Logs:Making Friends with the Locals
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| RL Date: 6 October, 2012 |
| Who: I'kris, Tajent |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Tajent seeks out the new brownrider for friendly conversation. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions |
| 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. After snowing on and off all day, the skies have stilled at last - not that that means I'kris looks any less cold as he strides purposefully through the passage from the ledge. It's dinnertime, and while most of the weyr prefers to eat in the living caverns, I'kris has taken to eating in the Snowasis itself, usually from one of the booths where he has an ideal vantage point of the cavern at large. Though rugged up against the icy air, he doesn't de-layer himself immediately, and instead heads straight for the bar to request his food and a mug of mulled cider to go with it. Amid those spending time in the Snowasis, whether they ate early or will eat late or are just going for the traditionally-'Reaches liquid diet, there's an equally young man in one of those booths who's as much more lightly dressed than the usual run as I'kris is more heavily clad: short-sleeved Southern-bright shirt worn over plainer trousers, with no apparent reason for the jumper set beside him, because when does a caverns workers of his ilk ever have to go outside? He has a plate already, one that he hasn't touched, and he has a mug, which is on its first refill. And he's also paying attention, so when the Southern brownrider heads to the bar, it's right then that he chooses to finish it off and go for refill number two. Once he's slid the mug to the bartender, he slides an easy smile to the brownrider who's no-coincidence next to him. "I'kris, right? Taj. Tajent. I hear there's going to be music tonight." He leans his elbows on the countertop, giving the myriad bottles a visibly admiring look. I'kris' fingers drum upon the surface of the bar, but come to a complete stop as he registers his name. His head turns, dark eyes giving Tajent the once-over as he formulates his reply. "I'kris," he confirms, levelly, without any particular emotion to go with it in tone or expression. "Or Kris. A lot of people call me Kris. I suppose I must stand out an awful lot. Monaco Brownrider's knots, not precisely commonplace around here." The other man's reply pulls Tajent's glance back, his own eyes a warmer brown, not nearly as dark. "Kris," he says obligingly, and his smile mustn't have ever really left him because there it is again. "Guess you do, but they'll get used to it, and then it'll take dancing on tables to really command their attention." Natives would recognize that he's not from around here either, but a southerner, who knows. "Like the food all right? Sometimes the spicing's a bit," and he reclaims his mug long enough to tip it this way and that. There's certainly no suggestion in I'kris' expression that he might have registered Tajent's origins as being Elsewhere; he rather seems more focused on attempting to get the other man's measure, whatever it might be. His friendliness, though, seems to ease the brownrider's stance ever so slightly, and allow him to grin a toothy smile of his own. "That," he says, "would be a moment for the history books. I suspect my Father would drag me home by the ear. I'm supposed to be an ambassador. The food's fine." His drink arrives, at least, and gives him something to do with his fingers, which wrap around the handle but don't lift it towards his mouth. "Different, but not too bad." Tajent rolls his eyes toward his own left ear, and gives it a tug as though to make certain it's still attached. "Fathers and ears, now that's all too familiar," he says with a chuckle. "But an 'ambassador'? I can't say as I know how that would work, but it sounds awfully stiff." I'kris has a drink, and so his has got to be next, surely. He leans over with a light rap of knuckles on the bar, distracting the bartender from a prime display of cleavage, but it does get him his own refill nonetheless. That sorted, "Listen, Kris, I'm going to head back to my booth... not that my sweater grows legs and walks off, yeah? Anyway, there's room if you want, and otherwise, nice meeting you and all." "So," says I'kris, with a laugh that is both self-conscious and quietly genuine, somehow, "is my Father." Awfully stiff, that is. The offer is considered with cautious - and very obvious - thought, but a moment later the brownrider is nodding, apparently pleased. "I'd like that," he says. "If I'm going to be here for a while, I might as well get to know some people." Conveniently, his