Difference between revisions of "Logs:Wasting Time"

>---< Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ) >----------------------------------<

  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.                  

 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Farideh      F   19  5'5  Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes                0s 
  R'oan        M   39  6'1  Muscular, Blonde hair, Grey-green eyes       21s

There is a glowing gold here, don't you know! A /glowing/ one. At least, this is what Etrevth tells R'oan and hence why the brownrider has claimed a spot in Snowasis to get thoroughly plastered before that golden queen wakes and he's dragged into her flight. Etrevth stalks the herdbeasts in the feeding area, not eating yet, but eyeing up each one with great consideration that finally has his rider snapping, "Shards and shells, if you tell me about the lines of one more fucking animal--." Fingers scrub through R'oan's dirty blonde hair, only a flash of self-deprication passing across his expression for those that have joined him this morning in Snowasis, before the Fortian brownrider attempts to settle back to his whiskey quietly.

Morning is such an early time to be drinking, and might border on excessive, depending who's asked. With the crackling tension in the air - not all unduly attributed to the glowing gold - it's hard not to be affected. It's a subdued, wandering-eyed version of Farideh that climbs the stairs to the ledge and promptly enters Snowasis. She hangs her coat at the entrance and shoves her gloves in one of its pockets, leaving her dressed in a simple olive blouse with gray pants tucked into boots. As she moves inwards, towards the bar, she combs her fingers through the wild strands of her hair. "Wine. Just-- just wine," she sighs at the bartender, hugging the bar's edge, fingers gripping onto the wood. While she waits, her verdigris eyes glance down the bar, marking each man or woman belly-up.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be drinking this early in the morning?" drawls the man down the bar that is already half-way through what is likely not his first whiskey. Yet, even as he says it a crooked smile pulls at his lips and grey-green eyes slide over Farideh with a hint of appreciation. He lifts the glass he has in a gesture, tipping it towards the young woman first before taking another slow, steady drink. He doesn't wear a knot, nothing to mark him as not being from High Reaches, except that surely she's never seen him around before.

Edyis is, perhaps a woman on a mission from the way she eyes the bar. Scarf tucked into the borrowed flight jacket, she huddles into it more deeply rather than shedding the layers. She spots Farideh, with relief and from what she catches of the conversation, frowns. "Gold close to rising, everyone is drinking before the chaos sets in." She offers coming up near her friend, eyeing the unfamiliar Fortian brownrider. "Seems like the chasers have already started arriving."

The hazel eyes come back around to the brownrider, holding on his face with a flicker of irritation. "Too young? I wasn't aware Snowasis had rules," Farideh retorts tartly. Her voice is contrasted by the agreeable smile she gives the bartender, who hands over her drink and collects her payment. "How do you know how old I am anyway? I could be a young looking forty." She gives him a challenging glance next, over the top of her glass; pointedly not lifting hers in return, even if there's a playful smile curving her lips. "Edyis," she greets in a pleased-but-oddly-annoyed voice. Flight tensions bring out the best in everyone, clearly.

A laugh catches in R'oan's throat, though it doesn't make his words any less dry as he tosses back to Farideh, "Sure, or an old looking eleven. Though given that you are so world-weary to be drinking before noon--." The way amusement dances in his lazy gaze that slides over Farideh slowly, intimately, but his inner laughter is directed at the young women, not with them. "Flights are stressful for you, are they?" is asked of Edyis at her explanation.

The former scribe huddles down into her jacket further, catching both the strange note in Farideh's voice and the oggling. Her teeth flash in a smile that isn't quite friendly. "Tends to bring out the worst in people I've discovered." She glances at Farideh, brow furrowing, "I was looking for you, I'm headed to Monaco in an hour or two, wanted to know if you wanted to come along." Avoid the chaos!

"I can quite confidentially say that I am not eleven, but you'll have to disprove the other," the laundress says glibly. His perusal of her person garners a secretive smile that tightens unpleasantly when Edyis speaks. "Why would I want to go there? If you go that's only inviting trouble. I hear they hate us more than tunnelsnakes, and that's a lot, don't you think?" Farideh watches her friend, her face a mixture of irritation and curiosity. "Do you run away every time there's a flight?"

"You should find me after the flight, and I'll prove whatever you want," offers R'oan carelessly, punctuating that statement with another sweep over Farideh. He doesn't wink, at least. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his whiskey, watching the girls over the rim as they talk. He adds as his own general opinion: "You should sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. What other excuse does a young woman get to act however she wants, except during a gold flight?"

