Logs:What Do You Look Like?
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| RL Date: 19 June, 2014 |
| Who: Valenros, Barnabas |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A grumpy Valenros meets a jovial Bones. They talk weyrfolk. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 1, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr 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.
Bones comes in offering hearty slaps to his own exposed arms, forcing bloodflow back up to the skin by giving himself a sequence of stings. "Woo! Nippy!" Loudly announced to nobody and everybody all at once. The bartender continues on undaunted by Bones' entrance, even as the big man approaches the bar itself with a few slaps at his cheeks to warm them as he had his arms. Doing his best not to speak over the singing, he mimics the act of drinking for the tender, who gives a nod and returns with a mug of the only thing that the gardener ever drank. Klah. "Hey, sing the one about the uhh, the holdbred farmer and his runnerbeasts again? That one always makes me giggle like a little girl." The bartender keeps right on singing, louder even - perhaps a little tipsily, but hey, who's counting how many drinks he's had today? Valenros groans and puts his head in his hands. "Why.." he grumbles "are you ENCOURAGING him!?" His bloodshot eyes lift from his palms, his eyes narrowing on the newcomer, his mouth twisted with irritation. "Earlier he was breaking glasses. He's completely foxed. Completely. As if he needs someone to tell him to keep screeching at the rest of us," the holder grumbles, releasing his glare on Barnabas. He takes his glass of whatever-it-is and swallows a mouthful, before slamming the mug back down and resuming his idle finger-drawing on the tabletop. The smile Bones had aimed at the bartender fades as he turns to the source of the complaint, eyeing the stranger with a curiously raised eyebrow and parted lips. After only a second of silence, the big grin comes back out, and Bones approaches the table with a few swift paces. "You..." he begins, pausing to grab the top of a chair and giving a little spin so he can sit backwards at Valenros' table. "...Picked an awful strange place to be if you've got an aversion to drunk folk, ha!" His mug is set at the table so that he can lazily droop both of his arms over the back of the chair, his whole body slouched forward. "What's your name, kid?" Drunks annoyed by other drunks, that's something new, or not. "Valenros," the younger man says, drawing out the last syllable an unnaturally long time. He sits up abruptly, regarding Barnabas across the table with a bit of apprehension. "Who are you?" A more appropriate question might be 'why are you sitting at my table?' but he either doesn't care or is too drunk to care. "It's usually not so.." He's cut short by the bartender hitting a high note, forcing a wince out of the holder. "..noisy. Can't even think with all that racket. Can't understand these damn weyrfolk." His head drops to his hands again, buried there for longer than may seem necessary. "Cheers," he mumbles finally, making a hasty grab for his drink. Bones grins through everything, giving the simple answer for what could have been a more complicated question. "Bones. The Gardener." When that high note is hit, he can't help but narrow his eyes a little as his eardrums are momentarily assaulted. Somebody from across the bar does their job for them by yelling out for the bartender to shut up. Bones doesn't seem to notice any of it as he lifts up his mug to tap it in against the side of Valenros' own. "Weyrfolk eh?" He takes a drink of his klah, then lets his tongue snake free to lick his mustache clean in one not so subtle swipe. "Not from around here then?" Valenros watches the gardener over the rim of his glass, his gaze contemplative now, though he still has the overall look of someone inebriated. "A gardner? You don't.. look.." He flounders about for a word, compressing his lips before he utters at last, "..like one." Yelling just fuels his dislikes and makes him hunker down in his seat, a frown etching into his face. "No, thankfully. They're a strange breed. I'm from Winter Ridge Hold, Tillek area. What about you? You don't look like you belong here either. Or," brief pause as he eyes Bones, "a Hold." Tattoos and dreads and all that. The smile plastered across the unlikely gardener's face opens up enough for a laugh to spill out. "Hahaha! Don't look like a gardener or a holder eh?" Both of his palms go to the back of his head, sitting up a little taller in his seat to show himself off. The muscled, grinning inkbeast looks Valenros up and down as best he can given the table in the way. "You look exactly like a holder. So tell me, honestly. What do I look like?" "Of course I look like a holder. I am one," Valenros says quite plainly. "But you.." He continues to frown, dark eyebrows knitting together. "..you look like one of those exiles I keep hearing people talk about. What I can only imagine an exile of any sort would look like." There's a quick beat before he leans forward, his upper torso above the table. "Where does one even /get/ markings like those? They're certainly.. ah.. unique." He's wise enough to bury his face in his mug this time, slowly sipping whatever poison he chose for the day. Bones unfolds his arms from behind his thick skull and reaches for his klah, taking a more reasonable sip this time so that his tongue doesn't have to snake out and snatch up what his facial hair catches. "Exile?" Looking up into the corner of his vision, he ponders it for a few moments before giving a shrug and a smile. "Close! Real close! You could say I was a uhhh, open water merchant turned... involuntary mine worker." There was a wink for the admitted holder, as if the titles were too subtle to get without a non-verbal hint attatched. "The ink's from all over. If you know the right kind of scum, y'can always find somebody to shove some needles into 'ya. Ha!" That last answer draws a bit of a revolted look from Valenros. "That sounds disgusting. I'm not sure I would want to.. ah.. do.. that.. but I'm sure it was.." He falls into an uncomfortable silence, staring at some of that ink on the gardener's arms. "What are you doing here.. now?" In this bar, in this Weyr, or both? It's a loaded question, perhaps more profound than he even intended. He leans back then, letting his hands drop into his lap. Scratching at his beard, there was a little bit of time taken to ponder the depth of the question and just how much of it to answer. "Sometimes it's nice to have a good change of scenery. Y'know, to see how much of a place you bring with you. To see how much of you is you." Bones actually takes a moment to look up at the top of his vision, eyes darting back and forth to double check if his words made any sense. Ultimately, he decides they do with a satisfied nod. "Don't worry kid. Y'get used to the dragons and the self-importance pretty quick. Just remember that underneath, ain't nobody that much differant no matter where you go. 'Least that's been my experience. Well, well, enlightening indeed. Valenros looks like he's giving all of that some thought, his brown eyes downcast. That's a short-lived emotion, his frown returning as he gives Bones the good ole side eye. "I can't say I agree. I prefer holders to these.. people." He gathers up his glass and his youthful disillusions, giving the gardener one last look. "I guess it was nice to meet you. Uh.. safe travels to wherever you find yourself going.." He's already retreating when his hand lifts in a weak attempt of a polite goodbye. "Hey, I ain't tryin to convert you to anything. I'm just sayin..." As Valenros stands, so too does Bones, the height difference forcing his gaze a bit downwards to keep up eye contact. "... the booze ain't gonna make this place any more comfy. Might as well try and trick yourself into having some fun, Ha!" With one hand bringing more klah to his lips, the other waves back at the retreating holder. "Yup. Safe travels 'Ros." And with that, he's back to the bar, already flagging down the bartender for another klah, and another song. |
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