Logs:Don't I Know You?
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| RL Date: 29 October, 2013 |
| Who: Gallagher, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Gallagher can't place the face, so he buys Jo's time with a drink. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 2, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'gherio/Mentions, Gallania/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, Jothan/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Mystery Woman/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated, played via gdocs. |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.
In walks Jo this cold night, in her usual black leathers and dark mood. Perhaps most wouldn't notice the lack of presence the Glacier bluerider has lately at the Weyr, so there's certainly a few in the bar appearing taken aback for her appearance. She doesn't pause on the threshold though, immediately approaching the counter where Gallagher is set up as she passes two of her wingmates. She speaks briefly to them, little amusement touching her eyes as she claps one of them on the back and can be heard to say to them, "Lemme buy the next round, okay?" before she turns to try and flag a bartender down. With the candidate on the other side of her, of course he gets the cursory glance from her. Not that Jo isn't a gravitational force to which the eyes are naturally drawn, but it's really the reactions of those people who have that taken aback look and where their eyes are directed (or are flitting away from) that prompts Gallagher's attention. It's then convenient for his curiosity that she heads his general direction. He doesn't watch her whole approach though his eyes do return to her at intervals and he lets a one-cornered smirk pull onto his lips, softening the severity of his naturally serious expression. It might seem that Gallagher is just the newest one of Jo's admirers. His eyes are on her when she gives him that cursory glance, and it doesn't flit away, but remains with some measure of confidence behind it. "Don't I know you?" He asks. It sounds like a bad pickup line, especially with the way he widens his smirk so the single dimple shows right at the end. Its only the timing of the line delivery versus when the dimple appears that might make things seem a little off. There's the 'Thanks, Jo's' going around for her generous offer to her wingmates before the bartender finally makes it over. She must be used to the stares since she's no longer looking at anyone in particular but the bartender, ordering herself whiskey and the pair of riders she was just talking to another round of whatever it was they were drinking. Right when the bartender turns away, Gallagher asks what he does - and Jo seems to take it exactly for what it sounds like: a bad pickup line. Therefore, it's immediate in her return response as she turns to lean up against the counter to wait for her drink, drumming her thumbs against herself the moment her elbows impact the counter surface. "Everyone thinks they know me, darlin'," is her response, not accompanied with a glance. Her tone's aloof with that taste of the disinterested, leveled with the cool demeanor of unfamiliarity from her. Upon later reflection, Gallagher will likely find his first question careless, tactless, so a chuckle answers Jo's words, only the chuckle is not full enough; it's going through the motions without true motivation behind it. "Then I guess I'll have to dredge up a more original thought." He adds, glancing back to where the thanks were coming from, leaning his side against the counter. He's trying for casual, but his look is too intense as it travels over the bluerider's face. "Have a drink with me?" He asks after a minute. If it's a pickup line, this one's simple enough. The bartender returns with the round of drinks, and the pair of Glacier riders raises their fresh glasses in Jo's direction. She does her whiskey in turn as the candidate stares her down, only looking his way when she speaks the very last. It's a look that's given in answer, this time looking Gallagher over as if seeing him for the first time. Eyes lastly falling on his white knot as she takes a leisurely drink, "Will it be worth my while?" she answers his question verbally with one of her own. "Candidate?" A flick of blue eyes toward his white knot and a slight incline of the man's head confirm 'candidate.' "I reckon it depends on what kinds of things make a drink worth your while." Gallagher starts as his drink arrives; apparently the bartender he'd flagged down was running a little slower than the one that tended to Jo's drinks, or maybe they just like her better here. His fingers close about the mug of dark colored lager. "Would it be worth your while if I buy you your next drink? Seems only proper since I'm the one asking." Those who know him better might be surprised by the apparent willingness, but to Jo, he's probably just another guy offering another drink. "Might be one of those things where, if ya have to ask...." and Jo lets that trail, ending it by taking a drink. Still, anyone offering to buy her a drink will get a quick, "Perhaps a step in some sort of direction," as in, she'll take up that free drink if it comes. "Yer bold, for a candidate," is her first observation now, which will probably come with her having a drink with him. "The boldness buys ya time. Ya don' look like yer from around here," comes her next now as she turns her leaning body slightly in his direction - an invitation to talk. "Should I guess?" "I could make assumptions, if you'd rather, but it's been my