Edyis sighs, "It isn't like greenflights. Goldflights... get into you." She explains with a grimace as though speaking from experience. "Some Monacoans do, but I'm not going to the Weyr, I was planning on visiting a brewer friend of mine, and to spend a day on a beach someplace warm." She offers bristling all the more at the irritation, and at the riders smarm. "I behave precisely how I mean to. Flight or not." The words are sharply aimed at the brownrider. "I figured I offer but if you want to have a part in the sticky awkward after that's your choice I suppose."

"Tempting," with another of those secretive smiles, returning his sweeping look with one of her own. It ends with amusement shining in her eyes. "Who are you?" Farideh's focus shifts to her friend, her lips twitching with ill-suppressed humor. "Don't be such a prude, Edyis--" She leans to the side conspiratorially, but not towards the waitress. "Our dear Edyis is still holding tight to her virtues. I don't see the need of it, especially in a Weyr. It's not unpleasant--" but she's just repeating an earlier answer, and sighs dramatically. "Go, if you must."

"Virtue is highly overrated," drawls R'oan like honey on his lips in agreement with Farideh, his smile crooked on his lips as he imparts that advice on Edyis. To the question posed, a quiet breath of laughter meets it. "It depends on who you ask. To ask a man who he is--. I'm not sure I could tell you."

Edyis rolls her eyes at the both of them, but she has a date with a brewer, and files the incident away. "Enjoy your... evening." She gives the pair as she is stepping out into the snow of the bowl, to vanish to someplace warm.

A shadow of guilt settles over the brunette's face as she watches her friend leave. "I wish she would relax. You'd swear she was fresh from the Hold," Farideh sighs ruefully, pulling forward one of the stools and sitting pertly upon it. It's then that she takes an extended drink of her wine, contemplating the dragonrider while she does so. "Have you been drinking that much? That you can't remember your name or allegiance?"

"You asked who I was. That is a broad question that isn't simply my name, is it? Are you just your name?" The last is questioned in a soft murmur on the brownrider's part, seeking the answer with a quiet focus on the young woman as he shifts closer, leans closer to her without invading her entire space. Just some.

H'vier doesn't look like he's in a particularly good mood when he makes his way into the Snowasis from the patio. But he doesn't look otherwise often enough that it must mean something, so take it as you will. His path leads him to the bar, and though he looks in Farideh and her companion's direction, there's only a slight upward tick of one brow before his full attention is focused on ordering himself a triple of something strong. Never too early to drink, apparently.

"Do you enjoy reading too far into things? Do I have to spell everything out for you then?" One elbow props helpfully on the bar, her chin finding a rest on her fist. "What is your name? Where are you from?" Farideh keeps her smile, despite the slight bite in her words, and even offers the same expression to H'vier when he stops nearby.

Amusement warms grey-green eyes as R'oan takes a sip before answering. But, he proves that he can follow direction where his words are kept simple, rather than dodging the questions. "R'oan, from Fort." Some of that amusement is lost when he follows her gaze to H'vier, but he salutes the other rider with his own glass of whiskey.

The bronzerider waits quietly for his drink to arrive, listening to the exchange between laundress and brownrider. He's not shy about it, glancing between them again before he actually has his glass in hand and can take a very needed drink. His eyes close. Good stuff. "Don't waste your time with this one," H'vier finally offers to R'oan. Then, "I hope you aren't planning to wait around here all day."

Farideh's smile widens into a pleased grin for R'oan's answer. "R'oan of Fort come to chase Igen's Niavhth. I'm Farideh. Just a laundress, here." Then, she lifts her glass, in mimicry of his earlier silent toast. Her lips are on her glass by the time she leans back and assesses H'vier. "Have you made it your life's work to dissuade men from trying to have sex with me?" Oh so blunt.

R'oan's shoulder rolls up in an almost carelessly apologetic shrug for H'vier's last statement, explaining, "Etrevth is determined to chase, and he's too dumb to ever realize he's never going to catch one of the big girls." A hint of a wry chuckle catches in his throat at Farideh's question, and he only leans in closer to the young woman to question, "Why? Is he right and I'm wasting my time?"

"Life's work?" H'vier considers that for a moment, then offers, "No. Sometimes satisfying side hobby, perhaps." He has no comment in regards to the brownrider's lifemate, but he seems curious enough for Farideh's answer to R'oan's question without offering his own before she's had a chance. Please, woman, do tell.

