Logs:M'rek, Once More
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| RL Date: 22 December, 2004 |
| Who: M'rek, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 15, Month 8, Turn 1 (Interval 10) |
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| You push the hides aside and step into the kitchen. Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr The kitchens of High Reaches Weyr are contemporary, spare and simple in design, free of clutter. The sleek surfaces are a hallmark of the current Pernese style - polished marble and granite, metalwork, and woods. The background colors of the kitchen are light and neutral, allowing for bold tone accessories to take center stage. The lighting and entryway opening treatments are low-profile and minimalist. The hearths have been fitted with modern equipment and simple, sleek metalwork to add an up-to-date touch to the heavily used areas. The polished granite counters are long and wide, allowing for ample work space. The woodwork is lightly stained, bringing out the natural hues in the grain. A simple cording, in the same bold color as the accessories, borders each cabinet door, accenting the room. Two large islands break up the kitchen into work areas: baking center, butchery, vegetable and side center, and the serving organization center. The floor is tiled with large marble squares, each section carrying a different, yet complimentary color to direct the flow of traffic. The entryway into the Living Cavern has been expanded to fit two doors - in and out - each marked with its own identifying color that matches the tiles just inside the doors, to keep collisions from occurring. The cavern itself has been expanded to include breakfast nooks, where residents can sit to eat, while leaving the main kitchen free from tables and the traffic that accompanies a busy Weyr. Contents: M'rek Obvious exits: LIving Cavern Lower Caverns There's a corner table flanked by benches and nestled into a nook, and this is where M'rek has set up camp for what would seem to be the evening. The bronzerider has an oversized bowl of chowder before him, a mug of ale at his elbow and he's also got a stack of hidework it would seem. He looks quite intent as he scrawls over a blank hide in a handwriting that's easy to read if on the blocky side. Barefeet lend itself well to being silent, and while a few cooks dart disturbed looks at her lack of footware - unsanitary, see - Satiet pads in blithely with a large tub of dishes held underneath her arm. "That's the last of them for the night," is said to the kitchen supervisor, "Jhisra's wiping down the tables and that's all I was signed up to do today." Before the large man can reply, or ask her to do more, the girl turns to leave, steps pausing as a familiar face catches her keen eyes. Coming up next to the table, she leans forward, hands reaching across to support her weight. With a distant smile on her lips, her cool alto breaks the silence of M'rek's nook, "Studying? I didn't know brawlers wrote, let alone read." There's an immediate grin from M'rek that's all ease and yet he finishes writing out the sentence he was working on before he actually looks up to meet the candidate's eyes. He chuckles and then waves one hand towards the empty space on the bench across from him. "Aye, I suppose that could be a surprise." He sets the stylus down and then wiggles his fingers as if to loosen them, and it would seem that he's working on quite a penning for the stake of already scrawled upon hides is large. "But, alas, this brawler at least spends far too many of his sober moments putting to ink what he's done, seen and heard with the rest of his day. How's candidacy treating you, Satiet?" He even remembers her name. "Sober moments, indeed." Pleased at the recognition, though attempts are made to temper that reaction, Satiet takes the free spot across from M'rek, her hands cupped against the edge of the table. "Seeing you the other day, I'd reckon you didn't have many of those. Sober moments, that is." Her lips quirk, blue eyes flicking speculatively up and down the visible length of the rider. "Drunk or not, I doubt you spend much time without your wits about you. For the Weyrleader?" There's a small attempt to peer at the writing, though for now, her attention is primarily on the writer. "I hope he wasn't terribly disappointed about your lack of a bruises. And candidacy is treating me as well as anyone I suppose." Her lips thin, eyes narrowing upon the top hide on the stack. "It's a hodgepodge of characters in the barracks. I suppose I didn't expect boys and girls to be roomed together. Welcome to the Weyrs of Pern." If M'rek notices Satiet schooling her reaction he's doesn't show it, he merely drops his eyes to the hides he's been at as he straightens them, and then he looks back to her with another of those easy smiles of his, "Aye. Seeing me the other day, I'd imagine anyone would. And. Truth be told, I wish I did get to spend a great deal more of my time drinking than at other things. But. Alas, tis just not meant to be. Too much work. Aye. For the Weyrleader." He rolls his shoulders in an easy manner and then