Logs:Drinks And Unspoken Opinions
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| RL Date: 13 October, 2014 |
| Who: V'ros, H'vier, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Dragonriders pass each other in the night. With drinks, of course. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| 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.
H'vier is here. Some of Iceberg is here. But H'vier isn't with his wingriders. He set them up with some rounds and now the big bronzerider is at the bar. He doesn't even harass the pretty girl that comes up beside him to order a drink before she's disappearing back into the crowd. He must be sick! Or worse! Whatever worse than sick is! He does glance toward the arm wrestling while he takes a drink from his glass, but he's clearly too mature to get himself involved with that nonsense. If only everyone could be as mature as H'vier. Grunting and feats of masculine strength? It shouldn't be any surprise to find Azaylia among the crowd, mostly empty mug held in both hands as she watches with bright eyes. There's a smile from behind the rim, and at the sound of knuckles being slammed onto wood the Weyrwoman gives a happy little wiggle. She doesn't even realize that she's contaminating V'ros' fun with her big heavy knot, that isn't worn, until he laughs. "V'ros! Do you and your friend," A bright smile for the greenrider, "Need another drink? I was just about to head to the bar before they," An excited glance to the arm wrestling table, "Get started again." The champion remains where he sits, hands on his thick thighs, as he sizes up his next opponent: some lean, dark bronzerider from Southern with ropey muscles, visiting the Reaches for Faranth knows why. They don't start setting up yet, just a bunch of small talk and checking each other out while the bartenders make them another round. V'ros has been having a quiet chat with the greenrider about Telgar's latest developments, or lack thereof when he's startled by the Weyrwoman's voice. Drat. "Ma'am," he stammers out, with the appropriate salute, a salute his friend also supplies with a flushed face, "we're.. do you.." He turns to address the blonde at his side, and there's a lot of quiet head shaking, eyebrow raising, but in the end, the demand is communicated. "If.. it's not too much trouble.." and he's frowning when he says it, like he regrets the words before they even hit the air. H'vier, he hasn't spotted yet; that's for the best. H'vier, the mature and responsible. It has a nice ring-- ugh, no, that's horrible. Never use those words together again! But he's being harmless enough, sitting at the bar alone, with people around him, like some grumpy old man with a big glass of something dark and probably expensive. No reason to come to the bar if he's not going to take advantage of the upper shelves of booze. Especially if he's not here to take advantage of its affect on young women. Azaylia's lips part to correct V'ros, as usual, only to glance at his friend and give up with a smile and small shake of her head. There's none of that hesitation here, "Great. Just tell me what you'd both like... or more of the same?" She's already stepping past them, toward the bar, "I'll send a server your way with the drinks." After all, "Wouldn't want to be a third wheel." Her assumption is obvious, given that it's V'ros and he's talking to a girl. When did he start to 'grow up'? If she can get those orders stammered out of him, the goldrider will slip toward the bar probably humming a song about sunrises. Or is it sunsets? Leaning onto the bar with her empty mug, she won't use her rank to be served before anyone else-- even if it's the reason she was able to find a spot so quickly, and next to H'vier. The familiar bronzerider is given a bright smile, good humor then turned to following the 'tender behind the bar. Back and forth. "I've got.. ale, and she's got.." V'ros swings his head to the other weyrling, listening as she mumbles what it is she wants. "Whiskey." Surprising? Probably not. Azaylia's third wheel comment earns a sharp frown from the brownrider, but then she's moving and the blonde is tugging on his sleeve. Over the roar of cheers from the dart board - some Hailstorm on Avalanche action - she's trying to change her order, amidst unhappy looks from V'ros. "Wine? Okay.. I just.." He turns to stare longingly after the goldrider, as if by watching her, he can somehow draw her back. "I'll be back. Stay here." His statement gets a winning smile from the greenrider, who then turns back to the two guys gearing up for their next round. Her companion has to wend his way through the crowd, chasing after Azaylia. He eases up to the bar beside her, wincing at his own boldness. "She.." as he sucks in a breath and glances past the Weyrwoman, to H'vier, with a more intense frown, "wants wine." It's not even immediately that H'vier realizes the Weyrwoman is taking up space beside him. And even once he does, his only response is a relatively sedate, "Evening." It would be rude not to address her at all. For instance, the way he briefly glances in V'ros' direction when the weyrling speaks to Azaylia but otherwise pretends that he doesn't exist. Obviously he's just being kind because that's how V'ros would prefer to be around the bronzerider. In the moment before V'ros finishes his halted sentence, "She's cute." As all the