Logs:On the House
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| RL Date: 9 September, 2015 |
| Who: Edric, X'vin, Z'riah |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Edric and X'vin invite Z'riah for dinner, and are polite company indeed. |
| Where: The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, Erinta/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Hattie/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.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Edric M 35 6'2" average, brown hair, light blue eyes 0s
X'vin M 32 6'3" muscular, black hair, dk brown eyes 8s
Z'riah M 28 5'9 muscular, dark hair, blue eyes 6m
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Inner Caverns
>-------------------------------------< 9D 10M 38T I10, autumn afternoon >---< It's evening - and just the right time for a fine, if early, dinner. Edric's work for the day is - mostly - done and he's now settled into a booth with a stack of light reading to one side. A glass of red wine is placed, just so and within easy reach of his right hand; the bottle is likewise positioned within ready reach of his left. Dinner appears to be a steak - blue rare, from the look of it - roasted tubers, a salad, and a basket of rolls. Dessert has yet to make an appearance but, from the looks of things, it will make one for the sake of rounding things out appropriately. Thus can the Steward-turned-consultant be found. Fort's newest greenrider was bound to show up at the Fountain eventually. But, really, it hasn't taken him that long to find it. He's still wearing the leathers he arrived in, jacket open informally, and Z'riah pauses just inside the entrance to linger, taking in the place as a whole. It's uncharacteristically hesitant but, fortunately, no one here knows that yet. When he starts moving again, he's heading toward the bar, glancing at unfamiliar faces as he passes. Did Edric invite anyone to join him for supper? There's no plate nor glass of wine for company, and yet X'vin appears like magic at the edge of Edric's booth, wearing his knot and patch and that disarming smile, still more-or-less done up from the day's work. The top button of his jacket might be undone; hard to tell in all that good leather. He bears with him a glass for wine but no food. If he thinks he's unwelcome, it doesn't show in the ease with which he slips into the other side of the booth, movements controlled, the glass gently clinking against the table when he sets it down by the stem. "Benden?" asks X'vin of the wine, even as he reaches for it like he might pour a glass, carefully eyeing the mercurial man just in case his mood is off. And, of course, the Steward doesn't look up from the missive he's reading - but rest assured that the tip of Edric's head is calculated. The arrival of the greenrider is thusly noted, though no gesture or greeting is made. A calculating assessment is conducted and it's just a blink that signifies the completion of that analysis. How convenient, then, that X'vin should arrive. Only then does he straighten up while a thin smile touches the corners of his lips. "If it's anything else," he muses, "then I trust you'll commit me to the MindHealers." He's only barely touched his meal - and the reason is: "They should be bringing yours-" a gesture to his own plate "-out shortly. I didn't want it to get cold." Of course, there are plenty of rolls and plenty of wine - and no effort made to stop the bronzerider from taking a share. It's the Wingleader more than the Steward who draws Z'riah's attention for the few extra seconds it takes him to decide to pause. The fact that the men might be doing something important, or romantic, doesn't keep him from showing up beside their table. "X'vin, sir," he says, glancing at Edric then focusing on the bronzerider. "Z'riah," he reminds of himself before going straight into, "Can I buy you a drink? I can have it sent over." He gestures to the bar, where he was headed, so as not to suggest he'll completely impose on the moment uninvited. X'vin fills his glass, sets the bottle very precisely back where it was before, and laughs. "You're always thinking --" is not meant to be a full-stop, however true the curtailed sentence is, but X'vin's dark eyes rise from his glass and his steward at the sound of his name, his head tilting off to the side, almost birdlike. His brows knit, and a sidelong look is given to Edric. "Z'riah," the wingleader remembers after a few moments of rummaging thought. "No need to buy me a drink, I've very expensive tastes. I wouldn't inflict them on anyone, least of all my wingriders." Then, romantic or