View source for Logs:When the Boor's Away, the Bronzerider Will Play

{{Log
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|type=Log
| who = R'hin{{!}}A'gon, R'hin, Tayte
| where = Garden Patio Ledge & Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Savannah Wing comes in for drinks, R'hin and Tayte ensure the brandy is of appropriate quality.
| day = 13
| month = 11
| turn = 33
| IP = Interval
| IP2 = 10
| gamedate = 2014.01.21
| quote = "I imagine the boor hires those for their ability to... ''cater'' to the drunk and handsy."
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = Anvori, M'kris, Maiga, Oriane
| ooc = 
| icons = r'hin.jpg, tayte smile.jpg
| log = '''Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

''Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.

''Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.

''An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

''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.
----


It's quite late, and yet a group of new arrivals has appeared, laughing and chatting. From the talk, it appears that Savannah wing is fresh off their regular weekly card game up in the rider's lounge -- which judging by the ribbing that one of the older greenriders is getting, a certain A'gon won. This, of course, means he /pays/, as the group claim table and chairs for an after-party of sorts. "Wine!", "No, beer!" A snort. "Whiskey!" The debate's still in progress and R'hin, trailing behind the rest, doesn't seem inclined to intercede for the moment. He's moving more gingerly; there's a fairly fresh and impressively sized cut across his temple, neat little stitches suggesting a patient healer's hand at play, though he makes no effort to hide it, or the bruising.

Late is a good time for drinks. The Monocoans aren't the only ones that think so, but the hour for 'hoppin' bar business' is passed, meaning that the staff has dwindled in kind. It's true that Tayte's face has been less commonplace in the bar in recent months, owing to her 'delicate condition', but she still picks up shifts here and there. The condition might seem less delicate now that it's obvious to all under the sweater cinched beneath her breasts before being left to drape across her rounded belly, and certainly the way she's leaned over one of the tables, wiping it down with a rag doesn't lend to the idea that she's anything less than up to the job. It doesn't take long for her to make her way toward the debaters, warm smile on her lips to take drink orders.

The Monacoans are too laissez-faire by nature to be in any way concerned about Tayte's status or her ability to bring them alcohol -- R'hin's already lifting a hand to get her attention, chuckling darkly as he focus sweeps over the group. "There should be some brandy on one of the top shelves; turn eleven or twelve?" He guesses, looking back towards Tayte quizzically. This has everyone cheering and agreeing -- except A'gon, who is groaning. "I won't have ''any'' winnings left." "That's the whole point!" "Serves you right for cleaning out everyone else." R'hin's turning around one of the chairs and with a ginger exhale, starts to sit, pauses, and decides: "I'd best come in, make ''sure'' you get the right one."

R'hin's hand draws Tayte's ocean gaze and he becomes the recipient of her smile, one that is augmented by an arched brow as he instructs her. There's no visible confirmation to his quizzical look, but there is visible amusement as the wing banters, "Oh, do," The bartender insists when the bronzerider voices his intent. "Just what it is you wanted might slip right out of my mind the moment I turn my back. And goodness only knows I mightn't even be able to make the trip with all those glasses and not drop anything." Her alto is lifted in good-natured jest, but still as she turns to head inside she wiggles a finger back over her shoulder to beckon to the man. Come hither, bronzerider.

In turn, ''she'' gets a bemused look; a sidelong regard from R'hin that is perhaps ruined by the wince and abrupt slowing of pace, though not for ''her'' sake. He sucks in a slow breath, presses a hand over his middle, and continues until he falls into pace at her side. "Well, if you want to be self-aggrandising, don't let me stop you. Would it help," he pauses, gaze going contemplatively skyward a moment, "Or hinder my reputation if I admit it was your ability to pick exactly the right Turn that had me pacing your movements? Because believe me, I'm in ''no'' shape to gallantly catch you, or offer you a helpful hand, or dive to catch a precious bottle of liquid, even if I were so inclined. Which I'm ''not''. Should I send someone else, instead?" He stops, hands spreading, as if waiting to see whether that's a suitable arrangement.

