the bluerider's footsteps. "You want me to act? I'm not very good at that. I can't even act diplomatic when I need to be, but--" Farideh sighs. "Not overly friendly. No ass grabbing. No provoking of any kind. And no spitting out the ale. Can I just not order it at all? Can I order wine? Who am I supposed to be? Myself?"
And Tacuseth is more than willing to reassure, already launching into one of his many (and likely fabricated) stories of his adventures to occupy the young queen's mind. "At this point," Jo remarks as they approach the open door to the unnamed dive bar, "bein' yerself might likely get us killed anyway. If a brawl starts, memorize where the entrance is," she tells Farideh with a callous snicker. "Just get yer ass outta there to Roszadyth'n head east back to the Weyr. Tac'n I'll come along, eventually." That's the last of the advice, apparently, for she's crossing the threshold into a heated den of unwashed bodies, loud calls and the sound of mugs hitting tables. Once passed the door, Jo's demeanor visibly shifts to something more menacing, her hand casually straying to the concealed knife at her side as she guides her charge towards the bar counter. There's far more men than women in the place, with most of the women present serving as barmaids than patrons. So of course, most hungry eyes fall right on them.
Concern shows in her face prior to the door being opened, but by the time Jo's entering the bar she's got it together enough not to look completely terrified, or as revolted as she likely feels; even if Farideh does follow right on the bluerider's heels. She tries hard to keep her eyes forward and on the back of the other woman's head, but her eyes stray a few times of their own accord, only to shoot right back to their earlier focal point. To outsiders, she probably looks grumpy or pissed, from the frown she can't shake and the furrowing of her brow. "It smells like--" she finally says, in a low, tight voice, after she leans a little closer to Jo.
At least the voice levels don't go down in the bar. For now, some of patrons linger in their staring ( and some of the stares are pretty much undressing them down to their underwear). Jo pauses pass the threshold to challenge some of the stares with a smarmy one of her own before she responds to Farideh's with a deep inhale and a "Freedom, darlin'. It smells like freedom," and it's given with a gusty sigh of satisfaction. "Here, ya ain' gotta put on airs. The Weyr can be stiflin' sometimes, like a hold. Come on," and she doesn't wait to see if the weyrling will follow. She moves fluidly passed milling patrons playing a rousing game of darts to reach the bar, snagging a couple of stools and landing down on one of them as she jerks a nod towards the approaching, grumpy-looking bar tender. "Two mugs of yer finest," she orders for them both as a pair of young men dressed like farmers make a show of noticing them down the counter.
"Freedom? You just said I can't be me. How is that freedom?" Farideh puffs out her cheeks, but follows at the same pace, close on the bluerider's heels. She makes a sound -- inaudible to those not close enough -- and sits down on the second stool, letting Jo call the shots and, literally, order the shots, for now. If they were anywhere else, the farmers making eyes at them might earn themselves a severe frown and a glare, but she merely averts her eyes, sitting a little too formerly for the gaggle of rough-edged bar patrons present.
"Ya can be you," Jo is the queen of contradictions tonight as she turns away from the counter to lean up against it with elbows propped as she scans the crowd. By the look, it almost seems as though she's looking for a victim to steal from. "Just, bein' snobby might win ya a mug to the face is all, with this crowd." Looking Farideh's way, the light of adventure (and potential dangers) shining in her dark eyes, "Aw cheer up, baby," she encourages in the only way she can. "It's lively tonight! Might see a brawl, see someone pukin' their brains out in the corner, we might score some ass," and that gets an exaggerated waggle of her brows - because that would be the highlight of the night - "Who knows? Pull up a stool. Take it all in!" Yeah, take in the chorus of crass language flowing about them, the dirty card games at the tables, the dart games that look likely driven by wagers, and the loads of shady-looking folk eyeing the two new women entering the scene. Jo truly looks alive in this sort of environment if one should look at her, and, she even turns a look over to the farmer pair with a wink.
"You think they'd hit a defenseless woman?" Farideh sounds extremely, worriedly, doubtful, but she eyes Jo askance all the same; thoughtful. "I don't think--" She sets her shoulders tensely and then exhales, her posture relaxing with the outward-going breath. "Fine. I'll pretend to be you tonight, if I can't be my snobby self." Wiggling her bottom on the stool, she pulls on the leathers on her thighs, hitching up her legs, before she straddles said stool in an unnaturally awkward pose. "I can do tough and--" Hazel eyes sweep down Jo's person, "Reckless." Hopefully, she won't try spitting on the floor.