reaches over for the spoon that goes with his cooling chowder. Ink stains show over his fingers. "I wouldn't be still alive if I spent any time without some manner of wits about it." His grin is still there, but there's some sort of knowing quality to the look now that almost gives him a tired air. "He was surprised, but he let it slide seeing as how disgraceful I'd rolled in the last time he wanted an immediate verbal report. That's just what you get when you can't wait for the inked version of events. I imagine you're picking up bruises of your own as a candidate?" Now it's the bronzerider's turn to look the young woman over. "You seem like you're still hanging in there well enough. Aye. A hodgepodge indeed. At least you get to sleep on seperate sides of the barracks." "Fair enough. Though what goes on at night is best left to the imaginations of folk who've already gone through the entire process." Satiet imparts, the implications of her words punctuated by the knowing arc of one dark brow. "It's worse than home, but the food's better. I've no complaints yet, except I see no reason why we do menial chores and labor instead of what we've been trained to do. Does the Weyr fall apart when there are no eggs on the sands?" Throughout her words, she continues to move, hands carefully rolling up the sleeves of her sweater, and then turning over, the slightly less tan underskin shown splotched here and there with tiny marks. "I was waiting tables tonight, I'm sure there's a healthy purpling on my hip by now. I'm almost loathe to see it. Certainly, nothing as charming as the marks you've on your face. Is that in your reports as well? Your fighting?" One slim arm snakes out, gaining ahold of the mug of ale, and bringing it to her lips. Once it's brought down a bit, the lips that graze the rim fashion into a faint smirk, "You've better taste in drink than most." M'rek chuckles dryly and nods in reponse to the comment about what goes on in the barraks at night, "Maybe some candidates could use more menial labor to put them a bed a good deal more tired. Can't say that I've ever given a lot of thought as to why candidates spend so much time at menial tasks, but I'm sure if I asked I'd get some sort of response from the Weyrleader about the necessity of it and the rewards to be reaped." Now his grin is wry before he finishes up, "You'd think it would fall apart, and yet..it seems to manage right along. Frequently it seems to me that none of us are fundamental to the flow of life at the weyr, be it candidate, cook, or nere'do-well bronzerider." A spoonful of chowder is swallowed without any real enthusiasm and then he pushes the bowl away, "Aye. I'm sure you'll pick up all sorts of bruises. Good practice for if you impress." A pause for breath and then an amused look, "Aye. Most of my fighting goes into my reports. Unless there's some particularly special reason to leave it out." He watches as she drinks and then he says with a motion of his eyebrows, "Aye. But then I've access to better drink than most, so there's that." "Everyone dies anyway," a light shrug brings the rolled sleeve further up along her arm, "It's often times like this, I wonder if living is pointless. Might as well take what jollies and chances wander in our paths, such as standing for oversized eggs." Her head tipts backwards for another long sip of ale. A faint smile emerges on her lips as she puts the mug down and nudges it forward with a flick of fingers and wrist. "I thank you for your drink, sir. Perhaps, one day, I can repay you for those two sips stolen." Satiet's lips curve in dry amusement, before she leans back and to the side against the wall of the nook. "Caritha suggested the wines or ciders in the living caverns, and they don't quite hit the spot." - "It's to make us tired, the labor, I suppose. So we won't go off and get pregnant, but unless they patrol the barracks nightly, ... well, you were young, once." Liquid-blue eyes dance over the bronzerider's features before seeking out his own gaze, "Perhaps still young if you find pleasure in fighting." There's a silent beat, a pause touched with curiosity of an unvoiced question in regards to one of M'rek's many statements. Instead, the girl's expression clears and she continues on, "Better drink than what the Weyr can provide?" M'rek stills with her first words, his face blank a moment as if frozen that way and then he nods slowly, "Aye. We do all die sooner or later. Some perhaps sooner than expected." His voice roughens a moment and then he brings forth a charming sort of grin to dispel the unease before he goes on, "Maybe it is pointless. All of it." Voiced as if he's thought that a thousand times over, "And yet, what else is there to do? Might as well, aye, enjoy all there is to be enjoyed. Be it standing for those over sized eggs, or drinking, or carousing." Those shoulders roll once more and then his smile seems settled into it's natural comfort. "Perhaps you can then, someday. Though, I could hardly begrudge either a candidate or an attractive young lady a swallow or two of ale. Even if she does speak as if I already have one foot in the grave." Even if he really