View source for Logs:Poker With X'lar and Viviana

{{ Log
| who = N'thei, X'lar, Viviana
| where = 
| what = 
| when = Day 11, Month 9, Turn 16, Interval 10
| gamedate = 2008.06.10
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = 
| icons = 
| log = Well after the dinner hour at the 'Reaches, the first chill of autumn chasing away the outdoor revelry of summer; the Snowasis is one happening place to be. A once-Harper, now-greenrider with legs to die for sits on the end of the bar, strumming a gitar, singing a bawdy song and breaking the hearts (and loins) of the men clustered around to hear/gawk. Knots of people gather around the tables, the bar, the corners, the walls, everywhere, the room alive with conversation. A big clump of that conversation comes from one of the curtained alcoves, open now so people can see the five-handed poker game in progress, complete with girls hanging on backs of chairs, sick amounts of money piled in the middle of the table, glasses and mugs and the Weyrleader. "Every time, F'rint. Every damn time;" so says N'thei while he drags over a pile.

X'lar walks into Snowasis, taking his gloves off one by one, first the right, then the left, and blinks a couple times at the level of activity in the Reaches cavern, as if surprised to see so many people. He takes a moment and orders an ale to a passing server. "One glass to start," he calls out. He turns at the sound of the Weyrleader's voice, his eyes tracking him down, practically hunting the tall man down. He pauses and lifts his chin, steeling himself as he walks toward the Weyrleader of High Reaches. When he's close enough, Xie calls out: "You winnin' or losin', sir?" A brief smirk plays on the teen's face before glancing once to F'rint and then to the server who brings him the ale. There's a moment where he relishes the smell of the booze before downing some in a big gulp. "Or just staying above water by keepin' even?" the Istan concludes, looking to the others who play with N'thei.

The other men seem to bear their fortunes with good humor; really, the marks are not entirely in N'thei's keeping, so either the game is new or the others play as well. With mirth, with fingers set to stacking the marks in successive rows; "Winning, lad, always winning." He looks up briefly to register familiarity with X'lar, a face he recognizes, a question he finds funny. "Gents, we are most honored tonight--" He pitches his voice above the spill of conversation around the table, the giggle of girls that attach themselves wherever marks are flowing. "--to have among us the future Weyrleader of Ista. Show him all due respect." Which amounts to a sputter of laughter, a clap on the back from the near-at-hand F'rint, a reach across the table for a handshake from one of the other players, and a conclusion from N'thei; "Sit down, my boy. Let's see what you're made of."

X'lar snickers suddenly as he hears N'thei's initial comments, asking him: "Future Weyrleader of Ista, eh?" There's a grin as he moves to join N'thei and the others. "Glad you think so highly of me!" comes the younger bronzerider's next remark. Laughter resumes, however, at the back-pat from F'rint and the hand-shaking resulting from the taller man's comments. "First a rider, then 'leader, eh?" X'lar asks him. "Sounds about right." There's another smirk in N'thei's direction before nodding eagerly enough. "Always one to spread the marks around," X'lar tells him. "I suppose I could play a couple rounds." He grins once more to the other players, saying, "Unless of course, you're -scared- of a kid takin' all your marks."

Good-natured grumbling rises around the table, scared indeed, oughta tan this kid's britches, but it's N'thei who sets to work collecting the cards and shuffling them up. "So says your bronze, future leaders he tells Wyaeth. Ambitious, neh?" His smirk is subdued, his attention keen for a moment on this bold youth, then he taps the table in front of X'lar with his index finger. "Need to see your money, boy, before you get a deal. We play Bitra-hold-'em. Familiar?" Cards whir, the old men ranged around the table grin, all eyes on this upstart.

"That's more me than him, I'd say," X'lar tells N'thei, frowning faintly. "The beast's lazy as can be, when it comes down to it," X'lar tells him. "... but give him an idea and he'll run with it as far as he can, just to see it through." There's a snort there as he hears N'thei's next question, his hand digging into pockets to cough up the marks. "Familiar enough," he tells him. "Had a nanny who liked playin' cards when I was nearly too old to be nanny'd." The Istan pauses and then glances back to the older men, chuckling darkly. "That enough, eh?" X'lar drawls out. "I thought Malsaeth had stopped talkin' to yours though. He hadn't said anything to me anyways."