"I don' think yer as defenseless as ya look," Jo observes as their mugs comes, the contents within dark and murky-colored. She nudges one of the mugs the weyrling's way. That Farideh declared she was going to imitate the convict rider for the night, it's like Jo's turnday by the look on her face. Grinning broadly, "Ya just don' wanna get yer face smashed in, lil' feline," she openly teases about her not wanting to be a snob. "Fine, try it my way. Might learn a thing or two anyway. Like," and she gestures with wiggling fingers towards the murky mug as she says, "Drink up." Farideh's little show of starting her lesson, as it were, with the stool, has the bluerider having a hard time keeping her laughter to herself - but she manages as she takes a sip. To the last, "Alright then," she begins the lesson with a flash of a toothy, predatory smile, "listen close, weyrlin'. We're females, see. When it comes to both blendin' in and showin' that yer a top canine no matter where ya are? Know what yer assets are'n don' be afraid to put'em on display." Case in point: Jo straightens up a bit with a long, casual lean up against the counter. Her lean has the added show of arching her back just a little, and while she doesn't have an ample chest, what cleavage she does have she exposes as she parts her open leather jacket from it just a bit. Hips have an angle on her stool that's not overly jutting out, and it's probably not a mistake that the hilt of her knife attached to the revealed side can be openly seen. Shaking hair from her face, "Always come like yer ready to shank someone," she notes to Farideh. "Even if ya won'. More importantly, though, don' ever display that yer a 'rider." This last gets a serious look from her. "'Swhy ya land yer dragon away from a place, 'specially if it's a place yer ain' sure is safe.. Shoulderknots won' win ya any friends."
"No?" Farideh slants Jo a look and leans up against the bar, arms crossed on the top, much more masculine in air than her usual dainty ways. "Why would I want to show anything to a bunch of-- farmers and lowlifes in a bar? If I'm going to show my assets off to anyone, like-- like that," with a pointed look down at the bluerider's cleavage, "then there had better be a holder with stores of plenty, or a Lord Holder, or a Weyrleader somewhere. I don't know what you could ever want from them. A cold? Bad advice?" Innocently, eyebrows lift, and her mouth spreads into an impish grin. "Why do they hate riders so much?" she asks, idly, lifting her mug of dark brew to sniff at it daintily.
Watching the way Farideh moves with a slightly lifted brow, "No," Jo seems to be responding to the first - though really, it could also be in response to her imitation. There's a lingering pause before she says, "Does it matter to ya who?" she forms the question as an answer as she takes a drink. "Is a Weyrleader better than a farmer? A Lord Holder more valuable than a thief? How can ya make that call with the lil' information ya got, huh?" Jerking a chin towards someone over Farideh's shoulder, "That man there," she directs the weyrling towards one of the farmers, "could be more useful to ya than K'del. He might have the goods ya want. The info ya need. The secrets ya hunt for. Why assume just cuz someone's ranked that they're better?" It isn't said with heat, actually; the convict rider maintains a neutral tone. A curious tone. "That's why, when I come in here, the first order is to show yerself that yer the shit. Ya have a better chance not gettin' attacked if they know yer bold enough to put it out there. The second order is to watch." Leaning away now, propping that elbow up on the counter with such a cavalier attitude, "This place is the same as the Weyr," she notes, watching her. "Know the folks around ya, Pretty Farideh. Know who's useful'n who'll knife ya as soon as ya turn yer back. The very ex-con ya turn yer nose up at could be the very one that proves the most loyal to ya, just like the holdergirl ya think'll be yer best ally could be the one that makes yer perfect life come crashin' down 'round yer feet. As for the 'rider hate," and to that, there's a grinning snort as she looks away and scans the crowd. "Cuz they're like you."
"Maybe?" Farideh gives it some thought. "Those farmers-- they can give you information? Secrets? But they're not in the position to make any calls, move any mountains. You don't think that's more benficial?" Rather than looking superior, she looks genuinely bemused, with her head canted to the side, her eyes studying Jo; there's much to learn. "Do they know you, here? Do they know you're the shit? Are they scared of you?" Her eyes travel from the bluerider in a vague sweep around the room, noting stares but not meeting them. "Not all of them are Holdbred," she says, petulantly, her brow furrowing and her mouth forming a little moue. "I don't think my views are universal. I'm still-- learning-- from people like you, but the rest of the Weyr-- you really think they'd turn their noses up at this? That they weren't once-- farmer's sons and daughters? Cousins to a con? Like these people."
