Logs:Nice Southern Gentlemen
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| RL Date: 20 January, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, Sully |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: D'vro and Sully talk about the appeal, or lack thereof, in games of chance. |
| Where: Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| As dusk sets in, day jobs have ended, leaving a small bustle in the Commons as residents turn in, go to eat, or hover before nightly duties. At one of the corner tables, an informal game of dice has broken out. Sully hovers on a tall stool nearby, letting its height buoy hers into a better view of the action. Her legs are daintily crossed and, as she leans to look, she's got both hands at one side of her head, fixing some imaginary flaw in her impeccably done hair. The wooden dice clatter. She tries to catch the eye of the most recent winner, her own half-lidded. One hand drops to pull experimentally at the one around her neck. Does it have holes? The pattern fading? Maybe he could afford a new one, now, with all this happening. Rarely seen playing games of chance, D'vro isn't making a change of that habit now. He's standing nearby, though, arms crossed over his chest while he watches the dice and the people who keep throwing them with a rather serious expression on his long face. His blue-green eyes lift now and again, his attention catching on Sully, then briefly the man she's looking at before returning to her with a slightly arched brow. Surely D'vro wouldn't judge someone in silence! It isn't until Sully's lost the attention of the gambler-- to go back to his game-- that she seems to feel any sort of non-judgmental prickle at the back of her neck. Hair all coiffed now, her hands fall to her chest, crossing. She finds D'vro after a moment, but passes up the chance to eye him properly up and down. Instead, that arched eyebrow is returned. After a second, she moves her eyes pointedly to the empty stool next to her, and then back to D'vro. The bronzerider's expression is neutral, bordering on pensive, when she finally looks at him. At that point, he's practically looking through her, lost in thought. It's the motion of her hands, or her head, that draws his attention back to focus. He eyes the empty stool, looks at the gamblers, back at Sully, then starts making his way around toward where she's sitting. "Are you enjoying yourself?" is D'vro's genuinely curious question once he gets near enough to ask it. "I suppose," supplies Sully honestly, her lips curling into a half-smile before the expression falls away. Now, when the dice fall, she blinks slowly but manages to keep the otherwise full of her attention on D'vro. Her hands slide out to gently wiggle fingers, then return. "Been canning food for days. Nice reason to be busy. And to relax afterward." Talking now, she's quite a bit of an accent to her; unabashedly Monacoan. "And you, sir?" A hand escapes a second time to now pat the seat beside her. He leans against the stool he's been offered more than he sits in it properly, arms crossing again once he's at rest. Given he's a Southern man, and more or less sounds it, her accent doesn't earn much notice. "I can't say I entirely understand the appeal of these sorts of games." D'vro's gaze turns from her toward the gamblers. If he stares at it long enough, he might be able to figure it out. "Cards are more interesting. There's more to it than throwing down some dice and hoping you get the right numbers." "Hope is interesting," opines Sully with a light cock of her head, not entirely invested in her initial answer. More so: "Chance is excitin'." Far fingers walk slowly down her leg. They haven't far to go, but she makes the most of it, eventually laying a palm along her thigh. "And," with a bit of mischief at the corner of her mouth, Sully's cheek turns conspiratorially towards D'vro. Her hand closest to him braces on the counter behind his stool, aiding her little lean that tests his space, "It all requires a bit less hard thinkin'." At least the way these residents are currently playing. "It doesn't require any thinking at all," D'vro counters, evidently more concerned with understanding why people are excited by chance than the fact that Sully might be encroaching on his personal space. He doesn't seem to have a very sensitive bubble in that regard. "Besides, wouldn't you rather be playing than watching?" Sully's soft, interrupted, laugh doesn't contradict him, but neither does she follow-up. She lets the noise of the game-- somebody groans, and is patted on the back by his fellow-- fill their conversational silence a small bit while contemplating. Since she's already leaning, she has to tip her head back quite a bit to look him in the eye. "Why, should I rather?" Her laugh draws his attention back to her with more focus, meeting her gaze with no hesitation in the directness or relative proximity. "Isn't it more exciting to be doing the thing than watching it? Or--" D'vro pauses, eyes narrowing in quick thought before he decides, "No, you prefer watching." So accused, Sully smiles close-mouthed at him with a bit of affected guilt: caught. Her expression softens when she looks back over the players, most of whom have devolved into jesting and reminiscing more than dedicated rolling. "It interests me," she admits, low. Her hand pushes away from the counter. She leans, now, only over her own legs, fingers lacing below the knee. "Sometimes." A short pause, then. "Other times, I invite nice Southern gentlemen to try Liar's Dice with me." "Do you." It's still a question, more or less. Maybe some suspicion, too. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one. I can't say I'm very familiar with many games beyond poker and darts." D'vro will give her the benefit of the doubt, though. "Can you instruct me on how to play?" Sully's little shrug is basically a yes, despite the nature of the thing. Yes, she does. Except, "Didn't say this was one of those times," calls him out with a half-look. What chance she missed before to scope him out, she takes at this time, critically eyeballing him up and down. "Hmm." Just as carefully, "Are y'nice?" "Oh," is all D'vro has for the first. He doesn't seem surprised, though. There's a good chance he misreads things like this on a regular basis. "I wouldn't claim to be a gentleman, I suppose, but I generally consider myself a pleasant person. Decent, at least." He doesn't return the eyeballing, but he does point out, "I'm not sure targeting nice people to play a game called Liar's Dice sounds entirely fair." She's nodding contentedly along with his personal assessment, until his point brings out another of those quiet, effortless laughs. Sully smiles easily, like it's what she naturally wants to do in any situation, and dimples strongly. "Well, it's a bit like poker, I suppose. Everyone's got five dice, covered by a cup," she demonstrates with her own hands, one over the other, "And you take turns bidding on how many of a face value you think are represented on the table." Her tiny nose scrunches, not entirely pleased with her explanation. D'vro listens attentively to her explanation, but he also takes note of her expression. "I'm not sure that sounds very much like poker. But I suppose I can see that there might be some appeal." Perhaps more to other people than to himself, judging by how not excited he sounds as he says it. "There's at least one nice Southern man in the Weyr, though. Shall I send him your way the next time I see him?" This makes him smile, a real smile, for just a moment. Sully's next smile is tight, attempting to form around an obvious disappointment that borders on apologetic. Until he wins her over with one of his own. "Well, obviously," she grins, leaning over to give his leg a playful push with a few fingertips. Her hand retracts quickly-- no, not for his sake; she worriedly touches to her hair, afraid she's felt a strand fall. "Seems at least my luck's turning around," she gamely continues afterward, touching at her scarf daintily. As the dice begin to leave the table, the evening's biggest winner glances over only to find that Sully's no longer paying him any mind. "I'll do that, then. Try not to rob him blind if you can help it. My riders are more useful to me when they can see." D'vro is so very clever. He rises from his lean against the stool, eyeing the hair she seems so concerned with as he says, "I think that's as much fun as I can handle for one evening. It's been a pleasure." He doesn't ask for her name, though. That must not be very important to him. "What you must think of me," Sully braces her hand against her chest, watching him studiously as he makes arrangements to leave. "Has it?" is as genuinely curious as he, when first approaching her, head slightly cocked and eyes narrowed with concentration and wonder. "Or are you just sayin' that because you're, very secretly, a gentleman?" Green eyes briefly twinkle. She straightens, as if to also stand and her hand unfolds off her chest and extends towards him, testing. Incase he leaves her there, she offers, "Until next time," as promise-- or threat, depending. "I told you I'm not a gentleman," D'vro reassures her, but it makes him smile as he smooths a hand over his shirt before accepting hers-- to shake gently. "Clear skies," is offered, then, with a slight inclination of his head. He's unconcerned with the differences between promise or threat, or maybe just oblivious. Either way, the bronzerider turns to wend his way back out into the caverns and whatever business he has beyond. Sully unabashedly watches him leave from behind from where she's been left on her chair before scooting off. Everything about her is meticulously smoothed and straightened before she weasels her way through the dispersing residents to sling onto the dice winner's arm with a gush and a murmur and a little touch of her scarf, isn't it looking positively dreary. |
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