Logs:What Would Zia Do
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| RL Date: 27 October, 2014 |
| Who: Jadzia, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jadzia needs work but R'hin is willing to help. |
| Where: Bar outside of Tillek |
| When: Day 7, Month 2, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Bristia/Mentions |
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| It's shortly after the morning's drills with Polaris that E'nest -- recognized immediately as the Savannah bluerider who helped incite some of that mess down south -- approaches Jadzia. "Come for a drink," he says, "It'll be fun," he says, ever enthusiastic and not a little bit overbearing. While he's awfully sure of himself, he's also about her age and pretty good looking (except he knows it, too), and so it's with barely a pause for an answer that he heads towards Zaltoth, the blue soon sharing the destination with Savroveth: Tillek Hold. If Jadzia didn't recognize E'nest as a Savannah rider, there's a decent chance she would have blown him off. Nothing personal, probably. She might not have the same brand of confidence, but her issues certainly have nothing to do with her looks. And there are more lucrative men worth of her time, to be sure. But Jadzia doesn't turn down the drink or the possibility of fun and, soon enough, there's Tillek hold under their wings. The blue lands adroitly in a small clearing just off the road just outside Tillek, landing with an effortless and alacrity enough to suggest this isn't the first time he's done so. It'll be a bit more of a squeeze for the brown, but he doesn't have that much more length on him than Zaltoth does. Stashing all his flight gear near a rock, E'nest whistles casually as he leads them down the road, asking her about this and that; casual, interested chatter about Polaris (suggesting they couldn't handle the weather down south, so everyone says), and about her Savroveth, too. It's a squeeze, to be sure, and Savroveth is not such an experienced flyer (or lander) as the blue, but he manages. If not entirely with his usual finesse in the air. Jadzia follows suit, though, and walks with the bluerider along the road, even refraining from pulling her flask out from wherever it's stowed until they get to the promised drink. She's not terribly talkative, though more willing to talk casually about her dragon than Polaris. E'nest seems content to make up for it, prompting her with questions about her dragon, about weyrlinghood, about Quinlys and the other weyrlings. He doesn't seem awfully dissuaded by her lack of talkativeness, to be honest. As he walks, however, his voice takes on a slight accent, more Tillekian than Monacoan, relaxing into it with a change of posture, more slouched and lackadaisical. The bar they end up at is just outside the Hold itself, filled with local farmers and visitors, not so much the sailors. It doesn't take him long to find a seat, and less time to order a pitcher of beer to share between them, settling down by gulping back his first in one hit. Shortly after, he says something about needing to drain... something, and takes off. The bar is just starting to fill up with farmers used to early morning starts, grabbing a quick drink. The talk is light, though there's some discussion of the storm the next table over where a pair of farmhands back-and-forth in between catcalling to the waitress. Over the other side there's an old man, his chin dropped into his chest, seemingly asleep with half a beer in front of him. There's no doubt that Jadzia observes these small changes. She might have been expelled from the guard, but it wasn't because she lacked the general skill set. She doesn't comment on it, though, just talks to the degree he manages to get out of her, and walks until they get to the bar. She's quick through her first drink. When E'nest dismisses himself for personal business, Jadzia's attention wanders in silence, looking and listening for something of interest while she pours herself another. Then settles back, by all appearances at ease with the strangers around her. The farmhands are chatting back and forth, easy enough to listen into; they aren't exactly keeping quiet. "This is why women shouldn't be in charge," the blond says, knowingly, "Because they just give in the moment something emotional happens." The taller one snorts in response. "How do you think it'd look if she told the Weyr to get lost after they sacrificed a queen for them?" The first shrugs. "Better a queen than another ship." His friend gives him a really? sort of look, then gestures for another beer, momentarily distracted as they each try to slap the waitress on the rear. Oh, and that creepy old man across the way is looking at her. "Better emotions than a man who only thinks with his limp little dick," speaks up Jadzia like their conversation definitely needs her uninvited input. "I hope you're tipping her well." She glances at the waitress, but her attention doesn't linger on the farmhands for very long. It wanders off, passing over the old man to find him looking at her, and she holds his gaze rather than moving on, eyes narrowing just noticeably in thought. Both farmhands give Jadzia a shocked look; as much surprised that she was listening as that she comments. There's a low exchange, the pair snickering as they glance pointedly at the brownrider. The waitress gives a passing shrug as she