Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Goldrider and the Gambler"

It is an autumn dusk, 18:06 of day 5, month 10, turn 27 of Interval 10.

There are a lot of bars at Bitra: it is, after all, a large Hold well-known for its amusements. The one Taikrin has chosen to bring Riorde to is one of the nicer establishments located not a terribly long stumble from the landing fields. It's a huge, squat, three-story stone building with the look of something built post-Pass. There's gaming on the lower two floors, while the third caters to entertainment of a more intimate nature. It's to the first floor that the brownrider brings Riorde this fine warm evening, and the long, well-polished bar that runs nearly the length of the wall. "-- and so, he thought he had all my marks, right? Except turns out I had this queen hidden up my sleeve, and he was so /drunk/ he didn't even see me slide it out! Swear on Szad's shell I wasn't more'n fourteen, and I had this guy /totally/ sandbagged."

Ali's not exactly a frequent visitor to places like this. In fact, she just looks out of place, somehow, even though she's clothed casually, in a dress - no knot to speak of. At one of the tables near the bar, there's a rowdy card game going on - plenty of cheering, and insults being thrown back and forth. The dark-haired Fortian somehow doesn't seem to fit in that crowd, and yet there she is - at the table, playing along - her vexation and frustration all but visible as to suggest she's been steadily losing. There's a drink near to her hand, only half-touched.

A date? Maybe; at least on this floor, wingmates aren't in evidence. "Uh huh." Leaning against the bar alongside Taikrin, Riorde sports a tone that is just a touch tolerant. "You gonna teach me how to slide cards up my sleeves, too? Seems like it might come in handy. Glacier keeps taking my marks." She takes her cue on gamblers' morality from Taikrin in this, though palming cards might get them blackballed in Bitra. The younger brownrider shifts, the lazy lean pivoting toward Taikrin, and lets her eyes wander over the other woman's shoulder. Riorde pauses with her gaze on Ali, short fingernails clicking against the glass in her hand as her brow furrows slightly. "Hey." Her tone adjusts, a change in direction. "Isn't that the girl Quinlys was with?" Specifying, "In Boll. With the dancing."

"Maybe I'll teach you hide to slide somethin' else up your sleeve," Taikrin shoots back, leering. "Takin' newbie's marks is a time-honored tradition, I'll have you know. You'll appreciate it more in a coupl'a turns." The leer softens as Riorde leans in, but whatever it was Taikrin was about to say is left hanging as she too twists to peer over her shoulder. "The one she flamed out on?" There's still a lingering resentment there: Taikrin hadn't /wanted/ to count the grope, called it fumbling and sloppy. "Huh. Might be. Szad did say she was Fort." There's a beat of silence as she watches, then, "Don't look like she's doin' much better here, huh?"

Outside... outside? Isyath might not be visible, but there's something in her presence that makes herself known to both Szadath and Sforzath. That not-so-subtle attraction of a proddy gold close to rising, drawn mates to her like a moth to flame. The dark skies might hide her gleaming form, but her mental voice travels much further. Ali remains oblivious to the study, engrossed in the game- tossing down another hand of cards with a noise of disgust. She starts to rise, but her neighbor- a much older, grizzled man- leans over and pulls her back down. Can't hear what he's saying, of course, but that leering smile suggests plenty, as does that wandering hand. The Fortian girl goes rigid, leans over, and knocks his chips off the table. /Chaos/. People see the chips bouncing across the floor and dive to claim them before anyone else.

The leering. Riorde's used to it, just rolls her eyes with the intention of being thought unflappable. Other than that exaggerated gesture, she continues to stare at Ali with a fixity that grows and grows as, outside, her dragon's interest sharpens too. Does Riorde realize why? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, color rises quickly in her cheeks. Answering Taikrin without looking away from the table the Fortian's at, Riorde agrees, "Yeah. Wonder what she's doing here. Maybe we should..." But then there's chaos, and the suggestion turns into decision: "Come on." Riorde touches Taikrin's arm lightly as she moves past, right into the thick of it. She turns sideways to slide past the people grabbing at chips, drink held high in an effort to get by without spilling it. "Hey," she calls over, reappearing on the other side of a man on his knees protecting a small hoard of chips in the circle of his arms. "Need a hand?"