business, he says, "Pull up a chair. Tell me how you're settling in. Back in? Have you eaten?" He tugs the basket of rolls closer, so Z'riah might take one if he wishes. "Mm." It's enough of a reply to that half-articulated thought. Agreement, perhaps. Acknowledgement. A promise to pick his mind later. Immaterial, ultimately; Edric's attention cuts askance to Z'riah with nary a shift in his expression. There's a slight nod, an even more slight lifting of eyebrows, and he lifts a hand to motion at the barkeep. The wordless gesture is significant; more so when he offers, "Order what you'd like, greenrider. Food. Drink. It's on the Weyr." Another glance is angled to X'vin. "Expensive tastes that will be even more difficult to indulge, courtesy of your illustrious Weyrwoman and her Acting Weyrleader," he observes blandly to X'vin. "I suggested a ten percent cut across the board, but..." he trails there with a curt gesture. Dismissive. Z'riah has half of a smirk for X'vin's answer, which he takes in stride, helping himself to a seat on the side of the table between the two men. "Thanks," comes easily. "I'm settling in fine. Just in, though. First time I've been to Fort. I mean, been here before, but never lived here." Important distinction, evidently. "Thanks," he says again, grinning at Edric like they're old friends before telling the barkeep exactly what he wants. Fortunately Z'riah does not have expensive taste, just a big appetite. "Probably could've timed this transfer better, right? They didn't tell me I'd be getting paid less for coming." He's trying to sound good-humored. Trying. "Thirty percent," X'vin groans, but somehow manages what Z'riah struggles for, and ultimately sounds good natured. "I've put my marks in good places, as it were. I have a very astute financial advisor, and a back-log of ancient wine. I do wish I hadn't spent so much on that dress for High Reaches' newly minted junior weyrwoman. Should have taken it back when she gave me the chance. She tugs my heartstrings, every time." He sighs, sounding wistful. The seriousness of it all is probably undermined by the way he keeps smiling while he takes one of those rolls for himself, breaking it open. "The good weyrwoman has her reasons for this, I'm sure. It will get better. Flint has plenty of places where you can earn some money on the side. I might even have some, if you've got any skills worth selling." It sounds pat, and a little cruel, but he is still being generous and there's no aggression to his posture. "It could have been worse," so sayeth the deadpan Steward. That grin of the greenrider's goes without reaction beyond a shallow, singular dip of his chin. Edric settles in his seat just as a server comes out with both X'vin's plate and Z'riah's. Another bottle of wine - and another glass - are also brought out. He purses his lips thoughtfully and spares a glance to Z'riah before his attention returns in earnest to X'vin. "If it's worthwhile investment," says he of the dress, "then perhaps it's best you left it to incur interest." Oh, accounting humor. Could it get much dryer? Maybe that's why the extra wine was brought out. "Otherwise, I'll be happy to call you the fool you are, throwing good marks after a junior." While the riders converse, he lapses into silence and proceeds to cut his steak up in a way that's leagues beyond merely methodical. Z'riah glances between both men and their talk about money. One might get the sense that he can't relate to it very well. But then he's always been on a wingrider's stipend and it's never been large. "I have some skills," notes the greenrider, looking from X'vin to his own plate when it arrives. "Are you talking about Farideh?" he asks more bluntly, more curiously. They must be, of course, but he asks all the same. Wine seems like a good idea, right about now, so he'll just hide behind his glass for a bit. X'vin 's thank you's for the food are perfunctory, and he takes the time out for unfolding of his napkin and proper placement of his cutlery, something clearly ingrained with the automated way he moves. He looks the greenrider up and down, curious, like it might reveal to him exact talents. "I ran into some Monaco riders recently," more or less, much less than some at least, "they were...burlier. I was starting to worry it was something in the water that way. It can't be healthy, having that short of a neck. The respiratory problems." But even so, he turns his focus on his food with an absent, "What kind of skills?" as he begins cutting into his steak. "Farideh, yes," and up goes an eyebrow for another not-quite-pointed look at Z'riah. "I would have