Difference between revisions of "Logs:Dizzy"

Afternoon is heading steadily into evening at Telgar Weyr, bright winter sunlight fading into dim, cold twilight. It's been cold all day, but now, without the sun, it's downright bitter: there are few people inclined to be out-and-about now, that's for certain. Glow-light spills out of the living caverns and into the bowl, the usual evening hubbub well underway. For those less publicly inclined, Telgar's Ale Cellar - a dimly lit bar - is also open for visitors, and a fair few Telgarians are already bypassing the caverns in lieu of quieter repast.

With Jo and Tacuseth being in the area, for once the convict pair takes an odd stop instead of returning to their home: Telgar Weyr. She wore the day's activities in the dust on her black riding leathers and her wind-blown dark hair, dismounting from the blue so that she could turn and check on his leg bandages. She was taking a risk flying as it was since the check-up with Leova, but some things just couldn't be rescheduled. Certain employers just didn't understand the meaning of downtime due to dragon injury. So, once she was at least satisfied that the blue was sound, now she straightens and gives the bowl and its inhabitants a long, leisurely study. Dark eyes already flit over where the living cavern obviously was towards the Ale Cellar bar that she sees a few going in. She drops her goggles and pulls free the gloves, leaving with her dragon as she wordlessly makes for the bar. As is custom for her, her gait is subtly changed to something less sultry and more fatigued - as if she had been doing her assigned Weyr duties all day. She was knotless, but it didn't matter. Once she was among them, she could effectively blend in if she so chooses to.

It smells of hops and barely, inside the bar: this bar is fully functional, making as well as selling at least some of the beverages on offer. Couches line the walls, as well as a collection of barrels and stools that provide more seating throughout the middle of the room. There's a low buzz of activity in here, too, but it's early, yet; it'll be a few more hours before this place really begins to come alive. A curvy barmaid is on duty behind the bar, presenting using a dishrag to polish glasses, before storing them in tidy rows. A group of riders plays at darts off to one side, whilst others sit - some in twos and threes, a few on their own - at various locations around the room. No one pays any heed to Jo.

When Jo enters, she pauses to taste the air with a barely there smile. Used to seedy bars, this place was otherwise appealing already. Eyes take in the couches and counter, and naturally for her she lingers on watching the curvy barmaid before checking the rest of the place out. She moves out of the way when a pair of riders walk in past her, and she makes way towards the bar - looking as casual as she could. Since it's a little warmer inside the further in she goes, she unfastens the front of her riding jacket and lets it open free to reveal a white tank underneath, and once she's at the bar, she tries to catch the curvy barmaid's eye with her own along with a rakish, disarming smile. All the while, she's watching, not missing a thing.

"Evening, sweetie," says the barmaid, glancing up in time to catch Jo's smile. It's hard to tell whether speaking familiarly is part of who she is, or if she's simply assuming she knows the bluerider already. Whichever it is, she's cheerfully friendly. "What can I get you, love?" As she talks, she continues to work, picking up another beer glass and polishing it with surprising diligence.

"Evenin' yerself, darlin'," Jo says as she leans her wiry body up against the bar counter, her gaze going about them before she returns to checking out the barmaid. She's not hiding that fact, either. "Give me the best ya got. Something strong. Hard. Expensive. I'm good for the charges." Her voice, beside its usual cocky bravado, alters something neutral in accent and calm tones. She turns slightly to take in the riders playing darts, then those few huddling together in different parts of the bar before she turns back and adds in, "And hey. When does this place really get goin'?"

There's sultry flirtation in the blonde's gaze as she glances back at Jo, and when the bluerider orders, her smile turns very nearly cocky. "Coming right up, love," she says, exaggerating her movements as she turns, bottom wiggling, to fulfil the order. It's a smooth, peaty whisky that she slides across the bar towards the bluerider, a few moments later. Lingering, her teatowel thrown over her shoulder, her position adjusted so that her cleavage is on display, she answers, "Give it an hour or two, then it'll be jumping. Personally, I like the quiet. More time to talk to people, you know? Not a regular, are you?"