does generally have one foot in the grave. "Caritha, huh?" Mild interest from the bronzerider, "How's she doing? Haven't seen her in awhile." Spoken as his eyes slip off to glance at his report before he looks back once more, "Aye. I know how the barracks can be, for I was indeed, young once." There's a bout of laughter and then, "I find pleasure in all sorts of things, even despite my advancing turns. Drinking, aye. Fighting, aye, that as well as other things. And yet, not all of my fighting is with persons for reasons that strictly need to be mentioned in my reports, unless there's some outcome or effect that tips a balance of some kind. Sometimes, it's hard to make the call on that. So mostly, the fights are reported. The Weyrleader tends to be understanding, and he's not one to be taken lightly in a brawl himself." The mug is glanced at and then M'rek nods, "Aye, and yet that ale is from S'rist's own stock. I can generally get much better wine than most of what you'll find served here." M'rek Tall and broad shouldered, M'rek is impressive of form. The pale skin of his face is marked with a long healed scar that snakes down his left cheek for at least two inches. Other than the mark, his features are attractive enough if on the rugged side of handsome. His eyes are a dark and moody black that seems to spark all the more for their shadows. This twenty-six turns old male has had all of his hair shaved off, leaving him smoothly bald. His eyebrows are jet black, so possibly that was the color of his hair. The clean look of his pate is an interesting look for the man and calls more attention to the intensity of his eyes. M'rek wears a dark blue shirt, dark wherhide breeches and boots of black. The belt around his waist holds a large knife and is fastened with a belt buckle in the shape of a dragon. There is a High Reaches Weyr rider's knot on his shoulder. The reaction to her offhand phrase is noted and most likely catalogued, given the slight narrowing of her inquisitive eyes, after which life goes on as normal. While Satiet is able to keep up the semblance of blithe ignorance, a smirk, however, lingers in subtle shifts of her face, a tense set to her cheeks, or the soft rosing of the jaw line. "Do I? I don't think you have a foot in your grave. Yet. But close enough to it." A leg lifts, foot propping itself against the edge of the bench, chin rested against the top of her knee. Pleasure, like anger, is usually hard to mask when so young, and the faint color at her cheeks heightens, darkened by the shadows of the secluded area. "As long as the candidate doesn't get drunk off the ale, eh? Though, it's hardly as interesting to report back to the candidate coordinators or the Weyrleader as much as your carousing." The curve of her lips is a smile, for all intents and purposes, though overshadowed by the faint appearance of ridicule flickering in her eyes. "She's well enough. I confess I don't know very much about her, but she seems to pine for her weyrmate. Know very much is perhaps an understatement. I've spoken to her once." The girl leans forward, dark hair falling forward to soften the shadowed sharpness of her cheeks, "And that's all life is about in the end, isn't it? Work hard, find pleasure where you can and take up those opportunites whenever possible, yes? I've a proposition for you. Sir. More like a request, as I'm but a simple candidate." M'rek leans back to the wall and stretches his legs out under the table, relaxing as he watches the play of color and shadow over her face. Perhaps he's doing a little cataloging of his own, "Aye. As long as the candidate doesn't get drunk. Or. At least as long as she doesn't get so drunk that it's noticed and noted. Faranth knows I got drunk more than once as a candidate. I just didn't make a show of it. Still. That would definitely be something not to put in a report. S'rist would be sure to clout me for getting one of the chosen few intoxicated." He grins though, as if seriously considering it and not really caring that much about consequences. "Yet, aye. Perhaps it wouldn't be as interesting. Depends. You're not the heir to some hold or another are you? That would make it more interesting. Reportwise at least." He chuckles then, "Caritha's another one impressed same clutch as I did. Aye. I've heard that she pines for P'wert." Amusement is clear here, "That one's always pining for someone or another." Then, "Aye. I suppose you could say that was a lot of what life was about." He doesn't really seem to agree and yet he doesn't really seem to disagree either. He finishes with an inquiry of his own, "A request? All right then, let's hear it." "Caritha is a girl." It's spoken as if she herself wasn't one. Soft disgust interlaces throughout her comments, "She pines in the same way a frie-...nd of mine does for all men." The break up of the word is entirely intentional, the girl's chin tilting thoughtfully as she finishes the sentence. Her arms cross over her chest as she leans back into her corner, and the raised leg falls back to the ground. "You're not a very good role model. I doubt Rylla or Thiana would be pleased to hear what you've said of