Logs:Familiar Faces on Foreign Soil
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| RL Date: 1 October, 2013 |
| Who: Quinlys, Tayte |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys has fled the Weyr! (Don't worry, it's just for the night.) Tayte, too. Quinlys plays hero for Tayte, and the two laugh over food and drinks. |
| Where: Snowdrift Tavern, High Reaches sweep |
| When: Day 12, Month 12, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'daur/Mentions, Meara/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated, played by gdocs, and posted late(r) anyway, oops! |
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| Snowdrift Tavern, High Reaches sweep Contained within a significantly sized holding beholden to High Reaches Hold is the Snow Drift Tavern. It's not the classiest place on the face of Pern, but it's many levels above your classic 'dive'. Tables, chairs, booths, and couches are all well-worn, but kept in good repair. The bar is long, stretched full across the back wall, guarding the door that must lead to the kitchen that serves the usual bar fare, and a few local specialties. There are enough hearths spread around the room to keep the place heated in the worst of the region's storms. The atmosphere is frequently warm and friendly, despite the chilly thoughts the name suggests. In the dead of winter, they add one more thing to their unique look: snow is left to pile high around the building, further insulating the warmth, and a tunnel is dug and maintained through which patrons can get to the door with it's cleverly placed overhang that keeps snow from tumbling through with them.
"Well, that's very kind of you-" "Bertram," the masculine voice interrupts the woman's dissembling alto mere paces away from Quinlys' table. "Bertram." The blonde obligingly adds with a tight-lipped smile, "But I'm really just--" She glances behind her and briefly a look of relief floods her face, "Meeting a friend." And moments later Tayte's sliding into the booth across from the Weyrlingmaster. "Hi Quinlys, sorry to keep you waiting." Her smile stays constant, but her eyes beg for the bluerider to be heroic in this moment and not turn her away. Her face might be familiar Snowasis, or it might not. Either way, the woman's offering the big, ugly man an apologetic smile. "Best of luck to you finding the woman destined to capture your heart." She makes it sound as though that woman is a lucky woman, even if it's (so sadly) not either of them. Quinlys is - well, understandably, really - surprised by the sudden appearance of company she didn't know she was expecting, but a turn of her head finds Bertram in her gaze, and that is evidently enough to make things vividly clear. "Oh, it's not a problem. I hope you don't mind that I started without you... I was hungry!" She flashes Bertram a smile, and then turns her attention back on Tayte, painstakingly deliberate about settling in for an evening with her presumed friend. "Anyway, as long as you got here in the end, right? Have some cheese." She nudges the plate forward, obligingly. "No, no, I'm glad-" The look is more meaningful than the word, expressing her gratitude, "-you did. I wouldn't have wanted you going hungry on my account." Tayte's smile to Quinlys is made all the warmer by her gratitude. Bertram lingers only a few moments longer than Tayte's initial brush off, just long enough to be sure he wasn't being conned. His huffy exit includes a manly 'whatever' to her good luck wishes, a sound that might cover the blonde's sigh of relief as she peeks around the edge of the booth to see that he really is going. Looking back to the redhead, her smile mingles apology with that thanks from before, "Sorry to barge in on your evening off," Since plainly Quinlys is without a gaggle of weyrlings asking her for instructions on picking their noses. "But thank you. You've saved me an evening of avoiding him, I hope. Do you mind if I stay a bit, just in case that wasn't convincing enough?" She offers a winning smile then, all charm and surely-you-want-my-company-I-hope. "Stay, stay. He looks like the persistent type, and I'd hate for either of us to have to explain ourselves to him later. Besides," and Quinlys' smile edges towards rueful, now, even if she never entirely escapes her characteristic smugness, "it turns out having an evening to yourself is less interesting than I remembered. I swear, I do it every time." The cheese seems to be a genuine offer, because she gives it another little nudge, though she'll first take another slice of the creamy, soft one and spread it lazily onto a piece of flatbread. "It's... Tayte, isn't it?" Tayte's smile shifts back to appreciative, "Funny you should mention that. I was rediscovering that when Bertram started offering his companionship, his cothold with ovines aplenty, and motherhood to what are no doubt two charming if ugly children." It's maybe not the nicest thing she could say, but... well, she did have to speak with Bertram and some sort of price should be exacted for those pains. This must be it. She accepts the offer of cheese, following suit after observing the choices. "Yes. Tayte." She confirms easily. "Maybe we remember evenings to ourselves as more adventurous because we're growing up?" They are, from appearances, likely about an age with one another. "I hear grown ups have less fun. Responsibility and propriety and all that." She leans out of the booth to flag down one of the servers, sliding back to lean comfortably once eye contact's been purposefully