Logs:Guy Talk
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| RL Date: 20 January, 2013 |
| Who: H'vier, Barnabas |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Bones meets High Reaches' newest Bronzerider. They talk about... the ladies. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: WARNING: Crude language and material. |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr 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. It's not quite noon in High Reaches but H'vier doesn't seem to be holding out much hope for it to get any warmer than it has been so far this morning. He's at least managed to unfasten his jacket and uncurl his scarf from around his neck over where he's sitting as close to the hearth as possible while not actually sitting on it. With a glass of something that is most definitely not klah in one hand. It's never too early to start drinking, after all. The big bronzerider is staring at said hearth, brows furrowed and mumbling to himself. But it's not like that's very weird where dragonriders are concerned. Snowasis is quiet this morning, not known by the locals for it's spectacular breakfast offerings. Still, Bones sits at the bar with a mug of whole milk, constantly needing to wipe away the white mustache that reappears after every guzzle. Only slightly more used to the cold in his time at High Reaches, Bones is sleeveless as per usual, though the late morning isn't quite warming up as well as he'd hoped. With a heavy sigh in admittance of defeat to the cold, he gets a refill on his mug of liquid breakfast, and wanders over towards the hearth, thumping down heavily in a seat next to H'vier. "Mornin'" is the casual greeting of the day, followed by a few inquisitive sniffs of the air. "... you drinkin'? Dude, Rhukbat ain't even at full mast. You must have had a damn rough night, ha!" Playful shove to the bronzerider's shoulder follows the hearty laugh. Bones is a morning person. Proximity doesn't necessarily draw H'vier's attention but the talking at him and, probably most importantly, the shove at his shoulder certainly does. "All my nights've been rough since I got here. Can't find enough damned women at once to keep my bed warm. And it's only gonna get worse." He doesn't bother defending his choice in morning beverages. H'vier doesn't look like a guy that has anywhere to be today. He turns his head to look away from the fire and at the sleeveless guy sitting next to him, clearly not sure what to make of him. Bones' trademark toothy grin only grows at the confession of distaste for the weather, taking a hefty swig of milk that sees his throat rolling to get it all down his gullet. He wipes his face against the front of his shoulder. "Are you talkin' bout the weather gettin' colder, or runnin' out of ladies?" Eyes dart up and down H'vier's frame after he asks the question. "Just lookin' atcha, I'm guessin' weather. Right tall dark n'handsome? Ha!" Mug is set down, and fingers are interlaced behind his neck. "I suggest you get some dogs and dudes in there with ya. Maybe a better quilt too. And uhh, oh! Have you tried not being a wuss? Ha!" All that talk and all H'vier really has in response is a frown that suggests quite clearly that he would probably hit the other guy if they were either on friendlier terms or maybe less friendly if he hadn't just transferred and had to be a good boy for awhile. Possibly the former considering what he finally offers up in response, "You offering to come warm my bed, man? I hate to break it to you, but you're not very pretty." And H'vier is definitely the sort of guy that likes pretty. "Might be hard to get dogs up to the weyr. I'll look into the quilts, though." The bronzerider lifts his glass, cheers to quilts, and takes a drink. With one hand still pinned up behind his neck, the other moves down to grip at his mug, not clutching it by the handle but instead snaking his long fingers around it's circumferance. "Awww, I ain't pretty? What if I scoop the dreads up in pigtails?" He scoops up a collection of the messy black locks and holds them at the side of his head, one of the afformentioned pigtails modeled for the bronzerider. "Hehe, don't you worry. If I was tryin' to get in your pants, I'd be waaay less subtle about it, stud. 'Sides, I prefer pretty too." His mug is clacked up against H'vier's, grin growing big in a morning toast. "To heavy quilts, and ladies underneath em, eh?" Dark eyes narrow thoughtfully at the modeling of a pigtail and H'vier doesn't look very impressed by what he sees. He might even try to come up with something not horrible to say about it but in the end he just shakes his head and grins. He won't even take offense to the insinuation that he's not pretty. "Not everyone has the same definition of subtle, I've learned. But I'll be glad to take you at your word. To pretty ladies under quilts," he echoes his own version and glances back at the fire. "H'vier," is his belated introduction, an after thought rather than something he's used to bothering with. "Bones!" Exuberant announcement of his name is followed by another deep pull from his mug, finishing off the entirety of it