"I won't." Tayte flashes a pretty smile his way, though at least, for the moment, she doesn't go on about herself. "I think I'd prefer you think I was too delicate than too stupid to be up to the task, but I don't anticipate being in need of any catching services just now. And I'd never abuse a brandy so good by dropping it." Her lips widen until dimples are peeking out with her smile, "You do look a little different than your dragonpoker card, if I recall it correctly. I'm sure it's just the new ''look'' you're trying out there," Not the number of turns that have passed since he would have appeared on such a thing. The new look gestured to being that gash and bruising on his forehead.

"One can never be certain," R'hin says, though it's less apology and more explanation: "I imagine the boor hires those for their ability to... ''cater'' to the drunk and handsy." It's more distracted than heated, and it's the latter that earns actual ''interest'', before he chuckles darkly. "I ''do'' have the curse of having grown more handsome," the ex-Weyrleader allows, purposely misunderstanding, his pace slowing further as they reach the bar; he stays on the customer side, though his gaze shifts towards the shelves behind the bar. He leans against it, exhaling slowly. "Top shelf," he directs.

"Oh, of course. I know all of my interview questions for the job were about how I feel about whiskey breath and fingers finding inappropriate parts of my anatomy," Tayte's sarcasm is neither harsh nor overwhelming, but neither is it subtle. Perhaps she was hired for her ability to be pleasantly amused which is, thus far, unflappable. She slides behind the bar and past the other 'tender on duty. "I hear that's a common curse to bronzeriders. Woe to the women of the Weyr," The blonde feigns seriousness well as she turns to look where he's directing. "Goodness, but there are so many choices I never noticed here before," All innocence and mockery as she lets her hand slide across the labels, looking at the man not the alcohol, "Say when."

"It is a key element of the job. Maiga enjoys that part -- especially when the men realize she'd much rather get felt up by the brunette girl next to them." This makes R'hin chuckle in reminiscence, though he does pause to nod towards the other bartender. "It's something I have to live with," he acknowledges, rubbing at his chin briefly, lips twisting. He goes silent, concentrating on the more important part: selecting the best bottle. "Keep going," he says, waving her towards the right. "Keep going. More, more." There'll be a point at which it becomes obvious there's no shelves left to choose and he's just playing, but his expression remains calculatedly earnest.

"Clearly this Maiga has good taste and a lot more sense than some of us." If Tayte had stuck to brunette girls... well. Tayte's hand finds the end of the shelf and smile turns to smirk. "You're going to leave your 'mates awfully thirsty out there with games like that, Wingleader. But maybe you're the kind of bronzerider who prefers to watch women work from behind." This, as she turns to trail the opposite hand across the bottles until she finds one that matches the description offered earlier. At least from behind she still has her figure! Once the bottle's in hand though, she's bringing it over to the counter for him to inspect, eyes watchful even if her expression continues to be otherwise amiable.

"I assure you, my gaze was fixed on the bottles," R'hin says with a perfectly straight face, and indeed, he ''sounds'' convincing. But then, he's a bronzerider, so it's a good bet even if he pretends otherwise, he's ''looking''. But it's her eyes he's watching once she reaches the ground safely again, and then her hands, for that bottle, reaching out for it as carefully as if she were handing over a newborn child. "Mm," he examines the label critically, then lifts the bottle a little to squint at the contents, before nodding satisfactorily. "It'll do," and he chuckles, now, "Though A'gon's going to-- well, let's just enjoy it, shall we?" his gaze goes momentarily distant, so brief as to be missed if one weren't used to dragonriders. Moments later the greenrider is striding in, looking questioningly at R'hin, who says, "I think this will do. How much?" that last is to Tayte, but his gaze lingers on A'gon, with the clear intention that that's where ''she'' should look, too.