made. Quinlys' nose wrinkles at the very idea of being grown up and having less fun, but she doesn't wholly seem to agree. "When there are weyrlings about, I always feel like I need to behave myself," she admits. "Just in case. I think that's why I try and get out of the Weyr, when I can. Not that I don't have a bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet," she'll add, then, unapologetically, "but that's behind closed doors. Also, I'm tired. I could be trying to pick up, or do something wild, but I don't really feel like it. Fuck. Maybe I am getting old. Help!" Quinlys' words earn a laugh from the blonde. "I don't have the energy for any of that either. I could, however, see my way to getting comfortably tipsy and us sharing stories of our wildly adventuresome and no doubt misguided younger selves. If we're just the right amount of tipsy, it'll probably feel like we're just as adventurous reliving the old glories without all the energy wasted on making new ones." Tayte helps herself to one of the harder cheeses, just cutting a slice and letting it disappear after it's placed carefully on her tongue. "And if we end up the wrong side of tipsy, we can neck here in holder-land and cause some kind of scandal." She shrugs her shoulders as if that wouldn't worry her. "Whiskey," She does add. "I'll remember that whenever I need to bribe you to borrow the weyrlings for indentured servitude." She might be kidding, but it's hard to tell from the deadpan delivery. "I like the way you think," says Quinlys, gleefully, though not before she's taken another sip from her glass, rolling the liquor around her tongue before it gets swallowed. She picks one of the grapes off its stem, then, too, rolling it over her fingers before adding, "I do like causing a good scandal. Or - I always used to, anyway. Maybe I should pick it up again. No weyrlings here, right?" For the moment, though, drinking is evidently enough - and eating grapes. "I like more than just whiskey, though. If we're keeping track. Anvori's fruit liquor is pretty amazing, too." "Good. That's a welcome change." Tayte doesn't explain that remark, but instead turns to the server who arrives and rattles off a list of drinks, ranging from mundane to colorful, enough to make his eyes bug a little bit and ask, "Are you sure?" Which is answered by a small satchel of marks arriving on the table and a 'look'. She's sure. "Scandals used to be in my repertoire as well. I try to keep them at a minimum at home since, well, I respect Anvori, who does make an amazing fruit liquor," She readily agrees, "And since I respect him, I don't want to give his business a bad name by bad behavior on home turf. But... we're not at the Weyr." She smile she flashes Quinlys then is a little on the saucy side. Apparently, all bets are off. "If you like his fruit liquor, you should come by the workroom sometime and taste some of my mixes. I'm always in need of taste-testers. Although, I warn you, I'm a terrible task-master. 'Drink this', 'have another', 'how's that one taste?'" She rolls her eyes a little, lips pursing a moment before the smile returns. Quinlys seems impressed by the list of drinks Tayte orders, but pleased, too, even if she largely hides that behind her glass. After swallowing, she answers the Vintner with a cheerful: "What's that saying... don't shit where you eat? Or, I guess, the more PC version, but whatever." She can be saucy, too. "So I totally take your point. And I think I could possibly stand your task-master ways, in the service of improving your booze. It's important, right? You've got to take it seriously or it's just not worth doing." 'Serious' is hard to fathom right now, though: she's grinning, utterly cheerful. The Weyrlingmaster's use of the non-PC version has Tayte choking on her bite of flatbread with cheese. Thankfully, it's nothing life-threatening (what a killjoy that would have been)! And the choking is only because she's also laughing and laughing and swallowing don't mix. It means the blonde is scrambling to cup a hand over her mouth to keep Quinlys from seeing the unattractive half-chewed portion that probably makes it to her lips. That would hurt her game, and Tayte's enjoying the current one. Once she's dealt with that little hiccup, the woman's smooth demeanor returns with only the trace of her blush telling it ever happened, "Quinlys," Her alto is gravely serious, "Trust me when I tell you the pursuit of good booze is one of the most important undertakings you'll ever be a part of. I'm a vintner. I know these things." It's one of the few instances that the bartender ever 'uses' her crafter street-cred to her advantage. But they're on foreign soil, there's no need for her to pretend not to be all that she is. One of the bluerider's hands lifts up to cover her own mouth, even though there's nothing in there at the moment: a gesture of solidarity, but also (likely enough) one intended to cover her own laugh. "I believe you," she tells the Vintner, with a small measure of seriousness that she can't sustain for long. "No, really. Booze is important. Tasty booze in particular. I'm a Weyrlingmaster; I know these things. I have to believe Meara used to go off duty and drink herself silly in private - I'm not sure how you'd cope, otherwise." Now free of food, Tayte's hand cup her chin, elbows daintily placed on the edge of the table. "It does sound awfully terrifying to be locked away with all of those teenagers and just barely twenty-somethings. I'd say Weyrlingmasters are the second most likely profession