Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Celebratory Drink"

>---< The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$) >------------------------------<

  Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and   
  frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly
  in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque 
  glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements;       
  round-backed booths carved from stone, lined with deep, terra-cotta       
  colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a  
  subtle red shade. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of    
  smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into 
  the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.        
                                                                            
  All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the
  massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the
  ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, 
  having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A 
  curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of 
  glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a   
  sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain
  has become an elegant place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with    
  their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and    
  fancy desserts.

Dutiful to stand, dutiful to work, Dee participates in the candidate chores as well as continuing her apprenticing duties since the ranking farmcrafters don't seem to need her every day and there's always work to be done for those willing. For work, Dee is obnoxiously almost always willing. Even on a day like today when many have been celebrating the clutching at the feast in the living cavern, Dee has worked. She must have been in the living cavern at some point, but possibly only on an errand such as the one that brings her to the Glass Fountain this evening. With free booze available at the feast, the swanky bar isn't drawing quite as much of a crowd as usual, but still, faces enough to keep the barmen busy. Thusly, the tall candidate finds herself waiting at the bar to deliver the boxes she has in arm from the store, the bottom edge resting on the bar, but still leaning on the girl so as not to impede business being done. Judging by the hour, this must surely be Dee's last stop of the day for stores duties.

With the free booze keeping many in the living cavern, the lack of usual crowds at the Fountain makes it one of the better places to escape to and not be immediately found. It's from the living cavern that Hattie has journeyed, wearing one of her nicer dresses and heeled boots, the pale fabric of her skirts swirling at her feet as she swiftly moves to the bar and does nothing but gesture towards a bottle and meet the gaze of one of the bartenders. It gets her a glass soon enough, the measure of amber liquid generous, and she doesn't turn her attention to Dee until she's drained most of it. "Why aren't you...?" She gestures back the way she came with a flick of her fingers.

If nothing else, Dee's trousers and plain shirt mark her as not having come from the celebration - if the boxes didn't make it obvious enough. Her hazel gaze tracks Hattie to the bar and through most of her drink. It's probably rude to watch the Weyrwoman the way she does, but she can't have been the first given that Senior Weyrwomanship comes with a certain level of notoriety. The candidate has the good grace to look abashed, her cheeks coloring when Hattie directs her attention toward her. "It seemed like there was work to be done," which sounds like the excuse it is. She offers a more genuine, "I didn't want to end up in some sort of trouble, by going," a moment later, though she doesn't seem to mean that she thought she would get in trouble by any usual rules or standards, though it might easily be taken so. "Why aren't you?" is asked of the goldrider, with a, "ma'am," tacked on after an awkward beat. Turnabout is fair play, isn't it? Even with Weyrwomen?

"I understand that you've work to be doing, but you're permitted to attend without fear of rebuke," Hattie replies as she lifts her glass again and drains the rest of her drink, setting the empty vessel down carefully on the bar top. "This evening, anyway." Silence then, her attention roaming behind the bar and over the bottles and other things stored there, yet she doesn't call for another drink. "Unless you're expecting to get in another sort of trouble by attending? Not everyone will do themselves proud, for sure, but I think you might escape unscathed if you try hard enough." Only then does she address the question put to her, her dark gaze directed down at her empty glass. "Because I'm here," the Weyrwoman states, her manner not one that invites further enquiry.

Dee shifts so that she can slide the boxes more fully onto the counter as the wait seems to be dragging on while the needs of those with good marks to spend are attended to. She sucks her lips in, so they all but vanish as she thinks, reappearing as she says, "My brother, Jem... He's sort of infectious, which," she seems to realize probably sounds a little odd so she hurries on, "is really a very good thing when you need cheering up or a little fun, but... not when you're trying to make a good impression. At home, our parents would probably keep a close enough watch on us to make sure things didn't go too far, but... Our parents aren't here. It seems like the best thing I could do for him-- for both of us really," though clearly the girl's own needs are secondary, "is to stay away. Stay busy." She looks uncomfortable when she finishes, and perhaps that's why she observes with a very obvious attempt at a change of topic, "The galleries are closed. I trust all is well with the eggs?" No doubt the shouting match rumors reached those with gossip-hungry ears in the stores.