Jo meets that smile from the barmaid and her head turns just a fraction when she turns away to make her a drink. No, she's totally not staring at her ass. Right. Just as well her gaze is on her face with the glass is slid towards her, the convict rider raising it in toast to her before downing a good portion of it. She nods to its taste and quality, seeming to find no fault to it before she says, "Keep that bottle handy." Dark eyes dip openly towards that welcome display of cleavage - Jo could never turn away from eye candy, after all - and she responds to her answer on the place with a smooth, "Before an hour of this stuff and I'll probably be jumpin' about here, myself," she's leaning an elbow on the counter, all charms and smooth moves. Laughing at her own cheesy joke, "And no, I'm not a regular. I get around, though. Like to see the sights, taste what needs tastin'," and with just a hint of suggestion - as if those words from her lips weren't pure suggestion itself - her study flows that look all over her. "Like to keep myself well-traveled, well-informed," she continues to say in her low voice. Head turning a fraction to keep an eye on the entrance while she drinks, "So what's yer name?"

The woman's giggle, and the sparkle of amusement in her gaze, are the immediate response to Jo's suggestiveness, and come complete with dimples. "You're terrible," she says, as she takes that dishcloth back into her hand, and mimes waving it in Jo's direction, as if to fend her off. It's hardly serious, though: not when she's smiling like that. "I always did want to travel. I haven't been further than Telgar Hold-- that's where I'm from. Originally. I'm Daizanne. People call me Dizzy, sometimes. Say I make them Dizzy, and what can I do but accept it? It's not my fault." There's another of those smiles, utterly unselfconscious.

"'Terrible' can be dashin'," Jo returns, draining her glass and setting it down audibly for Daizanne to refill. "Telgar Hold, huh? Very well met, Daizanne. Dizzy," she uses the other given name, finding amusement with it. She gestures with her chin sharply before adding, "Name's Jo. Wayward traveler. Ya seemed to managed to get here, from the Hold," she notes, settling more comfortably as she slides onto a stool and seats herself. "Ya made me curious, though. How ya make folks 'dizzy', hmm? Since it's not yer fault?" Casual conversation is something the bluerider falls into easy in as she gives a leisurely sweeping glance about them, her voice staying low and inviting.

Daizanne unstops the bottle with a low popping sound, and refills Jo's glass, laughing merrily. "Terrible is delightful," she promises, low-toned and honeyed. "It's a genuine pleasure to meet you, Jo. I do so love to meet new faces." She sets the bottle down again, stretching in a way that pushes her cleavage out further in front of her; it's flirtatious, and somehow less tawdry than it could be, if she were less obviously comfortable in her own skin. "It's not my fault I make people imagine things," she says, in that low, sweet tone. "Why, there was a foreign bronzerider in here just the other day, and he might have been visiting the Weyrleaders - or was it one of the Juniors? I'm not sure - but it was me he couldn't keep his eyes off. Sweet man, that one."

"And I'm delighted the more ya speak," Jo continues to up the charm, taking the refilled glass and briefly lifting it to her once more before taking a healthy swallow. She matches flirtations with her own, lips curved into a smile for the bold moves Daizanne was making while she talked. It's a wonder the convict rider could pay attention at all, what with all the cleavage on display, but she manages to. She must have had ample practice. A brow lifts with suggestive interest when she talks about people imagining things, leaning forward with a long finger idly tracing a circular pattern on top of the counter. While doing so, her dark eyes pinned on the barmaid, "Was he hot? The bronzerider," she clarifies, bearing teeth in her affectious smile. "He must have been real hot, right? He probably couldn' put a candle to you, though." Bringing that glass to her lips, just shy of drinking from it, "So. What makes ya think he was visitin' the Weyrleaders and all?" she asks, probing further while lacing in charming comments.