"Drink," Jo orders her, nodding towards the mug before continuing. "They might not be in a position to use what they know, but that doesn' mean they're not useful. That also doesn' mean there's only one way to move mountains, too." Her questions get the convict rider to watch the crowd around them before she answers, "If they try anythin', they will know me. That's all that matters, darlin'. I don' need a room full of people to know me." There's something cocky in the way she says it, that slight lift of her chin as she watches all the activity. "I don' need a position of power to have power, either. Neither do some of these folks in here." Looking at Farideh then, grinning at the petulance she sees on her face, "That yer willin' to see," she notes on learning, "is a good thing, lil' weyrwoman. It'll serve ya far. Aishani was one that knew. Likely Irianke, too, from what I've seen of her." There's a lift of the corner of her mouth to the last. "As for the Weyr," she goes on to say, "ya can be surprised what folks will ignore. My own folks, for one. My own holdbred family doesn' acknowledge my existence." A man passes by them, eyeing them up and down with his gaze lingering the longest on Farideh.
The reminder makes Farideh smile, before she obliges, taking a short, stilted drink that ends in an odd face; likely she remembers what Jo said about badmouthing the ale. "How does a farmer move a mountain?" she asks. "You're like a riddle, Jo. I have one view and you have all these others, and they're-- not what I expected?" She turns to watch the bartender with a thoughtful air. "Irianke knows a lot of things. More than she lets on, more than she--" Her mouth quirks, briefly. "She keeps her thoughts close." And then she's giving that man a frown, and angling away, her eyes focusing back on the bluerider. "Really? It's almost better. My mother acts like she's happy, but a woman like that isn't happy for someone else's gain. It would be better if she pretended I didn't exist. Then, I wouldn't have to face the reality that my mother sees me as a business arrangement." Toast? Toast.
"Done a lot, seen a lot," is Jo's brief explanation for her riddles and views. "Been in the boots've many. As to how a farmer can move a mountain, that's a lesson for another night. Right now, yer lookin' to blend in and observe." While Farideh gives the man a frown, Jo's grin for him is an enticing one. She's slow in commenting on Irianke - "I'd really like to get close to those...thoughts of hers," she gives idly as she watches the crowd, the words laced with both curiosity and innuendo. "It interests me what an Igen Weyrwoman would know 'bout me. What she's gone out of her way to learn. It's curious. Do ya gamble?" for something must have caught her eye, with her nodding towards the loaded tables. The question is even being asked louder than it should. On family, "Do ya see her often? Does it matter what she thinks? The rank you got now, ya'd hardly be her business arrangement anymore."
"Blend in and observe," Farideh repeats, rolling her eyes in time with the words. "I don't think I'm fooling anyone, not even with you here." She leans forward on the bar, forearms bearing her weight, and glances down the bar a ways, meeting a few suspicious, and lecherous, stares. "You'll be lucky if you do. I've known her for at least eight turns now and she still doesn't show all of her cards to me, but maybe you're better at enticement?" Except she doesn't mean it the way Jo probably uses the word. "Does she? Know you? And I imagine that she's made a point of getting to know many people. If you're going around leaving the impression, with people like this, that you're above and beyond, why wouldn't she want to know you?" Amusement shines in her hazel eyes as they turn, once more, upon the bluerider. "I'm not good at it," is her answer to gambling, and then she waves a hand, dismissing the topic of her mother. "Do you? Poker? Dice?"
"Well if yer gonna stick out like sore thumb, at least own it," Jo counters in open humor. "There's folks here that'll be into the 'snobby-innocent-maiden' type. Do ya carry a knife with ya at least?" She asks this as if girls holding knives is 'Normal' behavior. Studying those men close to her, around them, on Irianke she shifts her focus to Farideh as she says, "Ya've known her that long? How so?" She snorts on enticing the weyrwoman, and answers the latter with a wry, "Apparently she does make a note to know 'bout many folks. She's mentioned she tries to know 'bout me in particular, which is curious. Unless she's tryin' to fuck me, which she doesn' need to find out 'bout me to do that..." and a shrug is given. "And, I don' take everyone out to dingy bars," gets added belatedly then with a quick grin. "I met her at a Gather." Straightening up as she takes a drink, "I gamble," she answers, willing to let talk of family vanish. "Wanna stir up some trouble?" And, before Farideh could object, she leans over past her and calls out to the farmer pair, "Hey! Y'all boys fancy playin' cards with a pair of turnday girls?" Because it's their turndays, see. Both of them.