experience that women seldom fancy spending time with a man who's just going to assume their desires." Gallagher's words carry multiple meanings and there's no clarification as to what exactly he means, but he makes a gesture toward an empty booth. "Are candidates not supposed to be bold?" He questions, though the slight arch to his brow and pull at his smirk might indicate a touch of humor. "On the contrary, I was born here." Not that born here means that he's been living here in recent turns, but there are multiple interpretations for the word 'from.' Jo eyes the booth Gallagher gestures toward, raising a brow his way: he leads. Then, "Candidates usually aren'," is her answer on boldness, her tone a touch deadpan. "Born here, though. Yer weyrbrat? Ya don' look it." She's bold in making assumptions, and she's not appearing apologetic for it, either. "Unless ya were born here'n raised elsewhere. Do ya often try to pick up girls this way?" Now she addresses the earlier pickup lines - or, they sounded like ones, anyway. "You're observant, for a rider." Gallagher doesn't mimic Jo's accent, but the inflection is there, humor briefly widening his smirk. "I'm a 'brat. Truly. But I have been away a fair few turns." He offers this as he leads the way to the booth. Once settled, he adds, "Don't often try to pick up anyone. Do I have to be trying to pick you up to be interested in having your company?" He glances back toward the riders who'd lifted a glass to Jo, "Maybe I'm just interested in making friends so I can get in on the free drinks next time." Beat. "I'm Gallagher." He doesn't offer a hand, maybe just because it's busy picking up his drink for a long swallow. "I was observant before I was a rider," Jo seems quick to clarify with the barest minimum of amusement on her part. "Away. That could mean a whole lotta things 'round here. Did'ja merely come back for the sole purpose of wearin' a white knot?" His question on her company draws a study from the bluerider, as if trying to find any doublespeak before she answers him with, "No." It's simple, though it also looks like more should have been attached to that answer. "The free drinks stop should'ja impress, candidate," she notes then after a pause, watching him while she nurses her drink. "Not to say ya'll be gettin' these free drinks from me, mind. My generosity is....conditional, these days. Jo. Blue Tacuseth's." She doesn't offer over a hand, either, and that seems to suit her just fine. The edges of Gallagher's lips twitch, but there's no smile, just the one-sided smirk. "It could," He acknowledges the many meanings of 'away,' before arching a brow, "Can a person's motives ever be so simple or singular?" Which doesn't directly answer the question, but suggests an answer. "So what you're telling me is that I should take advantage of the free drinks now before some tottling draconic tyke thinks to claim me for their own." He glances down at his lager, "Guess I'm doing it all wrong then." Since this one wasn't free. "So, Jo, how long've you been with Tacuseth?" His tone is one of casual curiosity. "No," Jo answers so succinctly again, but this time there's less heat and more curiosity present in her tone. "As for free drinks, what I'm tellin' ya is to enjoy drinkin' at all, while ya can. Even trips to the bar will be hard to come by with a hatchlin' on yer heels. Free is just a bonus." She lingers on her own then, continuing to watch him from where she sits like a scientist studying an experiment. His question gets a wry, "Long enough." It seems like that would be it from her, but after a moment passes, "I dunno. Eight turns? More? Can' really say. Much of weyrlinghood for me was a blur. Are ya crafter?" perhaps trying to deduce his reason for leaving the Weyr in the first place. "No." It was a yes or no question, after all. Gallagher's answer is given simply and his lips purse just slightly at the mug. "I admit, I'd not thought about being parted from good drinks as a consequence of Impression. You'd think that'd be something they put in big letters on the contract." He must be speaking figuratively, but then, some Search riders are stranger than others, so... it's possible. His smirk has faded to a neutral line and that gives no clues. "Eight turns later, was it worth it? Giving up whatever life you had before that?" His head tilts slightly to one side. They could go all night like with the yes and nos, really, but the does have Jo breaking the cycle of it after this. "Well," she drawls, leaning back in her chair, "if they did do such, would'jave changed yer mind, Gallagher?" she has to ask, brows lifting and falling. "Is booze sacrifice enough? Or girls, for some boys?" Beat. "Tac's one of the best things to come from my bein' here," she answers his question then, inclining her head as a finger idly trace the top of her glass. "My life was shit before him, so, I certainly can' complain. Other may have different stories, but as for me and mine, things ended up as they should. The sacrifice was enough, on both counts." "Likely not," It's more than a no, but he, too, goes on to offer a little more, "I've had enough turns drinking and fucking to be bothered by time going without. Sometimes, it tends to cause more trouble than it's worth." Whether he means fucking or drinking or both, Gallagher doesn't clarify. He shows a little interest as she speaks of Tacuseth and herself. After listening, he articulates a conjecture, "So not from here originally. Whereabout was your shit life before a searchrider nabbed you? Assuming you were nabbed." After a drum of his fingers on the tabletop he adds, "I