"Apparently they had a bit of a falling out about greenriding Wingleaders." N'thei's eyes cast across the table, one of the men wears the knot of a Wingsecond threaded green, and a warning look passes between them-- leveled with mirth, mind, but warning still. "Ante's a thirtysecond, blind's a quarter and a sixteenth to F'rint and T'pal." At which point everyone tosses in marks and cards start to scatter across the table, with N'thei continuing as he deals; "Been told that good leaders don't want to win, guess that bodes well for you if not Malsaeth, neh?"

X'lar snorts aloud as he hears N'thei's initial remark, saying, "Greenriding Wingleaders... That'd be mine." X'lar taps his rider knot before commenting: "Got tapped recently. Can't believe Mal would talk to Wyaeth about it. Then again, there ain't any other bronze he can talk to about this kinda thing. At least, not one in Ista." There's a smirk there as the Istan teen watches the cards being dealt. "Would I really want to be a leader at this age? This soon?" X'lar asks N'thei, his voice barely reaching the Weyrleader. Serious. For the moment, anyways, and then there's that easy grin as he tosses in the marks needed for the round. "Don't have anything -against- greenriders period," X'lar remarks, glancing toward that Wingsecond. "Wyaeth's the one that started him on this green kick."

N'thei concedes with tolerant distance, "Sounds like something he'd do. Wyaeth. Best not listen to him if you can help it." Big shoulders shrug aimlessly, unconcerned with what his dragon gets up to in his off-hours, and he throws down five cards in the middle of the table-- flop, river, turn. "Would you at that, lad? Paired with Griere." He settles back in his chair to utter the Istan Weyrwoman's name with enigmatic inflection, gives nothing away of his opinion on the woman. Around the table, the others pick up the threads of their old conversations, but N'thei seems happy enough to make quiet chat with X'lar while he peeks under the corners of his two-card hand.

"Seems like A'son has his hands full with Griere," X'lar tells N'thei, arching his brows. "Seems like -V'lano- has his hands full with Griere. I'm just in the background, see." The Istan rider pulls his body back some against his seat, as if to show himself fading into the background. "I'll make my move when I feel it's right," X'lar tells N'thei, staunch. His eyes flicker toward his own cards, showing no reaction at them. "But it's the queen that decides, eh?" he asks the Reaches 'leader. "Teonath chooses Wyaeth, Aerianth chooses Nikoth. Both Reaches bronzes, too, at that." A pause as he looks from his cards to N'thei again, asking him: "You breed weyrleaders here, sir?" A brief chuckle after the question, amused.

N'thei flickers an eyebrow upward, a sweep of amusement; "The queen that chooses. So they say." Eavesdropping a mite, F'rint-- right-hand-man-- coughs to cover a laugh and throws in to start betting with a heavy hand. Round the table, one man to the next. "Nothing to do with Reaches breeding. A'son only went after Ista to prove he's no less a man than I am, fairly sure, redeem his masculinity after throwing in the towel here. Ask him sometime, see if he doesn't admit it to one of his own riders. Just don't tell him I put you up to it." Fast-wink. "You in?"

X'lar flips a mark in at N'thei's last question. Gesture enough to show X'lar is still in. "Throwing in the towel, huh?" X'lar asks the other bronzerider. "That because he was mad at losing Teonath's, or simply because he thought he couldn't hold it together enough to last in a weyr where Teonath had chosen Wyaeth instead?" Another arch of his brows, curiousity striking him. "I'd say he redeemed his masculinity enough, being 'leader of Ista. Can't say I find fault with anything he's done. But then again..." He trails off, a smirk quickly snapped off in F'rint's direction then N'thei's, concluding, "He hasn't done much of anything, has he?" Playing a dangerous game, Xie looks to his cards again and then back to the others.

"Kid--" That's T'pal's beginning, reaching across the table like he'd snag X'lar by the arm and school his attention, but N'thei waves it off with a low chuckle, a let-it-be pass of his fingers through the air. "Hasn't he? Don't keep tabs at Ista, but the only complaints I've heard seem to be more of a personal nature. Personality conflicts. Got an issue with your Weyrleader, son?" N'thei's prompt is benign enough. Around the table, F'rint raises again, someone folds.

X'lar looks back to T'pal, smirking back at the other rider. "Who said anything about issues with my Weyrleader?" X'lar asks N'thei, looking to T'pal again. "He's an honest man. A good man. Can't say I know anything more about him than that." He adds more marks to the pile as F'rint raises. "Is that enough though?" X'lar finally asks the Reaches Weyrleader, serious for a moment despite the game-playing. Or perhaps because of it.