weyrlings tend to be, never mind what their actual ages are. Azaylia approves! The brown rider's frown startles her, until she realizes it's aimed just behind her. There's a glance between the two, stopping on H'vier with a soft laugh. "So quiet?" Never mind that they're hardly friends, the Weyrwoman eases to the side and gives the big man a nudge with her shoulder. "No arm wrestling for you?" When the bartender finally stops to take her order, "Spiced klah, ale and wine, please." To V'ros, "Good thing I hadn't ordered yet, hm?" She's in a good mood, and intends to rub it off on both sour pusses. Speaking of, her breath hitches as she remembers to ease back from the tension sandwich, hand motioning between bronze and brownrider. "V'ros, H'vier." And back again. She's cute. She. V'ros is taken aback by the statement. "I'm.." Pause, gathering his thoughts. "I know I'm not like.." His eyes slide to the bronzerider to the side of Azaylia, "..but, you don't have to call me a girl." That's when he looks back at the goldrider, desolate expression and all. She just called him a girl! And he's sad! That shows, just before he blows out a whispery breath and braces his forearms against the edge of the polished bar top. "I know who he is." He. H'vier. Not quite a standoff, but the weyrling tips his head in a simple sign of respect, no salute, his lips compressed with tension. "No," says H'vier simply about the arm wrestling, attention returning to the goldrider with a frown as she nudges at him. If she wants to put him in a good mood, she's clearly going to have to rub something else. But even that doesn't seem to be on the bronzerider's mind right now. He glances at V'ros again with something like disgust, but he doesn't bother correcting the weyrling's assumption. No need to do that when he instead says, "If you'll excuse me," before knocking back the rest of his drink and walking off without another word. Allow for a moment of confusion. "Not like..? What? Oh, V'ros, no!" Azaylia can't help but laugh, doing her best to comfort the suddenly distraught weyrling. It wouldn't be her best attempt if she didn't try to pull him in for a squeeze, intending to be mercifully short and meant to be reassuring. "You're not at all girly. I meant your friend," She looks back out toward the crowd, trying to spot the blonde greenrider from before. "I was trying to compliment you on your... company." Because not all dragonriders go on 'dates'. H'vier's gruff and hasty retreat causes the goldrider to blink, watching him go with a little twist to her lips. Hm! But she lets it go easily enough, turning back to V'ros with a faint shrug. "Thinking about joining his wing?" Given that they already know each other. Every muscle in the weyrling's body goes stiff as he's squeezed by the Weyrwoman - not that this is the first time, but old habits die hard. V'ros just stands there, a bunch of nerves, and jerks his head stiltedly from left to right. "W-who? Harlie?" He chances a glance over his shoulder at the blonde, who is watching raptly as the two newest arm wrestlers start to tussle. "No, she's just.. another weyrling." Turning back to the bar, he shrugs. "A friend." Though he could use the mishap to bump his own reputation, he seems unwilling to let that slide. His chin sets stubbornly as he watches the bronzerider leave. "No. I won't. If I don't have to." And in those three sentences, there's a lot more said than any long conversation could muster. Another glance toward the now-named Harlie, "Aw." Her disappointment is a fleeting thing, easily replaced by that earlier cheer. "Friends are nice, too." Not as nice, judging by her airy tone. It doesn't look as though she's intending to invade his space any more, nothing beyond the polite familiarity of a packed bar. There's a knowing hum as V'ros makes his thoughts of H'vier known, whether he realizes it or not. "He does tend to rub people the wrong way. Even you?" Which is impressive, or so Azaylia thinks. Crossing her arms back onto the bar, she smiles at the 'tender as each glass, mug, and tankard are refilled in front of them. "Any plans for Turnover? I mean, costume ideas?" She sounds genuinely curious, gaze flicking up and down the fidgety weyrling. Grunts and creaks come from the arm-wrestling table, where the two men are still grappling while everyone watches. "Yeah," V'ros says quietly, restless where he stands, glancing between the Weyrwoman and the packed crowd. He stands up straighter when the drinks arrive, sliding his arms down until his open palms grip the side of the bar. Opinions on H'vier will just have to wait. "Turnover.. oh, the.." One hands grips the handle of the tankard and the other, the stem of the wine glass, and he slants his eyes at Azaylia from the side. "I'm not.. dressing up. I might not go. At all." He falls silent and shifts uncomfortably, but the greenrider is waving him over, having spotted the procured drinks in his hands. "Azaylia, ma'am, thank you for.." Lamely, he raises the drinks, as if in toast, just before he turns to shuffle his way back to his 'friend'. "You're welcome." Azaylia offers with a peculiar expression, watching V'ros go with a little shake of her head. Cute, but perhaps hopelessly stuck in his ways. Which, after a sip of warm klah and quiet consideration, isn't the worst possible thing. |
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