your less than stellar candidacy. Though it doesn't seem to matter much, does it, these rules imposed on us, on how you fare on the sands." Satiet's blue eyes come to rest on the rider's knot in brief contemplation. His suggestion is replied to with a burst of laughter, one that's just loud enough to attract the attention of other workers, "You jest, if I were a holder's daughter, I wouldn't need to be asking someone as dubious of character as you favors, now would I? And it's because you're such a man of mystery that I can ask you, and not... any other number of riders or people here. It's too simple, I'm afraid. I've none of the intrigue that seems to descend on your shoulders like a Lord Holder's robes. I'd like to have access to your liquor. I knew where my father kept the storage keys home. I don't know who has the nicest things here. It'll, at best, keep away the headaches brought on by the nattering that Amarie or the other candidates do. And in return," she shrugs, a sarcastic turn playing on her lips, "As cliche as it sounds, I'll be in your debt until after candidacy. Unless you'd like a ribbon from my press in payment." Caritha comes into the kitchen from the living cavern. Caritha has arrived. Jairen comes through the hides covering the doorway from the lower caverns. Jairen has arrived. Jairen wanders in with a load of dirty dishes, weaving through the hustle and bustle to the sinks. M'rek chuckles in a knowing way, Satiet's clear disgust making his amusement all the sharper, "Aye. She's a girl all right." and then he watches as she shifts position and then nods his agreement, "Aye. That's the right of it. I'm not a good role model at all, unless you're looking to fashion a drunken, brawling, rake, and then I'm your man." A pause and then, "Rylla and Thiana." His grin is again, something a little wolfish as he just names the coordinators and then he seems to need to say no more on that subject. "Aye. That's the most common description for me, dubious of character." He laughs and then nods to the candidate before him, "That. I can provide. What's your poison of choice then?" "Sailor's whiskey. Preferably from Tillek. Something with a bite while drinking, and a kick thereafter in the stomach, but not unpleasant in general. And captain's quality." Satiet's hands come to rest on the table before her, fingers interlocked in a loose hold. It's an hour or so after dinner, and in the nominal bustle of the kitchens, M'rek and the candidate are seated in one of the breakfast nooks off to the side - a large stack of hides before the rider, as well as a half-finished bowl of chowder and mug of ale, and the candidate squirreled away in the corner opposite him. The fingers unclasp and instead tap an idle rhythm out against the stone table. "Once a week, perhaps. Unless you've something better to offer?" Amarie comes through the hides covering the doorway from the lower caverns. Amarie has arrived. Caritha sticks her head in first, looking about as though trying to spot someone or something, but then seems satisfied and steps on into the room. Spotting Jairen first, with an armload of dishes, she offers up a greeting, "Hi Jai, how are you doing? Finally got kitchen duty like you wanted or just dishes?" She heads towards the counters, looking to see what sorts of goodies might be found here, overhearing M'rek's voice and commentary, causing her to pause, and grin at the bronzerider "Drunken rake? You've been perfecting yourself some more? How are you and Ulfianth doing, haven't seen much of you recently." Hearing Satiet's answer, she shakes her head, "Don't go getting the candidates drunk lest they get thrown out of here before the hatching. Not everyone can get away with all the things you do." Satiet is then given a grin, "Hiya. How are you doing? Don't let M'rek rub off on you too much now." Jairen looks up to Caritha, and smiles brightly. "Just dishes, but I don't mind. You can learn a lot just by listening and paying attention. How are you and P'wert doing today?" Amarie steps into the caverns shaking the ends her skirt free of -whatever- that might be on there. She quickly crosses through the cavern and sits down at a table, propping her chin in her elbow and looking around as if to catch the action that's happening there. Little candidates have big ears. M'rek raises his eyebrows in some surprise at the naming provided by Satiet, "Interesting. Aye, I can provide that. Not tonight, but tomorrow unless my Wingleader sets me out on extra sweeps." Evidently this happens. He nods to the frequency and says, "But I'd want something in return. And not a ribbon." He pulls the mug of ale towards him and then glances into the glass to appreciate the ambered color before he takes a swallow. "You could do a small chore for me. In between all those other chores." Caritha's voice draws his attention then and he gives a sideways grin to the greenrider, "Aye. We've been right near perfection of late, and not here at the weyr so often as not. Not to worry. I'm not going to be actually forcing any candidates to drink. They'll have to get used to my disgraceful influence sooner or later anyway. Especially, if