"Yeah? Like whom?" Farideh says, laughing through the words, but the bluerider's question sobers her a little. "A knife? No, Jo, do you think I'm--" Breathe. "No, I would as soon chop off my own fingers with one of those than actually defend myself against an attacker." She shrugs one shoulder indolently, and swishes the liquid around in her glass. "Irianke, I've known since I was twelve. I met her in Igen, when her family camped outside of Igen Hold. I thought it was all so adventurous and fascinating, then," comes drolly, piggybacking on a nose-scrunch-and-grimace. "I don't want to know about what you plan to do to Irianke, or vice versa, but I'm sure she's seen some usefulness in you, or perhaps she just finds you interesting, like I do." Then, her smile broadens and she leans forward, aiming to bump her shoulder playfully against Jo. "No? Am I special? I thought you wanted to see me squirm." She opens her mouth to say something else, but it's cut off by Jo's invitation to the farmers, her own eyes flicking to their faces as her cheeks flush with color.
"Maybe not maiden," Jo is quick to correct Farideh's type, eyeing her critically. "Not wholly sure of innocent, either. Ya should carry a knife." Her look turns into something that is mock-stern and pointed. "Learn how to use it. Unless ya like bein' groped all the time." Because it happens all the time, see. The convict rider snorts softly on the Weyrwoman with a wry, "Interestin'." One can believe that everything Farideh is revealing on Irianke is getting filed away despite Jo appearing unconcerned. "A trader, right? Is she much the same now as she was back then?" The smile hitches up on the next, a touch mysterious in its delivery before she simply states, "I'm only useful if there's somethin' in it for me." Of course, that shoulder bump and the words that go with it gets her laughter, shaking her head as she scans the crowds and quips back, "I can see ya squirm as much as possible. I just brought ya here to get a good laugh." The wink comes after it, suggesting all in jest without revealing the real reason the weyrling was there. Then she hops off the stool, standing, as the farmers stand up too. "We get anything else with those cards?" the younger of the two asks, him sending a smile Farideh's way as Jo answers, "Ass like ours is poisonous. Yer better off fleecin' us of our ill-gotten marks. What say you?" She steps from the counter, jerking her head towards one of the few empty card tables before the older farmer joins her and states, "Lead the way, ladies."
"Not a maiden or innocent either? What do you make of me, Jo?" There's more laughter than censure in her voice, but she pointedly ignores the suggestion of the weapon, or of the groping, instead taking another sip of the bad-tasting ale and making a vague humming sound. "Older, wiser, but she's the same now as she was then." Her eyes slant to the bluerider, wryness on her gaze, except she only mulls over her drink, letting the other woman talk until-- well, there are two farmers coming at them. One slim brow arches at the younger's comment, and her eyes flick back to Jo, as if for guidance with this situation. It's a poor decision, to try and trust Jo's hand in this, especially when she's the driving force behind the whole thing. Less than enthusiastically, she follows, making sure to keep a good distance, and an eye, on the younger of the two farmers.
With a slight smirk in place, "I'll have an idea by the end of the night," is all Jo reveals on what she makes of the gold weyrling. "Come on." With a slight sway of hip and arrogance in every step, she leads the little groups towards an empty table at the back. She immediately lays claim to the deck of cards stationed there, dropping into the chair that faces the whole of the bar as she starts to shuffle with quick fingers. Dark eyes find Farideh first before the men, and once they're all in hearing distance, "Dragon poker. A half-mark in. I pay for the girl," she indicates Farideh without even looking at her. Her gaze lingers on the older farmer. "Rather play for other ways," he counters, to which Jo quips back, "Night's still young, darlin'," and she sharply nods for them to sit and drop their marks to the center of the table while she does the same.
The goldrider looks extremely unsure about this whole deal, but she came in with Jo and she's likely not leaving without her either. In the interest of blending in, Farideh takes a seat close to Jo, and simply watches, especially those farmers, warily. She grimaces when the older farmer suggests they play for other ways, her cheeks flushing with color, before her eyes find the cards the bluerider is dexterously shuffling, and then lift to her face, contemplating; perhaps she's thinking of ways to convince to blend in elsewhere. Pointedly, she isn't looking at either men, regardless of how well she's supposed to be observing the bar patrons and her environs.
With a slip of a glance towards Farideh once she's seated, Jo starts to mete out the cards as she says, "Raise it to full marks. I know yer good for it." Her gaze is on the older of the farmer pair, her tone suspiciously dropping temperature to a slight chill. Once the cards are dealt, she puts marks to words by flicking more marks into the center of the table. There's hesitation between the men before they follow suit, and then the game commences. The first three games are in quick succession with the younger man winning the first two and the older one winning the third. Jo doesn't look the least bit concerned that she's just lost double the amount of marks - hers and the ones counting for Farideh. Rather, there's something eerily calm about the way she hosts the games, her gaze seeming to keep the weyrling in her periphery while doing so. It's when the games slip to the tenth one that there's a notice that Jo has started winning. There's a win here and there for others at the table, but for the most part, the convict rider is collecting marks almost at an alarming rate as the night wears on as the stakes are raised. That same calculating calm is radiating from her - and, perhaps it's not a big surprise to Farideh that a lone playing card manages to slip from somewhere on her lap to the floor near the weyrling's foot.
