Logs:Purely Professional
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| RL Date: 22 March, 2009 |
| Who: N'thei, Rimara |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 7, Month 4, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ) The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. Closing time. Only one or two patrons linger this late, most having stumbled out some time before the deep darkness settled around the Weyr, before the last effort of night to squelch the eastern pearl of dawn. One of the girls has dozed off in a booth, and N'thei's come around to rouse her with a quick shake, big hand to plump shoulder. "On your feet, love, we're done," he says with a habitual mixture of roughness and care, and she wakes with a pretty yawn before sliding out of the booth and wandering sleepily off to her bed. In a few more swipes of tables, in a few more counts of marks, he'll be doing the same. Rimara is used to being one of the last ones out after closing. She sweeps, dutifully using broom and dust pan to clear away sand, dirt or what have you from the floor. Since it rained, there's dried mud. As she works, she hums a lively tune; a song that someone with a guitar was playing earlier in the evening. When she finishes sweeping, broom and dust pan are returned to the back room. Mopping is left to drudges, thankfully. She comes out from putting away the broom, wistfully eyeing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey. Fingering marks in her apron pocket, she picks the bottle up, and asks, "How much for what's left?" of N'thei. "More than you can afford," he answers simply and reaches to pluck the bottle from inquiring fingers. N'thei, ever protective of his liquor, more likely to let the girls get fondled than the bottles. "It can't be that much," Rimara replies, eyeing N'thei as he plucks the bottle from her hands. "I made good tips tonight." It would seem she really wants a drink. "There's only a couple inches left." That mumbled as she leans against the wall behind the bar, arms crossed over her abdomen. She digs a hand into her pocket, pulling out a few half and quarter-mark pieces. "I know my money's good enough here." A grin. "If you won't sell me what's left, how about at least letting me buy a drink. It'll help me sleep." A glance encompasses the entirety of the closed-down room, the glowbaskets mostly lidded, the chairs now empty, the last people stumbled home, and then N'thei brings it right back around to Rimara. "We're closed." And he puts the bottle up on a shelf where it wouldn't normally belong, out of reach for better than half the staff, then turns to the task of unlocking the cash box. "Warm milk will help you sleep just the same and won't dirty my cups." "I'll wash the cup," Rimara says, but at this point it's more just teasing than anything else. She drops the money back into her apron pocket, watching N'thei as he unlocks the till. "Warm milk is awful, unless you put whiskey in it. Then it's tolerable." Amusement touches her tone. "No need to put it that high. No one but you or Anvori can reach it, now." Considering how much shorter than both men she stands, it's well out of her reach. "You know very well I'd not try to snitch a drink. I like my job and living too well for that." She chuckles. N'thei's money, his ledger, his glance toward the bottle in question is distracted by the former two. "Then only Anvori and me can reach it now." Because that's where he leaves it, now liberating a pencil from the margin of the ledger to scribble down today's date in one column, prior to counting out a night's take. A twitch catches the corner of his lips, some thought that dies unspoken, and has nothing to do with the bland comment that follows a few bland seconds later; "You talk about whiskey too much." "I'd rather be drinking it than talking about it," Rimara says, bluntly. "I like whiskey. Nothing wrong with that." She rests both hands beside her, leaning on the shelf behind the bar. She doesn't say too much more, allowing N'thei to do his figuring in peace. When he looks to be at a stopping point, Rimara steps forward, watching with interest. "So, what does a girl have to do to get a drink---wait for sunrise?" There's a smirk in the question. It's well after the middle of the night, it's money, it's going to take him a while. N'thei counts, re-counts, re-counts, then writes down a number. Some of the smaller part-marks get left in the box for making change tomorrow, but the bulk of the money goes in his pocket-- which wouldn't be the safest method of transport if he weren't the closest thing to an armed transport the Weyr's likely got. "Pretty much," he answers, utterly insensitive to Rimara's evident alcoholism. "Though about two o'clock in the afternoon would be better." The ledger closes with a loud clap between both his hands. "Two o'clock," Rimara repeats. "I'll remember that, then." A beat. "For future reference." The smirk on her face should be indicative that's she's not really very serious about much of anything right now. "You should get a musician in here. People really liked singing along with Ul'am tonight. Got them really stirred up and drinking. Not every night, mind you, but once or twice a week." It's only a suggestion, and she kind of tosses it out there, figuring N'thei will probably blow it off. "Singing makes 'em thirsty, and they buy more drinks." Two things, hence the two fingers held up now that he's put his work away. First, "Not paying someone to sit in here and play music." Second, while N'thei lifts the lever section of the bar that lets people come and go from the serving side to the patron side, while he waits for Rimara to depart from the business end of things, "Don't try to tell me how to run this bar, love." Rimara dutifully strolls out from behind the bar, pausing when she reaches the other side. "I'm not /telling/ you anything, N'thei," she says in a straight-forward manner. "I was /suggesting/. There's a difference." She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Nevermind." She takes a few more steps, then turns back toward N'thei. "I wouldn't presume to tell you how to run the bar anymore than I'd try to tell you how to ride a dragon. I was just being selfish. The more people drink, the more they tip." She shrugs one shoulder. "I'm mercenary like that." N'thei closes the bar symbolically, him on this side, her on that side. Ostensibly, it's because the bar could use a last wiping, because some of the prime liquor could stand to be measured before he calls it a night. "Lucky for all of us, I'm not," mercenary like that. "Not paying someone to sing diddies so you can get better tips. You want better tips..." He trails off with a shrug, with a hand opened uselessly into the air. Truth be told, short of breast augmentation becoming a Pernese possibility, N'thei has no idea how to improve a girl's charm. "That's