married her, in another life, I think." One where she didn't get a choice, that is. "You know her? Edric's napkin has long since been laid out in his lap and his use of the utensils is precise - textbook, in fact. As the conversation flows, he listens - and makes no effort to hide that fact, considering they're at the same table. Eyes flick behind the spectacles to follow Z'riah and his motions, then back to X'vin without hesitation. There's a slight lifting of an eyebrow and corresponding corner of his mouth at the mention of Monocoans, a throaty sound that might be a chuckle following after. A shake of the head, amused, and then he's settling in to eat properly. Some measure of dark humor might claim the set of his mouth - but that's hard to pick out when it's so terribly occupied. "They can't all be as hot as me. It wouldn't be fair. I mean, it's not really fair that a lot of them are big and stupid, but." What're you gonna do. Z'riah shrugs, putting his glass back down, considering both food and conversation as he starts into the former with fork and knife in a manner that's polite, but not quite so as his company. He's unabashedly weyrbred and it shows. "Well," he starts about his skills, at least managing not to talk with food in his mouth, "I could show you. But I'm still trying to make a good impression and I don't want to piss you off by implying that you're into men." He's honest, anyway? The greenrider's attention shifts toward Edric, though, and he adds, "He's the sort I'd usually try. Uptight. Proper. Seriously looks like he could use a good time." As for Farideh, "I was in High Reaches for two turns. Not sure know is the right word. She never really warmed up to me." X'vin's issues a little sneer for Edric without malice, testing the meat with a sound of appreciation. When he swallows, still all manners, "I'll miss this, if we're going to cut back on things, please tell Erinta not to make it this. It's too unfair to have to eat in the caverns all the time. Cold fishrolls and stale bread." There's a genuinely amused laugh for Z'riah's declaration, with another measuring look -- that turns, eventually to Edric with barely suppressed mirth. "I'm not interested," he says, nonchalant, and then lifts an eyebrow at Edric. "He is having a good time. If you iron his clothes with perfect creases, you make the rest of his day bright." His fingers touch the stem of his glass, without taking it up. "I wouldn't take it personally. She doesn't like me right now, either." "I assure you," the Steward replies in a smooth-as-silk voice that's just this side of a purr, "that you would not enjoy my idea of a 'good time'." A thin-lipped smile is offered to Z'riah, along with a slight motion of his chin to the plate before the greenrider. His spectacles catch the light in that gesture, briefly rendering them like mirrors. "I hope the food is to your liking. They do decent work here. Remarkable, but not exceptional." A pity, that. But, he will make due, as he has. "While I'm here, none of this will suffer, but I can't speak to what will happen when my contract is up." Not that he seems to have any feeling on the matter, either which way. "Although," and this is angled obliquely back at Z'riah, even if something of it seems meant for X'vin, "he is correct. If you do have a fair hand with ironing, I might well hire you to come out to Black Cliff to do that for me. Twice a seven. The laundresses there never seem to get it quite right." Nor do the ones at the Weyr, for that matter, but there's little he can do about those. "Yes, sir," says Z'riah for X'vin's lack of interest, and he lets it go, simple as that. "I can't really blame her for not liking me." But he doesn't explain himself. In part because he's coughing just slightly around his food like it might've tried to go down the wrong way, and he's looking at the Steward more than a little attentively. Distracted, even, by whatever he's deciding is Edric's idea of a good time. "Uh," he says lamely before looking down at his food. "Oh. Yeah. It's good. Really good." The greenrider is looking up at Edric again in the next moment, perhaps not sure if he's being serious or not. "I could do that. I mean... if you-- I'd like-- I know how to iron creases?" It's not a question so much as he's not sure if they're messing with him. X'vin says, "Faranth, Edric, you could at least try," X'vin scolds without precision for what he means. Sex, maybe, but he's laughing at the tuber on his fork and not clarifying. "There has to be something better he can do. Where do you come from, greenrider? Not Monaco," he waves his fork to cut that off at the