departs, muttering, "They're always like that. Don't take offense," as she heads back towards the bar. The old man, too, keeps Jadzia's gaze; his is pale, amused, familiar somehow. Jadzia's gaze shifts away from the man long enough to look at the waitress. She doesn't respond, though, and she doesn't give the farmhands anymore obvious attention. She has better things to do, like finish her drink and pour another and glance off in the direction E'nest had left before her gaze finds its way back to the man. Whether she recognizes him or not, she gives no indication, just takes another drink. That's what bars are for. Also, for perving. That's what the old man seems to be doing, his expression shifting into a bit of a leer, moments before he rises and unsteadily makes his way over. "Well, what's a pretty thing like you doing here?" the old man's asking, though his voice doesn't sound quite croaky enough to be genuine. He slides down into a seat far-too-close to Jadzia, though this close she can recognize R'hin underneath; can hear the low-throated familiar laughter of the bronzerider. The farmhands are laughing; maybe they're used to seeing the old man hit on young, pretty girls? "Well," begins Jadzia as she takes in the old man from this closer perspective. "I was hoping to find some decent company. But pickings are looking a little slim." Is he included in that? Quite possibly! The brownrider is still ignoring the farmhands, though, so they're definitely included. "Usually a man brings a drink when he comes to talk to me." Never mind that she already has one. "Seems you got plenty. Enough to share with an old man?" R'hin doesn't wait for her assent, just pours some of the beer into his own glass. He leans closer to the brownrider, in what might look like a leering fashion, murmuring, "Getting on well with the locals, I see. Zia needs a little less of Jadzia in her, perhaps." He's definitely amused, though whether the laughter's strictly at her or just his general countenance is anyone's guess. There's no complaint for him helping himself, anyway. Jadzia leans a little closer than might be appropriate for the typical girl being leered at. "The locals are charming," is said with no little amount of sarcasm. "What do you suppose Zia would do, hmm?" It's genuine curiosity. Like he might know this girl better than she does. After several gulps of the newly acquired beer, the old man casually stretches out an arm to rest against the back of Jadzia's chair, allowing him to converse in a low voice. Nevermind what it looks like -- it looks exactly like an old man chatting up a pretty girl. "What does Zia do?" the Savannah rider pauses, amends, "What does Zia do, which would make her non descript to men like that?" the briefest of nods in the direction of her companion. "Do they see waitresses for who they are? Or would she prefer to be respected, a Journeywoman of repute? Either is just as valid, so long as she is comfortable with the choice." Her fingers drum along the mug of her beer while she considers what R'hin is saying. It takes her a little while before she allows, "I don't think I could pull off respectable. Not yet." Maybe in the future. But she's not unaware of her weaknesses, so that should count for something. There are a few more moments before she sighs to herself and says, "Zia is going to be one of those annoying little nice bitches, isn't she." You know, the sort that doesn't call other women bitches. There's a half amused sound from the old man's direction, muted by the swallow of liquid as he lifts the glass to his lips. That certainly doesn't mean R'hin's amusement is any more dimmed afterwards; he reaches over to pat her arm for a moment. "Blisteringly nice, even. That old harper saying about syrup and vtols...?" But he's never one to lavish praise on a harper for long, adding: "Though there's something to be said for the Jadzia's of the world..." a noise like a sigh escapes him. "We're going to have to practice with Zia, aren't we?" He doesn't genuinely look that put out -- in fact, a sharp-eyed guard-trained gaze might well sense anticipation in the subtle lean of his body towards hers. Poor Jadzia. She glances at R'hin woefully, but nods her head with something like acceptance. She can probably deal with Zia. But it won't be easy. "Would it surprise you that I have tried to practice? It's a lot easier when the other person is being nice." Her gaze flickers briefly around toward the farmhands. Not like those guys, presumably. They're some of the sort that made Jadzia who she is today, after all. R'hin does look surprised, actually -- and pleased, too. "Have you?" he grins at her. "Well, you'll find all sorts in all places -- though usually not so nice people hanging out in bars, mostly." Pale gaze follows hers, briefly, towards the farmhands, giving a brief shrug of shoulders as if dismissing them. "Just rest easy in the knowledge that when you leave here, you'll be Jadzia, but they'll still be assholes working in dirt." "I've spent a lot of time in bars," she says, lifting her beer up for another drink. Which is to say, she's pretty aware of the sorts of people that call them home. Or home away from home, anyway. She was one of them! Might still be more than she'd like to admit. "What happens if I end up liking Zia more than Jadzia?" Like this is some very real possibility. Given R'hin's congenial demeanor turns oddly serious, the