Difference between revisions of "Logs:Liquor in the Front..."

The foggy weather's created an eerie pall over the Weyr, echoing noises oddly and making even travel across the bowl an odd experience. It's, perhaps, why Drex -- spotting Rafe earlier at lunch -- suggested they meet out at the stables after dinner. It's quiet out here, with the runners shuffling but otherwise undisturbed in their stalls. Drex has climbed up into the loft above, the straw making for a comfortable place to hang out -- if one doesn't mind the smell of animals and their droppings too much. It might help that he has a bottle of something to hand, though.

This is not a place that Rafevan normally spends time: he has no interest in being a farrier, or fixing the little mundane smithing needs of such a place. So it's with a wrinkle of his nose that he arrives, doing his best not to breathe too deeply as he pokes around the all but deserted stable. "Drex?" he announces himself from down below.

"Up here," comes the sailor's voice from above, and after the sound of rustling, he appears at the edge, peering down, before holding aloft the bottle for inspection. With a grin, he gestures towards the ladder to one side, then retreats, claiming one of the bales of hay as his own.

Up go Rafe's brows, and--a moment later--Rafe himself as he heads up to the ladder. He climbs carefully, stepping away from the opening to look over the little space they've found, not impressed but tolerating for now. "What possessed you to suggest here?" he does want to know; he doesn't make himself at home yet.

Drex doesn't seem too bothered by the smith's lack of comfort; he takes a deep gulp from the bottle before offering it, giving a sort of half-shrug in answer. "Runners don't complain 'bout the noise. It's warm, and not too many people come here after the runners've been fed and settled for the evening." He jerks a chin towards the Weyr, "The hatching caverns is full of people."

Even so, Rafevan still sighs before he settles on his own hay bale, wiggling a little like that will make getting poked by straw more comfortable. "Fair enough," he concedes, and tips his head in acknowledgement before holding a hand out for the bottle. Gimme.

Drex waits, until Rafevan is comfortable, and until he has the bottle, and until he has his first sip of the contents, before he ventures: "You um... you had many uh... relationships?"

Somehow, Rafevan keeps a straight face. He doesn't quite look at Drex, finding the far wall fascinating for a few moments while he drinks, considers, and definitely does not laugh. "That depends, I guess," he answers then, slowly. "On what you consider 'many' and 'relationships.'"

That answer is not very illuminating, and vague enough that Drex furrows his brow while he frowns at Rafevan. "Ah," he says, suddenly, an awkward expression crossing his face as he clears his throat. "Are you... do you like guys?"

"You've found me out." Rafe manages a dull, flat sort of tone in this reply, though the slanted look at Drex is more mischievous if he's paying attention. "This is all a plot to get you here alone for a roll in the hay." Nevermind Drex was the one to organize their little meet-up.

"I don't do guys. Most pirates don't. Not even Itsy," Drex says with a visible grimace, not so much flustered by insinuated pick up line as momentarily side-tracked. "I mean, well, even guys have relationships with other guys... right?" He's reaching out for the bottle.

Rafevan passes the bottle back to his younger friend, considering this new information. "Doesn't she?" he asks of Itsy. He sounds genuinely curious. There's a nod to Drex's latter question, but it's less important now.

Drex's expression is momentarily a mix of frustrated and regretful. "Apparently I'm a blind idiot." Which is probably no more true than right now, given the assumptions he's making. It's worth two consecutive gulps from the bottle, exhaling a breath. "Can't see how I was supposed to know, not like there were any other girls on our ship. Women are just so..." he makes a noise, like he can't quite come up with an appropriate word.

Rafevan holds his hand back out, fingers wiggled: bottle me, please. "Huh," says he, a low thoughtful sound as he rewrites what he knows already, cross-references the pair of them. "I won't dispute that," he agrees with the latter observation, truncated as it may be. "So I take it we're drinking to forget her tonight."

It doesn't take that long for Drex to interpret the gesture, though he does take another gulp before he passes it over. "Kinda. I miss her. Not... for her, just for... you know. We've been partners forever." With another noise, he adds, "And it's extra weird with her... liking Farideh, and Farideh and I... you know," a little grin, now.

Only Rafevan prompts, with one lifted brow, "Farideh and you...?" Spell it out, Drex.

