Difference between revisions of "Logs:Ber... Something"

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.

There's been a lot of ale tonight. A lot. Not that there's not normally a lot of ale going around the Reaches but tonight, with the tithe, with the work, with the contented blowing-off-steam afterward, there's been a river of ale coming-and-going from the Snowasis to the wagons down in the bowl, mostly unloaded and waiting to turn and leave. N'thei is among those who's bathed in alcohol, now coming out of the arch from the Snowasis into the cool night air so that he actually reels a little with the sudden change, puts a hand on the stone wall to stay his steps before he shakes his head to clear it and picks up his march across the patio. Whew.

After helping all shardin' day long, a tired Beriah has been nursing a mug of ale for some time -- well, rather, he has been nursing a mug of ale that he keeps filled for some time. Usually pleasant and chipper, the young man is, at present, no more than one more sleepy-eyed lad among a whole flock of the silly creatures who've been coming out here for air (and sometimes to expel the contents of their stomach violently) for a while now. Still, he looks rather lacking in sickness, just pleased and a little tired as he contemplates one of the benches, glancing up at the dark form of somebody else arriving. "Heyla!" He calls cheerily, waving.

Heyl...a? Did someone just heyla to N'thei? His head cocks at the sound, his ear turned and his chin aslant with a dubious expression coming slowly to roost on his face. He's really really having a hard time putting his head around the fact that someone just cheerily heyla'd to him. That he's drunk, drunk enough to sway before he gets his feet under him, can't help matters. "Who are you." He's picked out the cheerful-tired face among the masses, and his frown deepens while he surveys the lad from a safe distance, his shoulder leaned in the Snowasis tunnel.

Beriah is likely unable to determine that the swaying man who appears to be troubled over something is the Weyrleader (He can't spot the shiny knot? Who knows.) -- so he just smiles pleasantly, raising his glass in a toast to who-knows-what. "Beriah." He answers helpfully. "New." Ah, well, that just clears things up nicely, now doesn't it! "You?" It's said pleasantly enough, as he takes another long drink of his ale, smacking his lips pleasantly. "Good ale."

N'thei doesn't usually wear the shiny knot, especially sitting around getting drunk all night, so it's forgivable. Except that he still bears some malice toward this young man for the cheerful-familiar greeting. "Ber-- one more time." He squints hard for a second, trying to sort through the three syllables and still maintain his mean mug. The rest, new-you-good, is lost and unanswered as of yet.

"Beriah." It's drawn out this time, with the young man going squinty-eyed in concentration. "Like..." He trails, blinking owlishly. "Like..." Then there's a pleasant shrug. "Beriah." He grins happily, taking another long drink of his ale. A glance in the mug reveals that it's looking woefully empty. Pulling on an expression that would suggest that his mother died, he peers forlornly into the mug for a moment, eyes narrowed, before, considerably brighter, "I need more. Want anything?"

"Ber." N'thei gives up after that, since it's unlikely he'll actually remember the name in the morning anyway. What difference does it make, given. "No!" His voice comes out much louder than he'd intended, loud enough that he reels back, loud enough that some of the other cavern workers raise their heads in sudden alarm, and he has to wave a hand to still their fears. "No. Don't want anything. From in there." To make the passage more accessible, he leans against it with both shoulders, flat-backed so the whole archway is open for Beriah.

Beriah salutes sloppily with a laugh. "Ber!" He agrees wholeheartedly. Then at the loud 'No!', the young man sways a little, peering blearily at the man for a long moment. "Right." He says with a snicker. "Nothing. Okay." In the lad goes, swaying only a little, and quickly comes back out with a nice full mug, looking quite more content. After he's taken a nice drink of the ale, he peers once more at N'thei. "Who're you?" He manages after a moment, going for lifting one eyebrow and failing; both get lifted, and he looks a little stupid with an expression of surprise where curiosity should have been.

N'thei's scowl hasn't gone anywhere while Beriah was gone, don't worry, he kept it nice and pristine just to counterpoint this kid's merriness. During that interlude, all he accomplished was sliding his shoulders up so he can stop slouching, so he stands almost upright except where one hand presses against the cold-stone wall still. "Me?" His eyes lift, flick toward the others loitering on the patio in case they're the ones being addressed-- no? not them? him?-- then track back to Beriah with an increase to his frown, if that's even possible. "N'thei."