wonder if I asked Tacuseth directly if he'd say the same things about you. That you're one of the best things to happen to him since being here. And that he can't complain." And probably the sacrifice too, but he doesn't mention that one specifically. "The fuckin' or the drinkin' in particular?" Jo asks on which being more trouble than it's worth, eyeing him over her whiskey. Moving on though, "Keogh," she answers him on her origins, it blithely given. "I come from a family of guards." Her look turns; it's his turn since she asks now, "Who're yer parents, weyrbrat?" She snorts on Gallagher asking Tacuseth anything, leaning back more comfortably in her seat as she remarks with the air of arrogance, "He would. Ain' no one better or hotter or more dangerous out here than me. That makes us destined. Haven' ya guessed?" Now she permits one corner of her mouth to lift before adding, "Shit, I didn' think I would Impress anyway. K'del searched me. Most of what I've said was Tac's words, anyway. Took all through weyrlinghood and then some to get me to believe in it." Briefly raising her glass in his direction, "Ya can say that I've grown used to runnin' my life solo without anyone's help." "Seems to me that it's when it's both together that are the most troublesome. Judgment and all that." Gallagher's answer sounds candid enough and he picks up his judgment-impairing drink and swallows down a quarter of the mug in several long swallows. Coming from a family of guards, it's a behavior he's exhibited twice now that Jo might recognize: eat and drink while you can, quick as you can because you don't know what the next moment is going to bring. Of course, guards aren't the only ones who do this, and not all do, but... "Faelaerith's Gallania and Kozeranth's B'gherio," greenrider in Icicle Wing and brownrider in Frostbite Wing, she might know if she's heard the names. "No one hotter or more dangerous, huh?" The repetition is both considering and inviting her to go on. "When did you leave Keogh to embark on this solo life? Guards don't tend to do the whole 'going it alone' thing so I'd guess you never became one." A single brow is raised, but that's the only sign of his continued curiosity. "I don' need to be drunk to make the wrong or right judgement, darlin' when I'm fuckin' someone," Jo quips back, lingering on her drink. "And anyway, I was never one of those that always limited herself to anythin'. If trouble wants ya, ain' nothin' ya can do to keep it at bay, I'd say." When Gallagher answers about his parents, her brows come together a bit before nodding once. "Don' sound familiar," she openly admits, "but then, I've only been around here for as long as Tac's been alive. I ain' no weyrbrat." His echo gets no words from her, lips quirking a bit as if in daring him to challenge it at all, but his next question does earn him a dry, "No, I didn' become a guard. I have one of those daddies where a girl's only as good as what's between her legs, see. That they shouldn' be guardin' anythin' but their own maidenhoods. Nah," and she shakes her head, her tone deadpan, "even if I was better than all of them, he wasn' about to let his only daughter outshow his sons. I left. Didn' look back. I've had incentives at the time. What's yer reason?" because, to her, surely he has one for leaving the Weyr. "Well, you lack the necessary equipment to leave a woman knocked up, unless you're hiding something well in those tight pants." From some men, this might be a come on, but Gallagher observes it simply. Fact: Jo's black pants are tight. "So the possibility of having consequences of not realizing until it's too late that you're taking someone's maidenhead and that that someone's father might have a thing or two to say about it when it comes out in a sob story in a few months because the girl's knocked up... Well, you're precluded from the privilege." Although it sounds from the specificity of the example as though he might have some experience with it. "Would that she had a father as attentive as yours." This is added dryly before another quarter of the lager is swallowed down. "I was vicariously fulfilling dreams my father couldn't because he chose to Stand and Impress instead. Maybe I haven't found them as fulfilling as he might have hoped." Which might explain also why he's back. "If I had the necessary equipment, there'd be a lot of women with children comin' after me before I can blink," Jo is undaunted in that, too. "I graced by bein' female. Ya won' get a complaint from me on that score. I do get the best of both worlds." Leaning a little forward then, "My father was a drunk asshole that deserves his teeth kicked in, darlin'," she adds, unapologetic to his story. "He was better off puttin' a knife in my hand and standin' me up with my brothers. Attentive ain' got nothin' to do with it. 