Logs:Bones' Poison: Klah
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| RL Date: 5 November, 2012 |
| Who: Barnabas, Leova |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Leova meets Barnabas, who tells her what people call him when they don't call him 'Bones.' |
| Where: Snowasis |
| When: Day 3, Month 3, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Anvori/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Snowasis sits in an uneasy quiet, at least quiet relative to it's usual livliness. The low murmurs of conversations and hushed laughter were mostly eminating from the edges of the room, where private gatherings were the order of the evening. "Why's it so sharding dead in here?" Bones mumbles to nobody in particular as he swirls his mug of klah. Two parts bad luck and one part tragedy would be answer. A murder that even a newcomer like him couldn't have escaped news of. The slumped figure rests his elbows on the bar as he leans over his drink, giving a lazy scratch to the side of his nose as he debated what to do with himself. Build a snowman? Nah, that got old on the first day. He gets a narrowed look from his neighbor, the much-shorter greenrider pushing up her sleeves with intent. "Quite the turn of speech you got." Dead. She'd kept to herself for some time, having abandoning the thinned-out Glacier table for the bar itself and some beer, but this is the first time she's looked at him: at nearly anyone, really, except the bartender. The sound of such clear voice was almost alien at first, but after a few long seconds his eyes shift to look at her through his peripheral. "I guess that's what you'd call uhhh.. dark humor, eh?" A grin creeps across his face, the man rather suddenly sitting up to extend a long arm in her direction for a shake. "Cmon, lemme buy you a drink. What's your poison?" Clear is relative, her alto ordinarily smoky-low. Today, yesterday, the day before that, it's tighter. Her accent's Tillek. "Guess so." She doesn't take his hand, does look at it a moment and then aim to bump fists instead, a sort of truce. "I'm weyrmated. And let's skip the poison, given the givens." She keeps eyeing him, does the greenrider. Doesn't quite smile. Does inquire, "You always put your foot in your mouth that deep? Unless it's on purpose." The greenrider earns an eyebrow raise at her choice of tapped knuckles in place of hearty handshake, but the shrug that follows it silently speaks to it's acceptance. "Weyrmated?" He pauses to ponder her reason for bringing it up, and his smile brightens in realization. "Ha! I gotcha, worried sleazeballs tryin to sneak into your britches eh?" He takes a swig of his klah like it was heavy ale, complete with landing the mug back on the table with a heavy thunk. "Nah, I aint butterin you up with booze, just tryin to be friendly like. As for feet in my mouth? I don't like to dwell on mistakes, know what I mean?" And she keeps looking at him while he figures it out, while he drinks, while the mug thunks down. "Going to assume," she says finally. "For the record. That you aren't calling a dead woman just a mistake." Unobscured by politeness of her own, her eyes are amber, yellow amber, yellow ringed by a thin line of brown against their whites. "Where're you from, anyway? Reckon I'd have remembered you." She rotates atop her stool just a little, just enough to make the seat squeak when it switches direction again. Bones finally gets a sense of what she's getting at after a long pause of quiet deliberation. "Oh... OH! Haha, Oh shit!" Dead in here. What's your poison. Now it was sinking in, but it only made him laugh harder. "Oh man, what a heartless sack of dung I must seem right about now! Ha!" An admittance of fault, but no real shame attached. "I'm from uhh..." he took a moment to wipe some of the smile off of his face, at least partially realizing it might have been innapropriate. "From Saluda. S'near Nerat if you aint heard of it, most havn't." He swigs back the last of his Klah, then wipes the bit of brown liquid from his lips off onto the back of his leather wrist bands. "Now cmon, you gotta let me put down some marks on a drink for you." Saluda. Has she heard of it? It doesn't show. "I have heard of Nerat," the woman does say. Gravely. With a long blink that suggests that it might even be tongue in cheek, no less. "Don't gotta, actually. But. Name's Leova. Yours?" All that boisterousness from him, and after that earlier fist-bump she keeps that much more to herself, with only that occasional, persistent squeak. A heavy sigh leaves the man at her reluctance to accept his hospitality, but the pause in his smile only lasts as long as the exhale itself. "Alright, suit yourself dragonrider." He calls over to the bartender for another mug of klah, keeping eyes on his incoming beverage as he continues on in his continual gravel-toned voice. "Friends call me Bones. Enemies call me... well all sorts'a colorful things really, ha!" Silence from his neighbor, but an easier sort of silence once he's less pressing. Eventually, this after she's taken a long swallow of her drink, "What's the most creative, I wonder. That you've heard." Of what they called him. After a small sip of his freshly poured drink of choice, he brings a thumb and forefinger to his beard to thoughtfully tug at it. "Hmmmmmm..." Exaggerated and elongated, for comedic effect of course. "Probably... wher-fucking cockbreath?" He continues to scratch at his chin, as if there might have been something much worse he was just forgetting. "Somebody called me a fish mining son-of-a-whore once, but that wasn't creative. Just accurate." Big grin follows, his fingertips leaving his chin being the sign that he was done pondering. It's enough to crook up one brow, though the other comes along more fractionally for the ride. "That sounds painful," the greenrider determines. "Well. Sorry they didn't tell you a better story, hm? Maybe next time." She straightens enough to signal to the bartender, though not for another drink, given how next she slides off the stool to take her leave. "Evening." Not, Evening, Bones. But not, Evening, something worse, either. |
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