Difference between revisions of "Logs:Darts and Ladders"

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ) 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.

You can't work all day long. Especially once it's not daytime anymore. So Z'ian isn't and he's here at the Snowasis, hanging around. The newly minted Wingleader is actually wearing the knot, but probably only because hasn't gotten the chance to take it off yet. Meanwhile he can be seen making the attempt to be social with the Boreal riders for most of the time he's there until taking the opportunity to break away and head towards the bar, getting a refill on his drink. He looks more well rested today than compared to other days, so perhaps he's getting into the swing of things.

For someone who tends to visit the Snowasis more often during the afternoon, when the bar has a more leisurely feel to it, the evening hours is a nice change, when everyone has thrown off their work of the day and comes out to unwind with a drink in their hand. It can't necessarily be said that Vienne has much to unwind from, or that anyone at High Reaches has seen her come unwound, but tonight she does have a drink in her hand as she sits at the bar, jacket folded over her lap and her legs primly crossed. Thus far, her interactions has been limited to an easy smile here, a little wave there, as people move about to collect their drinks and head off again. She seems not to expect much more when Z'ian steps up to the bar. She flashes him a friendly grin, eyes taking note of the knot he's still sporting. It bring a little something wry to her greeting, "Wingleader."

While he waits for the bartender to refill his glass, the bronzerider doesn't even bat an eye when Vienne greets him. If it weren't for her familiar voice or maybe catching her out of the corner of his eye, it's possible Z'ian wouldn't react to the greeting at all. But he does notice her, one way or the other. And while his reaction is delayed it's not lacking in friendliness, no shortage in the wattage behind the typical smile. "Hey. I don't usually see you around here at night." He glances quickly over his shoulder, it doesn't look like his new crew of wingriders are missing him terribly yet. When the seat next to her opens up, he moves over and claims it.

It couldn't be the first time Vienne was overlooked -- probably quite literally given her stature and all. She's about to let her glance meander off again, pale golden glass of something brought to her lips, when Z'ian oblivion turns into that charming smile he has. It catches her eye and stops her mid-sip so that she has to chuckle quietly and dab her mouth with a knuckle. "I come out sometimes," she claims. "Though apparently not enough." His glance pulls her eyes backward, over her shoulder toward the waiting Boreal riders who are not, at the moment, looking impatient to have their leader back. "Making new friends?" she wonders in a way that might sound a little bit more like 'how is it going?'. As he moves to sit beside her, she turns in her seat, legs tucked in neatly to avoid crowding him but a position all the better for answering his shiny smile with an engaged, if toothy, one.

"Oh, really? When was the last time you climbed down the ladder from your weyr in the dark of night?" Z'ian asks, smiling crookedly as the bartender hands over his refilled drink. He draws it in towards himself and lifts the glass to his mouth, looking over the rim off it for her answer. "Mhmm." That's the simple answer to her question. "One rider at a time. Eventually if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, they'll give in." He flashes her a conspiratoral smile for that serious but not so entirely serious response. "Are you meeting someone here or do you just hang around and people watch?"

"Are you making fun of my ladder?" Vienne grins at him quite impishly. "It's actually a lot easier when I'm not wearing heels. For which, I suppose, I have you to thank." She lifts her glass to him for that gratitude, a momentary 'serious' expression passing over her features as she tips her head. And after that she can sip her drink properly - it has a little stirring stick, so it's a bit of a two-handed endeavor as she holds that stick out of the way. For his inquiry, the small bluerider shakes her head. "No, not meeting..." Anyone. "I guess I am just people watching tonight. Maybe I'm hoping that if I work my wiles carefully and with enough finesse, I'll make some new friends." Cheeky, cheeky smile.

Vienne does not quite manage to pull off an entirely somber expression for his account of climbing a ladder from his weyr, but she does pinch her mouth quite small, eyes wide and innocent, an attentive expression as he talks. And she does have a dry, "Well, yes, for getting down," falling would be faster. "I have learned that ladders can also be useful for getting up. Though I'd imagine that might take even longer." Of course, when all that is done, she cracks another wide smile, because the whole thing terribly, if amusingly, silly. Then, with a bright laugh, "Liberating?" Grinning and dubious, "Liberating us from what?" But he mention's his wing and so she looks back over her shoulder again, considering it, even if she doesn't answer right away.

