Logs:Nothing to Offer
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| RL Date: 25 October, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, R'oan |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'oan claims he has nothing to offer Dee, as usual. |
| Where: The Glass Fountain and Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ka'ge/Mentions |
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>---< The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$) >------------------------------<
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and
frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly
in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque
glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements;
round-backed booths carved from stone, lined with deep, terra-cotta
colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a
subtle red shade. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of
smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into
the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the
massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the
ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all,
having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A
curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of
glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a
sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain
has become an elegant place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with
their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and
fancy desserts. R'oan hasn't been absent from the Weyr, I swear. But the brownrider certainly always has his periods where he is more withdrawn from the social life of it, instead preferring to keep to strictly those few of his wingmates he likes and to the company of random women outside of the Weyr as he does. However, as evening wears past any proper hour, the brownrider can be found in his regular seat of The Glass Fountain as many of the crowd find their way home, usually not alone. He has a drink in front of him, hair mussed from raked fingers as he contemplates his glass drunkenly while his last wingmate leaves him alone. The truth is, Dee has been too busy since she started her goldrider training nearly ten months ago to do much in the way of going to see R'oan to drink until she can't see straight and pass out, letting the world be forgotten. She's been so busy that even now, as she arrives in the Glass Fountain, she's still sort of working; she stops here and there in the process of getting to the bar to exchange a goodnight or a few words and a little laugh with those staying and going. She looks tired, but not exhausted, and answers the bartender's inquiring tilt of head with a smile and nod of her own. It's with mild surprise that she takes in the brownrider at his usual seat, shifting to approach once she has her drink in hand. "Hey," is casual greeting. "Weyrwoman," is drawled in greeting, dry but mockingly formal, as R'oan's grey gaze drags over the tired woman as she approaches him. He lifts his own drink in a casual salute, the amber liquid sloshing slightly over the edge of the cut glass before he twists it to quickly press lips against that side so as not to lose any errant drops. "Congratulations. I would think you would be out with your clutchmates." (Yes, someone is drunk enough to mess up dates of this clutch's graduation.) "You won't give me my last seven as Dee, will you," isn't really a question as she slides into a seat. It could be said she's just using her rank as she pleases, but the truth is that Dee would've taken the seat even if she were a drudge. She gives him a funny sort of look. "Should I take you to the healers to get your head checked?" The inquiry is light, wry, but the concern that just touches her eyes as she gives him a rather thorough looking over is real enough. "And I keep telling you that you haven't been Dee since the moment she found you on those sands," R'oan replies in a murmur, an almost dismissive slur on the emphasized word rather than the usual respect or warmth given to the being he's referring to. "I can't give you what you don't have." He holds up his hands, helplessly, though he completes the gesture by taking another sip of his liquor. Her question only receives a raised, challenging brow. "Yes, yes, she's awful and damn that golden hide," Dee agrees dismissively, not meaning a word, not now. "She likes you too," is humor and her smile is hidden by her glass as she sips. "If you weren't already so far gone past me, I'd say we should get a bottle and take a walk," but he is, so she doesn't. "Do you always miss so many duties or just when I'm shadowing your wing?" is curiosity and just a little bit of judgment. Missing duties. R'oan only exhales a laugh at her bit of humor, barely there, and he says nothing on his own feelings. He only acknowledges her observation with the drunken tip of his glass towards her before he raises it back to his lips. After, is when he answers, "Or maybe I only miss so many duties when others decide to stop paying me for them." Dee's nod is one that appreciates that explanation. Clearly, the weyrling is working just as hard even with her own meager pay cut, but she doesn't seem to find his answer unreasonable. "Well, let's hope you remember how when they're able to budget differently. It's temporary, I'm told." Told, but it's been going on now for months. "Temporary. How often do you think that line is dragged out until the peons accept the new way of things and stop complaining?" muses R'oan, drunk enough to toe a line of belligerent if only he had more volume to his words. As it is, certainly the bartender can hear, and another rider not far down the bar. "Don't know yet. Still a peon myself," Dee answers with a shrug. If he was looking for a topic that would bait her, he seems to have missed his mark. Not her dragon, not the budget cuts, perhaps he'll get lucky on number three? "How often do you call your behavior temporary until your leaders accept it's how you are and stop complaining?" She asks it with lifted brows, a smile wanting to tug onto her lips but stalled for the moment by conscious effort. "Have I ever called it temporary to you, darling?" R'oan counters back, doing nothing to obscure the rather sharp smile that pulls at the corner of his lips