Taikrin must not realize, either, for all Szadath has gone fixed like a bloodhound on a scent. Silent, yes, but a looming stormfront of cold and smoke and /intensity/. In his rider, it shows up as cheecks flushed by more than just drink, and a hand hooking loosely around Riorde's hip as she follows her contentedly through the mill of people. Look, she's not even fighting for marks! "Probably shouldn't let her get mauled by this lot," she agrees sanguinely. She edges herself between Ali and the original offender, wearing her best lopsided grin. "Thought y'might've wanted a hand," she adds.

The Fortian goldrider was never that good, nor comfortable with, the self-defense lessons. So the chaos proves a suitable distraction for her to attempt to slip away, only- the leering man is decidedly unhappy about having his night's earnings scattered to the wind. Breathlessly, Ali darts around a kneeling man, an odd gleam of something like excitement in her eyes, and a flush of color to her cheeks. Riorde's call to her is timely, just as she casts about for a place to dash- her smile is nothing short of grateful as she slips in behind Taikrin and continues to back away. The disgruntled gambler sizes Taikrin - and Riorde too - with a look, kind of smirking.

Riorde, admittedly, isn't much to look at when it comes to a fight: too pretty, too thin. And now, smiling as she comes a halt positioned slightly behind Taikrin when the other brownrider comes to the fore, looking over her shoulder. "Or a drink," she amends for Ali, smiling still and briefly taking her eyes off the man in order to extend her glass, with its fingerful of copper-colored liquor. "Here." Riorde wants her hands free, if only just to rest them lightly on her hips.

Oh, good, a fight. While she might actually be the shortest of the three woman, there's a warning in the way Taikrin tilts her head at the gambler, arms loosely at her side, and shows every tooth in her head. "Sorry 'bout the mess," she smirks right back, anything but. "Reckon our friend here's about done in for the night. Little too much to drink, you know how it is. Take her to get a water, yeah Ri?" she adds, over her shoulder, with wiggled eyebrows. Then, to the gambler, "What's your poison? Send you one over, too, thanks for keepin' an eye on our girl."

"I don't normally-" Ali hesitates, but takes the glass from Riorde. Tentatively, she sniffs at it, but doesn't drink- distracted by, and wary of the gambler. /He's/ got his hands on his hips, glaring past towards the Fortian woman. "She owes me more than just a drink. A seven's earnings, more like. Are you-" his gaze assesses Taikrin, consideringly, "-willing to substitute?"

The smile falls off in an instant with Ri, named now, about to protest; the fingers on her knife-hand are flexing, with the knife Taikrin once gave her secreted down her calf-high boots. Another sidelong glance at Ali decides her though. "Come on," she says in low tones. She doesn't /mean/ to sound suggestive: that's all Sforzath. "She can take care of herself."

Something in Taikrin's carriage makes her seem all the taller; an echo of Szadath, who has likewise puffed himself up /just in case/ someone might be watching. "Playin' against this lot?" she snorts, disbelieving, and fixes her hands on her hips in a mirrored stance. "Reckon you'd'a been down another coupl'a seven before the night ended. Reckon she did you a favor, even." Her chin juts out, all confidence. She doesn't even bother to look over her shoulder to be sure they've gone. "All's fair at the card tables, yeah? So, how about that drink?"

Suggestive or not, Ali welcomes it: she notices Riorde's hand on her knife, but doesn't let that deter her from following the Reachian woman. Although she does toss a glance over her shoulder at Taikrin. "She looks it," the Fortian murmurs. "Thank you," she says, vehemently, to Riorde. The gambler grows more confident as Taikrin's left alone -- although there's something in the woman's countenance that makes him hesitate, all the same. "A favor?" he blurts, incredulous. His gaze narrows, and he steps closer, reaching to put a hand on Taikrin's hip. "A drink. And a tumble. /Then/ we're even."

Riorde gestures for Ali to proceed her: another line of women (the kind with knives and fists) between the goldrider and the gambler. "It's nothing," Riorde assures, stepping around a pair of men counting their windfall marks. Otherwise, the floor has more or less cleared; at least they're not stepping over bodies. "Have to look out for each other. He got what's coming to him." It isn't finished, but Riorde speaks like it is, calling out to the bartender before they've even arrived: "Two waters, two whiskies." A glance to Ali, and the drink she hasn't touched. "Or whatever else you'd like."

