Difference between revisions of "Logs:Drinking Games"

It's early evening in the Snowasis, and the bar is buzzing. With winter in place, fewer are making the trip to outside bars, and any excuse to avoid a cold weyr is welcome by many of the Weyr's riders, judging by the noise in the place. Over at a small table near the back stairs, Drex presides over a table full of empty pitchers of beer, with the other occupant -- a wide-chested laconic man known as Degran, one of Drex's fellow shipmates, apparently -- is currently chugging the contents of another pitcher to the cheers and whoops of onlookers nearby, spilling most of it onto the floor. This is probably not an uncommon occurrence.

Weyrlife has kept Farideh busy; busy enough during the times when her weyrmate is not weyrbound. However, tonight, with intermittent lightning, thunder, and snow, there's far too little places to go and even less to hide. Did she search for him? Did some little birdie whisper in her ear? It's easy to imagine the possibilities, but eventually the goldrider does show up at Snowasis, navigating through smiles and dubious stares towards the pitcher-happy sailor and his mate.

There's a swell of applause and laughter as Degran finishes the pitcher, with Drex jumping to his feet. "Another!" Drex declares, to the delighted cheering of the crowd, gesturing towards the bar. It definitely isn't the first time he's called for another, given the alacrity with which the bartender produces another pitcher. "Chug, chug, chug!" starts up the chant, one to which Drex is contributing with gusto -- at least until he catches sight of Farideh with one of those fixed, wide-eyed caught looks. Welp. Degran doesn't seem to notice, however, lifting the full pitcher to his mouth.

Getting close enough to see the complete scene before her -- pitchers, sailors, groupies -- Farideh stops in her tracks once the chants begin, her unaffected gaze traversing the people responsible for the terrible sound. Her eyes make their way back to Drex slowly, but no emotion is betrayed on her face save for, after a short pause, the quirk of a brow in his direction. Well?

Hastily scrambling to his feet, Drex diverts around his fellow sailor -- obliviously drinking -- and makes to pull out a chair, as if Farideh might want to join them. "Can I get you something? Uh, juice?" he squints at her, as if trying to determine her reaction.

Regardless of the quick reaction, dubious green eyes nearly imperceptible narrow once the sailor is close; a long, drawn out pause follows, but then Farideh sits, refocusing her attention on the oblivious sailor across the table. "I'm fine. You've put away enough for the both of us, or more," is drenched in snideness, emotion finally leeching from her composed -- irate? -- facade. "You've even got an audience. Lovely." Lovely!

Sinking into the seat next to Farideh, Drex's eyes return to Degran with a smirk at how he's faring with the pitcher -- starting to struggle in the mid-game. His weyrmate's words, however, draw his gaze back with a scowl, hands lifted, "I aint that drunk. It's mostly Degran." Which is totally cool, that he's not only mooching off his girl, but his friends are too. "Just a bit of fun," he says, defensively. "I mean," he leans closer, trying for empathy and probably shooting wide of the mark with his: "If you wanted something stronger to drink I could get it. I mean, one can't hurt, right?"

Degran might garner a smirk from his compatriot, but Farideh stares at him with distaste. "Just a bit of fun," she repeats in distracted fashion. "It looks like a headache." For her? For him? For Degran? Her eyes flick back from the swilling sailor to her weyrmate, her mouth set in an unfavorable line before she speaks. "One can't hurt? I seem to recall, the last time, you wouldn't let me enjoy even that." But, she waves a hand, and then folds both arms over her chest in a defensive motion. "Just thinking about it makes me ill."

"Oh, he's a head for ale, no doubt. Why, once, we were in this tiny backwater port, and there were all these girls with these big..." Drex's hands are out, as if visually crafting the scene, when his eyes brush past towards Farideh and he realizes this is probably not a story to tell to his weyrmate, clearing his throat. "Anyway. He can handle it, s'all." Awkwardly, he lets one hand drop, the other reaching to pet Farideh's hand, if she'll let him. "Well -- Ethran turned out ok. And you look," he's frowning at her. "You aint getting sick, are you? I heard there's something going around the Weyr."

Farideh says, "Girls with big what?" Don't poke the pregnant woman, or make her realize less than virtuous truths, anyway. Farideh settles an irritated look on Drex, and follows it with on aimed a Degran, as the source of all her woes. "Ethran--" She even sounds irritated. "No, I'm not sick. I just don't have the taste for drinks anymore, or the smell. It's nauseating." And yet, here she is, sitting in a chair at Snowasis, looking out of place with her perfectly pressed clothing and nicely-coiffed hair. "I can only count myself lucky that I don't lose my lunch at the mention of it," she says, frowning. It's all Drex's fault, obviously."

"Feet," Drex hastily says. "Big feet. Apparently it's a thing that runs in families down there. Anyway..." his segue isn't exactly smooth, "Uh, should we go, then?" He stands, glancing, too, at Degran, and just as hastily deciding he can abandon his friend to the woes of a significant tab, given all his admirers as he nears the end of the pitcher.

"They have big feet?" Farideh asks in an incredulous tone of voice, brows furrowing over questioning hazel eyes. "What on Pern would you want with big feet, that's just--" She closes her eyes, exhales, and gives her head a shake. "We should. Will he be--" Except she's already giving Degran one of those 'I'm writing you off' type of looks, that ends with an expectant glance at Drex. "I'm paying for all of this, aren't I?" It's less of a question than one might expect.

"What can I say, Degran has a uh, liking for women with... big feet." What a convenient scapegoat is Drex's fellow sailor, all unawares as Drex goes to stand. With a guilt-less grin, he confesses, "Aint going to if we leave now."

Degran, the big feet loving alcoholic sailor, gets another lingering stare from the goldrider. "Won't he be mad?" Farideh looks up at Drex, eyebrows lifting, and rises shortly after, her movements awkward despite her lack of a baby bump as of yet. "He's almost as irritating as you are," she sighs, but turns away from the table.

"Aye," Drex allows, with a grin. "Real mad. But he'll get over it." He slides an arm around Farideh's shoulders with the intent of drawing her close, the gesture a little bit protective as he seeks to steer them away from the table. "Almost," the sailor echoes with a knowing grin, leaning in to murmur to her, "But you got the prize catch of the ship, darling."

"I hope you're right. I don't look forward to getting woken up because an irate sailor won't pay his tab, or worse, if he shows up at the weyr," Farideh sounds, half apathetic and half completely annoyed, already. She nestles easily into his embrace, familiarly, but the look she slides him isn't all sweetness. "Oh? You don't think I would have fared better with the captain?"

"Aint the first time that's happened," her weyrmate acknowledges with a non-apologetic grin. "But if he does, I'll bounce him out of there before he can disturb you. Promise." Drex shoulders aside a larger man, making way for them to reach the exit. "I know you would've," the sailor replies to that last, with an audible note of jealousy.

It speaks volumes that Farideh leaves her concerns about Degran at that, at Drex's promise to take care of the situation if it evolves beyond a harmless drinking game in the weyr's bar. She bumps her shoulder into him at the latter, shooting him an amused smile. "I have to disagree," she challenges, though her mood remains light, as Drex leads her away from the chatter and noise of Snowasis for the soft, distant, rumbles of thunder and light snowfall in the bowl on their way to their weyr.