"We're... you know. Fucking." Drex says. Then, after a beat, "It's fun." Because duh.

"No shit," drawls Rafevan then, in answer to that; but for all his sardonic humor at Drex's expense, there's that edge of calculation beneath it in his eyes. Farideh. "Congratulations."

Drex gives a little shrug as if to say, you asked, then, "I don't... really know what people normally do in Weyrs. You don't think she wants to get married, do you? How do you know?" Because Rafe is older, and so clearly knows all the things he doesn't.

Truthfully, Rafe admits, "I don't know her well, though, as luck would have it, I do know her." He considers, takes another pull from the bottle after very lightly brushing his sleeve across its lip to clean it off. He's not a dirty pirate. "I really can't judge what she wants from you, without ever having even seen the two of you together."

Drex, however, is a dirty pirate, and gestures for the bottle. He doesn't seem bothered by germs, smith or otherwise. "Well, if you figure it out, let me know?" he says, with a grin. "What do you think of her?" he asks, after Rafe admits he knows her.

So Rafevan passes it back without qualm; let Drex do as he will. "I'll see what I can do. She seems--interesting," is all he says on that subject. Then, apropos of nothing, "I have plans with her for a few days from now."

"Yeah," Drex agrees, "Interesting," he seems to like that description, grinning as he starts to lift the bottle, then pauses at Rafevan's words. "You do?" maybe, just a smidge, of jealousy in there.

"Somehow I seem to have offered to teach her how to play poker," confirms Rafevan, his expression mild. If he detects any trace of that jealousy, he downplays it well.

"She doesn't know how to play poker?" Drex says, incredulously. Apparently that is a worse crime than his friend maybe playing strip poker with Farideh.

"Apparently not," and now there's amusement in the quirk of Rafe's mouth. The young, so easily distracted. "I doubt a laundress has many marks for the taking, but. It's not a game well suited to just two players, though."

"You're playing her for marks?" That's possibly, a hint of relief in Drex's expression, taking a gulp from his bottle, finally, before offering it vaguely in Rafevan's direction.

"Do you listen? Or does the drink befuddle you already?" Rafevan's grinning now, broadly. "I said I doubt she has much for the taking--unless an enterprising young sailor such as yourself has found her hidden stash?"

With a furrow of brow, Drex frowns, "She hasn't got a hidden stash. Unless she hasn't told me. Ought to play for something interesting. Marks are boring."

Rafevan prompts, "Such as...?"

"I don't know. Favors. Alcohol. Chores." A sudden grin from Drex. "Like to see Farideh clean my room in a nice little outfit. You know?" Yeah, you know.

"If you want to join us," suggests Rafevan then, "maybe we can make that happen. I wouldn't mind the same, though 'room' is something of a misnomer for the unfortunate dorm situation I'm relegated to."

"Reckon I might," Drex responds, with a grin. And then, sympathetically, "Yeah. Got tired of sharing the dorm, though. Found somewhere else. Aint as comfy, but you know," better, all the same.

Rafevan cocks his head slightly, lifting a brow again. "And where's that?" he wonders. "I think my roommates would notice if I disappeared, though I doubt it would be quite the scandal in a Weyr as it would have been in the Hold."

"Here and there," Drex says, evasively. "Always a room that people forget about, or don't go into often. Slept in the barracks once, till that redhead kicked me out."

Rafevan, in a tone that says he clearly doesn't, "I see." He considers this only a moment before shrugging it off; the roaming life is not for him. "So. Does this settle your questions about the female of the species?" he teases then instead.

Drex gives the smith a bemused look. "Not in the least," he admits.

"Now you're learning," Rafe laughs, with a mocking toast gesture considering their lack of glasses for their liquor. "Good luck with that."

Now the sailor makes a face. "Are they always so... baffling? Itsy was never like that. Not... before."

Rafevan shrugs. "Based on my experience, no," he concedes that point. "But far be it from me to declare myself an expert. Maybe you should try some old uncle for that."

"Aint gonna talk to some stranger," Drex declares, with a shake of his head. Reaching for the bottle, he takes a gulp, content for now to simply exchange the bottle. Later, there might be more talk of their plans for the ship, but for now... drinking!