More dimples. More smiles. Daizanne picks up another glass to polish, though more slowly: deliberately, all long fingers and exaggerated movements. "You're sweet," she says, in a way that suggests 'sweet' isn't really the word she's thinking of. "And so flattering. He was-- cute. Curls; I do like curls in a man, don't you? I always want to bury my hands in them, muss them around." Her sigh is contented. "Anyway," she says, moving on, "he said he was here on important Weyr business. And then I heard a rumour that one of the Weyrs was hoping to get one of our goldriders to transfer there, and be the new Senior? So it seemed like maybe that was what he was here for. He's probably a good person to do the negotiating. I mean, if I were Torani, I don't think I could say no to him!" She giggles.

Jo laughs to the compliment, looking as if she's heard that before despite her saying in return, "I can think of any number of words to describe myself, and I don' think 'sweet' is really in that category." The look she's giving Daizanne isn't sweet at all. It's maybe more predatory now. However, she turns to the response on the foreign bronzerider and shows her interest without overtly doing so - more like, some randy woman sharing gossip about men with the other. Nothing more. "I can go for curls," she relates with a nod, taking a short drink. "I can go for a lot of things, really" She falls comfortably silent the more Dizzy talks, a brow lifting just a fraction at the news spilt on transferring goldriders and senior Weyrwomen. What Weyr right now doesn't have a senior Weyrwoman established? "Seriously?" she puts forth when she's fallen too quiet, tipping her glass back to drain it completely. "I must have been out of the loop." All that 'travelling', see. "This particular Weyr...doesn' have a senior of their own? That's not particularly normal. Although," and she leans forward a little, dropping down her voice as if what she was going to say next was scandalous, "I've been hearin' things. Curious things. A certain Weyr in the mountains, even..." Pause. "Torani." That name doesn't ring a bell, and she looks expectantly towards the barmaid.

Torani? "The Weyrwoman," prompts Dizzy, with a vague flutter of her hand as if to encompass the whole Weyr. This whole Weyr. "I don't know the details," she continues, shrugging easily, and showing off her dimples again. She seems to like predatory. She seems to like a lot of things. Refilling Jo's glass, unasked, she adds, "Someone did say something about, well, our juniors are of the appropriate line. Their queens? I don't really know; I'm not much good at details." Details: so hard. So complicated.

(To Jo): A vague recollection, lingering at the back of your consciousness: didn't... Teris get transferred to Telgar? And didn't Iskiveth produce a queen?

"That's right," Jo seems to recall the name now with a snap of her fingers. Her smile, one of realization. "Torani..." The name is caressed as she seems to be thinking back, her gaze wandering away from the barmaid momentarily while her glass is getting refilled once more. Then, as if suddenly something gets recalled to mind, the bluerider turns back with a finger in the air and brows furrowing as she states, "Ya know...isn' one of them Iskiveth's? Ahhm...Teris?" she hazards a guess, as if the memory was murky at best. "Pretty blonde, pale of skin...transferred to Telgar from the Reaches, I think." She lingers on the so-called memory a little longer before she shrugs and takes up her glass. "Don' recall. I think it's her, and if so, didn' she produce a queen, darlin'?" She lingers on the barmaid's dimples, even, not really letting off her predatory smile as she seems right at ease in mixing flirtation with serious gossip.

Daizanne confirms Jo's recollection with a nod of her head, one that sends blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. "Teris! The ice queen. I don't especially like her, but Prinavi's nicer. She's the younger one, I think maybe she Impressed from one of Iskiveth's clutches, but I don't know. That's before my time. There definitely hasn't been one in Turns and Turns. B'lerin promised me there would be one, when he brought me here from the Hold, but there wasn't, and there still hasn't been; that's why I'm still working here. B'lerin swears there'll be one before I'm too old, but if not... well, I like my job." Dizzy watches Jo through lowered eyelashes, sultry despite the... frankly dizzy pace of her conversation. "That bronzerider who visited asked about Teris, too. I think he must have known her."