food is slid across the bar towards him just now, leaving him free to balance the collection between his hands and continue, "It's a good idea, though. Making sure relations between our Weyrs remain strong. Afterall, our lines," in so far as dragons are considered, "are intertwining impressively." Tajent does wait a moment, though it's not as though he hangs on I'kris's reply, more like he's not running off without him. There is a touch of relief in his swift smile back, for having putting himself out there, maybe? and then he leads the way without particular chatter. When he's slid onto his own seat, when he's gotten his throat wet again, then he nods back to I'kris. "Do you think it's that he's Monaco stock, that he did so well? Everyone's impressed, though of course there are some who wish it was them, and now two Weyrs know his name... though I just hope I pronounce it right!" Tajent gives I'kris a grin, encouraging the passing on of enlightenment. Settled across from the other man, his mug in his hands even if his plate of stew is likely going to get cold if he ignores it like that for too long, I'kris smiles that oh-so-appealing smile of his. "Svissath," he begins, in reply, and his use of his dragon's name is likely a deliberate pronunciation guide, "got lucky. And anyway, he's half High Reachian, of course. His sire was shelled here, which makes Rielsath's clutch three-quarters local. Seriously, though. If it hadn't been for the storm, he'd've had no chance. It's a little embarrassing, I guess, but people tell me a weyrling brown's caught her before, so..." He pauses to take a sip of his drink, then set it down again. "At leas the ex-- at least Ysavaeth rose first. I don't much fancy myself as Weyrleader." Certainly Taj takes it as such, an under-the-breath repetition that takes audible care not to hiss the sibilants too much, but only after his own smile's broadened under Kris's. "Y'don't say," he says. "Right, her last clutch even, that's the one I was Searched for," and surely no bitterness can lie beneath that sunny smile, one that's barely flickered beneath that other name for all that his eyes cut briefly to the side. "So I know that much," he goes on once he's satisfied, "but not the history. Well, enough that I heard the Weyrleader was about our age at the time, maybe even younger. Fifteen? Fourteen? It's hard to imagine my little brother in his place." I'kris' "Sorry," is genuine, if not excessive, said so casually as he reaches for his fork and aims to spear up a piece of tuber amidst the gravy. "Will you Stand again? I bet Svissath'll make good dragons." His pride in his dragon is tempered by the self-conscious note in his expression, and certainly his distraction as he adds: "I heard that, too. That he was young. People still call him the boy Weyrleader. My Father does. It's weird. He's..." Old, but this young man doesn't actually say it. "Anyway, glad it wasn't me. Not that it would be, brown dragon and all." Tajent shrugs off the apology, mentioning once he's swallowed, "I wanted to know, hey?" As I'kris talks, he invests in more of his own meal, sopping up some of the slow-cooked meat with a swipe of his bread, the shreds long ago having fallen off the bone. "Does he really? I didn't think he was old as all that, only my oldest sister, she came for the hatching, she said he was a piece of all right and that was strange." He chews another bite as though he could chew the idea over. "I wonder what people would do if he had flown her... right, Standing. I don't know. It's not as though it turned out the first time," and there would be a pause there, except in the end he doesn't go on at all. I'kris, he waits a few beats, rather as though he expects Tajent to go on, and seems loath to interrupt. In the end, however, he offers a straightforward: "Lots of people don't Impress the first time. Lujayn didn't." Proof! "But, well. I guess you have to pick what you want. Me, there was never much choice there, really. It was expected." The way he glances away suggests there's more to it than that, but he's quick to add, "I guess I can't really think of your Weyrleader as anything but an adult. I guess he's younger than M'kar, though. You're not weyrbred." Proof! It wins a smile from Taj that, for all its slowness, isn't reluctant at all. "Right you are," he agrees, while at the same time not leaping to Stand or to stand. And as it turns out, "Twice over. I'm out of a minehold that's beholden to Telgar, now, my father's the steward there, and he taught me to call men that age 'sir' whether they're Weyrleader or not. Or else." And yet he's here. "So you're weyrbred, then? Was it your first time?" The lift of his cheeks suggests that he's very nearly smiling, or sharing a smirk. "My Father," and yes, there are always capital letters when he says that word, audible and pronounced, "is a Bronzerider, a Wingleader. My sister is Monaco's junior. My grandmother was Senior before Oriane, but that's turns ago now. We're as weyrbred as they come - and yes, it was my first time." He smirks, mouth twisting, but when he continues he's serious enough. "Not a lot of queens at Monaco, not like here." He talks while chewing, carefully covering his mouth with one hand when he opens his mouth. "Telgar. Funny. Not a lot of people get Searched from outside the coverage areas, these days. But... 