"I'm sure. And that's why you'll tip me well." That's what tipping pays for, right? The looking? This time, the smile has a flash of teeth. "Or your wingmate will." Already Tayte's hands are busy pulling out a tray and placing the appropriate number of glasses on it. "I'm sure I can settle the price with him since everyone knows he's treating." That smile flashes to the greenrider, and it is a dangerous smile because it's just so disarming. To R'hin as she reaches to attempt to reclaim the bottle to have it join the glasses on the tray, she murmurs, "It's not the best available in the Weyr but in here, it'll have to do. If you're ever looking for ''better'', I'm your girl."

"You mean ''A'gon''," R'hin corrects, albeit under his breath moments before she agrees. A'gon soldiers up, leaning on the bar next to R'hin, glancing from his Wingleader to Tayte, to the bottle, then back to Tayte expectantly. With a reluctance that is not exceptionally obvious, R'hin gives care of the bottle back to Tayte, then leans casually against the bar to watch the negotiations. Or at least, tries to -- there's a wince and a sharp breath, and he straightens, covering it with a casual, "Mm. I'll keep that in mind. Now; don't you dare try and give us tourist prices. We're ''locals'', and I know the going rate."

Golden lashes flutter at R'hin innocently, "Well, you wouldn't want him to get off too easy, would you?" is the last remark she makes before turning her smile to A'gon and negotiations begin. She ''doesn't'' give them the tourist price, but her asking price might be a ''smidge'' higher than it would be if, say, R'hin himself were purchasing the bottle. No friends and family discount for A'gon. It's during negotiations that the other bartender moves up beside Tayte, murmuring an offer to see to taking the tray out, which the blonde considers a moment before nodding her agreement and smiling her thanks. Once it's settled, she's turning back to R'hin, "So before you go and claim your portion, I have to ask," A finger directs to his forehead, "And-- ribs, too, if I had to guess... Who's daughter did you sleep with?"

A'gon, meanwhile, practically chokes at the initial price, blanching and looking at R'hin, before he sets himself in for negotiation. He's stubborn, holding out for a better price, but he could do better: R'hin clucks his tongue once as they shake hands on the price. Reaching out, he claps A'gon on the back, "It's painful now, but it'll be worth it, man. That stuff will leave us bright-eyed tomorrow, not like that other rubbish." A'gon grimaces: "It's getting so a man can't earn a living from gambling, R'hin," with a last, somewhat accusing look at Tayte before he follows the other bartender outside to rejoin the rest of the wing. Watching him go, R'hin's chuckling under his breath. "Just a nobody from Monaco," he answers her question with the same casual sincerity as earlier: it ''seems'' truthful enough. "You should see the other guy." ''That'' makes him laugh, or more accurately, ''cough'', fingers tightening against the bar for a moment as he half bends over, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Tayte's smile for A'gon is cheerful as he goes, and she even goes so far as to wiggle her fingers at him in farewell. The look she gives R'hin is polite acceptance, but then one doesn't get to hear as much as one in her position does by prying for answers. She watches the man carefully as he coughs, but he's not the first beat up bronzerider she's ever seen, so unless there's a lung on the floor when he's done, she's only watching ''in case''. "I'm sure it was a fight for the ages," She forces as serious look, lest he think her in jest, which, of course, she is. "Good that it wasn't bad enough to put you out of commission. What would Monaco have thought if you were irreparably damaged while in our care?"

"Yeah, it was... some fight," R'hin finally says, a hint of dryness in his rough voice as he straightens. It's the latter that makes him snort with amusement: "I'd expect they'd think it's par for the course, really. Oriane is fairly practical and unforgiving about such things when it comes to me." It's her continued interest that has him straightening and moving to stride away, like he has no wish to pursue the conversation. "I should get out there -- before they ''finish''," a nice bottle of drink is a suitable excuse for a smooth departure from the topic and he plans to take full advantage.


}}