before his gaze slides purposefully down and then back up. "But then, I hear you have others to entertain, now." Apparently he is going to try his luck with the third. "Have I ever complained?" Dee counters, the smile twitching into existence. "About you, that is," about other things... well. "You did tell me I should try experimenting with people my own age," she points out, unruffled, though her voice is kept low enough that the conversation might be semi-private. "And if I could have found you anywhere," she teases, "I might have asked you to come by my weyr to assess what I've learned." It's cheekiness, to be sure. She drinks if only to keep from laughing. "I don't know. I'm not the only one you talk to." A pause. "Have you ever?" poses R'oan quietly, half-curious as he draws a brow up in a curve to the weyrling. His own smile only grows somewhat cockily as he adds, "I don't need to do that. I know you didn't learn anything from a boy your own age that you didn't learn from me." He gesture a wave with his glass, one to indicate she should talk. "But if you want to tell me how that was--." But then he is draining his glass. There's the laugh. She can't suppress it after that. "No, I haven't. You are who you are, R'oan, and I've not expected you to be more. If you'd like me to start thinking you need my help to realize your true potential," she pretends to weigh the idea with gravity, then grins. "And I don't like to kiss and tell, so if you want me to, you're going to have to give me something a sight better than that smile and--" she mimics the wave of his hand before cocking a challenging brow at him. "Didn't you understand a moment ago? I'm broke," R'oan counters as he sets down his glass and pats down his pockets, presumably looking for a mark to pay the bartender. "I don't have anything to offer you. I will leave that to the bronzeriders." Yes, one statement doesn't seem to fit with the other, but a drunken brain can certainly make connections that a sober one can't. And it's clear as soon as the brownrider moves to stand that he is not his usually functioning influenced, but drunk, as he continues to search out a mark. "Then let me buy your drink," Dee decides as she rises, "and you can walk me home." It's not so much a suggestion when she's already moving to loop an arm through his and nodding again to the bartender. No marks needed when everyone knows where to find you: Dee's got a tab. There is a moment where R'oan moves to jerk away. Sorry, Dee. And he repeats, drunkenly but very sincerely, emphasizing the words again as if Dee may have missed them, "I have nothing to offer you. I can't walk you home. I can't--." Finish sentences, but he can wave an encompassing gesture instead to the room around them (and the eyes that he surely draws at this) and to the Weyr beyond. (He's enough of a feminist not to protest a woman buying him a drink, or something.) Dee isn't deterred, reaching again for the brownrider, "R'oan, you've always given me just what I need when I need it." They're placating words but also entirely genuine. "Right now, I just need an arm. I can even leave you at your dragon and make the rest of the way myself if that's what you want when the time comes." That might elude to the fact that Dee has plans of convincing him otherwise between here and there, but perhaps his drunkness will omit that from notice. It's a slurred mumble that answers Dee, rather than real words. It sounds vaguely like a warning or maybe annoyance. But he doesn't draw away again. He will even lean heavily at times on Dee as they make their way out of the bar and the caverns, especially where he'd otherwise be likely to stumble. Dee lets him lean. She doesn't even bother to start talking again until they're out in the bowl and there's a little bit of space. "You know, I think you might be the most determined man I've ever met," she observes with a tone that's more seriousness than levity. That drags a laugh out of R'oan in the quiet of midnight hours, despite the seriousness. The brace of cool air enough that he's gained a moment of pretending to be soberer than he is, and he straightens and turns to the goldrider, hands curving over her arms to pull her closer--. Just ignore that there is bound to be someone watching; this is a Weyr after all. But he only challenges, "Me? Determined?" Dee doesn't seem to mind, even with the eyes she must be more aware of than most. There's at least one set of willful watchers on her more often than she'd like, so what's a handful of casually interested spectators? She smiles up at the brownrider, amusement playing across her features. "Yes, you. Determined." That could be all she offers, but after a moment, she adds, "Certainly, you pick and choose your causes. Me, for example, a girl could get to thinking that you have nothing to offer her the way you go on." That's teasing, but there's some truth there too, not that Dee is convinced by his repeated blusters. "I have nothing to offer you. Even if I wanted to be your Weyrleader, I couldn't. Even if I wanted to be your friend or your mentor or--." That is all R'oan says, quietly, but he reaches one hand to cup her chin and then slides a kiss over her lips. And against them, he'll insist in a murmur, "I have no causes," before he'll move to draw away. Etrevth is one of those watchers, that snakelike brown sidling to one side of a ledge slowly before he drops from it like a stone towards the Bowl, likely called by his rider. Dee's return of the kiss is soft, but not something that seeks to make him want to stay; probably, she would prefer him a little more sober for that sort of thing. She does reach for his arm as he moves to draw away, seeking to keep him only a moment, long enough to say, "What about just my bedmate from time to time? My person to get drunk with?" That last might remind too much of her youthfulness, but age and maturity is only something that change so much in the course of a turn. R'oan simply holds up his hands, another one of those helpless gestures of his as he steps back. But it's not a no, and it's not a repeat of those stupid words, so. "I'll see you around, Weyrwoman," he answers, sliding those hands into his pockets as he keeps walking backwards for a bit. Then he stumbles, catches himself, and turns around to walk to Etrevth. |
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