I request and get to assistant weyrlingmaster." He nods to the other arrivals then, and slides a little down the bench to make room. Satiet's sharpened cajoling features still, the shadows of dim lighting mostly hiding the subtle shifts her expression undergoes - first the eyes lose the glint of chipped ice and her expression relaxes fractionally, long enough for a less haphazard and more congenial smile to float to her lips. An arm lifts to hail the approaching greenrider, followed by a greeting, "Evening, ma'am, to you and your, ah, weyrmate." The turn of the door from the caverns catches her attention long enough for her to find Amarie within the crowds in the kitchens, and while her greeting is unvoiced, the careful incline of her head towards the girl from the Beastcraft is enough for now. Blue gaze strays to M'rek, a twitch of her lips giving due consideration to his words before she nods. "I'm assuming you've bet that I'll last out the candidacy at least, so as long as the chore isn't something that'll get me sent home, we'll both be square. I've time to spare and my free time is my own as far as I've been able to tell." Her voice falls silent as she peers over towards the sinks towards Jairen. Jairen pauses in her dishwashing, offering Caritha and the others a smile. "Crowded night here in the kitchens! I know I am just a dishwasher, today, but can I get anyone anything? There's some nice stew that there wasn't enough of to actually put out..." Caritha finds herself some cider and pours a mugful, turning back to M'rek with a raised eyebrow, "Assistant weyrlingmaster? Oh my, Faranth save the poor candidates... or maybe I should be pitying S'din and Amilin?" She chuckles, "This could be very amusing indeed, watching S'din punish his assistant as much or more so than the weyrlings. They might get out of all the distateful chores with your assistance." She smiles warmly at Satiet, "We're all doing quite well. I do hope you've settled in well by now, I see you've gotten to know all the characters at our weyr indeed." Jairen is given additional information, "P'wert sends his regards, he looked for you yesterday when he came by but you were busy. Hopefully he'll be over soon, he had late duties today. You aunt also sends her regards, and D'ru as well of course." Amarie is then spotted and offered a smile, "Hi. I do hope you've gotten settled by now? Semirath says she wants to see you again, in place where I won't be getting sick." Amarie waves at Caritha and stands up, moving over towards the woman. "Is she really? That's neat that she still remembers me. I'm settled in as I can be. I went to the barbecue they held, but I'm sorry I didn't see you there. Or V'lano for that matter," Amarie throws in his name as well. M'rek spends a few moments looking over Caritha, Jairen and then Amarie in turn, the last of which he nods to as he seems to be trying to place her in his mind, "I think we met at the lava lounge one night, didn't we?" It would be a bar. The bronzerider's dark eyes shift back to Satiet and then he nods, "I wouldn't ask something like that of a candidate." He's clearly amused now, "Must protect my investments, no matter what they are." Then he speaks to the greenrider, "Aye. Would be an interesting change of pace at least. S'din never gave me any trouble, I mostly did a good job of flying low during our training. Or. At least I didn't get out on nights when others were up to worse than I was." His grin is slanted and then he drinks from his mug once more before he answer Jairen, "I don't need anything at the moment, but thank you, Lass." "No stew for me, thank you." Lips purse thoughtfully as she considers Jairen for a moment longer than strictly necessary. "I had duties at keeping the sinks full. People should reuse their plates rather than get a new one for more food, but it keeps us busy. We," her head dips to include M'rek in that pronoun, "Were just talking about why they make us do meaningless chores." Satiet's interest sparks at the mention of V'lano, and a cross between amused and confused mires the bland set of her face. "He was, last I saw, trying to figure out a way to appease the junior weyrwoman. Eggs, painting, sand. It was all rather confusing," she informs Amarie, "And then Linnea got searched, though I've heard some people say it was because she was holding some sweet sand that the dragon was more interested in. Or the hold sand sculpture." Disinterest closes that line of thinking quickly, and the dark-haired candidate leans forward on the table again, scooting over to make room for others should they move over. "I've settled in well enough, ma'am. And met the various characters of the Weyr. Dubious and all." Jairen grins, "Glad to hear Delia is doing well, and D'ru, and P'wert. I miss them terribly." She blinks at Satiet, "Meaningless chores? They are not meaningless, they serve an important purpose... Keeping the score of useless layabouts like us out from underfoot fo the normal weyrfolk." A smile is offered to Amarie, as well. "Ahh, you are the one Cari nabbed from the beasthold? Did she faint while she was there? You should have seen her the day