Card games aren't Farideh's forte, and certainly not dragon poker which she's only learned within the last turn. She frowns through most of it, sliding sideways glances to Jo, but she's largely quiet and pensive; if she is surprised by the bluerider's stretch of good luck it doesn't show. Subtlely, too, isn't in her repertoire of skills, but the card that falls to her foot isn't something that she immediately jumps to look at, nor does she make a big fuss. Her eyes briefly dip down and then lift, to stare at Jo, but her expression is completely devoid.
To Tacuseth, Roszadyth projects « The familiar, genteel imprint of Roszadyth's in the form of scintillating sunlight breaks up the stretching silence between her and the blue, before, « Should she question what yours has dragged them into? » It's pleasant but with a ripple of steel underneath. »
Jo doesn't seem to notice the card drop herself. If anything, her booted foot suddenly pushes and nudges over Farideh's to try and guide that card away in frantic movements - all the while her movements are far too calm and mundane above the table surface. The men raise the stakes easily without a word, but the older of the pair is eyeing Jo with a dark air - as if he can tell that something isn't right. Jo wins the next couple of rounds, now, as all the while her leg moves as something is being slid across the floor. She drinks from her mug; "Yer not drinkin', darlin'," she notes to Farideh as she deals the cards for the next round, sending a glance the weyrling's way.
Tacuseth's blue, darkened shadows seem to touch, and then envelope the little queen's mind. « She is safe, » he sends with the bold tones of confidence - like one who has been in his rider's presence for turns, which he has. « She should remain bold. Strong. » Whatever that means. (To Roszadyth from Tacuseth)
The action below the table might as well not be happening, from the lack of emotion on Farideh's face, though she does the side of her forefinger along her bottom lip in a contemplative gesture; it could as well be able her cards. Her gaze flicks from Jo, to the farmers, to her cards, and back to Jo in quick succession. "I wasn't thirsty," she replies, but, regardless of her words, lifts her mug and drains the rest of it, grimacing the whole time. When she finishes, she pushes it aside, wiping at the corners of her mouth, but the sourness hasn't yet receded. "Fold." As she mutters the word, she pushes her cards away, and she's out, that hand.
Now would not be the time for Roszadyth to have a spell of irritation, and luckily she seems assuaged by Tacuseth's assurances. « We shall rely on her judgement, then. » (To Tacuseth from Roszadyth)
"Not a drinker, is she?" the younger of the farmer pair is the main one paying Farideh the most attention. He watches the look on her face when she drinks, when Jo had suggested that she do. He certainly seems far more interested in her than in his own cards. If she looks his way, there a 'come hither' smile and a wink, waiting for her. It's when Farideh folds that two things happen in quick succession: a mug is spilled on the table as the older farmer suddenly pushes the table into both Jo and the weyrling as he shoots to his feet with a bellowing, "Fuckin' KNEW IT! You think to cheat us, huh, bitch??" And, of course, the C-word always brings loud activity in a bar to a pregnant halt as patrons turn and stare at the new turn of events. The man flicks a lone card on the table between them in the dying noise, his rage pointed at Jo.
Tacuseth is amused, clearly. It's not a strong emotion from him - he gives little, even - but he sends back to her, « I'm quite unconcerned. » As in, the blue didn't think any of them were in any danger. Either that of the dragon was that confident of his rider's survival skills should trouble rise...like now. (To Roszadyth from Tacuseth)
No matter the circumstances, Farideh isn't going to reciprocate that wink or the intention. She's saved the embarrassment of dealing with her would-be-suitor, and giving him a scathing set down, when the older farmer pushes the table into Jo and her. "Oh-- my--" she says, sucking in a shocked breath. It's even worse than handling a handsy farmer! Her gaze vacillates between Jo and the older man, but her own emotions are quickly reeled in and a bland expression put in place. "I think you are mistaken, sir," she says, quietly, lifting both eyebrows at the man, but then her eyes fall on that card he flicks towards them. Uh oh.