to become alcoholics." The first should be obvious when the impressive array of drinks arrives and the marks are counted out in exchange. "I'd ask more about your time chained to those crazy teenagers, but I believe we're supposed to be exchanging stories of past glories. Unless they overlap?" She raises a brow speculatively. "You wouldn't, you know, show one of your weyrlings a good time, outside a flight?" The look is too knowing, although maybe it's faked. If it is, it's convincing. Quinlys flushes, though she's shaking her head at the same time: no, no, no. "I try not to think of them as people until they're graduated," she admits. "And most of the time, the greens don't rise until they're not my problem anymore, which is better. Though... does post post-flight count?" Either way, she's unrepentant about that - even downright smug. "Seriously, though, it seems like an awfully bad idea, doesn't it? Would you sleep with an apprentice who was under you care?" "Even if it does count, it got you rave reviews. Enough to make a girl willing to neck with a practical stranger just to cause a scandal," Tayte relays with amusement. "And no. I wouldn't sleep with an apprentice. But I wouldn't sleep with an apprentice because they're too young and stupid. I don't go for young and stupid." Older and stupid? The rumors say that's fine. "I'm sure there's some element of that that is a 'under my care' thing too, although admittedly, the stakes are not quite so high for a journeyman to an apprentice as they are for weyrlingmasters. No real babies to worry about." That which Tayte relays earns her a smug smile in reply, but Quin's not commenting on specifics. "Mm. The babies thing is a big one. I don't know. I don't think I especially like the idea of crossing the bounds of teacher and student, not when there's a Weyr full of perfectly decent marks who aren't my responsibility. Of course... people eventually stop being my responsibility, and that's different." Maybe it means they grow up. "I can't say I'd like crossing that line much, myself. Then, I tend to not see apprentices as people. Perhaps similar to how you see the weyrlings. Only, I have them for turns upon turns and you're free of them in what, one? Two?" Tayte queries as she shifts the glasses around, inspecting each one as she moves it. "Help yourself," She offers the array once she's satisfied that from appearances, they're up to standard. "I think you'll have to start pointing out the 'perfectly decent' marks for me. Maybe it's because I hear so much of the gossip that it seems like the decent ones are few and far between. Not that I'd like to think I'm getting jaded in my old age." She rolls her eyes, and as though to ward off that offending thought, she snags up a tall shot-glass and downs the clear liquid. "One," admits Quin, with a wry smile. "Some of mine come to me with... well, some of them are barely younger than I am, have been doing some kind of professional work for turns. That gets complicated; but what can I do?" She finishes off what's left in her glass in a single swallow - luckily, there's not much in there - and then, after a moment's thought, reaches for one of Tayte's glasses. "I suppose it depends on what you're looking for. Me, I try and avoid actual entanglements. Oh, there are people I'll sleep with more than once, but it's so much easier to avoid getting emotionally involved, you know? And that makes it easier to overlook flaws." "Mm, yeah. I can imagine that's harder than even when apprentices age up to be ready to walk the tables. Because at least with the apprentices, you've known them since they were young, most times, but just meeting someone near your age? Problematic." Tayte agrees. "Mm, I suppose that would've described me once. Now, I'm more the type to want to have a few regulars, in an ideal world. Enough that the emotions aren't so troublesome, but not so many that the sex is lousy and I can't tell who's baby it is if that particular problem crops up again." She reaches for another glass, one that will take her longer to finish than a few swallows. "Are emotional entanglements so bad if things can be kept casual and without many strings? I admit, so far I'm finding it problematic." Babies. Quinlys' nose wrinkles resolutely for that idea, suggesting she finds it difficult to get her head around that whole idea... and difficult, then, to come up with sympathy, too. She busies herself with drinking, instead, and then with filling another cracker sandwich with cheese (two types, this time). "I've no idea," she admits, of that last topic, cheerful about it. "I've never really managed. Or tried, much. I mean, when I was a teenager I had boyfriends, I guess. And a girlfriend. But... teenage relationships are different, you know? And I ended up just... not trying anymore, particularly after I Impressed." It's a reaction Tayte is unlikely to miss, but perhaps in deference to it, the blonde doesn't linger on the topic, nor does she seem put out by any lack of sympathy. There's a laugh at the mention of teenage relationships. "They are." She agrees, "Why is that, I wonder? Is it because you already have a lifemate so the needs of the flesh really are just the needs of the flesh? It seems like that would be straightforward. I wonder if it could be the same with people. Emotionally fulfilled from one source, and getting one's rocks off with others." She contemplates this as grapes are plucked from the vine and popped into her mouth one by one. The rapid shake of Quinlys' head suggests she