pass, "but before that. Craft? Trade? Do you fight?" That's with a scoff, like he doesn't believe it for a second. "Or are you just pretty? It's an Interval; you must have hobbies."" "Mm." And that's for Z'riah's assessment of the food, though that soft sound betrays nothing of Edric's thoughts. He's focused on his meal, though the greenrider's stuttering response is worthy of note. Though the Steward does not look at him, his words are pointed: "You don't sound especially confident, greenrider. A pity." He takes his time with the next bite of steak, masticating it meticulously. That time allows him to level a look at X'vin, eyebrows raised in an expression that manages to be wholly - if subtly - incredulous. "It is a necessary skill. And it would make up for the ten percent reduction in his salary." One corner of his mouth twitches in a treacherous betrayal as he adds, "Of course, if you could be bothered to learn, I'd make up for your thirty percent." He looks between Edric and X'vin, but most of Z'riah's attention seems to be focused on the former. There must be something about the man that intrigues him. But he's clearly answering the bronzerider when he says, "I was a candidate for seven turns. Mostly did chores. Whatever was thrown at me. Ran messages, too. Paid attention to things people said. Be surprised what a man will say when he has his dick in your mouth." It comes out natural as can be. It's not till after he says it that he glances at Edric again, like he's not sure he should be talking like that in front of him. It might be more noteworthy that Z'riah cares that he might not like it, granted. "I can throw a punch. I can take a punch. And I know how to iron, sir." He's evidently confident about that part when he says the last to Edric. X'vin tsks gently at Edric's assessment, his sound much less ambiguous than that low mm from a moment ago. He doesn't counter the assessment of Z'riah, just spears another piece of meat and chews it while he considers the pair, reclined on his side of the booth. In the face of Edric's incredulity, he shrugs innocently, like a boy who has been asked a complex math question. Something in his smile flickers, though, at the final suggestion, and his smile pastes firmly back into place even as he rejoins, sharply, "Take Erinta with you. She needs to settle down before her looks go," and it carries no heat but an authority that thus far has fallen to the wayside. As for Z'riah, looking bored and unimpressed quite suddenly. "You'd be better off using your wiles in the Holds, I think. And listening, particularly at...we'll call it Ruatha River, Gar and Fort Sea, twice a seven each seven." He glances to Edric as if he might be looking for confirmation, correction, suggestions. "You can iron for Edric if he really wants you." And if Edric clears his throat just a little at the word "dick", well. So be it. Perhaps it's just a bit of something that caught curiously. "Proper creases," the Steward finally says when he's done with a bit of tuber. "Proper." And though his tone is even, there is a subtle vehemence to the word. The moment passes after he's taken up his wine. A swirl, a study, a sip. Blithely, "I'm sure some other Hold would be better served by her assets before they diminish." Another sip is taken and he listens, head tipped back just a touch and gaze tilted toward the ceiling. "Hm," has some shape to it and, in the end, he nods his confirmation. "If you require writing implements, let me know. I'll see to it that they're sent to your weyr." A beat. Then: "I suppose that might be a better use of your, ah- talents for now." Between the two of them, Z'riah's gaze is fixed firmly on his food now, even if he's not eating with quite the same appetite he'd started out with. "Yes, sir," is offered to both of them, though his gaze briefly flickers up toward Edric. He's not leaving until he's done eating, obviously, but he seems uncertain about being here now. So much for impressions, but at least he can avoid saying anything else he might regret later. X'vin sighs like he's suffering the worst torture, rolling his eyes at Edric. "See if I take an interest in your love life and future. You'll never have tiny, suited babies at this rate." He's doing his best impression of a silly old auntie in the caverns. "Back to the drawing board. Z'riah," to draw the greenrider's attention, even as he looks away expectantly for someone with the inevitable desserts, "Ruatha River. That is Hattie's home. Be careful there, be courteous. Be subtle, if you have it in you. I'd rather she didn't have cause for concern." Which suggests, in its own subtle