Hattie arches a brow as she asks, "Do you not trust yourself not to make a scene with him without your parents watching over you?" with an edge of dry, incredulous not-amusement. "...I'm not sure whether that says a lot about you, him or your parents," she says more quietly, almost to herself. "In any case, you're an adult," she insists. "And I'd hope that you've enough self control to know when enough is enough, especially given your new knot." She straightens a little when the eggs are mentioned, half proud and half defensive when she declares, "There's nothing wrong with the eggs." There's only the slightest of stresses on that last word. "Despite what any may wish to imply."

The candidate swallows visibly and is quiet while she gathers an answer for the Weyrwoman. "I trust that I know where temptation lies and when avoiding it all together is the safest course," Dee manages to sound resolved on that much before looking embarrassedly down at the counter. "I know I'm adult, but I'm a young adult," who apparently knows enough to recognize that, if not the many things it would be nice to know at her age. "I look older than I am," is added as a half-defensive, half-miserable sort of murmur before she focuses on the eggs. "I'm not sure any would wish to imply anything wrong with eggs. It's... not like eggs can defend themselves." She seems puzzled. "Is that what Weyrwoman Lilah--?" She wonders before she can stop herself and then does when she realizes what she's asking.

R'oan isn't exactly an uncommon sight in the Fountain, but this time he comes already half-drunk from the clutching feast that others may have been avoiding. (Hey, free booze is free booze.) He comes alone, the brownrider descending into the cavern below without any sway or stumbling despite his state, his riding jacket still in place even if his knot has somehow managed to disappear. His narrow gaze finds Hattie easily at the bar, moving that way. It's not likely he's followed her specifically, except he must have noticed where she went.

Silence. It stretches on for longer than may be comfortable, and for a time it might seem that Hattie has just shut down and is intend on disregarding and ignoring Dee until she gives up and communicates nothing further, yet, eventually, she drawls, "...I thought you said you were sure in avoiding temptation?" under her breath, heavily enough to be addressing that other matter and hanging enquiry. "Elaruth simply needs some peace," she opts to say. "The world is very loud and bright and overwhelming for her sometimes, and today she needs some rest after what she's achieved." R'oan's approach, she notices at the edge of her vision, sigh quiet, though she allows herself to close her eyes for a moment.

Some part of what's said under breath must be caught enough for Dee to murmur in like fashion, "I'm often wrong." The words could as easily be a self-assessment of her words and actions leading into the silence. R'oan's approach doesn't mean anything special to Dee, so if it's noted, it's not something that prompts any kind of immediate reaction as she says, "That sounds difficult for her," in a way that communicates genuine sympathy for Elaruth and the bright, bright world. "Sometimes it feels a bit like that for me." That's all she has the chance to say before one of the barmen finally has time to take charge of her boxes from the stores and sign the requisite inventory sheets that Dee presents to them. It can't be by design that it gives the two riders a little privacy, but it might easily be convenient!

All R'oan need do is nod to the bartender, before he pours a whiskey for the brownrider to claim with a possessive drape of fingers. His gaze slides over Hattie as he hitches himself against the bar, and then Dee too as the teenager waits for the barmen. And then, he exhales what might be a laugh, saying nothing before he lifts his glass to his lips.

"Aren't we all?" Hattie murmurs, though she looks more at R'oan than at Dee as she utters that rhetorical question. She's still quiet as she idly muses, "And, well, you'll have the chance to meet each other when the eggs are hard enough. Maybe she'll recognise a kindred spirit." She lapses back into silence as the paperwork for those boxes is dealt with, and most definitely doesn't look at R'oan when he laughs, paying more attention to the motion of signing documentation than either the brownrider or Dee, her gaze slightly unfocused.

