Logs:Stop Staring
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| RL Date: 10 July, 2008 |
| Who: Milani, N'thei, Satiet |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Dinner usually equates to people in living cavern, but since its opening night, the Snowasis sees quite the crowd during this hour: those who prefer to drink their meals than chew them. Seated at a table, two cards held loosely in one hand, Satiet folds with a careless toss into the center and slowly unwinds herself from the table. Idle knuckle raps and a shake of her ice-filled glass segue into her departure, but with a low-worded promise to return; glass empty, need a refill. Perched at the bar, Milani seems to be entertaining the barkeep instead of the other way around, words pattering out rapid-fire as she tells the story of the snowman that currently stands just off the patio ledge outside. "... And then he came in and got the coals and the fingerroot from the kitchen and he came back with an armload of snacks, so cute. Lots of fun to do that too /and/ it gives people something to look at right?" She tilts her glass towardsd the otherwise quiet man as he brings up a bottle and pours. Looks like cider. Smells like the hard kind. An argument leads N'thei and F'rint, who seem to have become inseparable in the past weeks, into the Snowasis from the ledge, shoulder-to-shoulder. "...won't work," is F'rint's assertion. "And I'm telling you, it will," is N'thei's counter, a very well-thought debate between two grown-ups by the back-and-forth sound of it. The bronzerider's been up and about for a while now, though there's still that look of not-quite-well about him-- scars healing, no lingering physical malady, just something /off/. Seems in a good mood despite the argument, despite the look that skips around the room, trips over Satiet's presence, and tries to right itself by propping itself on Milani. "If anyone will know--" He nods to the girl, the cider, set to interrupt her riveting discussion on the birth of snow-people. "Until it melts," comes Satiet's party-pooping rejoinder as the slight woman appears at Milani's side, slender arms sliding forward onto the bar top. "Snowmen, youth's eternal joy. Until it melts. Like childhood dreams, fanciful notions, and soap bubbles. Pop! Yes?" There's a brief, crooked slant of thin lips for Milani and then the bartender, the latter who also has to think fast to catch the sliding glass of ice towards his belly. "Milani." A beat passes, her face cants the other way to observe the lower caverns entrance, then turns faintly to eventually acknowledge N'thei and his sidekick. Milani has just taken a fresh swallow of cider from the glass and Satiet's remark is met by a puffy-cheeked look as Milani swishes the liquid forward to avoid coughing, choking, or otherwise embarrassing herself in front of the Weyrwoman. A breath through her nose and Millie swallows. "Sure. Until it melts. When it gets warm out. Until then you know, Daryen, the little guy who helped build it can dream on," she replies and flashes a bright, brief smile. "Good evening, Weyrwoman." Eyes lift at N'thei's approach, settle briefly on scars and maybe even the 'off'-ness and Millie has another long swallow from her glass before the Weyrleader and his wingsecond actually arrive. "Ever a bundle of good wishes and positive thinking." N'thei's flat tone and hard smile accuse Satiet a little blandly, lack of effort to really seal the remark as an insult, but it's enough for F'rint to hang back, to speculate on whether it's colder outside in the snow or inside with Satiet. Ponderous. "Question about math, my honey. F'rint--" He beckons with a hand back to the reluctant brownrider, his fingers flicked in a beckon. "F'rint and I were speculating on how much the Weyr spends in any given month on ale." Eyes on Milani's mug. "And how much the Snowasis takes in by comparison." "Until then. Of course." For N'thei, there's only the simplest smile that could almost be regarded as simpering, except the cool brightness of her pale gaze. Blue eyes dance over the Weyrleader's face, lingering as they're prone to, over the healing scars before flying away to more pleasant visages - the bartender readying her refill, the glass moreso than the heavyset man. Satiet's sharp chin hitches up, brow cocked at his question to Milani, but silent otherwise. "Realistic anyway," Milani opines then takes a breath, quips: "Honey tonight," and eyes N'thei maybe suspiciously for a moment. "Hm." But then she's chirping the figures on ale readily enough. Oh gee. The Snowasis is making out like a bandit. "So who won that 'speculation'?" Sip of cider. A shrug answers for the endearment, honestly uninterested in clarifying. N'thei and F'rint both seem to have some vested interest in the Snowasis's doings though, and even the brownrider gives up trying to stay apart from the conversation to attend Milani's answer. "No one," comes F'rint's answer, with N'thei's "Yet," a moment later. The brownrider withdraws with a thoroughly polite evening-ladies, leaves N'thei to look between Milani's ale and Satiet's whatever-on-the-rocks with a sudden-- "Weyr fueled by alcohol." "Surprised?" If he's not, Satiet is, more in the telling arc of her brow than her voice. "We work hard," a pause is followed by the slow build up of mocking, "Well, some of us. Need a way to unwind. Not all of us have charming scars to attract