way, there is cause for concern. "Still good?" That's for Z'riah. Edric does look at him - if only to catch that brief glance his way. It had better be is the implication; desserts are coming, indeed, on a small tray in the hands of the server from before. There is some necessary shifting of plates and bottles and glasses - which Edric handles ever-so-deftly - and the tray is settled just there as it ought to be. All manner of pastries and sweets are there, small portions meant to be sampled. "X'vin," bears just a trace of warning - or might, to anyone that doesn't know the Steward well. There's naught else to be said of his love life nor of the tiny, suited spawn that clearly exist only in the bronzerider's imagination. He's silent again, listening - and done with his meal, gauging from the way he's seated, with his elbows on the table and fingers steepled and resting at his upper lip. "I can be subtle when I need to be." Probably. Z'riah seems to think so, anyway, and one might hope the greenrider is self aware enough to know these things. "And Gar? Fort Sea?" He asks it simply, in case there's anything he should be aware of in either of those places as well. Z'riah has a single, simple nod for Edric, and his blue eyes stay purposefully averted from the Steward now. X'vin says, "Gar is close to my home. Edric can fill you in." That's with a sly, mean little smile for the steward, but at least he's not talking about children. He hovers his hand over the pastries, slowly circling before dipping his fingers for a cream puff. "Fort Sea," he rolls the words over his tongue, licks a bit of the cream off his chosen treat, "that's a treat. I hear there's nothing like a sailor, not that I would know. Farideh seems to think so," and someone may be pining a tiny bit over a silly foreign junior. "But their trade is important, anything that might shift the tithes."" That little smile is met with a barely perceptible flattening of Edric's mouth and a slightly more perceptible roll of the eyes. "Certainly," might indicate agreement, but there's clearly no desire there. That he will is not a point in question. And then it's sailor talk and the Steward purses his lips just a little. There's something to the look angled to X'vin, but it's difficult to read. Eventually, though, he drops his elbows from the table and takes up some morsel or another to eat. Slowly. Deliberately. And always, always with an eye to Z'riah. The name makes Z'riah glance at Edric again, but he looks away just as quickly, over at X'vin, then down at the tray. If he has comments on sailors, which would more than likely be crude if he did, the greenrider keeps them very nicely to himself. He waits for both men to take a dessert from the tray before he reaches for something, taking basically whatever's closest to him without much care for what it is. "Is there anything else, sir?" He's clearly fishing for a dismissal. "Nothing else," X'vin decides at length, after a time during which he ends up eating most of his pastry in careful bites to preserve the rest of the filling, biting around it for last. He does it with an eye on Edric, like he thinks it might bother him. "Welcome to Fort, Z'riah. And welcome to Flint. I'm happy to have you." That's a dismissal, then, he can take if he wants it -- even if X'vin's method of leadership never does lend itself towards anything more formal, despite his apparent primness. Of course, if Edric is bothered by it, he shows nothing of the sort. Either he's well-accustomed to the bronzerider's antics, or he's simply not bothered by that sort of thing. Following the dismissal, however - and before the greenrider can give a thought to getting up - he interjects, "Z'riah." The name, the weight applied, is purposeful. "Do let me know if you have need of anything in your weyr and I'll personally see to it that it's tended to." Matter-of-fact. Cool. And then there's a slight break in his demeanor, a thin smile - polite, perhaps a shade more than polite - and an echoed, "Welcome to Fort." "Thank--" Z'riah starts but looks, more directly now, at Edric. Probably something about the way he says his name. And the way the greenrider has been having difficulty not focusing on him in general. It keeps him in his seat a while longer, those words with that smile. A few moments too long, perhaps, before Z'riah clears his throat. "Yes, sir. Thank you. And thanks for the..." His voice trails off as he glances at the food, rising up out of his seat. "Thank you." Right. Z'riah looks between them again, awkward, then turns to see himself off. |
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