Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Much Simpler Approach"

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.

Revelry is in full swing at the Snowasis on this summer evening. Glasses overflow, laughter echoes off the walls, and several games are to be had. It's crowded and the atmosphere is deliberately energetic. Some of the bar patrons have already had one too many - particularly a stocky bluerider at the bar, making bets with a skinny brunette about what they put in their Tunnelsnake Bite shots. Farideh is humoring him, leaning over the bar with her head cradled in her hands. She's got her attention on him, listening as he aptly describes what he thinks is the concoction. "Swar- they musta put some o' that steel in it," he slurring, one eye closed as he tries to focus on the laundry girl. "Oh, of course. Bartender, another round of, these." In particular, the short shot glass she lifts, to which one of the bartender nods.

As well it should be. It's a nice evening. And now H'vier is here to get his booze on, too. He's been here more often since a certain blonde vintner hasn't been seen working behind the bar. It's easier to drink and hit on women when your ex isn't glaring at you, after all. "Whiskey," is all that the bronzerider orders for himself, and his attention wanders toward the bluerider and his skinny brunette friend a few moments later. Particularly the latter. Don't mind him looking. It's a compliment, really.

Both shots are slid back to their respective owners and the bluerider makes payment. He downs his, making a loud, satisfied noise and smacking his lips. "Ahhh, that'un hit the spot, ya," he says with a grin that's much more of a leer - until he notices H'vier looking at his brunette friend. "Hey, asshole, why don't ya go somere else, huh? Hard nuf findin tail with you bronzers round." Farideh is too busy passing her shot to the next rider over, right under the bluerider's nose, to notice the newest man holding up the bar. It's only when her friend - if you could even call him that - lashes out that she turns quizzical hazel eyes to H'vier. Nevermind some guy just called her "tail".

The bluerider's disapproval doesn't draw H'vier's attention away from the brunette immediately. Maybe it even makes it linger for a few moments longer. But when his gaze does lift up and away from Farideh's... everything, the bronzerider looks at the man who is quite a bit more intoxicated than himself. "Shame on you, referring to this lovely young woman as tail. You're embarrassing yourself, bluerider. You'd be lucky to even get it up at this point, I imagine."

Cheering starts up at one of the card tables, momentarily distracting the bluerider. "Huh," he mutters, swinging overlarge, bulky head back and forth. "Ain't got no problems getting nothing up,yer the one that's gonna be emberrssed soon." A'ban - his friends are calling him that as they try to force him to sit down again - gets up and puts his fists in front of his face, taking a few wobbly, disoriented steps. He trains that one good eye on H'vier. "Get up ya fucker, an fight," he growls.. and then pitches forward and pukes right there, at their feet. Farideh had been eyeing the two men with some amusement, but the newest development causes her to hike both brows. "Wow," she mouths, turning back to face the bar.

Unfortunately for the bluerider, H'vier doesn't even look all that concerned about him before he throws up. One of the good things about having been in a lot of fights. One learns to gauge how much of a threat people actually are. And then not care too much either way. "Think you've had enough," he offers to A'ban before adding with what sounds like genuine concern to Farideh, "You okay? He didn't sweat on you, did he?"

Other, possible, wingmates of the bluerider's chip in to get him off the floor and move him to a table where they can watch him better. One of the bartenders shakes his head and starts mutter to himself. Farideh folds her arms on the bar top, sitting forward in her seat. "That guy? Faranth, no, he was harmless." She slants him a curious look, but ultimately hails the bartender and orders a glass of wine. "He was 'fine' until you showed up," she says, accepting her drink with an appreciative smile.

"Oh, yes. Possessive and insecure is a fine combination in a man. Especially when drunk. You do know how to pick them, darling." H'vier leans back with his whiskey in hand to give her another, more calculating, once over. "But I'm sure you have plenty of experience fleecing intoxicated men of their worldly possessions. I can't say I'd mind being fleeced by you myself."

"I," Farideh says, pointing to herself, "didn't pick anyone. I simply filled a seat next to his. Whatever he decided on after that was purely his own imagination." She's the innocent one, innocently taking small sips from her wine glass. Tipping her chin in H'vier's direction, she muses, "You can't be real right now. Does that line work with women here? You're going to have to be more creative than that."

"Any line will work on someone. But you're an attractive young woman. I was only trying to pay you a compliment. That can hardly be held against me." H'vier lifts his glass as though to say cheers before he takes a drink and turns his attention out over the bar's customers.

Incredulousness fades into indecision and another hazy emotion that lingers as she considers H'vier. "You're giving away compliments for free, without strings?" Farideh queries, turning on her stool so her crossed legs are facing out, her profile to the bronzerider. "I find that extremely hard to believe. Past experiences lead me to believe otherwise."

"Darling, I can do a lot of things without strings. Giving away compliments is easy." H'vier is still looking over the rest of the bar's patrons for now, though. Perhaps he's looking for a more amenable target. Or maybe just someone older considering he adds, "I'm sure you're a lot of fun, of course, gorgeous. But you're a bit young to be my first choice."

Irrepressible now, Farideh can't help the smile that stretches across her face. "You don't strike me as the type to care about something like age." There's too much humor there for it be an insult. She takes a much longer drink from her wine, making her own scrutiny of the gathered weyrfolk as she swallows. "You could always just 'ask'. Being blunt is a much simpler approach."

The bronzerider's gaze comes back to the girl, eyeing her with some different sort of interest. Curiosity, even. "I don't, in the end, care much about age. You're right. If it's a matter of young or no one, I'll pick young every time." Hey, at least H'vier is honest. "But you tend to be insecure and have a hard time relaxing. You don't make a lot of noise and you barely know what you like, let alone what I might like. I don't mind guiding. But hand holding can ruin the mood."

Right, at least he's honest. Farideh does her best not to laugh, biting her lower lip to keep any noise from escaping. She has to look down, at her hands gripping the crystal stem of her wine glass, and avoid looking at the bronzerider altogether. When she's gained some of her composure, she brushes brown strands of hair from her face and says on an exhale, "Does it? Ruin the mood? I always thought hand holding was the place card for other things."

Something vaguely human, vaguely emotional crosses H'vier's face for a moment, but perhaps Farideh will miss it. He'd probably hope she would if he realized it was happening, at least. "That hand holding is for affection. Love, even." And that is not what he's looking for right now. Anything but that! But since she brought up being blunt, he asks, quite seriously, "Do you want to get out of here and have sex with me right now?"

That fleeting emotion of his isn't picked up by Farideh, who's too busy idly swirling the contents of her glass with something akin to boredom. "Love," she mimics, rolling her eyes skyward; it's apparent she doesn't think too much about 'that'. His question does startle a laugh from her, a lively sound that dwindles as she slides down from her stool. She starts walking off, but turns halfway to the door and turns the full force of her wayward smile on him. "Come on, already."

Of course he's watching her. But H'vier probably assumes that she's walking away because she's not interested, not because she's eager. When she turns back, the bronzerider grins. His drink is thrown back easily and he leaves the bartender a generous tip for his suddenly much improved mood before he's rising to follow after her. The middle finger he sends back toward A'ban's table is most assuredly not an accident.