with more audible glugging noises. Again, the bit of milk left in his facial hair is rubbed off onto his thick vest. "So what do you do H'vier? What's your deal?" That vague question is intentionally left so, leaving the big man to fill in whatever blanks he so chose. "I work the greenhouse." "Bronzerider," says H'vier, maybe unnecessarily. But that's what he does, right? He rides a bronze. "Reisoth's. Transferred in from Ista not long ago." No use being vague about that particular fact since it's pretty easy to come across on its own. Anything else, though, he leaves unsaid. "You work in the greenhouse," he repeats like he finds that a little hard to believe. "What do you do?" "I... work at the greenhouse." He scratches his head for a moment as he thinks on exactly how to elabroate. "I prune the leaves. Dig up the dead plants and put new ones in their place. Water em. Make sure the fruits and veggies don't got no diseases to em." He shrugs his shoulders, figuring that about sums it up. "Beyond that? I'unno. Work out. Eat food. Keep Azaylia safe. Sleep. Repeat." The face that H'vier makes isn't considerably different but he seems more confused about why anyone would, you know, do that. "Ah," is all he can think to say at first though there's a flicker of interest when the other man mentions the nice goldrider's name. "Azaylia. Are you and her...?" Where the question is going can probably be figured out pretty easily but H'vier gets distracted by whatever other thought crosses his mind. Probably wondering why she'd go for this guy. Bones sits up straighter in his chair at the unfinished question, brow pinching in the middle in mild frustration. "Why does everybody keep askin' that?" His mug is turned at an angle so he can look in and inspect it's contents. A few drops left, and so it's dangled precariously upside-down over his opened maw, a few drops landing on outstretched tongue. That was the end of that. "I crash on her couch, not in her bed." Spoken as if H'vier was already privy to the information. "C'mon, you met the chick. You think I'm her type? Ha!" "Are you related or something?" asks H'vier. Because this doesn't make a lot of sense to him. "I'm not sure you're anyone's type, man. But a man doesn't 'keep a girl safe'," audible air quotes, "unless he expects something in return. You want her. She doesn't want you." He'd probably come to other conclusions if Bones hadn't already pointed out liking pretty ladies judging by that look he throws over before finishing off the rest of his glass. "So're you waiting around to see if you'll grow on her or something?" Unable to keep from laughing at the dose of bronzerider philosophy, Bones holds up a hand palm-forward to him, shaking his head. "Hahaha! Man, I hate to shut somebody down when they think they got it figured out as good as you." Bones stands, briefly forgetting his mug but bending down to snatch it up. "We don't want none of eachother like that. I mean she's got a cute ass but..." he trails off, scratching the back of his head with his free hand as his face contorts, for the first time imagining Azaylia in... that way. "Yeah, she probably bangs like a champ too. But she's like a little sister. Just don't feel right puttin' my hands on it." Mr Gardener can say whatever he likes, apparently, H'vier doesn't look convinced. Maybe he doesn't have any actual sisters. "So who's is she, then?" Clearly undeterred by not having things he thought were right right as he watches the other where he's now standing. His fingers tap against his now empty glass resting against his leg and it's probably not incredibly comforting that he sounds less interested and more calculating. "She's nobody's" And now his brow furrows again, scanning H'vier's face for any particularly lecherous intent. Convinced there's none to be found, his face relaxes and then brightens up in open smile. "But if you touch her I'll piss in your bed, Ha!" A heavy hand gives a few pats to one of the bronzerider's thick shoulders. "Anyway, I've wasted enough time here. I gotta get to work. S'nice meetin' ya H'vier." With that, he drops his mug off at the bar and leaves with a stretch of his arms above his head, a scratch of his belly, and a hearty belch.
CommentsComments on "Logs:Guy Talk"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sun, 20 Jan 2013 21:35:51 GMT.
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Mon, 21 Jan 2013 02:48:05 GMT.
I'm dying. XD Leova (Varied) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 02:13:51 GMT.
Touch her, H'vier, touch her! |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Guy Talk"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sun, 20 Jan 2013 21:35:51 GMT.
If any of this got back to Azaylia... *can't stop laughing* Mr. Gardener and Mr. Grumpeh Gills.
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Mon, 21 Jan 2013 02:48:05 GMT.
I'm not sure you're anyone's type, man.
I'm dying. XD
Leova (Varied) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 02:13:51 GMT.
"But if you touch her I'll piss in your bed, Ha!"
Touch her, H'vier, touch her!
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