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing the eggs," Dee's alto is sincere, even perhaps a vote of support for gold and rider, when she speaks again, turning away from the settled paperwork. Her hazel gaze skips over the goldrider after a moment to the man beyond, brow briefly furrowing before looking back to Hattie to ask, "May I join you for a drink, ma'am?" Duties must be over with, or perhaps she just wants a taste of celebration.

R'oan seems, at least, to be minding his own business. He has a drink, here, and that is what he's focused on. He doesn't interrupt the conversation there, as he takes up his usual spot at the bar.

"If you're betting on drinking with me being a safe thing, then you're at least half right," Hattie supposes, her answer more easy than judgemental. "For tonight, anyway." She glances down at her empty glass, considering it for a moment, and when she looks up again and at Dee, she asks, "What is it that you'd prefer by way of drink? I'm sure we kept back at least one crate of the fizzy stuff being served in the living cavern, so if you'd rather not miss out on what they've got..." Or maybe have had by now, giving volume of people and time. R'oan is paid little mind, his continued presence only acknowledged in the fact that she doesn't relax.

"I like beer," Dee volunteers, though uneasily, "Though we don't have it in great supply at home, so it's sort of been special occasions only, for me." Given the shortage of the early parts of the turn and the one before, it's probably been especially hard to come by. "Maybe something fruity? To remind me of home. We have a lot of that kind of thing, liquored juice." She almost immediately reconsiders, looking with concern to Hattie, "Or is that harder to come by here?" She'd certainly not want to become an imposition. Even if all her worry about doing so is almost certainly worse. "What are you having?" She finally asks, in a way that suggests she wishes this had been her first question. Easier that way!

"I imagine we've at least one variety of fruit cider to hand," Hattie considers, the thought voiced aloud solely to put that as a question to the nearest barman, who inclines his head a little to confirm that something of the sort is available. "The alcoholic sort, of course, though we've likely some more tame, too." What is she having? She just lifts and slightly tilts her empty glass, which promptly gets her another measure poured into that same glass. "Whiskey," the Weyrwoman states without shame. "Not something I'd start with if you're not used to it. If you are, I think we can live with it."

"Something... tame-- -er, I mean, tamer than whiskey," Dee corrects, with a blush. "I wouldn't want to end up spitting on you. Or anyone. By accident." Awkward. Quickly comes, "The cider would be good," as she moves to take a seat. "Did you? When you were my age? Drink whiskey, I mean." The words are curious, perhaps idly so. "How old were you when you Impressed?" is a follow-up of a more personal but also a more interested nature.

Hattie shakes her head. "No, I don't recall having the thought or time to drink much of anything. It wasn't something that my family would have looked well on, even if they'd left it readily available." Which they don't sound to have done. She lifts her gaze to that barman again and tilts her head slightly towards Dee, and soon enough there's a glass before her, the drink a berry-red in colour. "Spirits are slightly more efficient if you don't have time to sit and drink a glass of wine." Or so she'll say. "I was twenty when Elaruth chose me. If one of them chooses you, you'll be younger, won't you?"

"Did you grow up here?" Dee queries. Were she a native, she might well be expected to know Hattie's origin story, but Southerner that she is, the personal histories of Northern Weyrwomen was probably not a subject stressed by the harpers, if addressed at all. The girl, as with most of her inquiries, seems interested in whatever answer the goldrider might provide. She reaches for the drink when it comes, "Thank you," and a hand dips into her pocket to fumble for marks that are delivered to the counter some moments later. As an apprentice, she can't have many to her name, but a drink to celebrate the eggs she's Standing for is probably a good reason to drink. "If one does, yes." The candidate's head bobs before she takes a sip, an appreciative smile blossoming at the taste before, "I'm seventeen," though her height, looks and carriage often lend toward an assumption of something closer to twenty, though almost certainly not beyond.