Roszadyth gives quiet contemplation of the blue, in a polite fashion, without any of the probing fingers or bright sounds and colors other dragons might use. She's there, but barely. « And now? » given the shenanigans occurring inside. « Should we worry? » (To Tacuseth from Roszadyth)
"Am I?" the old farmer shoots at Farideh, his anger only growing from her words. "Wanna explain THAT, huh?? You cheatin' me too, is that it? Is it YOU??" He takes a menacing, fists-clenched step forward - as if the table isn't there between them - "Guess my fingers weren' quick that time," Jo's blase words cause him to stop, the convict rider sitting in her seat and not looking tense at all as she takes a drink from her mug. "Whoops." It must be deliberate. She must be looking for a fight. She then sways to her feet, her hand landing on Farideh's shoulder as she looks like she needs the help. It's as if she's suddenly had far more than just one drink. "How 'bout my girl'n me just take half for good faith'n ya take the rest, eh? Go buy yer boy some fuckin' manners for makin' eyes at my girl, eh?" The younger of the pair is backing up, seeming to anticipate something bad about to happen.
Tacuseth's shadows still linger - seeming to lengthen, shrink - back and forth before he answers her with light, « Not yet. » There's a calmness to his shadows like still desert sands. « She knows what she's doin', » he adds, as if he needs to let her know. (To Roszadyth from Tacuseth)
Sunlight and the barest tick-tocking of a clock, fill the void between words. « I have your word, » is again, patient, reasonable, trusting; but backed by the unspoken sense of spine. (To Tacuseth from Roszadyth)
« Jo protects, » Tacuseth sends, and there's such a swift passion for his rider in those two words that it's almost scary. The draconic loyalty is there. « Yers will learn that. There is nothin' to fear. » Shadows back that trust, but there's always a lingering studying on both the gold pair. (To Roszadyth from Tacuseth)
The continued accusations don't do much to put a dent in Farideh's faade, as she listens, silently, to the farmer ranting and then, to Jo. Her forehead scrunches up, her eyebrows drawing together, when the bluerider settles a hand on her shoulder. "You--" she starts to say, quietly, but stops instead and slants another look at the irate man as well as his companion. She looks like she wants to say something and ultimately, doesn't, allowing the other woman to handle the situation as she sees fit; still, her frown is staying, for now, even as the younger farmer starts to back away.
It's swift. The moment Jo sways to her feet and utters those provoking words, the older farmer is coming from around the table towards the ladies. No one in the looks like they're going to intervene, and that seems fine; Jo pushes herself away from Farideh, her hand pushing the girl away as she lurches over to meet the man halfway. His swing comes and it isn't a fast one, but somehow it connects and glances off a part of Jo's jaw. Someone in the crowd whoops as the convict rider staggers back from the impact, falling hard on her knees as the man launches himself at her. "You little CHEAT! I'LL--" he bellows as the crowd starts shouting for the brawl - yelling at the man to take the 'cheater' down and many other insults involving women. It's only once the old farmer is on her - over her with a knee coming up in an aim to kick her - that Jo suddenly surges up and lands a sharp hit to his gut.
Everything happens so fast that Farideh doesn't have much time to react, except to catch herself against the table when Jo pushes her out of the way. She's staring with growing horror at the scene unfolding, and can't quite stop her cry when Jo gets hit in the jaw; not that she's going to jump into the fray. "Don't--" she has just enough time to say, one hand lifted, before the man is back over Jo and it seems like, the inevitable is going to happen, and then-- just like that-- the bluerider gets in her own hit and Farideh's breath comes out in a big whoosh. "Shit," she says, looking around, as though there might be a person in the whole bar who isn't angling for a fight, and might help.
The young farmer has manages to reach Farideh's side when the brawl started. Looking her way and looking just as in shock as the weyrling, "Was she really..?" he asks her, Farideh getting his attention along with the fight. The crowd doesn't butt in, but they do manage to contain the brawl. When Farideh speaks upon the bluerider getting hit, his hand immediately tries to land on her shoulder as he says, simply, "Don't." Don't jump in, likely. However, it does look like Jo gets the upper hand, literally; a second punch is to follow the first, and with one hook of her leg, the older man land down on his back, wheezing. All the jeers aimed her way stop once a knife is produced from her side and slammed - blade into table surface. Fist around hilt, Jo leans down over the coughing man to deliver low words to him that only he can hear. His eyes cut to the knife sticking up on the table.
Jo whispers to the farmer: "Kimren gives his regards. The marks cheated should cover part of what ya owe him."