other, more pleasing ways." What the bartender concocts is a bubbling red drink topped with a few floating berries, literal fruits of the Monaco trades. "Careful, doll," asides the slighter woman, one of her arms sliding up to place lightly on Milani's shoulder, "Honey tonight. He wants something." "Not /just/ alcohol," Milani counters though she does lift her glass and give N'thei a little 'toast' the vessel wiggled back and forth cutely. The Weyrwoman's drink is given an appreciative peek. "That's pretty as well as looking tasty." The arm dropped in place makes for surprise on Milani's face but she only smiles sweetly at the Weyrwoman. "Thank you ma'am. You really think so? Usually I get that one when he's about to hand out advice." Another little sip from her glass and she looks back over at N'thei. "So. Is she right or am I?" Surprised? "By some." N'thei watches the drink and all its pretty berries, a welcome landing place for his eyes after meeting Satiet's only long enough to make the point of looking elsewhere. "Neither." With a cheerless smile for them both-- the exceptionally bright-and-shiny kind that serves to underline exactly how hateful it really is. Of course, to the rest of the bar, it looks like the happiest of chit-chats, the three of them together, and won't the Weyr buzz about the Weyrwoman, Weyrleader, and Headwoman's assistant making merry together. Oh bartender? "Make sure these two get charged, neh?" The drink, finished now, is set gently before the weyrwoman, her slim hand reaching out to corral it closer. The other lifts to idly play with the delicate linked chain about her neck. "Cherry syrup with sparkling wine." And possibly some more liquors given the care with which the bartender made it. Or maybe it's just Satiet's intimdating factor. Again, those pale eyes lift, shielded this time by her glass to her lips, to study N'thei's scars, and once she's finished taking a taste sip and nodding her approval to the 'tender, she remarks, "You're looking particularly dashing today, wouldn't you agree, Milani?" "Hmm. On the other hand, he could have just been trying to be sweet," Milani muses to the Weyrwoman, tipping her glass back again and shooting a look back over at the Weyrleader and that false-bright smile. She rolls her eyes at his last, props her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bar. "Definitely tasty," the assistant headwoman decides and her gaze flicks back over to N'thei. "Better than last seven," is Millie's assessment of N'thei's looks. "What's the saying?" her brow furrows up and her foot kicks back and forth a little alongside her stool as she actually thinks for a moment. "Oh yeah. Time heals all wounds. My mother like to haul that one out a lot." N'thei adds a saying of his own after Milani's; "Think it's actually 'if someone chokes you long enough, you'll die.' Probably just depends on where you were raised though." Then, evidence of just how little hindered he is by the girl's presence and how greatly bothered he is by Satiet's covert glances, he puts his teeth in something like a smile and pronounces simply, "Stop staring at me before I knock you out." Friendly~! Pale eyes don't deviate from looking to those scars, but that single hand rests the ruby onto the hollow of her neck, tucking it behind a frill of lace. "Can't help it." Perhaps she cues to that discomfort, capitalizing on it with the lightest, floating laughter that seems to evaporate as soon as it sees air. "But if it'll please you, sire," her drink flourishes lightly, spilling splashes onto the bar top, and with a pivot that leaves her gaze lingering on N'thei's grey eyes rather than his cheeks, the weyrwoman returns to her abandoned card game. "Good night, Milani. Say hello to your mother for me." "Good thing I was raised here," Milani replies solidly and empties her glass down her throat, turning a little more to observe the rest of the byplay between Weyrwoman and Weyrleader before Satiet retreats. "That wasn't staring. That was looking nicely and not being afraid to look. This is staring." Milani demonstrates. A nod for the Weyrwoman follows though and a deep breath. "I will ma'am. You have a nice evening." And then it's back to N'thei. "Can't anyone ever be nice to you, even?" she asks him promptly. "Here's a question." Which lightly-put tone never bodes well. "Willing to knock out the weyrwoman." Threaten to anyway, giving Satiet's departure a long look before he sweeps his attention back on to Milani. "What do you think I'd be willing to do to you?" Thing is, when it's really broken down, N'thei doesn't even seem angry-- not /happy/, because when does he ever seem that, but there's more curiosity than malice in the raised brows, the intolerant smile. Farewell foregone, he turns away from Milani all at once, engaging a proposition-for-you conversation with the bartender that does not invite interruption. Before he turns away, Milani meets that gray-eyed gaze levelly. "I'll bet on quite a lot," she says straightforwardly, chin up just a little bit. "The thing is, I still don't believe you would. Because it's not who you really are." Her glass is set down with a quiet thunk and Millie slips off the bar stool as she is 'dismissed'. "Good night, N'thei." Whether he hears or not as she leaves, not to join a card game, but to head out into the Bowl and the darkness outside. |
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