Still in, N'thei matches around mark for mark still, leans to add near to X'lar, "Mind yourself. F'rint doesn't understand the value of marks, no family, no girl, dresses like shit, no use for money." It's a stage whisper, one meant for the whole table, and F'rint calls; just the three of them in for the flop, first three cards turned over. Back to the matter of leadership, N'thei leans into his chair again to elucidate, "Seems you have a well-formed opinion for someone still wet behind the ears. You tell us, lad; is being a good-man enough though?"

"I'm askin' you," X'lar asks N'thei. It could be considered a challenge. He throws in, still in the game. "Is it good enough? Do you consider yourself... a good man?" If N'thei's remark of having a well-formed opinion was a compliment, there's no recognizable return on it from X'lar. Instead, the Istan takes one last look at his cards, back to the flop, waits for the turn. If it comes. "You really want my opinion though?" X'lar ends up asking, canting his head as he studies the other men, then back around the table to N'thei.

N'thei calls, and so the turn-card. It's while turning the card that he raises cool eyes to grin across at the Istan, to answer, "Matters what I consider myself, does it." With a squint, a trick closing one eye, he shakes his head and dismisses that to the negative; doesn't. "We really want to hear your opinion, lad, all ears." And money. Except F'rint, who folds on sight of the turn-card with a disgusted grunt. Betting falls to X'lar.

"Can't say Malsaeth's the only one lookin' for an opinion, I guess," X'lar answers N'thei, grinning back at the taller man. X'lar raises afterwards. Not by much, but the Istan raises nonetheless. "Oh, I'm sure you do," he tells N'thei, answering him. "Can't say I'd say it with so many people around. So many ears. So many eyes." He glances to the turn and then back to N'thei, telling him straight forwardly, "Can never tell what people'll do with the right... or wrong... information."

"Lad." N'thei begins it seriously enough, it would appear, lowers his head so that his own words won't leave the two of them, get lost in the din of the surrounding room. "Even if anyone but me would care what you thought of your Weyrleader, no one here sober enough to remember it is even listening." The other men at the table, either inebriated or distracted, certainly aren't. And N'thei stalls answering X'lar's raise, busy leveling him a be-realistic look.

X'lar gives N'thei a level look of his own, telling him: "Hey, I know I'm just a visitor to this foreign land. And I know even the biggest drunkard could likely use whatever information I say this evening against me. Or against A'son. I'm just going to say that my Weyrleader's a good man and keep it at that." Diplomatic-like, ain't he? X'lar grins briefly again, saying, "Besides, haven't heard your own real opinion of him."

"If I show you mine, you show me yours?" N'thei drags his fingers up the side of one plume of marks, clacks the wood with a tic tic tic all the way up to the top. There, his fingers rest, and he smiles across at X'lar expectantly. There's a lot of money already in that pot; would his drop in the bucket even matter at this point?

"That sounds about right," X'lar tells him, grinning. He looks to the pot once and then back to N'thei, asking him, "Did I tell you about that nanny who taught me?" The Istan grins, somewhat wider now. "Bitran, she was." He pauses then looks around at the table then back to N'thei again, saying, "Not that it matters." It's almost said like a flick of a wrist. Indifferent. "Wouldn't put it past anyone to cheat." And then that grin comes into play again, saying, "After all, who would want to lose against some Istan kid?"

Grinned; "Do you think I need to cheat to win?" N'thei sets down a hefty portion off the top of his stack, taps the uppermost mark with his index finger, topples the tower in a clatter of wood. "A'son's a good man, as you say. He's had my back on more than one occasion, and I'd have trusted him with it again before they flew Aerianth. Loyalties shift, as they should, and it's Ista's luck to have him." Compliment or complaint; half-dozen of one, six of the other. "To you."

Viviana strolls from the patio ledge outside.
Viviana has arrived.

X'lar grins back at N'thei, telling him: "So I hear. About you and A'son. Good buddies. Good to hear." There's a pause there as he looks to N'thei's stack and then back to N'thei himself. "Should loyalties shift?" X'lar repeats, turning the question to the Weyrleader: "How so? Just because the man's in Ista and you're here, you can't have that budding, blossoming relationship with the man?" A quirk of his mouth turns into another grin. "Should I fold then, I came in awfully late in the game. Can't say I'm surprised by that though. Big boys." He nods toward those who have already folded then back to N'thei, asking the Reachian: "I can play with them, can out last them, but who says I have to outlast the biggest boy of 'em all?" He's not raising, nor doing much of anything now. There's a look back to the cards on the table, the marks, and then back to N'thei. It's almost as if he's asking N'thei what to do. Or not. "Raise," X'lar finally tells him, grinning once more.