Beriah's all smiles, not put off by the apparent lack of cheer returned. "You." He responds gravely over a sip, then grunts. There seems to be something about the name that stirs memory -- but not enough for him to do more than shrug to himself and nod. "N'thei." A pause. "That's hard to say." It's almost an accusation, with a sad little frown. "N'thei. Right." Sleepy eyes dart too and fro at some noise or other and he narrows his eyes at the spectacle of a girl spouting nigh a fountain of vomit off of the ledge. "Wow." Is all he can manage for a long moment. "Shells." But eventually he manages to drag his attention back to N'thei. Another pleasant smile. He's probably doing it just to drive the poor man mad.

N'thei waits for it. Waaaaaits for it. He pushes off the wall, oblivious to the vomiting-- just another night at the reaches-- and makes a heavy-stepped trek toward the nearest table to brace himself with his hands on the back of a chair instead, like being framed by the arch into the bar wasn't quite ominous enough. "Don't you know who I am." Driving N'thei mad: very short trip.

Beriah looks away when N'thei's movements make him dizzy, grunting and rubbing his eyes faintly. He's just a poor holder lad, probably drunker than he's ever been in his life, bless his little heart. But he seems to be taking it well -- he's not even upchucking at the sight of others partaking in it! After a moment he stops rubbing his eyes, only to eye N'thei a little warily. Rather than answer the first answer that comes to mind (scary man), he smiles brightly, smartly. "N'thei. You're N'thei." He answers proudly, peering keenly at a group of young men down in the bowl singing bawdily until it apparently makes him dizzy, at which point he turns back to N'thei.

That's not right. Something about that's just not quite right, and N'thei's fingers tighten on the chair, his brows make a squiggly knit in his forehead while he tries to put together which part isn't right. Technically correct; he's N'thei. But there was... a point... he was trying to make... "What are you doing here. --What do you do here." He puts more oomph behind the revised question.

Beriah waits expectantly for a proper response (pat on the head, "good boy"?), and only blinks at the look of concentration on N'thei's face. Concentration -- frustration? Who knows. He can't seem to tell, as he focuses on his mug for a moment, taking a nice little drink and smiling contentedly. "Drinki --" Then the question is corrected, and he takes a /good/ moment to respond, only after frowning in thought. "Um." He responds smartly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Stuff. Unloaded wagons today. Been helping in the stables. You?" It seems only polite, after all, to ask!

N'thei waves his hand in front of his face like he's swatting mosquitos, but really it's just dismissing Beriah's question with a checked snort. The hand-waving was none-too-bright given current states of inebriation, and he drops his fingers back around the chair with new severity. The practical result is that he never answers what-he-does-here. Instead; "And that's your job? Odds and ends? No f---ing wonder this place bleeds resources." Only N'thei doesn't censor himself.

Beriah would like to think he understands, but really, the idea that N'thei's a spy from some other Weyr and doesn't want to say so really isn't all that realistic, so we'll go with that his sagely nod and wink looks incredibly stupid. At the statement, though, he squints and shakes his head, making a vague motion with his hands. "No," He starts to shake his head, groans, and quickly sprawls in the nearest chair, holding his stomach for a moment. Wince. Pause. "No." This time he doesn't shake his head. "Prob'ly going to keep working there." Oh, right: "Stables."

"Why?" Mystified, totally. "Runner dung and fleas and we already have stablehands. Do something useful with yourself." N'thei's advice sounds sage as long as we ignore the fact that he has no idea what something-useful might be, offers no help narrowing the field. "And don't puke on my patio. Go puke somewhere else." Straightening, at least able to handle his liquor to the point he's not looking nauseated, the man spares another stern look for Beriah before he begins mapping his course to the steps, the bowl.

Beriah's eyes narrow in concentration. Useful? Useful. But nothing comes to mind, so he just holds his head for a moment. "What's useful?" It's a plaintive question, but he drowns his sorrow in another draught of ale quickly enough to spot the man standing and moving off. The kicked puppy face appears for a moment, but he resists the urge to sniff, not even realizing the use of 'my'. "Not gonna puke. Just need more ale." He says reasonably and rationally (read: he slurs and nods drunkenly), waving the rider off with a huff. "Don't fall."

N'thei doesn't. Not in the strictest sense of the term. He misplaces his heel once and scrapes the edge of the steps, bumps down a little harder than he meant to, but he never /technically/ falls. The upshot of being very drunk is that his dignity remains in tact despite the misstep. He leaves, so y'know feel free to puke wherever now.