Logs:Place Your Bets
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| RL Date: 23 January, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Taikrin, H'vier, Iesaryth |
| Type: Log |
| What: A poker game gets interrupted when both Iesaryth and Hraedhyth decide to rise. Thankfully, not in the same place. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| 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. Dusk is taking its sweet time falling over High Reaches Weyr. As if the clammy fog isn't enough of a reason to stay indoors. The commotion coming from the Snowasis doesn't sound out of the ordinary, certainly nothing like Taikrin's turnday and yet there's a thrum of excitement. It's in the air. It's different. It's... Azaylia? Sitting at a table made up of several other riders, the weyrwoman has slipped back into her not-a-sweater, along with those knee high boots. There are cards in her hands and a big smile for those she's playing against, taking a moment to cross her legs beneath the table. The fair amount of marks in front of her probably has something to do with that grin. Taikrin has lain low after her birthday celebration-- rumor has it the hangover was hellacious, especially after she started drinking whisky off whatever bare female skin she could find to pour it over. Still, she looks perfectly fine today. Better than fine, in fact: she's got the coiled tension of a predator in the set of her shoulders, and her grin is one of cocky assurance. Though she orders a beer at the bar, she seems content to sit back in her bar stool and nurse it while she ostensibly watches the gambling... with maybe a little extra focus on what Azaylia's doing. Maybe. It's only now that H'vier is entering the Snowasis from the patio. He's out of his flying leathers which means that Reisoth had to leave his post on Hraedhyth's ledge at some point. The bronzerider is still wearing a leather jacket but the clothes underneath are casually stylish more so than practical against the chill he's not used to dealing with on the ground. He's a little less tense than he was earlier but he still heads first to the bar to get the attention of someone that can get him a drink. There's no secret to it other than, with such high spirits (and energy), Azaylia has one hell of a pokerface. Bad cards? Smile and giggle. Amazing cards? The same. It's a game built on lies, something she normally struggles with... which might be how she managed to win so much early on. Now the others, two Glacier riders and two non-wingmates, are being much more careful with their marks. When it comes time for their hands to be shown, it goes to a relieved enough bronzerider who is all too quick to leave with what he can. The loss has no effect on her, calling to the bar, "Next victim?" All sweet-like. That's her cue. Taikrin pushes off her stool with a sharkish grin. There's a faint narrowing of eyes as she not-quite brushes past H'vier, but then it's all smug confidence as she drops herself down in the newly-empty chair. "Afternoon," is her casual greeting to wingmates and others alike. "What're we playing? Seven-card? Rum?" H'vier turns to look over where Azaylia is settled, glances briefly at Taikrin as she moves past him, but he doesn't follow over there to join the game. For now he watches, turning back to the bar only long enough to take his drink before his attention, observant and calculating in a way that's more reminiscent of his lifemate, returns to the gathering of riders. Azaylia brushes the cards aside as she watches Taikrin sit, sweeping them towards the rider that will be dealing next. "Seven-card." The mug next to her is lifted up to her lips, no shudder revealing that it's only klah. Boring. "Do you even have any marks left?" Leaning forward, she rests her chin on a hand and sounds as if she might kick her wingmate out of the game. She doesn't, easing back in her seat and flicking a glance towards the bar. