Logs:It's In The Name
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| RL Date: 3 November, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rat meets Drex. Rat in envious of Drex's intoxication. |
| Where: Nighthearth, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, V'ret/Mentions |
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Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It's fairly late, and few but the most die hard or working are awake this late at night. It's not snowing, at least, which means that Drex makes it to the hearthside without too much mishap, although his boots and the lower edges of his coat are covered in remnants of snow all the same. The fact that he's swaying suggests his most recent visit was that of the Snowasis -- that or he hasn't lost his sailors gait -- pausing to eye the meagre offering of stew on the hearth with a studied carefulness that suggests he's thinking about it, albeit slowly. Screw curfew, it seems. T'gar is out and about once Asaroth is curled up on his couch and is walking in with a bowl of something steamy to eat along with a mug. He only pauses when he spots a swaying Drex eyeing the hearth, slowing down towards a table as he says in greeting, "It'll go down better with bread. Believe me." Alas, the mug is sadly, only filled with water. The scowled glance the sailor throws over his shoulder suggests Drex doesn't take random advice from strangers with polite generosity. He does, however, after a moment, ladle himself a bowl (this takes far longer than it should), and with a noise, a small bread roll. He eschews a drink, it seems, instead swaying over and slumping into one of the other chairs at the table T'gar has chosen, grunting. It could be a greeting. It could be a belated, begrudging thanks. Who knows! Hooking a stool close with his leg, Rat settles down at the table with his small meal with one eye on the sailor. Since Drex chooses the table he chooses too, "I envy you, man," He voices aloud, shaking his head. "Really. I'd trade you your hangover in the morning for my having to get up at the asscrack of dawn with no hangover at all. Long day?" He could be a bartender. Really, he's just hungry since he's already digging in. Drex's brows go up. At least, they do after a beat, once T'gar's words penetrate, and he's swallowed the first mouthful of the stew successfully. "Eh?" He's frowning, now, staring at the table's other occupant. There's no recognition, but then there's no reason there would be: he doesn't exactly spend time around weyrlings as a matter of course. "There's drinks all over, just take some." He makes a vague, abortive gesture towards the living cavern. "You aint that young that anyone'd deny you." "Can't," Rat is briefly, shaking his head as he comes up for air from his meal. He even pulls out the weyrling knot he had hidden in his pocket for Drex to see. "No booze, no anything," he voices. "At least for a good while. Where did you come from? Snowasis? What did you drink?" Living vicariously. There's somewhat blank in Drex's initial look at the knot to suggest he's not overtly familiar with the knot's meaning. That, or, he's going to have a considerable hangover in the morning, indeed. After another mouthful of stew, finally: "Oh. Yer a weyrling, like Ev?" he hazards a wild shot in the dark. He doesn't seem too apt to share, especially not at the mound of questions, of which he can only seem to process the first. "The... I'm, I live here," is said, somewhat challengingly, like he's used to people questioning why. "Ev....V'ret?" Rat nods to that, giving a little shrug as he chews. "Yeah, like him. You know him, huh?" His stew is halfway gone by now in a short amount of time, but he's watching Drex closely now and slower on finishing up. The last get him to shake his head and say, "No, I mean where did you come from just now?" The lift and drop of Drex's shoulder appears to be as much of an answer as the sailor's going to give, in between mouthfuls of the stew. He tears off a piece of that breadroll, using it to sop up some of the liquid. "Snowasis," he finally says, when he comprehends T'gar's meaning. "Bartender wanted to get to bed," another of those half-shrugs, accepting. "Figured I ought to eat something to soak up the alcohol, so my girl won't notice." It's one of those plans that probably seems absolutely brilliant and convincing when you're drunk. "Got a girl here?" Rat's even looking around, as if Drex had stashed her out of sight somewhere. "Lucky, man. The last one tried to kick me in the balls. Just as well." The knot is raised again before it gets pocketed for good. Nodding to him, "Name's Rat," he gives now. "T'gar, is it, but I prefer Rat." "That's a weird-ass name," Drex says, with a genuine and bemusing honesty. "Drex," he amends, after a mouthful of stew. "And aye, some of the women here are..." he pauses to consider, "Fierce," with a chuckle, as he finishes off the bread, pushing his bowl aside and leaning back, seeming satisfied. "Weird compared to Drex?" Rat counters in good natured resolve. "Maybe so. It was Rategar before. Rat just stuck because I never seem to stay in one place. I have to now with the dragon, but...you know." He cleans his bowl, and the spoon of stew just then. On the women of the Weyr, there's laughter that seems to be agreement along with, "Fierce. Yeah. I've met nicer ones back home in Bitra and that's saying something! How did you manage to grab one of them for yourself?" "Aint nothin' wrong with Drex," the sailor replies, defensively. He's eyeing the weyrling for a time before he comments, "Fuckin' weird that you let dragons just decide your name. It's your name. Aint up to no big lizard to decide." He doesn't seem all that inclined to share about Farideh, giving another of those half-shrugs. "Long story." "You try telling a dragon that your name's not changing to what they want, and see what happens," Rat challenges Drex with a look. "Mine's still biting me. He might decide to shit on my things if I tell him that I'm Rategar. Not that bad, anyway," he notes with a shrug as he leans back to stretch his arms. "Never liked the name Rategar. It's why I always went with Rat. I'll get that damn dragon to call me that if it's the last thing I do. Long story." He pause as if to consider the sailor - as if he was about ask, too - but the weyrling ends up getting up instead with his empty bowl. "I would," Drex says with all the surety of one who's never had to do it, and likely never will. "Biting?" he echoes, aghast. "They do that too? Ugh. Why the fuck would anyone want one?" is said with a kind of hearty sentiment that suggests this is definitely not the first time he's uttered it aloud. He seems rather settled in place, for the moment, and doesn't make to move despite Rat's rising. At Drex's shock, "Just mine, it seems," Rat notes a bit glumly. "I don't see any other dragons biting. Asaroth is.....Well, he's defective little shit, but he's alright once you get passed all that. Ain't your thing, huh? Don' meet many like you out there," he muses now. All the same, he turns towards the kitchen as he adds, "Speaking off, I better get back. I'm not even suppose to be out this late." He doesn't seem to be that much in a hurry, either. "Well, I guess yer kind of stuck with him, eh?" Drex doesn't sound overly sympathetic, truth be told. He does, however, shake his head, "Plenty of people out there who don't want a dragon. Most of 'em live outside the Weyr. Aint all there is to the world," somewhat defensively, like he's had this belief challenged more than once. His grunt seems to serve as a farewell, as he shifts somewhat in his seat to eye the hearth, as if judging whether to make another trip or not. "That's right," Rat seems to agree as he move away, his steps easy. "Can't forget the women. Almost better than--" He almost finishes that but he looks towards the barrachs before he's off quickly now, tossing over his shoulder, "Later, Drex." in his wake. |
Comments
Squishy (10:05, 3 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Haha
Alida (13:05, 3 November 2015 (PST)) said...
You ought to see Ellerey's hands, Rat. She's finally wearing heavy gloves to feed Virisceth, now. ;)
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