Finding things confirmed, Jo leans back so that she could angle was return study on the blonde barmaid while she mulls over her dizzying words. More names being dropped and filed away, the bluerider murmuring, "Ya wanna be weyrwoman, perhaps?" she asks playfully then before she adds, "Though, ya don' really need a queen to be admired by bronzeriders, darlin'," her continued flirtations working to make it not seem like she was phishing for information. Well, the flirtation was real enough, with her being who she is. "Looks to me like yer doin' just fine on yer own. Even to catch the eye of a female or two, I'm guessin'." Chuckling low then, taking a long drink, "This foreign bronzerider. He got a name? Maybe I want to hit him up and run my hands through those delicious curls of his, too." Pause. "Perhaps after I run my fingers through yers, of course." Her voice drops to something husky, letting the strong drink will her libido while still maintaining a level alertness for the information given.

"I want people to take me seriously," sighs Dizzy, but not without a grateful, flattered smile. "I want to be someone important. Someone who matters. Not just... Dizzy, who smiles at everyone." She seems genuinely unaware of Jo's motives in this conversation, and the admiring glances she keeps aiming at the bluerider? They're definitely real. "I don't lack for company. It makes me happy. It'd be nice to be someone special though." This time, her sigh is dreamy. "He didn't tell me his name. I should've asked; I wouldn't mind see him again." She doesn't seem to have a problem with making eyes at Jo while talking about past exploits with this unnamed bronzerider. "He was so tall. I think he nearly hit his head when we went into the storeroom. I could take you there. We could--" She lifts her brows, enticingly.

"My advice from experience, darlin'?" Jo lingers on her drink, giving Dizzy her full attention. "Use what ya got to get folks to take ya seriously. Don' got nothin'? Get somethin'. Whatever it takes. Worked for me." Advice from a convict that's likely seedy words itself, but she seems to be serious about it. So corruptible. Long fingers rap against the counter as she doesn't remember the man's name, but she now knows the man is very tall and that gets filed away. And of course, the touch of suggestion about a storeroom draws low, rumbling laughter from the bluerider, the woman draining her glass in initial response before she sets the empty glass down and reaches out to draw her fingers down the barmaid's arm. The trip was certainly fortuitous. "I'll make ya feel real special, Dizzy," she says now, her gaze challenging her for that offer. "Ya'll find me to be a very generous woman." Brow lifts and she gestures with her chin over her shoulder as her free hand pulls out the right amount of marks to cover the drinks as she puts in, "Just so happens, I'm suddenly in the mood to check out storerooms in foreign places." That's if, the barmaid had nothing more to say.

"We have... lovely storerooms," says Dizzy, with a sultry flick of her hair, as she indicates the door behind the bar. "I just know you'll make me feel... amazing. And you? Won't forget me anytime soon, I promise." Evidently, she's entirely unbothered at leaving the bar unattended, even if there isn't presently anyone waiting for their drinks. Over her shoulder, as she leads the way, she adds, "Do you want me to call you Weyrleader, too? Like the bronzerider did? I can call you anything you want, baby. Do anything you want." Anything. Apparently.

Up off the stool, Jo's already sliding bare and scarred arms and shoulders from out of the tight confines of her black leather jacket as Dizzy talks and shows her the way. She seems to wear the marks like a badge, her swagger set in bare shoulders as she passes a eye behind her over any of the patrons that should be noticing. Once that jacket was off and draped over one arm, she's around to the other side of that counter in moments and drawing a hand down to the small of the blonde's back as she leads the way. "I just bet I won'," she murmurs on nor forgetting the barmaid anytime soon - and if she catches that brief little pause upon hearing what the bronzerider wanted to be called, well, it's being covered up with sultry laughter. "Weyrleader. Yeah, I can do kinky," is all she says to that, whatever surprise she has now masked behind a liquor-fueled determination to see if Daizanne, aka Dizzy, could put her boasts of doing anything right to the test.

Dizzy doesn't seem to catch that pause, not when she's so distracted with her sultry, sex walk, and the sultry, sexy activities that follow it. No doubt a good time will be had by all.