Difference between revisions of "Logs:Common Problems"

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

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.

It's gone from late to later and even later. After a certain point in the evening, the majority of Snowasis is emptied of patrons. There are a handful still in their cups, a small group of riders celebrating a turnday off in one corner, a handful of other faces dotted around in singles or small groups, but most of the people looking to go home with someone have gone. Tayte is cashing out. Her tally sheet for drinks sold and payments collected is added up, settled, and the bar's earnings are placed in the usual spot along with the record. She smiles to the late-late-late night shift bartender, helping herself to a mug of klah and leaving the marks with the woman before moving toward a familiar face on one of the couches. "Tela." She greets with a smile. "Mind?" And a nod before settling next to her anyway.

Telavi's been sitting there for some time now, decorously clad with her hair in a bun, of all things, and a high-necked blouse filling in the vee of her fine knitted sweater; the latter's a soft deep brown, her hair made paler by contrast, with coral keywork about its hems. She's been pretty low-maintenance, alternately sipping her wine and making careful, carefully light conversation with pretty much anyone inclined to talk and, at least a little bit, inclined to listen. She also hasn't been looking back towards any of those leavetakers much at all, but once enough of them are gone, she relaxes that much a degree more. And when Tayte approaches, she gives her an added smile now that the other woman's no longer on the clock. Having been drinking soft cider rather than spiked klah, she now mourns, "I feel old. I keep wondering how you keep staying awake."

"I have the distinct luxury of sleeping in. It's one of the few perks I've discovered of being a Journeyman Vintner. Well, that, and access to the booze." Tayte notes with a grin. The sip of klah is taken with a little lip-smack and "Ahh," the sort to be expected after a long day. "What about you? Just feeling wakeful tonight or just haven't found the right one to take home yet?" It hasn't escaped the bartender's notice that Telavi's been about and on the prowl. "That one is a little far gone, but not like to puke on you, I don't think." She nods toward a relatively good looking blonde man seated with a pair of friends across the bar.

"High praise," Telavi returns, deadpan, and starts to slouch into the couch before catching herself, eyes tipping up to regard the ceiling. With a grimace, "Sleeping in sounds good. Sleeping in with them, not so good. And this time of Turn, getting out of bed's no fun and kicking them out, ugh, who needs that." It's a rough, rough, rough life.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Tayte quips back, "At this hour of the night, you're lucky I'm not suggesting you show up on the ledge of an easy lay." Her teeth grind a little as she thinks of a particular easy lay. "Oh, if that's the problem, just don't let them fall asleep to begin with. Give them a hard kick to the rear and send them on their way. They'll get the hint." Her lips curve to a half-amused smile.

"Let's not go there," Telavi murmurs with a distinct crook to her lip as she continues to stare upward, not that the ceiling drops a stalactite on her for the impertinence. She unfolds her arms, but only to cross them in the opposite direction and then sip again. "I don't even feel like kicking anyone," she admits. "It's really quite sad. Unless maybe it's just out of concern for the toes of my shoes? Maybe that's it. I like that better." She glances down at her drink and then at Tayte, asking the latter, "How about you, gotten to give a good kick lately? ... Outside of your professional capacity, I mean."

"Really? Lately, all I've been feeling like doing is kicking people. Or punching them. And I suppose it's really just the one person. I'll give you three guesses, but you'll only need one." The bartender lifts her mug to sip at the warm stuff. "The last one didn't need more than a verbal kicking. She wasn't--" Tayte starts and then shakes her head. "She didn't take hints well, but she could follow directions. There's no mystery to 'get out'." Although it doesn't sound like it was anything less than a hard verbal kick. "So what has brought on this ennui for bedmates, chum?"

Of the names Telavi might think of, the one she's willing to mention first is, of course, "H'vier." She says it dryly, accompanied with a lift of brow like salt around the rim. Tayte's further description has her studying the surface of her cider the way she had the ceiling, only this serves also for more literal reflection. "Better luck next time," has sympathy if not real focus; for the rest, "Has it been a long time since someone told you they were doing something 'for your own good'?"