"No," unequivocally, without hesitate, Farideh defends, lifting her chin a bit as she says it. "No, she wasn't, but he's--" She's turning eyes back on the fighting pair, with a bit more menace for the man seeking to do harm to Jo. "Don't? How can I just stand by and let them--" she bites out, too distracted by the duelers to pay notice to a suitor gone awry and his misplaced hand. Her jaw clenches and flexes as she suppresses words and instincts, standing instead with her hands curled into fists at her sides, throughout the whole ordeal. It doesn't even matter when Jo turns the tables and puts a knife through the table.
Whatever the swifts words were delivered to the older farmer, he seems to have a change of heart when he looks at the knife. Jo straightens with a grin and offers him her hand up as she calls to the nosy crowd, "Just a misunderstandin', folks. Git movin'." The man is slow to get to his feet, caved in a bit from the aimed hits to his gut as he says behind her, "...Yeah. Misunder..." Jo moves to clap the man on the back in good nature, turning them back towards the table where Farideh and the younger farmer are. "Soft little thing like you? Getting in there?" the younger man sends towards the weyrling in a mumur, his hand still on her shoulder as they both watch the proceedings unfold. Then, his lips seeming closer to her ear, "What's your name again?" he asks in a lower voice, seeming unconcerned about the fate of his companion as the convict rider takes pains to straighten the man back up.
Farideh should look relieved, but she continues to look irritated as the fight comes to a natural close and both parties get back to their feet. She does notice the farmer so close at hand, then, and suitably gives him an askance look, her mouth tugging down into a dissatisfied frown. "Excuse me?" Her eyes fall to his hand in an unmistaken suggestion, and then she's turning her face to regard him coolly. "I never said my name," is her pointed reply, intended as a snub and rebuke; he has his hand on her shoulder, and that's Not Okay her tone implies. "I don't think my--" She flicks a leisurely glance towards Jo, and then pins on a tight smile. "Friend would be too happy if I just went around introducing myself to--" She pauses, dramatically. "Strangers."
"We're hardly strangers now," the young farmer clearly thinks he's charming for the sort of smile he's packing for Farideh. Apparently his friend is on his own. "Don't even be like that. Perhaps you and I can solve this little tiff of theirs, hm? You do something for me, and I'll act like your friend won all those games fair and square." At that point, Jo has managed to get the older farmer back in his upright seat with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Hey feline," she calls out to Farideh, her dark gaze landing on the close proximity between her and the younger farmer. Should she gain her eye, "Yer alright?" she asks pointedly. The crowd has dispersed at this point. With no further brawl, the bar's shady patrons grumbled as they returned to their own personal businesses.
"We can solve their tiff?" Farideh almost laughs at him, but merely scoffs loudly instead. "I don't care what you do or how you act. I don't know you and I'm certainly not going to do you any favors." She scowls at him briefly, only long enough to send a message -- not a scary one, unfortunately -- before she's turning to find Jo at the latter's call. "He was just saying that we should go before the night gets anymore eventful," she answers spritely, starting to take a step away from the younger farmer. "Are you ready?" is to Jo, with a hopeful look.
Jo takes in Farideh's answer, her jaw working. Close inspection would show that it's starting to bruise up pretty nicely now, if the slightly muffled quality of her voice wasn't indication enough. The younger farmer is only taken back for a moment by Farideh's words before his eyes narrow and a cold little smile touches his lips as he murmurs for her ears alone, "Play it that way. I wouldn't come back here alone next time, were I you." When he sees Jo staring him down, both hands lift up in a blocking gesture as he steps away from Farideh. Not refuting her words, "It's been a pleasure," he says, his tone smooth. "Don't forget your knife and half the share." - "All would be good," Jo counters, reaching in to wipe an arm over the marks at the center of the table, sweeping them all towards herself. "Since I won fair'n square. I hear folks don' take kindly to cheaters in these parts." The marks all manage to get pocketed along with her knife before she nods to Farideh on their departure and turns towards the still-stunned older man. Briefly gripping his shoulder, "Yer contribution will be well noted," she states in a low voice to him, the smile almost predatory as she turns away and starts heading out of the bar.
The farmer's word have Farideh's eyes narrowing, too. "The next time would be too soon, you ill begotten--" She restrains herself, stopping her flow of unkind words while her hands flex out at her sides, and then she's putting on an award winning smile. "It was-- a pleasure, yes," works as both agreement and her goodbye, and plenty unkind at that. Her pace is quick as she tries to keep up with Jo, even with the occasional glances she throws over her shoulder as she goes; just to be sure. "You're insane," she says, low, when she gets close enough to the bluerider.