"No. My family hold at Ruatha River. Rather, my sister does, I should say." Hattie's a little slower about dealing with her fresh drink, a sip taken now and then instead of knocking it back, perhaps because of R'oan or just so that she doesn't set a worse example than she already has done. "How old is your brother? He must be at least old enough to Stand, if he's come with you. You can't be that distant in age." This said over the rim of her glass just before she drinks. "I know more than one person has declared Southern to just be an annex of Fort. Your agreement to the current arrangement must surely have you believe that to be true."

Dee's lips form an 'o' briefly and then she's peeking at Hattie side-long. "I've never actually met Holders before," she confesses before looking down at her drink. "Is it very different to be in a Weyr? Or was it then? When you came?" Her questions are a little muddled, but still genuine. She sips again before saying with a dry humor of her own, "My parents love each other very much. My brother and I have less than a turn between us, but no other siblings. My grandmother is fond of saying we must have worn them out or there'd doubtlessly have been more." She doesn't seem embarrassed in saying so, though it mightn't be a surprise given her background. "I can't claim to understand the complexities of politics, ma'am, but I'd like to think that were there a need, it'd be right enough to ask for volunteers to help, whatever the need. This time, seems like people think it's candidates. And we are all volunteers," she must feel the need to reiterate.

"There are... different expectations of holders than there are of those born in a Weyr, in my experience," Hattie allows. "Particularly for girls. Chances are, you might be married by now, if you were a holder." Her voice is a little darker for that observation, expression more severe for the mere thought. "On the whole, I think there are elements of both ways of living that we all find concerning. Lots of people don't get to experience both sides of the story." She gestures in Dee's direction as she says, "It might be more common for a holder woman to have two children in the span of a turn, as your mother did. But whether she chooses to or wants to... may be an entirely different matter. Whether she loves her husband..." Rather than continue, she drinks.

Dee considers the Weyrwoman's words before asking, "I've heard they don't get to choose who they marry, is that true?" Her nose is wrinkling a little at the idea. "And I heard, too, that sometimes girls my age are married to men-- as old as him," she makes casual gesture toward R'oan as if he might not be listening. "Is that true?" she wonders, "Though I suppose," she sort of reasons with herself, "that riders don't get much choice with flights and all, but that's just the once. If that makes it better." She sounds unsure that it does.

Ouch. Apparently, once teenager girls get around to refer to his age and elderliness, that is the key for R'oan to go. He finishes his glass, tipping it back on the bar. He gestures for one more, waiting just long enough to get it before he pushes himself away from the bar to retreat to a booth that holds a pair of female riders, one of them Sandstone.

"Many don't. A lot of marriages are made to secure Blood, or land and marks. Favourable alliances... aren't always what the girl would call 'favourable'." Tipping her glass back, Hattie drains the last of the whiskey and sets it down, R'oan's departure from the bar noted with a half-moment's distraction to see exactly where he heads off to. "Though some do find themselves able to love their husbands, I suppose. Not every holder woman seems miserable." Her sigh is audible. "But yes... some women end up with men like him," she shares with evident distaste, and something near to bitterness. "I would rather live with flights than deal with that." Him. Men like him. Who knows? "I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me, I should..." Another flick of her fingers towards the door. Go do her duty. Go see her queen. Either. Both.

Dee's expression tightens in some manner of dislike, but the 'what' is probably obvious enough that she doesn't need to say. "I think I would too, if I had to live with either," is the only thing the teen has to say in answer to that before swallowing quickly her mouthful of drink to nod and get in, "Yes, ma'am. Congratulations, to you and your lifemate both," she offers as though getting out something she'd wanted to say but hadn't fit before. Perhaps it does now, or perhaps now is the only moment she has left to say it in, so she does. Either way, the wish is heartfelt and not booze-driven unless she's a real lightweight.