"See?" 'Told you.' Tayte doesn't need to say aloud that Telavi is right and that she did only need the one guess, as predicted. She sighs, letting her breath cool the surface of her klah a little more before another sip. "Well, H'vier picked her out, so..." The woman shrugs her shoulders, "I'll pick someone better for myself. I'd like to call on Jo again, but I don't want--" She pauses, considering how to put what she wants to say, "I don't want it to be about someone else with her." She has opportunity to drink more because it's clear she's giving the greenrider's question real thought. "No. Not long. My sister blackmailed me into agreeing to meet my parents for the first time in five turns to introduce them to my daughter, because she thought it would be better for everyone." For Tayte's own good, essentially. "Is someone doing you the same sort of service?"

One single blink. "For you? Like a present?" said as though the thought could count for something, and yet. She nods, of course, for someone better, for Jo-- especially, thoughtfully, for Jo-- and then as Tayte continues, Tela's lips part in a silent 'oh.' "That is wicked," she says in the end, rather like a compliment. "Did you? Or did you just agree that you would... someday? Mine... yes. Oh, yes." She makes a face, too. "'Service.'"

"Oh, no. For him. He wasn't expecting me. Apparently, he wasn't counting down the days until we could have sex again like I was." Tayte shrugs her shoulders, "I took her with me when I left." As though it were nothing. "Not enough brains to have been my first choice though." She considers Telavi's approval of Jeyli's plot, " You two would probably get along and create infamy between you." She supposes before, "Oh, there's no stopping Jey once she's got something in her head and rolling. Plus, she has a dragon with which to go fetch said parents and bring them. There was no 'snaking out of it." She reaches out to take one of Tela's hands, giving it the sort of there-there pat one might receive from one of the old aunties. "Want to tell me about it?" No pressure, just the offer of an ear that-- well, if Tayte's recent situation is anything to go by -- isn't about to judge, whatever Telavi might say next.

Telavi immediately commiserates, "Awful." Of course she would. Which isn't to say that she isn't managing to look rather gleeful at Tayte's resolution of the issue, or more accurately relatively gleeful, given the surrounding conversation. "She, your sister and not the non-present I mean, does sound fun. Traitorous," the greenrider's quick to add, "but fun," and she might inquire further but Tayte's got her hand and Tela's got a sigh. "A lack of servicing, if you know what I mean," going so far as to set down her glass long enough to put her hand atop Tayte's like some sort of compact. Tragic. So tragic that she has to drink again, even if it is soft cider instead of hard.

Tayte's head bobs to agree that 'awful' sums it up well. A rueful smile answers the matter of Jeyli, but now she's got Tela on the topic and she pats the hand again gently. "So, let me get this straight. Your man is, for your own good, not servicing you? How does a lack of service do anyone any good?" She lets her head tip to one side, fishtail braid swinging free of it's place on her shoulder.

"Well. Service of me," Tela says with a sniff. Except, after another pat of Tayte's hand, she retrieves hers so she can properly do the talking hands thing. For her first hand, she adopts a particularly deep voice. Gravely, and yet dramatically, "We must no longer see each other." The other hand, higher-pitched than Tela's own to heighten the contrast: "What? Why?!" Deep-voiced hand: "I will... hurt you." High voice: "Will not." Deep voice: "Will so." High voice: "Will not! Or, you know, not more than people do." Deep voice: "Will so. So 'leave because I don't deserve to leave you,'" the last of which, while also paraphrased, still has the ring of something that's no longer just a humorous-for-the-story line, and leaves Telavi pressing her mouth together so at least its corners won't turn down any more than she can help.