The younger farmer's laughing at Farideh's words, the amusment not reaching his eyes - especially upon seeing that he and his companion were both being robbed by the women. His hand goes to something at his side at this, but the older farmer cuts him off by stating, "Leave it, Gare. Let them go." His gaze on Jo is wary as the woman takes all of their marks, and neither farmer follows as Jo leads Farideh out. Jo makes sure they pass the bar counter with the bar tender eyeing them warily as they go, and she tosses a mark piece on the counter his way as she states, "For business." Then it's out into the cool night air, sending Farideh a toothy grin for her remark. "As if ya didn' have fun," she states, now digging into her pockets that clink with the sound of currency. "Last lesson of the night, darlin'. Nothin's never what it seems. Here," and she nods for the weyrling to hold out her hands as they walk back towards their dragons, about to deposit something in them.
"I was having fun before you fleeced a pair of farmers who wanted to kill us," Farideh replies, still whispering loudly even when they're outside and out of earshot. "What were you thinking? Was it even worth it? You got punched in the face and you're-- you're saying that was fun for you?" But she doesn't sound extremely mad, just anxious, given what just happened inside the bar; her own talk with the younger farmer notwithstanding. "What? Hold my hands out?" Now, she sounds exasperated, and with a wary glance at Jo, she holds one palm up, expression expectant.
Jo drops five full mark pieces into Farideh's waiting hands. "They weren' much of a threat," she says about the farmers with a shrug. "The young one had a knife, sure, but I could take him. Plus both of them had plenty to drink. If it came to blows, they would've gassed eventually." Jo didn't seem concerned about the any threat, at least, but she does add, "I wouldn've let them hurt ya, feline. Bastards were easy marks." They reach their dragons and she gives Tacuseth a hearty slap. "Anyway," she continues, "maybe it wasn' fun. Entertainin'? Informative? At least ya didn' get groped." Small victories.
"Wha--" Farideh stares at the mark pieces Jo gives her. "I can't take these," but her fingers curl around them anyway, to keep them from falling on the ground and halting their progress. "You're--" She stops, looking up at Roszadyth. "Informative. I learned you might have a death wish and--" Her gaze shifts back to the bar in the distance. "Not to come to places like this anymore. I'm not suited to them. Not for bad ale or poker or-- next time we can go someplace safer, like a gather, or a costume party," as she shoves her fist towards Jo, intending to give the marks back.
"Take it," there's seems to be no brokering an argument with Jo on the subject. "Spend it on hairpins or whatever it is girls spend marks on these days. I wouldn' know." As for what Farideh learned, Jo turns toward her to briefly lean against her dragon with an amused sort of snort to follow. "Avoidin' places yer ain' suited to defeats the purpose of bringin' ya here in the first place," she notes. "It ain' gonna always be gathers'n klah parties. Just cuz ya ride gold don' mean ya shouldn' toughen up. Still," she concedes, a touch wry, "I s'pose we can do it yer way next time. Fuck knows a costume party's worse than a dirty bar in my opinion."
Another exasperated sound leaves Farideh's lips; since Jo isn't going to take the marks and she obviously wants to leave, she tucks them away in her jacket pocket for now. "Fine, I'll just avoid this one. We're cheats and liars, now." Tossing her head -- because that's what girls do when they're annoyed -- she moves closer to Roszadyth, examining her riding straps with a critical eye, as though they could have been tampered with in the time they spent inside the bar. "Not like this, but-- you never know what people choose not to hide when they're wearing a mask." With a sigh, she moves to climb the straps, but pauses to give Jo a look first. "Thank you, anyway. For bringing me. For-- not letting some guy who can't keep his hands to himself murder me before I even graduate."
Laughing as she checks Tacuseth's straps, "Oh, by those men?" and Jo dismisses the notion of them being cheats and liars with a snort. "I doubt they'll even go back to that bar. 'Sides, farmers usually don' gamble that many marks in a card game with strange women not promisin' ass with it." As in, something was off with the whole situation to begin with, but Jo doesn't seem to want to elaborate. She only turns when Farideh looks her way. To the thanks, "It's been interestin', feline. Ya didn' run out the bar like I thought ya were goin' to do. Maybe there's hope for ya yet." With a click of her tongue and a chuckle, she mounts up before she calls, "Come on. I'll getcha back'n I'll head to the Infirmary. Then Tacuseth takes to the skies.
Farideh doesn't look surprised anymore, especially by that admission. "Maybe," she agrees, with a wry smile, starting to hoist herself up and into those straps. She lingers long enough to get a last, long look at the bar, with its seedy inhabitants boozing and gambling inside, before Roszadyth alights and follows in Tacuseth's wake.
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