The Fortian's lean and H'vier's lack of commentary causes a lift of both brows and lips. "You'll both have to be disappointed," Farideh admits, sounding quite put out by the thought herself. "I've got these feelings, this crush," and that's just horrible, from her tone, "on this boy, who doesn't even think I'm pretty. So, I'm afraid-" She flicks out a hand and smiles at R'oan ruefully. "I appreciate your offer. It dulls the ache." Apparently, gold flight tension makes her honest, candidly so.

"How many marks do I owe you, then?" is what R'oan offers carelessly in H'vier's direction at that answer, as if they had bet before, his amusement quirking his lips in a crooked smile. Yet, there is a slow unlean away from the young woman, under he guise of getting another refill of his drink. "Boys shouldn't be that hard, darling. My suggestion, move on."

"I have more important things to be disappointed by than a girl who thinks entirely too highly of herself." Like that glowing gold dragon outside, for instance. "Not that I wouldn't fuck you again." H'vier is still H'vier, after all. No doubt about that. "I think I'll let it go this time," is added to R'oan, playing along seamlessly. "Unless you want to buy my next round for me. And he speaks the truth, Fari. No sense wasting your time on a man who doesn't appreciate it." Oddly not horrible, coming from him.

That would be Farideh's cue to go, with a frustrated glare at H'vier; does he always have to bring that up? "Boys aren't, but girls are," she informs both of them, slipping off her stool and planting her feet solidly on the ground. "Enjoy your-- sport. May the best man win?" There's no accounting for whom she's rooting for, just that her tight, now-unfriendly smile suggests it's neither of them. "It was nice to meet you, R'oan," is all she allows, before she turns and makes for the exit, where she grabs her coat before heading out into the morning snowfall.

R'oan waits until Farideh has walked away, notably watching her as she does. (Her ass, to put it plainly.) Afterwards, he turns back to the bronzerider with an offered, "Another round, then," and attempts to flag down the bartender for them both.

For some reason, Farideh's frustration and subsequent leave-taking make H'vier smile for a moment. Almost fondly. And then he's looking at R'oan, no smile but at least not as sour as he seemed when he came in. "Wonderful. Maybe I can get drunk enough to just sleep through whatever happens until after that damned gold rises." That's the spirit!

"Not one to take the adage to heart about keeping your wits sharp?" drawls R'oan with a hint of laughter to his words, where clearly he doesn't either. Once their glasses come, he offers his in toast. "To damnable golds and their flights."

"Less so lately than I used to, perhaps," says H'vier. He's maybe not sure now is the best time for soul-searching. Never mind be the best time, granted. "Not as young as I used to be." He lifts his own glass in toast with an echo of, "To damned golds." Basically the same thing.

It is! R'oan will drink to that. He will even follow it up with the breath of a laugh as he swallows his whiskey, admitting to H'vier, "I don't even know why Etrevth insists on chasing. He's small even for a brown, and he ends up tiring himself out before most gold flights are through and then sulking like a teenage girl after." A pause, before he offers carelessly, "Better luck to you."

"Luck would be Reisoth having no interest. It's not her I want and he damned well knows it. But he's had his eyes on the sharding transfer since she got here. He refused sweeps this morning." H'vier is horrified by this on several levels, but he doesn't offer explanations for any of them. In part because it deserves another long drink.

"I've been blowing sweeps off for a while now. Ever since the High Lord decided to run off, and 'searching' for him means that I can go where I please," R'oan offers, without horror, though he seems to find some amusement in H'vier's as he eyes the wingleader. "One sweep won't matter, much. I wouldn't imagine much of your Weyr's getting anything done today."

"He's usually eager for sweeps," says H'vier absently as he looks down at the whiskey he's swirling in his glass. "Good to know you're such an upstanding dragonman, I suppose," is offered with a touch of sarcasm. "I hope your dragon chases with the same attitude."

"Much the same, yes," is the careless answer on the part of the brownrider, seemingly unconcerned with H'vier's opinion of him. "I guess you'll see soon enough, huh?" R'oan takes a slow sip of his whiskey, casting a glance to H'vier briefly.

"Suppose so," says the bronzerider before he's starting to shift from where he'd settled. "Thanks for the drink," is added with a slight lift to what's remaining in his glass, then H'vier is turning to make his way to elsewhere in the bar. Because sometimes a man just needs to drink alone.