"Maybe if we invested the time to develop a good pully system? I could zip straight up there!" Z'ian makes an impressive upwards swing motion with one hand to represent this. He manages to not splash his drink everywhere too. "Liberating you from your weyrs, liberating you from absolute boredom, social restraints. Anything you need to be liberated from, come to me. I'll figure it out. I'm an expert." It comes out just about as serious as the making a pully system and climbing a mile long ladder down to the bowl floor, for what's it worth. Bravado, but not without a serious dosage of humor to go along with it. The wingriders behind them get a casual glance but not much more attention, more or less keeping an eye on them while he chats Vienne up.

"Maybe if we lived somewhere without so much snow and ice," Vienne says, putting on her best sorry smile, apologizing for bursting the pully bubble, though even that expression is hard to maintain when he's flapping around the way he is and she can't help but laugh. Like she has to show him how a person maintains a touch of composure, she takes another dainty sip of her drink. "Well, it sounds delightful," Vienne says of his liberation schemes, a brow arching at him as a wry curve twists her smile. "Have you done a lot of this? Liberating blueriding women? What kind of liberation do you suspect I need?" She stirs her little stick, chasing a few rough hunks of ice around the glass.

"Right. Snow and ice. Damn winter. If only there was something we could do to globally raise the temperature of the entire planet to get rid of that whole seasons problem. I'm sure some smart person will think of it." Z'ian ceases to flap around and takes a long swallow from his glass, letting the bottom of it touch the top of the bar. "You know, delightful is not the word that I would use to describe it." He starts, allowing that smile to curve dangerously. The bronzerider is clearly enjoying having made her laugh, enough that he doesn't give those Boreal riders another glance for awhile. His elbow makes contact with the counter and he leans his chin into his palm. "Plenty of liberating blueriding women. Hmmmm... Let me think." He delivers Vienne a look too intense to be considered serious, much too full of that fliratious teasing still. "I already liberated you from your weyr by helping you find boots. So, what's left? You look pretty well adjusted now... but... Maybe I should help you break away from the confines of this bar? You know, go a few feet over that way and play a couple of games of darts."

"Or we could just trade Weyrs. Surely one of less snowy Weyrs is tired of all their sunshine and warm breezes and would love to swap with us." Vienne can come up with ridiculous propositions too, and she's enjoying the game of it. There might even be a little something shy in the response of her smile to his dangerous one. Not, however, so shy as to resist prompting him for more. "What would you call it then?" She forgets all about his wingmates, too, and when Z'ian props himself on the bar, she mimics him exactly, a mirror image with her little elbow on the counter and her fingers half-covering the little laugh that slips out. And her foot swings. "Mm, maybe," she says for the game of darks, letting her glance flick in that direction. There are people playing already, but that might not be the reason she isn't convinced. "What else have you got?" This time when she drinks, she just tucks the stick to one side and lets it poke her in the cheek. It's the only way to do it one-handed with her chin in her palm.

"Sure, lets go talk to Southern. I'm sure they wouldn't mind swapping the redfruit trees for some spitting llamas. I think that's a totally fair trade, right?" The bronzerider flashes a crooked grin for that before he brings that glass to his mouth again, not such a long pull from it this time. "Now, these aren't my words." He begins, lifting one finger in warning. "But I've been told my techniques range anywhere from you know, naughty, mischievous and a good time to you're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. But I don't get that last one too often anymore. With age comes... finesse?" A throw back to that word from earler in their conversation. And with everything there's a hint of easy-going amusement laced throughout. His gazes flickers towards the darts before coming back to her, smile turning sly. "To break you away from the bar... or more? What do you think that you need from me to get me to pull you away from your little drink with a straw in it?" He returns, reaching forward and plucking the straw out of the glass. Holding it between index and forefinger, he lifts one eyebrow curiously. Challenging.

"You know, I'm not sure I've tasted llama," Vienne returns, unable to let that particular comparison slip by without comment. And when he holds up his finger, the little bluerider nods into her palm, she's listening and warned. But she does quickly become skeptical, narrowing her eyes. "You're-awful-don't-talk-to-me-again. Were you prone to cheesy lines or were you just too forward, do you think? Back in your youthful days without finesse." Though her smile remains as her teeth find her lip, there's something a little distant in her gaze, other thoughts rolling around, perhaps less related to the current conversation than her grin would imply. But the sly turn of his smile brings her back. She opens her mouth to answer, though she's clearly still trying to formulate one when he steals her stick, and that has her laughing again. "I don't know. You're the expert, remember? I guess it depends on what you think you're pulling me towards." She shakes her head a little, chin ground in her hand before she lifts her posture again. "You're in a very good mood tonight," she observes, unable to avoid just a touch of curiosity, though maybe she's just wondering what's to become of her stirring stick, since her eyes follow it.

"Oh. It's closer to herdbeast than you'd imagine. You'd think llama would be gamey, but it's not." Z'ian answers easily, apparently... familiar with what that would taste like. But he's one of those people who are actually from here, so maybe it's not so terribly shocking. He laughs then and ducks his head, hiding behind the glass for a moment or two. "I think it was probably a combination of both? I thought I was pretty amazing. Some women agreed, others didn't. That's how it goes sometimes." He shrugs his shoulders easily, smiling broadly when she laughs again. Twisting the stick around between his fingers, "I was going to pull you towards a totally friendly, innocent game of darts." So. Totally. Innocent. "Maybe show you some pointers, but. You don't seem so interested." He taps that straw against his mouth, drawing his eyebrows together thoughtfully. The dangerous teasing smile makes a return, "I'm hideous, right? You can tell me. I can take it." Or not so thoughtfully given the train of their conversation so far. "You have to be in good mood sometimes. Or else you end up insane or a miserable grouch with no prospects because you're too busy being miserable." His drink finds its way to the bar top again and he once more puts his chin to his palm, the stick between the fingers of that hand.

The bar is moderately lively tonight, people enjoying their end-of-the-day drinks, chatting and laughing and playing darts. There's a group of Boreal riders amusing themselves at one table, though their new wingleader has landed at the bar with a pint-sized bluerider. There's a lot of smiling going on and flirtatious body language. It would appear, however, that Z'ian's familiarity with llama meat is not enough to make Vienne gape at him. Instead, when he talks about how amazing he once thought he was, Vienne tucks her lips between her teeth, though it does nothing to hide the fact that she's grinning. It looks as if she would like to say something, there's a comment in her expression even if she doesn't get to voice it before he's talking about darts again. "Yes, you definitely have the look of a man who is thinking about dart," she teases lightly, eyes watching how her stirring stick ends up between his fingers. "You wouldn't mind if I thought you were hideous? Do you mean physically or as a human being? Maybe it doesn't matter. You wouldn't mind either way." She gives him a little turn of her head, the flash of an impish smile and a brow arched, all of which coalesce into a slightly more canny look than might be expected.

Late, it is, but not late enough that curfew is in effect for candidates. Speaking of, one long-legged Smith has done arrived, planting himself next to Z'ian since the closest available stool happens to be there. "Did you really just say that he was hideous?" Xhaeon questions from his peering about the wingleader's shoulder. An eyebrow rises at Vienne in question, hand raised to flag down the bartender.

Well, that's a relief. He'd have to stop talking to her if she found his tastes in llama meat to be revolting. He's back to tapping the stirring stick from her drink against his mouth again, grin pulling to the side playfully when she bites on her lip. "What?" He asks, catching the expression of her about to say something and then not saying anything at all. "I do? I'm glad that you agree. I could show you the perfect form to throw." That mischiveous smile has returned and what comes is pitched low and is absolutely suggestive, "You're the perfect height for me to demonstrate that out with you too." Z'ian doesn't notice Xhaeon's arrival behind him and is about to answer that question on how hideous he may or may not be when the candidate pipes up. One of his eyebrows is lifted in return, though it's directed at Vienne in front of him. For now. For now. Until the slow turn around to eyeball the younger man. "Hey."

Okay, so Vienne's eyes do widen when he somehow makes that comment about her height so very suggestive, but it's an impressed widening, not a scandalized one. She's enjoying it. The impish smile cracks into another toothy grin, perhaps a bit more bashful, but not so much as to bring any color to her cheeks. It does have her looking toward the darts again. Maybe she's reconsidering her earlier refusal? With that glance, she probably does see Xhaeon showing up behind Z'ian, but all her attention is on the bronzerider and it might just look like she's about to return his suggestive comment with one of her own, leaning in a little as she does, wearing that coy smile, but the candidate's comment provides a total distraction. She blinks up at him, the smile still haplessly hanging from her mouth. It takes her a beat to snap out of the imaginary land of flirtations and process what he's asked. "No," she laughs brightly. "No, he thinks that I do. And I think... it doesn't matter to him what I think." She lifts her brows at Z'ian, adding a little weight to her glance before she asks teasingly of the interloper, "Is he your type?"

