Logs:Turnday Reconciliation?
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| RL Date: 28 November, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taikrin just happens to invite Riorde for a drink and suggest a trip South on the day of Riorde's turnday. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day. |
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| There's an extra observer to the end of the Boreal drills today, big and hulking and brown and lurking on a lower ledge that is most definitely not his. And then, once he's sure that the weyrlings have been released, he interjects in an icy-hot gale wrapping around an image of Garden Patio Ledge. « Yours. She is to meet us. Here. » He withdraws with a sense of grumbling, and when he returns his tone is moderated /ever/ so slightly. « If she's not otherwise engaged. » (Szadath to Sforzath) Today, at least, everything seems to have been in order with the wing shadowing; even if some of the older riders grumbled, none of the weyrlings were left behind. Sforzath is invigorated rather than tired, buzzing with what can only be competition. An echo of this competitive challenge thrums through when he responds, after a pregnant pause. « Is she? » Images flicker of other weyrlings, other friends; a taunt, a tease. His interest is up, but he modulates his next response to sound belabored. « I suppose she can make the time. » And not long after, he delivers his rider: dark hair wet and skin pink from a hasty scrub, in a plain black tanktop with her nicer jacket thrown on over to cut the breeze on the short descent. (Sforzath to Szadath) Taikrin has put a lot of effort into looking like she didn't put in any effort at all: she's casually sprawled across one and a half chairs, at a particularly nicely situated table on the edge of the ledge, and casually sipping on a mug of dark beer. Szadath is not in sight-- presumably he's still up on his borrowed ledge. Still, perhaps he's keeping an eye out, because Taikrin is fast to notice Riorde and faster still to lift her mug-wielding hand in silent greeting. While Riorde comes up the steps, Sforzath wastes no time in removing himself to his ledge, which though not sharing the same view as Szadath, is /his./ "You've got good timing," Riorde greets as if she's unconscious of having been watched. She keeps playing nice as she pulls out another chair rather than depriving Taikrin of her footrest and asks a polite but pointless question. "Did I keep you waiting?" "Eh, you know. Ain't got much goin' on today." Taikrin waves her mug magnanimously at the empty chair, a smile playing around her lips. "How y'all likin' Boreal? Or is it Icicle today?" As if she didn't know perfectly well! "Good day for flyin' and drills, yeah? Hey, you want a drink?" A passing waiter catches her attention, and without skipping a beat she snags his attention and orders, "Gimme a whisky for our girl!" Curious and watchful yet smiling with which the same civil pleasantry she approached the brownrider, Riorde sits down and takes off her jacket, baring her shoulders to the sun. "Oh-- sure. Thanks." The order's already been taken, and Riorde's response comes after the waiter's already hastened off. "Icicle. They fly great, but they haven't exactly been -- they're playing with us," she modifies rather than speak too condemningly of the wing. "But the drills were good." "Eh, uptight assholes." It's Taikrin's standard dismissal for all the wings who aren't Glacier. "Sforzath likes drills? Ought to get him up playin' with Szad-- he's so good at it, you know? Glacier don't drill too often, but sometimes F'rint lets us play at leading a triad or wingsecondin'. Good excercise." She glances over at Riorde, her expression cagey, then asks oh-so-casually, "So, you got plans for your after-drill-business? Y'all're free for the night, yeah?" That dismissal certainly sounds familiar; Riorde's smile briefly drops into true amusement. She pulls back a moment later and answers as she adopts a more relaxed pose, putting one elbow over the back of her chair. "Sometimes. He gets bored quickly, so not if they're always the same." Looking at Taikrin, a flicker of interest cuts through her otherwise controlled expression. "We're free," she confirms, interpretation left up to Taikrin as to whether she's answering one question or both. "Hah! Glad to hear it." All pretenses of casual disinterest are dropped as Taikrin leans forward, expression intent. "Got to thinkin', me. Sure I must'a promised you a trip, sometime or another. How d'you feel 'bout takin' a proper trip down south? None of this weyrling exploration crap, a /real/ trip somewhere warm. With a beach. And a bar. /On/ the beach." She hesitates, uncertainty momentarily visible before she squashes it ruthlessly behind a crooked smile. "Maybe even invite some of your clutchmates, once we find a good spot? The cool ones, anyways." "Did you?" The point, of course, isn't whether Taikrin promised previously - she's offering now, and Riorde is visibly intrigued despite the offhand reply. Her drink's appeared, allowing her to prolong anything further as she weighs the offer, sizing up Taikrin at the same time. "Sounds like fun," she resolves after a long, potentially agonizing lull, a decision delivered with a smile that nevertheless holds something back. Taikrin's smile, grown thin with how long it takes Riorde to answer, brightens with triumph. "Got just the place in mind, figure, well-- Szad can ping up, uh, Ysavaeth? Or whoever else you want? That blue, what's his-- oh, right, Olveraeth?" Because despite her stalking, Taikrin really doesn't seem to know all that many of Riorde's friends. "Real laid back place, just outside of Southern. Used to riders floatin' around, but it ain't usually crawlin' with 'em. It's still--" Her eyes go distant as she taps her fingers, trying to count out hours. "-- pretty sunny down there, Szad says." Riorde isn't lingering over his drink, not when there's Southern sun in the offing. She doesn't quite toss it back like she's seen Taikrin do before, but it's still gone before long. "Why don't we go check it out first?" she suggests, trying to play it off casually though her regard is close and attentive. "Can give them a heads up any time - no rush, right?" Triumph! "Right, no rush!" Except that now Taikrin is definitely rushing to pop to shove her chair back and pop to her seat. A shadow passes overhead as Szadath carves through the air to land nearby in the bowl. "You need anythin' we can't pick up down there?" She is, apparently ready to go here and now; her gaze is likewise intent on Riorde, as if expecting the weyrling to change her mind at any moment. "Uh--" Riorde, caught off guard by Taikrin's suddenness, raises her hand and runs her fingers through her damp hair. "Just have to go get a helmet." Sforzath, apparently, is keen on this venture (a great deal more so than time on cold beaches on rocky abandoned islands) since he's quick to follow the bigger brown down to the bowl floor. "Just, um, show it to me and we'll meet you there?" Taikrin hesitates, just before pounding down the steps to the bowl floor, then flashes a bright smile. "Sure, no problem. Szad'll send it--" No sooner has she spoken then Szadath is sharing the image with Sforzath, of verdant jungle and soft sand and a cute quadrangle of buildings leading out to a colorful veranda of flapping cloth. "S'warm down there, don't go gettin' too bundled, yeah?" And then they go and get drunk. Presumably other people show up! |
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