Tayte doesn't inhibit the retreat of Telavi's hand, in fact, it lets her shift her mug from one hand that had become warmed to the other. She shifts, leaning back into the couch a little more and getting comfortable for the ensuing show. The bartender has a variety of sympathetic expressions to choose from, but for her chum, this one is genuine. "That doesn't sound like good for anyone. Do you think he would? Hurt you?" Her lips purse, "Some men are-- not as good as we would often like for them to be." Now, there's definitely relation to the one that vexes her so. "Or is it that you care enough for him that you would take the hurt no matter how bad?" There's a suggestion that this is not something unfamiliar to her either.

Telavi sinks back against the couch now that she's not being, not trying to be funny to get by; now that she's not remembering to be even figuratively upright. "I don't think he would on purpose," she says frankly. Only then her gaze drops to the side and she admits, because Tayte's getting honesty here too even if she can't tell her everything, "Except for what he's been doing, anyway. Those girls." At least the roll of her eyes is closer to classic Tela; Tayte's second question, though, or maybe it's the tone of that question, yields a second, searching look.

"Girls?" Tayte asks with an arch of her brow, "So he can't keep it in his pants either? Don't tell me, he's a bronzerider?" She's guessing, though it only half-sounds like a question. "What've you decided to do about it? Do you want to let him protect you? Or to let yourself get out of something with someone who's obviously got some kind of-- well something going on." Call it a complex maybe. "Or are you like me and can't help yourself? There are things for taking a certain amount of revenge." She says this with a look that fails to be innocent.

Telavi, so not holding Tayte's gaze for that one. "I know. I know." She sighs, a put-out breath that verges on petulant, still looking down at her glass now that she's started. Even if she's hearing yet another blonde's voice in her head, "He's just wrong, is what he is. There's nothing that-- well, not much that planning won't at least help, and it's not as if anyone never ever hurts anyone else, if we waited around for that, well." Not that the enticement of revenge doesn't add a particularly enticing curl to Tela's mouth. When she looks up, "I could help myself, Tayte," she so could, that's her story and she's sticking with it, "it's just that I don't want to. ...Mostly. Yet." She shifts on the couch, hitching her hips over slightly, murmuring something about a spring and how it really should get repaired. Not quite certainty, but close, "You know how it is."

"Oh, I do." Tayte agrees with a fluttery sigh. "So he said something unforgivable," She tells a bit of her own story, "And I made him pay for it. Am still making him pay for it. And I'm not sure he ever wants to see me again. But I can't shake that I still want to see him again. And not just to twist the knife. To twist the knife for a while, but then for things to be-- well..." She knows how it is. One hand fidgets with the fishtail, also not looking at Tela for this. "So what are you going to do about yours? Just show up in his bed and refuse to leave until he's provided service?" She suggests this wryly, although, from her stories, this might also be a genuine suggestion.

"More to do with wiggling his blade?" Telavi completes where Tayte had trailed off, with the tiniest of smiles. But then, "What? No. No, no, no. That... no. I don't think that would work at all." She looks a touch pale at the very thought, but at least she's not blushing. "Do you know who I'm talking about? Was sitting over," she gestures that way with her chin. "Tall, built and moody." Not that that couldn't apply to a good percentage of the Weyr's bronzeriders.

Rueful smile neither directly confirms nor denies the nature of Tayte's interest in the future interactions with H'vier. Her lips curl up just a bit more at her reaction to the suggestion, but she's asked twice and doesn't a third time. The description of the bronzerider, however, prompts a slightly different smile. "You'll have to be more specific, dear." Tayte clucks, amused. "Is there a name that goes with being tall, built and moody?"

Now this Telavi can answer. But she does it with a gasp, with big, wide eyes, "A name? My momma never told me to ask about a name, Tah!" this with her hands clasped just as histrionically to the vee of her sweater, having conveniently set down her glass just in time. Laughter seems to help her relax, enough that she can even roll her shoulders to further loosen the muscles there, and then lean in to whisper to Tayte as though they were somehow both just girls in harper class despite their disparate ages.

