Logs:Lucky Brooms
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| RL Date: 19 October, 2010 |
| Who: Maraya, Y'wan |
| Type: Log |
| What: Maraya has a /fun/ and /interesting/ proposition for Yeowan. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 24 (Interval 10) |
| Midnight may have passed an hour or so again, but that hasn't stopped the celebrations at High Reaches - and anyway, tomorrow's a rest day for everyone, and the booze is all on the weyr's mark. What's not to like? Greenrider Maraya teeters on her way towards the drinks table, and her fingers fumble with the whiskey she's attempting to pour for herself, but the swaying is all in response to the music: she spins around, bottle still in hand, laughing gleefully. Free booze has a habit of attracting people, as if the celebratory atmosphere wasn't enough. While there are strangers aplenty in a place the size of the Weyr, some of these new arrives are... stranger than others. One little such collection has established itself not so far from that drinks table, the better to attract the attention of everybody waiting for a drink, and has for some time now been performing an assortment of small entertainments. The Harpers on the late shift are unwittingly providing the accompaniment for this. A pair of them, two men though it's hard to tell much about them given that they're wearing identical half-face masks, are tossing brightly-colored balls over an increasing distance and at an increasing pace. As the song halts, so does the act, with a smattering of applause, some bows, and a passing around of a hat. While the hat's being passed, one of the entertainers makes a break for the drinks without so much as removing the mask in question, and for all that earlier coordination he nearly bumps into the spinning greenrider. "Careful, now. Spill and that'll be a waste, won't it?" His tone is lyrical, the accent something muddily indeterminate. "Enough there for two?" The end of the song seems to make no difference at all to Maraya's little dance, but her new, be-masked friend? That /will/ do it. She wobbles as she comes to a halt, blinking rapidly in her attempts to focus on him. "Whoa." There's a definite slur to the short, blonde-haired girl's voice, and wideness of her eyes is probably telling of a lot, though she's not entirely incoherent. Yet. "Your face is-- whoa." She illustrates with the bottle, waving it in the direction of his mask - which at least sort of counts as an offering, right? "Hello." It is an offering, says the hand that takes hold of the bottle below where she's holding it, gently tugs it away, and uses it to pour a generous helping into two glasses. Can't say as he's greeted. "My face is indeed whoa, and you haven't even seen it yet." He raises the glass as though in a toast to... something, then drinks. Then he finally pushes the mask back so it sits like another set of blank eyes and nose attached to his forehead instead of over his own. "You see?" Not that he's so very whoa if you don't count being four-eyed. "I'm Yeowan. Have you been watching the show?" Maraya barely seems to notice the loss of the bottle, though receipt of a glass in its place earns a brilliant smile. She drinks hers down with the ease of practice, smiles winningly, and then-- pauses. Does the removal of his mask really warrant such an expressively fascinated glance? Maybe not, but it earns it anyway. He took his face off! Sort of. "/Magic/," she declares, with decisive certainty, and a peal of laughter. "I'm Maraya, Ye-- Yo-- /Yeowan/. I /have/ been. You had balls." She pauses, brow furrowing, and then laughs. "In the air, I mean. Juggling. That's what it is, right?" Her declaration lends confidence to Yeowan's smile. "Juggling, absolutely. Yeowan, you got it. Maraya. Lovely name. I can do a little magic, but I'm better at juggling. Specialization, you know. Did you like it? The show." Every now and then he pauses for a drink; he's not going to do the whole thing in a single shot, but the more he talks the more it's obvious there's already a little slur to the words already. It may be a miracle nobody got brained with one of those wooden balls. "We were much more spectac--specta--amazing earlier in the evening. I did a thing with wooden pins. Some of them were on fire." He says this matter-of-factly, but afterwards with a keen look for her reaction. "On /fire/." Maraya looks suitably impressed. "I must've missed that. I was--" Her smile is winning, with an edge of amusement. "Celebrating. It's turn 24, you know. That's-- well. Anyway. What I /did/ see of your show was very fun." For all that her glass is empty, she's apparently unconcerned with obtaining more: perhaps it's just that the company is interesting. "So that's what you do, is it? Juggle. All the time? Must be awful cold in winter." Perhaps that statement is more relevant and sensical in her head. "Or is that why you do the fire thing? Must be lots of fun." Interesting company or not, when Yeowan reaches about 3/4 of the way through his glass, he does freshen it up a bit. "Usually we take a break over the winter. Or work indoors. Depends on the winter." Beat. "Depends on the available indoors, for that matter. But that is what I do, I and my, ah, associates. We don't make very much money at it, but it keeps food on the table. And you can't beat getting to travel. But it is indeed turn 24." He lifts his glass