Wingleader seems to think it a very real possibility, too. "Sometimes we take the better aspects. Sometimes the worst. That's why it's good to spend time with people who know Jadzia. It's... a good reminder," he says, distractedly, reaching for his beer, gulping down the remainder of it. "Savroveth will help," he adds, almost like it's an afterthought, but there's a note of certainty there that suggests it's deliberate. Jadzia tilts her head to look at the bronzerider and there's something in her expression that doesn't come to voice for whatever reason. She looks back down at her beer and repeats, "Savroveth will help." That's obviously helpful, but the moment passes. "So. No swearing. No sex. She could probably stand to own a dress." Ugh, dresses. Her distaste for them is clear on the blonde's face. "What about drinking? Do nice girls drink?" R'hin seems content to let the moment pass. There's a clink as he flicks a nail against his glass. "Not beer certainly. Something fancier, with bright colors and a fancy name, and umbrellas or... things. Bristia can help you with finding a dress you can live with. Or dresses," a flashed grin, as he adds, "I'm happy to watch you model. Hold up score cards. The male perspective is very important," he's chuckling under his breath, leaning forward to refill both their glasses, all but finishing out the pitcher. The farmhands are joined by a few other locals, and the noise nearby is getting a bit more rowdy, making their low talk a little easier. The waitress looks at Jadzia funnily, but otherwise leaves them alone. That distaste for dresses shifts easily into a distaste for girly drinks. But Jadzia won't complain if she can still manage to drink a little bit while also pretending to be nice. If she notices any funny looks from the waitress, she doesn't show it. "Are you quite sure your pervy old heart is up for watching me twirl around in dresses?" That could be from what one might usually expect. Or from laughing because Jadzia is twirling around in dresses. "My pervy old heart would never turn down such an opportunity," R'hin declares, solemnly, pressing a hand over his chest for a moment. "And believe me, I am totally up to the task." A hint of huskiness in the timbre of his voice, pale eyes lingering on her. He's definitely not laughing at the concept, no, but the intentness of his gaze suggests he's imagining it. "Mm," and now a hint of his usual, amused smile, "I think Zia could well be a fall girl. Lots of oranges and yellows to draw attention." "I'd love to run it through its paces." His pervy old heart, presumably. This is the more natural act, the way Jadzia says those words, voice pitched just so to suggest quite clearly how she'd intend on doing so. "I think I might trust Bristia's judgment over yours. When it comes to color, anyway." Any woman's judgment, possibly, over most men's. "Are you sure I shouldn't wear white?" Her voice is just noticeably laced with sarcasm. "You should try not to oversell it." R'hin's, presumably, talking about her wearing white, but it could just as likely be a response to the former comment, given his only other reaction is a low-throated laugh. "Besides, little about the fully innocent is wholly attractive. A little color, or at least gray, is much more... tantalizing." "I don't know if there's enough white in all of Pern to make me seem fully innocent." The quirk of a grin Jadzia tilts toward R'hin is wry and aware. She moves a hand to touch his leg, not quite a pat, "We'll try all sorts of colors. I'm sure you'll let us know when we've found the right one." Her hand lifts away again and her body language shifts into something that's practically demure. Or would be if he didn't know her better. Another noise issues from his throat, this one a little less innocent, too. "They'll be plenty of time for that," R'hin finally says in a low voice, setting down his now-empty glass, his gaze flicking down to her hand until she takes it back. His gaze shifts to Jadzia's face, and he gives the briefest of snorts. "You'll be a devil in a red dress, Zia." He starts to stand, staring down at her a moment, pale eyes intent. "You really ought to slap me and storm out. In spirit of... who we are pretending to be." The rest of her beer is swallowed and then Jadzia is setting the mug down, glancing at the bronzerider as he starts to stand. "I'd be delighted," she says in a voice that sounds like one might expect, though her expression looks agitated by contrast. The brownrider rises with a louder curse and something like 'how dare you'. The slap is, well, maybe harder than it needs to be. But then she's storming out, so she doesn't have to deal with stilly things like consequences just now. There's an upside to that -- R'hin doesn't need to act like it hurts, when it really does. He rubs his cheek and flexes his jaw, looking only a little bit sorry. The farmhands are howling with laughter, and the waitress looks pleased, and they're all watching the brownrider storm out. Not long after, feeling apparently sorry for the old man, the group of farmers beckon him to join, and soon raucous laughter comes from their area. |
Comments
Edyis (14:23, 27 October 2014 (EDT)) said...
This was just awesome to read, I really enjoyed that we get to see more of the fight in Jadzia, but also see her working to become part of the group in her own way.
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