Does Xhaeon find it awkward, invading Z'ian's personal space? Not evidently. What? He's not weyrborn - Smith familiarity as it is, he doesn't assign much to it. (Even Z'ian isn't pretty enough for Xhaeon, kthx.) "Hey." It's in response to Z'ian: then a belated, "Sir," tacked on after. Z'ian's ... knot has grown since the last time. Vienne's responding, then, and he squints after the Harper-gone-rider. "Ma'am," is his reply, belated in the same manner as his previous 'sir'. The candidate makes a show of leaning back and considering Z'ian - for a long moment - before shaking his head. "Not quite. He's got some things I'd rather not enjoy, and lacking some things that I do, I would imagine. Unless you're hiding something under that shirt and," here he struggles to remain straight-faced, "--in your pants," beat, "Sir?"

Reconsider! Reconsider! Probably totally not going to happen with the candidate having joined their conversation. Z'ian remains a good sport about it though, once he's got that eyebrow smoothed out again and the easy expression firmly rooted into place again. He leans into Vienne's space and drops the straw back into her drink, smile hopelessly amused by this point. "I hope that I'm not. He's a little too butch for me, check out that jaw. I like to be the man in my relationships." For that struggle to remain straight-faced, the newly appointed wingleader aims to just destroy it. With all this not caring about personal space going on, it seems fitting that he'd lean so close to Xhaeon and tug down at the neckline on his shirt. "Did you want to check?"

It only takes that casual lean from Xhaeon for Vienne to know that all she's going to have to do here is sit back and enjoy the show. Which she does, setting her elbow on the bar again and lifting her glass to take a nice mouthful of what she has left. "Vienne," she offers for the candidate as she cracks a little piece of ice in her teeth; ma'am seems a bit formal for the setting and she has finished off most of her drink. "He might not be a particularly feminine sort," the bluerider supposes, eyeing Xhaeon's jaw with a lofty lift of her chin and a glint in her eye promising it's all in play. "But I don't know that means you couldn't still be the man." She gives the bronzerider a challenging little smile. Of course, then there's the obligatory offer that Z'ian makes to peer into his clothes and Vienne rolls her eyes. She also removes the replaced stick from her glass, leaving it on the counter.

Xhaeon plays along, because what else is he going to do? He makes a show of leaning into Z'ian, peering down the other's shirt. "Nope, doesn't do anything for me," stated baldly enough. "Sorry." He'll even aim a pat for Z'ian's far shoulder. "Now, her on the other hand..." Thankfully for all parties involved, he's talking about the barkeep who's just come on-staff, cleavage on quite glorious display - and not Vienne. She does come bustling over, and Xhaeon orders a klah with a nip of whiskey. It's only after that he realizes that they were talking about him. "Wait, wait, you don't think I'm pretty?" That's to Vienne, since evidently particularly feminine = unpretty?

"Are you kidding me? He's bigger than me too. His neck is like a fucking herdbeast's. I don't think I want to take my chances with that. I've got some dignity. And a reputation." Which would apparently be destroyed by engaging in certain activities with the younger man. Regardless, it doesn't stop him from hanging in there and letting Xhaeon stare down his shirt. Patting his clothing back into place he shoots Vienne an uplifted eyebrow, "Thankfully I'm not his type." It's playful and he takes up his drink again, draining it down to the dregs. His eyes find their way back to the bluerider again, "Wow. I'm hidieous and now he's not pretty." The bronzerider shakes his head, mock disappointment in play.

Now Vienne might not exactly mind that her person has not been so lewdly objectified, but nor does she miss the fact that it's the barkeep's exposed bust and not her own sweatered one that is worthy of notice. And so when Xhaeone turns to her all concerned that he's been slighted, the bluerider snorts out a bright laugh and arches a brow at him. "Really?" But the truth is, she's not so bothered by his neglect that she'll hold it against him. "You're perfectly handsome. Were you hoping for pretty? Perhaps she can give you some pointers on stuffing your shirt." Just in case he doesn't get it, she flicks her eyes toward the walking boobs. "What reputation is that, exactly?" For Z'ian, her gaze lingers a moment longer on his face, some real consideration behind her lightly lobbed question, though it's interrupted so she can soothe the younger man with, "You neck is just fine." However it's with her attention the bronzerider's emptied glass that has her wetting her lips and she lifts her glance to his, smiling a private, knowing smile. "I must be a hard woman to please."

Xhaeon does look a little affronted. "Like a /herdbeast/? At least a runnerbeast has some kind of grace to it." At least Vienne thinks his neck is fine. He doesn't comment about what guys with big necks are known for, either, thank Faranth. "Maybe she likes women," he muses to Z'ian. Is he talking abotu the barkeep or th-- no wait, that's definitely about Vienne. "Stuffi..." His laughter is deep but clear(ly amused). Then he's distracted by the busty barkeep again (carry on).