I had to clean stables..." "That sounds like him," Amarie nods her head at Satiet. "V'lano was always a very giving person, at least since I knew him." She smiles, her eyes looking somewhat distant as if smiling at a memory from long ago. She knows him well it seems. Coming out of her reverie, she asks, "What's that? Oh no," She shakes her head, "She didn't faint while we were there thank Faranth." Caritha gives Amarie a questioning look at the mention of the Telgari's name, "You know V'lano? He's very nice, but I suppose its hard for him, splitting time between here at Telgar. I was sorry to have missed it but I'd been stuck on late sweeps that day and turned in right afterwards, though I do have to admit that I love sunset over the ocean is one of my favorite times to be flying. Semirath's too." She sits down right near M'rek and Satiet and pats the seat beside her in invite for the girl from the BeastCraft hall, before grinning at M'rek, "That is true, you were able to escape punishment then, but I'm guessing it was your awe of Ulfianth. Or the fact that you weren't able to get to Bitra For since you've graduated, you do indeed seem to have reached new heights in mischief... or at least bar hopping." Her tone of voice is light and teasing, and she adds, "Though I need to thank you for introducing me to some of my favorite drinks. We ought to go together again some time to Ista or the Lava longuge." M'rek listens, chuckling occasionally, "Eggs, painting and sand? V'lano having trouble with Jos then?" He doesn't sound surprised and, in fact, hides a broader grin behind one hand before he slides all of his hidework down and picks the pen back up to freshen it with more ink and work a little more on his report in an idle fashion. Caritha is given a glance, "Aye. Going to Bitra always brings something out in me, I suppose. Couldn't get there really until Ulfianth could fly. But anyway. Aye. We can go drinking again sometime if you like, Caritha. Maybe even The Even Odds for variety." Then a question, "Who's been getting sick?" Satiet's snort isn't very lady-like, and it's a good thing she's not drinking else it spew forward. "They're meaningless enough in that they won't do anyone any good. The Weyr won't collapse if we don't perform them, otherwise it'd have collapsed every time there weren't eggs on the sand. Tell me you wouldn't prefer to do the jobs you did when you were at home? Amarie," a sharp incline of her head indicates the taller candidate, "Could do assistant headwoman-type duties here and she'd be productive, right?" She shifts, discomforted and then swings out on the other side of the bench, getting to her feet languidly, "It was more a problem with the clutch mother, I'm assuming than the weyrwoman. It didn't concern me." Which isn't to say she wasn't listening. "When you do find anything for me, sir, I'm easily found. Barracks, somewhere here on the ground, whereas you're not. I'll be waiting." Hands clasp behind her back, pulling away for a mild stretch. "Good evening, I'll see you two later then." The last meant for the dishwasher and the listener. Jairen rolls her eyes at the other Candidate, "If a few people don't do chores at all, the weyr won't collapse... But does that make it ok?" She shrugs as Satiet leaves. She turns back to her chore, seemingly more determined to do it well. "Some people, I tell you. No sense of pulling their own weight." "Good night Satiet," Amarie grins at the girl. She peers at M'rek as if trying to place him from that night at the bar in Boll. Caritha giggles along with M'rek and nods, "I could see Jos having some issues with some of the eggs. This clutch isn't quite as blindingly bright as ours was. Thank Faranth that Semirath hatched from one of the few normal eggs in ours, nice and simple and black." She winks at Satiet, whispering conspiratorily, "I'm rather in agreement with you but they seem to think it builds character or something. Just find some stupid boys who are willing to trade for some of the more distateful chores and you'll do just fine." She looks back at Jai and grins, "You've been too well trained you know." M'rek's comment about the even odds is then remembered, "I'd like htat. Did you once, way back over a turn ago, say you'd teach me how to play some of the games there? Or was that Elinore? Some of them did look interesting, but not the ones that were purely luck..." M'rek waves to Satiet as she heads out, "Aye. I'm sure I'll find you when I've got what's needed. Should be tomorrow or the day after." Then he bends his head to write another line before he feels Amarie's eyes upon him and he glances back her way, "I think you left with V'lano that night. I was drinking with Kassima and some others. Was a bit of an encounter, but no bloodshed. Though, maybe you missed that part." He sums up that particular evening and then cuts his eyes back over to Caritha, "That." He slants his eyes at the greenrider in a look that's akin to concern, "Must have been Elinore. Though, I can certainly teach poker and the like." You brush the hides aside and step into the lower caverns. |
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