"Unconventional, I know." Tayte replies deadpan before joining the greenrider in laughter. When the whiskey-blonde leans, the golden blonde leans to meet her. Her ear is ever eager for secrets. When she leans back there's a smirk, "Oh, that one. Yes, I've seen him here." And doubtlessly observed his activity over recent sevens.

"I'm sure you have," says Telavi, and then tips her glass back like she's about to take a gulp of the hard stuff-- only to realize on the far side and look at what's left of its contents with disappointment. Never mind that she asked for it just the way it was. "You're smirking," she points out, however unnecessarily.

"Oh, am I?" Tayte asks with faux innocence, as if she hadn't realized. "It's just that..." She takes a drink of her klah and the brief expression that crosses her face mirror's Tela's from moments before. She starts to roll her eyes, but she's not committed to the action so it fades out a little way into the gesture. "We seem to have unfortunately similar tastes in problems. I don't really know what I'm doing about mine." She sighs softly and begins to nurse the klah.

"Last time I heard," Tela says, "He called you... well, what he called you," by way of not calling Tayte that here even by implication, even with no one else anywhere near enough to listen. "And you just said he wasn't-- waiting for you, not the same way anyway, and you ran off with his toy," which isn't the kindest way of talking about another woman, but right now Telavi could do worse. She taps her fingers against her glass. "Do you know what you want?"

Tayte's expression is even, with just small nods to grant each of these points. "So you're saying things are totally different and we have no similar tastes in troublesome bronzeriders?" The curve of her lips if not the tone of her voice indicates that she's teasing Telavi. Then there needs to be thought, so she thinks, drinking down her klah. Then there's a sigh, "No. Not really. I think perfect doesn't exist right now. Or what my version of perfect would be. And it probably never will. So I'll just settle for happy. If I could get there. I'm not sure if H'vier gets me closer to there or farther away, if we're being honest." And they are, for now. "Do you? Know?"

"What? No, no, no. I was granting your-- Tayte." Who teased her. Telavi gives her a frown just for that, if one that's exceedingly short-lived, folding one arm across herself before drinking in her turn. Nor does she elaborate upon to what degree their tastes have crossed over in practice and not just in theory-- but then again, they also varied in kind. It's her turn to nod, so she does. And, "It would help to be able to find out, instead of his deciding for you or messing it up," she half-questions for H'vier and not just H'vier. "Do I know... Parts. Sometimes, too, I change my mind." Inclination would have her leave it at that, but after another look at Tayte, who'd elaborated... then she's not looking anywhere in particular at all. "I think," she says finally, "I might be out of practice with that." She must hear how it comes out a little questioningly, for she lifts her shoulders for a moment before letting them fall. "With something like this." Again she searches out Tayte's gaze; she could attempt to go on. But should she?

Mug of klah emptied now, Tayte sets it off to one side, her smile turning both wry and sort of sad as she looks down at her fingernails. "I think that makes two of us. Although, I'm not sure if you can call it out of practice if you've never done this kind of thing before." She rubs the thumb of her opposite hand thoughtfully across each nail in turn as she asks, "Have you? Done this sort of thing before?"

Telavi considers the other woman, reflective, and she may not play with her own nails but she does lift a hand to her hair-- only to find that it's all tied up, that the best she can do is tuck an exploratory wisp back behind her ear. Only, in the next moment, she's tugging it back out and encouraging another to escape behind her other ear. "That," she says ruefully, "might require having a better handle on it than I do. But you know I play around; that it's fun. And," she's playing with one of the wisps again, gone silent for a moment or two, "I don't talk about this, so you wouldn't know, but there was someone once. We were weyrmated, for a while. This isn't like either of those."

"Weyrmate," Tayte's lips form around the word so foreign to them. Her tone carries a touch of the forbidden, too. Her head is tilting again, just slightly to look at Telavi, thoughtfully. Perhaps she's applying this new label to the greenrider and seeing how she looks through that lens. There's no judgment, just thoughtfulness. "So it's not play, and it's not like when you were weyrmated. Is it more than one and less than the other or just more than one?" She reaches to the tie on her fishtail and starts letting her fingers undo the complex braid. "Would you ever want to do it again? Be weyrmated?" It's not exactly related to the problem at hand, and the manner of question is one of the young asking the wise, even if Tayte has a few turns on Telavi.