"To you." N'thei lets the words hang unqualified for a spell, only looks crisply across the short space between his chair and X'lar's, his tone doing most of the work for him: whether by size or status, he's used to people doing what they're told. The Snowasis does fine business tonight, crowded with people, but little of that business can be any finer than the cluster of people at the Weyrleader's table; a pile of marks, discarded cards, half-empty mugs, and only X'lar and N'thei left in the game, by the looks of it. "Is being a good man good enough?" In case the question got lost in the shuffle.

The diminutive Greenrider named Viviana makes her way from the bar, carrying a smaller mug of ale with her. Stopping midway to chat with a older rider, she smirks, looking over in the direction of the card players. "Ah that's what the fuss is all about.." With a nod to her friend, Vivy skirts past and makes her way close to the card table, not interrupting, choosing to lean against a wall to watch.

"Never," X'lar tells him. After all, N'thei divulged his answer on A'son, it only seems right. Right? "It ain't never good enough to simply be a good man. Got to have a lot more than good in you to lead." There's a pause there, a chuckle even from the Istan bronzerider. Soon X'lar adds succinctly to the Weyrleader: "Good ain't good enough." Even if he does hear Vivy's voice over the other voices in the Snowasis, it doesn't look like the Istan's going to let his eyes off his cards. Or N'thei's, for that matter.

N'thei makes it easy. "Fold." He seems, in a way, disappointed-- but he has lost a ridiculous sum of money all at once, and just tossed his two cards onto the table dismissively face-down, so perhaps that's the cause of it. "There you have it, gents. Ista's future Weyrleader bests the Reaches' current, sad state of affairs." He raises a shrug amid a few surprised-sounding chuckles around the table, able to pick out Viviana leaning against the wall. "Girl, come here and redeem my honor, win a round with his lad, neh?" He draws a small portion out of the remnants of his mark-towers, holds it out in the curve of his hand toward the greenrider.

Viviana quirks a brow. "Me? I don't throw marks about too easily, sir. And I am not foolhardy enough to admit when I don't have any experience.. in such games." She shoots a look X'lar's way but does take a step closer to the game. "Future Weyrleader of Ista and just out of the barracks? Isn't that a tad ambitious? High Reaches duties, X'lar and my regards to your lifemate." She takes a lazy sip of her ale, still standing nearby.

X'lar looks to N'thei, not seemingly surprised by the man's folding. "Way to give a man a big head," X'lar tells N'thei, smirking back at the Weyrleader. "Or a false sense of security." Something like that. There's a pause as he collects the marks from the game, his eyes counting quietly. And then he hears N'thei's next comments to Viviana, his head turning over a shoulder to spot her. "Evening, Vivy," X'lar calls out, a brief smile tossed in her direction. "Ain't my words, it's your Weyrleader's, Viviana," Xie comments, chuckling quietly. And then soon after: "Ista's duties to you and yours."

"They're not your marks, so who cares where you throw them?" N'thei drops the collected pile to the edge of the table, where it shall stay unless Viviana (or some other opportunist) comes along to collect it. The rest of his marks into his purse, he smiles helplessly at X'lar's assumptions one way or the other, all the world like he lost fair-and-square. "Come back again some time, lad, play twice a week, always looking for people with more marks than common sense." He stands, gestures to his vacated seat for Viviana's assumption, will be gone presently.

Viviana leaves the tokens to be taken by others and settles in the chair with a half-smile in thanks to the Weyrleader. Gone are the coquettish ways. "It would go to better use to someone who has an interest in the game but thank you all the same." Looking over the table at the young Bronzerider, she asks. "Should we call in someone else to try their luck or are you too good at the game for others to chance it tonight?"

"Wouldn't mind the company," X'lar tells the Weyrleader simply, smirking briefly. "Faranth knows I got more marks than common sense. Or maybe I did. One of your greenriders would know." There's a pause and he glances once more to Vivy, then back to N'thei, telling the other man: "T'was good to have played with you, sir. N'thei. I look forward to the next challenge." There again is that smirk. Viviana's remarks make the Istan chuckle, saying, "I'm easy. Doesn't matter to me." Ah, the ale. The forgotten glass of ale. He takes a long swig of it, quiet.

N'thei's gone, entrusting Viviana to regain his battered pride, entrusting the others-- F'rint, T'pal, and so on-- to settle the bill. Works out well.


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