At first, Taikrin's just incredulous: she lets out a bark of laughter, forehead wrinkled in disbelief, because /wow/. Then, "Two drinks, on account of you bein' the funniest man I've had the fortune to run into tonight." She's still smiling, but the expression's gone hard, harder even than the grip of her calloused fingers on his wrist. "Don't nobody say I don't appreciate a good laugh." Her voice drops, low and threatening with the promise of violence, as she stares him down.

Ali's unsettled enough that she simply nods in agreement with Riorde's suggestion of drinks. The glance at the drink in her hand draws her own gaze there, as if just remembering. It's hard to make a joke about drinking from someone else's glass in a place like this: she squares her shoulders, and throws back a mouthful of the liquid, the coughing and spluttering that follows enough to suggest that she rarely indulges. "It's not nothing. Does she- does she do that a lot?" Her fingers flicker back Taikrin's way, along with a look, but there's no visible violence from their perspective, yet. The gambler's smirk lasts right up until Taikrin's grip on his wrist tightens, then he lets out an inadvertent yelp. Something in the brownrider's expression makes him pale, all of a sudden. "T-two drinks, did you say? That sounds about fair."

Riorde looks back over her shoulder once they reach the bar to take in the face-off; she hasn't /heard/ violence. Yet. "Yeah," the brownrider says, sounding a bit fond about it. "She's a good person to have around. Watches your back. You're--" Riorde gives the goldrider a long look, the pause coming as she remembers her lessons, and a name. "Ali, aren't you? I'm Ri. High Reaches. Let's get something-- lighter?" She looks off toward the bartender rather helplessly. After all that time drinking with Taikrin, Riorde doesn't really know what lighter consists of.

"Yeah, hey, that's what I like to hear," Taikrin relents, all smiles once more, as she gives her foe a comraderly slap on the arm. "Send 'em right over." There's an urgency in the back of her head, subtle and draconic, that insists she wind her way back towards Ali /now/. "Heeeeey," she greets, grinning crookedly, as she picks around the last of the bystanders to clap one hand on each of their shoulders. "How we doin'? Everyone survived? Got all the fingers? And the drinks?" Because both are of equal importance.

Ali looks briefly flustered, and not because of anything Riorde says as much as realizing Riorde knows exactly who she is. "Yes. You're- oh." A sudden recognition flits across her expression. "I remember you. You're- one of the exiles." Where a wariness should creep into her expression, there is, instead, a careful sort of interest, instead. When Taikrin arrives, unharmed and in good spirits, the Fortian seems pleased. "Plenty of each," she says, with a smile. "I need to- find a bathroom. I'll catch up with both of you in a few?"

"/I/ wasn't exiled," Riorde points out, mild but with emphasis on the first word. "But I know what you mean -- yes." She looks round as Taikrin comes up to them, smile widening into a grin. "That was practically /gentle/." She leans into Taikrin slightly, glancing back to Ali as the goldrider excuses herself. "Sure. Drinks waiting for you when you get back. Just don't run into any more drunk idiots and make us come looking for you, alright?" She says it lightly enough, but there's a note of warning there. Should they suspect more warning, they really will turn into one mean brownrider search party.

"Yeah, okay," Taikrin remarks, all easy-going good-nature except for the hungry way she's watching Ali move away. "Don't get lost. Hate to have to start a brawl to pull you out this time, yeah?" She's leaning back into Riorde, body language wide open and awful cozy. Since Ali won't be drinking what's been left on the bar, in the meantime, the brownrider has no compunctions against downing it herself. Efficiency! To Riorde, "You get her name?"

There's a brief hesitation and a long look from Ali as Riorde leans into Taikrin. Quite a few things are read into that gesture, and all of it flusters the young Fortian. "I'll- try not to," she says, half apologetically, to Taikrin, before she slips off into the crowd.

"Ali," Riorde supplies, watching the goldrider go. "That's Ali. From Fort. The goldrider. We had to learn all their names. Pictures on a deck of cards. Wonder what she's doing here all alone?" The question might be idle, sure, but there's that slight slight note of the predatory. Sforzath. Or maybe Taikrin's just rubbing off on her.

"Ali, the goldrider? /The goldrider/?" Things are sparking in Taikrin's head, finally, and she gives a start. If she hadn't already fled, and if Szadath were even a hair more interested, there might be more panic than just her sudden jerk. "/Faranth/--" But if Riorde hasn't put it together, she's not going to enlighten her. She covers the reaction with an awkward grin, leaning more heavily into the other brownrider as a distraction. "-- yeah, I wonder. Guess we'll just have to keep her company." /Company/.