Tela's own lips gain a faintly amused curve, echoed in her eyes: look, Tayte said that word without bursting into flames. "It's not exactly written on my forehead, I'm pretty sure." But those questions, those questions... her gaze drifts to where the other woman's fingers work, spilling her orderly hair into comparative chaos, or perhaps it's that they free it from imprisonment. "Not just play," she says absently. "It's... you'd have to meet Sasha. Not that I recommend it. And for doing it again? I can't say... I never ever would. I think, the one thing I would say, is to have your own space: have somewhere you can go when you want that's just yours. It may look like a foot already out the door, but it would have helped. And, of course, I wasn't a rider then."

"After the baby," Tayte relates softly, fingers momentarily stilling, "I asked Havi if I could stay at his place for a few days before I faced my room and my life again. I ended up going home after one." Beat. "It's not that he's messy, it's just... there was dust, and..." She looks momentarily agitated as though this bothers her to some irrational level, which... since Tela's seen her room, she might guess accurately that it does. "Anyway. I can understand that. Having one's own space. It's-- strange, sometimes, to share mine with K'del. And extra strange because it's not a traditional kind of sharing. Shared because he's Vali's dad and my friend, but not more." And she doesn't get into how that sharing makes things awkward for having 'other' relationships. "What about with tall, built and moody? Is something more-- 'traditional' something that appeals to you? Or just-- having him not withhold that which he's suddenly withholding?"

Telavi can and does have sympathy for that one, though it verges on impish when Tayte gets to the four-letter d-word. "Weyrs do like to collect dust," she says gravely. "The ones with the smoother walls are better that way, though, not too many crevices for the dust-creatures to hide in and jump out at you," and she'd been peeking to see if Tayte might squirm, only then her gaze flicks to the bar for no visible reason at all. She's back in time for the mention of K'del, though, and it's been long enough that that doesn't give her much of a pause; just, "I don't know how much sharing you do... but maybe after the refugees are gone?" Like, tomorrow, unless it's late enough that it's really later today? Morning? Before dawn? Any of those would suit Tela. "You could ask the headwoman for quarters with a real separate room, or something like that if it would help? Since Vali's getting older? Not to be all solution-hunting instead of sympathizing, of course," this with a hint of dimple. As to tall-built-moody, she taps one finger to her temple as if to wonder which one, but that's just for show; "Really, Tayte? Right now I just want to feel like I'm not waiting for the next shoe to drop. Well, no: first comes getting things sorted," if they can be, which has her looking strained and tired again, even if it does answer the woman's question from way back when.

Squirm? No. But she does stick out her tongue at the cheeky greenrider, quite maturely. That's the only reaction the razzing over dust monsters receives. The vintner's waving a hand. "I don't mind my room. I do think I'll have to replace the loveseat with a comfortable couch though. I know that when I had a boyfriend, he probably would've gone crazy to know we share a bed for sleeping when Vali's having a bad night, and I can't imagine his--" Tayte hesitates, and then simply says, "--girlfriend would like it if she ever heard of it either. But our room is quite nice, spacious really. I'll ask for a new one in a few turns maybe. We've been there just over a turn and it is larger than most." She wouldn't want to trade down after all. "So what's the first step in getting things sorted?" She poses, though she might not really expect an answer.

"Nooo," agrees Telavi, drawing out the vowel. "Does it bother you to think that he'd go crazy? Or... do you kind of like it?" Uptilted brows want to know! Or, at least, they want to tease Tayte, tired or no tired. "I'm sure some people would understand, while others would be all," and here she darts her eyes from one side to the other, "'Mmhmm. That's all. Really.'" As for the first step, that appears to be slouching, finally. It's taken her long enough. "Find him when he's not in the middle of something or someone. How's that?"