The bronzerider is reaching into a pocket now and pulling out the marks to pay for his drink, he glances between younger man and bluerider with an amused expression. He glances at the bartender while they're at it as well, just for fun. Vienne's remarks gets a chuckle of laughter from him as he finishes the count, putting the extra away and playing with the ones in his hand. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know. I guess you'll just have to find out the next time I offer to show you how to play darts." Z'ian smiles teasingly as he pushes the glass across the bar. He's not up and out of his seat just yet, but it's apparent that's about to happen sometime soon. Her last comment has him arching an eyebrow at her, curious. "Yeah? Nothing wrong with a woman that's hard to please." Innuendo? Possibly? Probably. No really. The musing he receives from Xhaeon is met with a long look. He narrows his eyes and studies the candidate closely, "Do you get laid a lot? Just curious."

Maybe she likes women? Vienne flashes an innocent smile, glancing upward as if she doesn't know the answer to such things. But then, she's not overly distracted by the cleavage like some people are, so perhaps the answer isn't so mysterious. Besides, she's chewing her lip again as Z'ian goes about finally paying for his drink and sliding his glass away. "I think reputations are discussed more than displayed, aren't they? So really, you're suggesting I ask around." There's a faint shake of her head and her hand comes up to smooth her hair behind her ear. Something that's transpired is starting to make her look shy again, keeping her glance low for a few beats, until Mr Innuendo makes his reappearance; then Vienne lifts a look to him that says, with a wry smile and a skeptical eye, that she knows better. It segues nicely when he tosses his question at Xhaeon. "Are you sure you aren't hitting on him?" Of course, she does look to the candidate to see his answer.

"Fairly frequently, yes, sir. By women." Xhaeon's return to Z'ian is pretty straight-faced, that last part tacked on more for Vienne's sake than the bronzerider's. "I kind of think he fancies me, don't you think? It's a little strange." Sotto-voiced to Vienne, that is; and then his whiskey'd klah has arrived, and he pays the barkeep, salutes the two riders, and wanders towards a different corner of the Snowasis to wreck havok and sow chaos, because he's bacchanalian like that.

Z'ian lets the marks fall out of his hand onto the counter and he takes his time arranging them in size order. When the candidate answers his question, there's a slight snort of disbelief. "I find myself just a little skeptical. But then, I guess it takes all types." There's glance given towards the well stacked bartender that waits impatiently for him to stop playing with his money. Obligingly he slides it across the counter and leans back in his seat. There's little response given to the idea that he's hitting on Xhaeon, just an uplift of his eyebrows that he directs at Vienne. "I was kind of like that." There you go, a real life example of who he used to be ten turns ago. Or so. "I like to prove my reputation by example. But if you'd like to ask around to find out, you're more than welcome to do so."

Vienne's fingers come up, pinched together in response to Xhaeon's question, eyes narrrowed for his benefit. All of it says, 'little bit'. But she flashes the candidate a smile as he saunters off, one glance spared for his whole person now that it's not hidden behind the bronzerider. If she thinks anything of the view, she keeps it to herself. And her attention does turn back to Z'ian readily enough. He seems a bit quieter now and so while she continues to tease him, "Younger?" it's light and paired with a warm smile, just a touch sheepish. "I don't need to ask around," she tells him. "I think I've seen enough." And just in case that sounds like some sort of blow-off, her teeth catch her lip again and she admits, "You're not hideous."

"Much younger." Z'ian replies, mouth curving into a broad smile. He pushes his chair back from the bar finally, likely because he's done being a paying customer for now and he's taking up valuable real estate. His eyebrow arches as he finds the floor with his feet and regards her speculatively, "Have you now?" The bronzerider begins to lean his forearms into the back of the chair, prepared to take his time with leaving. But it's the sound of his name being called from the other side of the bar that gets his attention. "Hey! Z'ian! C'sar bet me money that I could drive a nail through his thumb and he wouldn't feel it, you have to check this out!" That person sounds like they're really, really drunk. And the new wingleader looks, quite possibly a little disturbed. He narrows his eyes again and exhales, but not before shooting Vienne an apologetic smile. "Well. That's a relief. Maybe next time?" She understands right? Nails. Thumbs. Money for pain. He pushes off of that chair with a sigh and disappears into the crowd to take care of whatever disaster is brewing.