'now'?" Duly impressed, Taj, given how his brows pop up. "No pressure." He shakes his head, half-laughing into his mug. "I won't say my father'n grandfather and so on, they didn't steward back until the last time the Hold changed hands, but what you're sayin' sounds more like Blood. And my Hold, I say 'now' because it used to look to High Reaches long time ago... come to think on it, is it true that your dragon's da's rider, he was Weyrleader here once upon a time? I think it was back then that they got swapped so this Weyr could look over Crom instead, but don't hold me to it." "Yeah," says I'kris, only a little dispirited and moody, neither of which are unduly surprising given his teenaged turns. "No pressure." He shifts in his seat, turning his attention away from Tajent and towards his food, his mug, the table itself: anything at all that isn't his companion. "Oh, huh. We didn't cover much northern history. South's got enough. Leiventh, though. Yeah. Impressed up here. Weyrleader. R'hin does his own thing, a lot. Some self-sustainability kick. My Father doesn't much hold with it." But, his shoulders say, as they shrug, what can you do? So Taj leans over, the better to try and clink his mug against Kris's: it's all right, man. Now it is. For sure it is. Once he's gotten back to his food for a little while, "Right. Leiventh." Not Lee-venth, not with I'kris to stay it first. "Sustaining sounds good, but something tells me those as aren't riders, we'll be working fairly much the same either way." And he could get a briefer on Southern history, but since his meal's getting towards gone he asks instead, hushed, "Was it bad with Lujayn, or did you really not notice? I mean, she's even older'n the Weyrleader," and it's not as though I'kris is known to be staying in her weyr. Spill the dirt! Clinking mugs seems to ease I'kris' mind from whatever concerns are haunting him so much - when he glances up again, it's to smile, and lift his glass up for a moment of recognition before he sips. "Probably true," he allows. "That's the way of it." In another rider, now might be the time to remark on Iolene's revolutionary ideas... I'kris is not the rider for that. And anyway, he's got that goofy amused grin to share as he answers, tone equally hushed, "It was-- it's different. We didn't have a second go round, that's for sure. She could almost be my mother, you know? But... sex is sex. Experience has to count for something." Exchange 'goofy' for 'smug', then. Although, "We don't really have anything in common. She's nice enough, but... You know." Likely Taj doesn't know, not really, but a good smirk like his has to count for something, that and a roll of his shoulders that manages to not be completely uncomfortable. "Yeah." He shakes his head, eyes briefly slitted with the depth of his laugh. "Well, it made for a good party. Back home, folks would be horrified, in public anyway, but it's good to know something about a Weyr lives up to at least a couple of the stories. You know," but just then a tiny green firelizard pops into the air, chittering at him, and he slaps his hand against his forehead. As he's getting up, "Sorry, Kris, I got to run. But listen, I work in the stores, so if you're not all situated with your weyr and all yet, let me know and I'll let you get at the good stuff." And either way, he knows where to find him. I'kris doesn't notice (or, at least, doesn't seem to) any discomfort - teenagers, not always all that observant, after all. "Yeah," he agrees. "I'll bet." His gaze tracks the other young man as he stands, his smile suddenly brightening. "Stores. The weyr they've given me... it's not the best. It'd be nice to be comfortable. I'll seek you out. And-- thanks. It's good to know I might be making some friends. It was nice to meet you, Taj." The smile is genuine, even bright: it'll even track Tajent all the way to the door, along with that sharp-eyed gaze that goes with it. |
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