not what I hear," Rimara says, the words out before she can stop to think. "I mean, that's what some folks say, that you only care for two things, and money is one of them." Her cheeks are a bit pink at having spoken so out of turn. "And, I'm not exactly flat as a board, you know. I get my share of looks, and not from the drunks, either." Maybe she's a little tired of being compared to the other girls who work there. "And my share of propositions---which I turn down. I'm not /that/ kind of woman." A pause, then, "And, yeah, I know I'd get more money if I was." A beat. "That kind of woman." There's a look N'thei's refined during his tenure as Weyrleader, one that, put into words, would most closely approximate "do you think I give a damn what people say about me?" The blandness, the failure to be roused, all encapsulated in dull gray eyes and unmoved expression. It plays right into his remarks, too; "Thank you for clearing that up, it was keeping me up nights, wondering if you were that kind of woman." "Oh, I can imagine," Rimara snaps back, her own eyes heated. "Sarcasm is the tool of a man who's too lazy to be witty," she adds, crossing her arms over her abdomen. "How can you let people think you're just some dumb brute, when it's readily apparent you aren't? A dragon would never choose someone who's so totally without redeeming qualities." She makes a noise that almost sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. "Doesn't anything ever get to you?" "Have you met Wyaeth?" If ever there were a bronze to prove that statement false... N'thei distracts himself with a sudden look at one of the pricier bottles, frowning while he measures the remaining liquid along the length of his thumb. "Things get to me. Think that bartender's been using this instead of the cheap shit for mixing," for example. When he puts it back, it's with the same frown still worn, and all likelihood that he and the new bartender will have words in the morning. Rimara looks at the bottle in question. "Didn't notice him using that particular brand, but he /is/ a mite free with the bottle if it's a pretty girl ordering." She looks a little apologetic. "I was gonna mention that to you, but I got distracted." There's a pause, and she bites her lip. "Don't know if you care, but he likes 'em young and drunk, and he's not above having a drink on his own. I just assumed he paid for it like the rest of us do." "And, no, I've not met Wyaeth." N'thei, disparaging, "So you're a rat." It's hard to do right in his book, and he'd likely have accused her with much the same expression had she not given up the new bartender as he does for her being so forthcoming. The rest of the bottles get a bit more attention, now that this little tidbit's come to light. Cheeks flush lovely colors of red and pink. "I'm not a rat," and this time there's anger behind the words. "I suppose you'd like it better if I kept my mouth shut and let get away with it?" she retorts. "Well, next time, I will---and you'll probably fire me for /not/ being a rat. You don't give anyone a break, do you?" She takes a deep breath, and you can hear the number counting in her head. Eyes close for a moment, then re-open. "I don't know why you seem to dislike me so much. I've only ever tried to be pleasant to you. I've never cheated you, and I've been honest with you from the get-go. I know I'm a nobody, but I'm still a person." N'thei can't see the flushing, with his back half-turned and his attention on the bottles, but he doesn't have to see to recognize the tone for what it is. "This is all there is, darling. You're trying so hard to be my friend, but you never stopped to consider that this is as friendly as it gets." With few exceptions-- a certain fondness for one or two of the girls, comraderie between a handful of his wingmates-- there's not much evidence to indicate he treats anyone any differently than he does Rimara. "Don't get mad at me because you set your expectations too high." Rimara doesn't quite know what to say to that. Her forehead creases as she studies N'thei, but she remains silent. "Faranth knows why, but I like you," finally comes out. "You've never given me a reason to, but I do." She shakes her head. "I suppose you'll laugh, now, and think I'm pretty stupid, but---" Rimara shrugs now, one shoulder lifting then dropping. "---that's how it is. I just want to be friends with you, N'thei. That's all---and not because you're the Weyrleader. That'll probably change someday." "And what? We'll have drinks and play poker?" N'thei laughs a derisive sound through his nose, shakes his head at Rimara's follies, and turns to lean his weight on his hands on the edge of the bar. "Most of my friends are men, love, because there are very few women I respect enough to bother with. A barmaid who talks too much, who tries too hard, who has no redeeming qualities does not make the cut." No note of apology, only a shrug to end-cap the explanation. "Find someone else to be your friend. All I am is your boss." There's not a lot that can be said when things are laid out that plainly. Rimara's expression runs rapidly from amazement to shock to a mask of total neutrality, all in the span of a few seconds. She's silent for several minutes, probably trying to gather what composure she has left after being emotionally stripped naked. Lips compress into a thin line. Shoulders are squared. "No redeeming qualities," she echoes softly, one corner of her mouth lifting in a grim smile. Another moment is taken, then Rimara nods. "Message received, N'thei." She looks at him for another moment, then shrugs. Picking up her satchel, she slips the shoulder strap into place. "Guess it's a good thing I found this out before I did something really stupid, huh?" A jaunty two-fingered salute is given N'thei before Rimara turns to leave. "Have a good night, Bossman." N'thei, familiar with the routine responses he has the pleasure of drawing from unsuspecting victims, looks unaffected by the change in the woman's demeanor. He stays leaning on his hands, the only alteration to his expression coming as a light looking smile that could almost be interpreted as pleasant-- were it not for the fact that no pleasant expression belongs on features as hard as his. Guess it's a good thing? "Isn't it just. --Sweet dreams." Perhaps it's a good thing Rimara has already turned her back and doesn't see that almost pleasant expression. She's working her way through the tables, toward the patio exit. Light rain splatters on the exposed portion of the ledge, but it doesn't seem to matter to Rimara. She moves out of the exit without a backward glance. Her erect posture and carefully controlled steps might be an indication she's putting the exchange out of her mind. Like it never happened. After all, that's the easiest way to deal with being an unexpected victim. |
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