Well, there's a blush under the freckles. Does that answer Telavi's question sufficiently when it's paired with the way that Tayte's ocean eyes are suddenly flitting about the room. "I might like seeing him so passionate... even when that passion is anger." She admits softly. "Not that it means I would want to tell him that it goes on if it can be avoided." Clearly, she and H'vier have/had a very healthy relationship, full of mutual trust and respect. "That sounds like a solid first part of a first step. What will you say when you find him under those circumstances? What do you want to say to him?"

Don't think that Telavi doesn't notice, either, though the curve to her mouth is pensive. Nor is there advice from her to tell H'vier every not-so-little detail, just a wry sort of nod. "A couch sounds good," she says instead. "I like couches." That's a little wryer yet. "I'd like not to have to say anything. We're better at that, sometimes." Her throat must be dry; she sips, gaze downturned to the very last bit that's left, the part that she won't call the dregs. But since getting out of it without words doesn't seem to be an option, here or there, she has to admit with a sigh, "I'm still working on that. Something constructive. Something calm. I can do that, right? Calm and collected," as she's not holding out for cool. "What do you think? Any bartenderly advice?"

"Couches are good. I'd never needed something less cozy than a loveseat, but everyone's so tall. They're not a good option for sleeping. I think I prefer loveseats, generally though. To be cozy." Tayte leans forward now, placing her elbows on her knees, hands folding together and shifting against one another. This is serious now. Her expertise has been requested. "I think that... thinking back on all the stories I've heard over the turns, that calm and collected would be good, but also that sometimes you have to be willing to just 'let go' and be vulnerable and emotional. It's a hard gamble to make, but sometimes only one that pays off." She thinks a moment longer, "I'd say, decide how far you're willing to go if you're pushed. So you don't end up pushed too far." Not that it's always possible to keep the latter from happening.

Telavi can and does agree in so many words for tall and cozy, but as Tayte continues, she gives her a pained look and gets back to crossing her arms. "But that's so... so..." She settles for, "Backfire-able." Will that suffice? No? She takes a moment to think, then tries, "Most of the time things are easy, talking even, but things like this... I'm not so good at saying things that don't spin off in ways I never meant." Awkward Telavi is awkward. "And... how far in what way?" Uncertain Telavi is uncertain.

"Never claimed it wasn't. I wouldn't recommend it as a first course. But that's what I mean by being pushed." Tayte knits the two ideas together as she leans back. "If calm and collected doesn't work, you need to think about what you would regret. Would you regret not being emotional and vulnerable if that was your only option after the first effort failed? Or would you regret letting yourself become emotional?" These are rhetorical questions meant to explain, "In the heat of the moment, would you regret choking it back or speaking? It's not-- I'm never in the right frame of mind in the moment to decide that kind of thing." She admits with a little shrug. Then she's starting to rise from the couch. "I'm going to need to get back before the babysitter takes all my tips from tonight." Her smile is wry, so that's probably not really what would happen, and she lingers a moment, lest she finds she's overwhelmed the greenrider to the point that damage control is now needed before she can take her leave.

"Oh." That's what Telavi has to say. 'Oh.' Hard questions and it's late and-- Tayte's getting up and there's a fleeting look of appreciation for her not pressing for answers now. Not to mention, for clarifying to begin with. And wry or no, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize," and with that she hops up too, rather like that problematic couch spring she'd been muttering about before. "Good luck with your problem," she offers along with a bit of a smile that might not even be wholly for those problems, given how she says just a bit like she's quoting, "Don't worry, I know where to return my mug." She will, too, and take her own leave in turn. Maybe she'll even get to sleep.

A wave of Tayte's hand hurries off Tela's apology or any worries on that score. The bartender has a mug of her own to return and snags if from where it was left. "And you with yours. If you ever need an ear, you can find me." It's not hard to do. Usually. When she doesn't vanish. As she does now, dropping the mug at the bar and heading off into the night.