doesn't think Impression in and of itself is what changed her view. "More," she says, after a moment, "well, I couldn't have a relationship during the early part of weyrlinghood, even if I'd wanted one - and I was pretty busy at the time. Afterwards... I'd grown up a bit. I didn't want that kind of teenage thing. I had time and space to do what I wanted; privacy. It was a good time to experiment. It's not a bad idea, though: emotional fulfillment from one place, sex from another. It makes things less complicated, in a way, as long as everyone can actually keep to the agreement." "That makes sense," Tayte says, her expression still thoughtful. "I was young when I joined the craft but was never really interested in relationships or even boys or girls much until I was older, and even then, there were rules, and the matron who looked after me and some of the others was-- I don't know, maybe an evil dragon in a fleshy disguise. She knew everything." The phrase is made to sound a little spooky. "Did you find it comfortable to experiment without a relationship? I was really too drunk for most of the experimenting I did to tell if I was uncomfortable with a stranger or near-stranger, but I've thought about what it might've been like if I hadn't been." She doesn't sound particularly ashamed at relating this, but then, this isn't home, and she's not here in a professional capacity. 'Evil dragon' makes Quinlys smirk, amused but also understanding. "Meara knew everything too, it felt like. And I looked up to her so desperately... until we were colleagues, and then it was just frustrating, I guess." The bluerider considers the remains of the drink she's still got in hand, and then sighs. "It probably isn't wise to experiment with people you don't know, I guess. I'm not saying I've made good choices. But I'm not scarred, so I count that is a win, really." Her gaze lifts again. "Our early twenties are all about doing stupid things, though, aren't they?" There's a warm laugh from the blonde as Quinlys claims her win. "I'd agree. Wholeheartedly, really. That's definitely what early twenties are for. Have you sorted what later twenties are for? I'm still trying to riddle it out. I don't-- well, we've already said. Things aren't as wild now, not as much energy for shenanigans." Tayte couldn't help addressing that first, what with the laugh, but she is curious enough about the first topic to ask, "Did Meara still know everything once you were colleagues? Seemed like she'd been at the job a while. Had she or did it just seem that way?" "I'm still working that out," admits Quinlys of later twenties, head shaking. "I figure I've got time, yet. Some, anyway." The question about Meara draws her to a pause - or perhaps she's trying to work out how to put it, what she thinks. "She took up the job after I'daur died, and that was... thirteen, fourteen turns ago, maybe? Fifteen even? But she'd been an assistant at Telgar before then, I think, so... it was more frustrating, when we were colleagues. Because she had the experience, sure, but I had ideas. Everyone kept expecting me to defer to her, in a way, even once we were theoretically equals. I'm glad she retired. I mean, glad for her, but glad for me, too." There's a smile for the admission, already having made her own, Tayte simply sips on her drink. "It is a long time to be doing the same job. A lot of experience to have gained. I can see how that would be frustrating." She shifts, leaning back a little, "But now you're captain of your own ship," So to speak, "Do you have any grand plans? Or are you going to play it safe the first class until people stop looking to see what you're doing differently than Meara?" Quinlys pauses, mouth curving around her glass; curving around a smile, too, one that she puts aside in order to sip. And then, "I've ideas," she admits. "I want to do more that isn't... it seems silly to focus so much of weyrling training on what's basically thread training. My weyrlings won't ever fight thread, and while they need to know, so we can pass that information on... it'd be more useful to teach them things that are immediately useful, you know? So. That's my grand plan, though I'll probably take it slow. Bit by bit." "I imagine you have something more useful in mind than learning to hold one's liquor, but I'm available for lectures on the topic." Tayte's offer is wry, but her next question is serious and holds interest. "What kinds of things do you see as being more immediately useful to them?" Chortling, Quinlys says, "Oh no. I had to learn that one through trial and error-- the hard way. They can do so too. I'm thinking... practical skills. I want them to know how to draw a map, how to temporarily mend a roof, how to be useful, out in the field. It seems like riders need to be able to demonstrate our use in different ways, these days, so it seems even more like we should be figuring out what things we can do that other people can't. How are we useful? How could we be useful? I'm still trying to work out the specifics, I guess." "It sounds like a solid start," Tayte compliments with a smile over her glass. "Good forward thinking in the Interval. I'm sure you'll sort it out, but if you're ever in need of a sounding board, you know where you can usually find me." Well, usually. Her eyes turn to the spread of glasses between them, smile curling at the edge in a way that suggests wicked intentions, "I wonder what the outcome of this trial will be." It is a lot of alcohol... |
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