Logs:A Drunken Revolution
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| RL Date: 27 February, 2015 |
| Who: A'rist, Quinlys |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys is drunk and upset, and drags A'rist with her. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions |
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| Middle of the afternoon - with a clutch incoming - is generally not a time one frequently finds Quinlys in the Snowasis; surely, after all, she has things to do! Today, however, despite the hour, the bluerider sits one of of the stools near the bar, desultory to the point of scowliness and nursing a tumbler of whiskey that has - by the state of the bottle not far from her - been refilled more than once. She stares into the depths of it, blinking owlishly at the amber liquid, and then sighs, spinning about on the stool. Lythronath and A'rist have drilled with Taiga already this morning. It's not been fully easy, settling back into the Weyr, but at least Lythronath seems to have found himself a niche. He's gone there now, back to the sands, to irritate Niahvth and perhaps also enjoy the heat and dream of babies. It leaves A'rist to wander. Perhaps today, he's not up to the caverns. Perhaps Quinlys had a more detrimental effect on his upbringing then anyone would like to think. But he winds up in the same place, and when he spots her, moves over to that same bar, and takes a stool of his own. Even tries one spin.
"We're back," A'rist confirms, stopping that spinning at the one, a hand bracing against the bar as if he it could help him adopt a seriousness. The question brings the slightest purse of his lips and wrinkle of his nose. "Am I interrupting something?" Sighing, "No. I'm busy feeling sorry for myself - and for this whole damn Weyr - but it's not something that has to take all my attention. Do you want a drink?" Quinlys waggles the bottle in his direction, idly, her hand just slightly unsteady; given the pink in her cheeks, she may have been at this for a while. "Special occasion?" The offer of a drink gets a nod. He even looks for a bartender, that he might signal for a glass. "Unless you just did it in secret," out of the corner of his mouth, while he's still looking more to that glass fetching than to the Weyrlingmaster, "when we were still little." That, at least, makes Quinlys smile. "I can't even begin to tell you how many bottles we went through, when you lot were weyrlings," she says, quite cheerfully. "But you can't drink in front of the kids. No--" She pauses, makes a face. "It's the next lot I'm worried about. Have you heard? That they're going to send a bunch of them back to Igen. It's awful." A'rist finally gets his glass, and swings his head back to peer at Quinlys. "I was meaning more the self-pity part... unless those go together." A nod, a bite to his lip, acknowledges that he's heard things. "There's some gossip about it. I dunno, I think Niahvth said something to Lythronath about it, too. He gets to hear all sorts." The smirk that follows is mischievous, unrepentant. "Guess they had to marry her off to us for something." Quinlys', "Oh," is kind of short and sharp. Then, she shrugs. "Not usually. Too busy being awesome to be--" But her smile is wry and there's another shrug to go with it. In either case, although she extends the bottle to pour for the other rider, she's clearly not amused by his mischievousness. "It's bullshit," she says. "How would you feel, if you'd Impressed Lythronath and then suddenly you were told you had to transfer to Igen? To Igen of all places. It's fucking wrong." "I guess... I don't know." He thinks about it, for the time it takes his whiskey to be poured. "I guess it would depend on whether or not anyone had told me we might've had to move, before the hatching. How ready we were for it." He lifts that glass, sips a little, carefully, that whiskey in the afternoon. "But I guess people might've been happy to see me and Lythronath go." Eyebrows are lifted, testing as much as teasing. Quinlys shakes her head. "It's bullshit," she informs A'rist, almost teacherly; on this, she'll accept no argument. "You Impress at a Weyr, you ought to be allowed to stay. Or they move you immediately like they did with Aishani and Iesaryth. None of this bullshit interfering with weyrling training or finding our weyrlings not up to scratch or--" Okay, yes, she may be a little drunk. And clearly she's too serious to acknowledge that tease. A'rist isn't sure how to answer that; the loss is in his face, so he hides that behind his glass again, though still sipping - just slowly. "So." The glass settles back to the bar, and both hands come forward to pinch their fingers around it. "You either convince them to choose after hatching and move them... or you find a way to keep them." The latter is more interesting; it gets a lift of his head. "Yes," declares Quinlys, apparently triumphant. "But really, it's got to be the latter. If someone volunteers to go, fine, but... no one gets sent against their will." She takes another long swig from her drink and, probably for the best, sets the glass down. "So I just need to get everyone on board. We'll protect our riders. And we'll make sure everyone gets warned of the whole thing before they agree to Stand. I was thinking maybe we Search from outside the Weyr." "But," A'rist taps a finger on the bar, one thud, and it stays put, "how are you going to decide who's 'our' riders and who's not, if they get to choose to stay or go? And why search outside the weyr, especially if you want to keep them? And how are you gonna deal with Igen anyway? What if they think you're holding their goldrider hostage or something?" Quinlys waves an airy hand. "Details," she says. "Still got to work 'em out. Clearly, we're not going to hold their goldrider hostage... though that'd be a fun idea, wouldn't it? She's such a bitch." The bluerider slurs her words, and finally, as she finishes, sighs. "So maybe there's still some working out to do. But you see my point. You understand." A'rist takes his finger from the table, and lifts his glass. A sip. "You think dragons do best in their homes," A'rist decides once he's swallowed that liquor. "And their riders." He runs his tongue over his teeth, thoughtful. "Haven't even met Irianke yet, you know that? We've been back like a week, and Lythronath's been holding the sands hostage..." "Yes," is fervent and heart-felt. Yes, that's exactly what Quinlys believes. She makes a face, though, and adds, "You're not missing much. She hides beneath a happy exterior; she's really one of the biggest bitches you'll ever meet. Two-faced. Fake. Nosy. Lythronath should hold the sands hostage forever, until she takes that clutch back to Igen." "You of all people should know he doesn't need anyone giving him ideas." Another lift, and that glass of his is empty, set back on the bar like a trophy. "And I thought we were trying to make her not take that clutch back to Igen. Maybe you should be having him guard the babies." With a shrug, "He likes babies." Quinlys wrinkles her nose, apparently unable to actually pinpoint what it is she wants. In the end, she shrugs. "We'll work something out. Protect 'em with our lives, or get them gone right about now, that's the way it's got to be. How are you, anyway?" "We will," A'rist promises, any doubts he might have in the Weyrlingmaster's ability to follow through expressed only at the corners of his eyes when he looks at her. And then, bowl-ward, sands-ward, for a moment. "Hm?" Upon his return to the present situation, the one his body's sitting at. "We're... back." Another shrug. It's probably a good thing that there aren't all that many people in the Snowasis, this afternoon; it's not as though Quinlys has been especially quiet. She blinks owlishly at the younger rider, now, and then sighs. "Back. Well. Guess that's something, isn't it?" "It's something. Dragon back in his home, you know? What could be better for him." And that's what's got A'rist sliding off his barstool. "You... thanks for the drink, I guess." Quinlys peers, somewhat bleerily, at A'rist, and then shrugs. "Sure. Don't forget what I said!" She'll probably regret this, tomorrow. "I won't." A'rist won't. |
Comments
Edyis (01:49, 28 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Lythronath... claiming the babies. Yeah that's one way to do it.
I loved this scene so much.
Azaylia (01:54, 28 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Yesssssss. Quinlys, planting (drunken) seeds... I love it! I'm very curious to see how this particular whiskey-fueled wildfire might spread, ICly. ^^
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