again, this time holding it there for the moment. "To the new turn. May it be an interesting one." This time he drinks more deeply. Maraya gives an artistic (and somewhat wobbly) 'brrr' for the mention of winter, despite the fact that it's rather more stifling in the caverns than it is cold. "And this winter, you're /here/. For at least a little while?" Her emptier glass is lifted to match the toast, and she laughs at this, too: she's apparently a very happy drunk. Or a very happy person; it /is/ fairly hard to tell at this point. "And a fun one. Saaaay-- you know what /would/ be fun? And probably interesting, too?" She's giving him a very meaningful glance. "For a little while," Yeowan agrees. "Indoors, and in such nice company, might I add." She's giving meaningful looks, and he's just going to go right ahead and take them the way any red-blooded young man would take such a meaningful look from a woman. She laughs, so he laughs. Everybody's just having so much fun, here! "So tell me this lovely, lovely idea of yours. I'm sure it'll be fun. And interesting. Everything I do is interesting." He hiccups, which just makes him laugh again, like it's the most hilarious thing that's ever happened to him. She's not exactly doing much to dissuade the assessment of her meaningful looks: there's definitely something flirtatious about the way Maraya is standing, all cocked hip and enticing smile. "You're sweet," she tells him, her dimples on display. "I like that. Noo - what I was going to /say/ was, I know it's awfully late, and you're not really supposed to stay for long and all of that, but wouldn't it be /funny/ and interesting if you Stood for the eggs? They're going to hatch soon, you know." That last is sort of conspiratorial, like it's some big secret. That must have been absolutely hysterical. At least, Yeowan's laughing like it was. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Can just see that, can't you? Me, out there with all those kids and eggs. You know, I met a fellow once, used to do a routine with firelizard eggs. No lie. Fly them round in the air just like colored balls. I would not make something like that up. Now, imagine you could do that with dragon eggs? That'd be a laugh. 'Course, if I dropped one... hell to pay there, yeah? You have such a smile. Beautiful thing, a smile is." Although he's momentarily distracted by the need to freshen his glass up again. Going through it quite well, even in sips. Maraya's laughing, too. Giggling, really. "Oh, I wish I'd seen that!" she tells Yeowan, earnestly. With another of those smiles-- she seems utterly delighted. "Dragon eggs, though... I suppose they'd be a bit harder to handle. Of course, these ones might not even hatch, you know. So maybe you /could/ give it a try. It would be funny." She's fluttering her eyelashes at him, now, suggesting, cheerfully, "What a /story/ it would be, telling about how you Stood for the dud eggs. Or even if they aren't, how they /might/ have been, and how they might have been /monsters/. What a laugh!" It's her time to hiccup, this time, and it makes her giggle again. "We should find a broom closet. For good luck." "A story. An *adventure*. I'm always having adventures, you know. Part of the whole, ah, travelling... thing. I can hardly say no to an adventure! Especially if it might involve monsters." Yeowan has a laugh for her hiccup, a laugh for the broom closet--"I always heard brooms were lucky!" He cracks himself right up, there, struggles to get himself under control enough to try for something in the way of a proper leer, even if he's not very good at it. "I am certainly all for getting lucky." Okay, there's the laughter again. It's just so hard to be serious. Maraya looks positively delighted, despite needing to hide a hiccup behind her hand. "I bet /your/ broom will be--" She can't quite finish the sentence, and goes back to giggling instead, while reaching for Yeowan's hand. "Come on, then! Bring the bottle. I think I'm going to need another drink." Which... probably has nothing to do with her companion, so much as the whole merry enjoyment of the evening. For the record. She's still giggling as she adds, apparently intent on all but dragging him from the caverns alongside with her, "Happy turnover!" There's a whole bunch of bottles, so why stop at one? Yeowan has two hands. He takes two instead, neither of them full by this hour but enough between them to be a very respectable quantity of liquor. And after that, well, no reason not to let her drag him along. "Happy turnover indeed. You know, my partner is going to think I got lost. I was supposed to bring him a drink. But I think he can get his own drink. It's not like he can get that angry. It is turnover. There's celebrating to be doing, and I think you're by far more lovely." Two! Two is totally better than one. Dragging Yeowan by the elbow, Maraya's laughing as she says, "Maybe he'll get lucky by the drinks table, too. He ought to: it's /late/. No one should be working, now, not even entertainers." She reaches to snag one of the bottles and take a swig directly from it, but otherwise, she seems inclined (or perhaps it's necessary: movement is more difficult after... however much alcohol it has been) to concentrate on navigating the corridors in search of that promised broom closet. And the revelry that continues /inside/ it. |
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