'Sides, somethin' tells me that her story would have highly differed from mine's, anyway." She leans away, listening to his answer with a slightly furrowing of her brows to something said before she addresses it with, "Like what? Own a filthy brothel somewhere or somethin'?" Brows waggle just a bit despite the deadpan tone as she drains her glass. "I reckon you're right about that. I imagine having a porcine-farmer for a father is a might bit different than having a guard for one." Jo's own story doesn't garner any kind of apology or obvious sympathy from Gallagher either. The delivery of his next words come evenly, expression neutral as ever, though there way his blue eyes are locked on hers is similar to what one might see from someone laying down cards in a poker game when the bet is called. "Like being a guard." There's a pause, briefly, then, "My father's really not the brothel type." To hear that Gallagher was a guard puts Jo at a pause. The glass - now empty- goes down as she stares him down in the silence before she asks, "Yer a guard? From where? Seems like these Reachian dragons like to search guardstock, don' they?" So casual that comes forth, appearing as if talking to a guard is like talking to everybody else. Nodding her chin in his direction, "That explains that questionin' glint in yer eyes though," she adds now, her gaze sharp. "Should've sniffed ya out with that weak-ass line ya gave earlier. Guards tend to say the corniest things when they're fishin' for information." That's almost playful. "I bet that father of yers ain' the brothel type. He's missin' out." Gallagher watches Jo's face during that pause, and listens carefully to the questions and the casual tone. Before answering, however, he leans out of the booth and waits to catch the eye of one of the servers. She's out of drink and was promised on on him. When he settles back, "Crom." Simple answer. "It does seem that some of them prefer it. Although, in times like these," With armies forming and shorted tithes, "-maybe the dragons sense people of that competent caliber might come in handy." To the questioning glint, "I admit, I have a naturally curious mind that's often more interested in information than cheap flirtation." Or maybe Jo's just not his type. "My father has enough daughters he could probably start his own brothel, if the dragons didn't keep snatching them up too. One of them is Standing as well, as it happens." Watching him order her a refill, when he admits to the place he was working, Jo merely lifts her chin a fraction at him. "Crom," she echoes that, her face well composed at this point. "And ya grown bored of the place? Is that why it didn' work out for ya?" Deflect with questions, surely. As to competence, "Not all guards are competent," is all she says to that. "Anyway. Is this the information ya lookin' for then, since cheap flirtation ain' yer thing? Unless the right girl comes along and flashes the right part, that is." Slightly playful and suggestive once more, laced in with a sort of deadpan aloofness that lingers despite of it all is her. She appears attentively interested in hearing about the other sibling standing from his family, and she gives a nod on the matter of brothels. "Must be nice, then," she notes idly, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass. "Bein' back with family again. Assumin' ya get along with them, of course." "Maybe." Bored of it. Gallagher's shoulders shrug noncommittally. "Even here, I'd be a fool to admit if that were my motive. The wrong ear hears it and it ends my career if I'm to go back dragonless." He certainly doesn't miss her remark on competence, but nor does he answer it with more than a slight nod conceding her point. "Information, yes. Everyone seemed to know you, Jo, so it seemed to me that if I do stay on here, you're someone worth knowing." If it's a lie, it's a lie by omission, and there's nothing that outwardly speaks otherwise save for perhaps some gut instinct or another. "We get on well, for the most part. There's always some parts better than others in big families." He might ask her more about her family, but elects not to. Instead he's swallowing down the last of his lager just in time for the server to arrive with Jo's drink, which he duly pays for before he's making to slip out of the booth. "I'd best make it the the candidate quarters before lights out. You might remember how they can be about rules." Not that guards are any less strict. "It was nice to make your acquaintance, Jo. I'm sure we'll see each other again." Threat? Promise? Just something that people say? Who knows. There's no smile in parting, but then, since that first one at the bar, there haven't been any smiles, so maybe that's just how his face usually looks. "I'm someone worth avoidin', some would say," Jo quips to something Gallagher says with the slightest amusement. She takes up the new glass of whiskey with a nod of thanks from her, already starting into it as she listens before he's up and getting ready to depart. On rules, "Didn' really follow some of them word for word, myself," is all she says on that, but she raises the new glass to him before adding, "How interestin' my night. A candidate that tries to bum drinks off of a rider, only to buy one for her in the end. Must be a guard thing. I suppose ya might see me around, candidate," she drawls the last, leaning back in her chair once more with her legs crossing. "Until then, good luck." Gallagher doesn't seem to take to heart what some would say. Then again, guards and danger, or at least a willingness to deal with it, do sometimes go hand in hand. The edges of his lips twitch at her words about rules, although the way he looks at her... his internal amusement or suspicion might be about more than just candidate rules. "Some choose to make their word mean something. I offered a drink to make it worth your time. So, payment in full at the earliest opportunity." His lips do manage to pull into a smirk then as he adds, "Next time, I'll let you buy." But that's as he's turning to head for the caverns beyond. "A man of his word," Jo muses dryly despite the slight smirk in place. "Ya guards. and yer words." That's all she'll say, really, watching Gallagher leave the bar with a considering look on her face before he vanishes out to the caverns and from her sharp sight. |
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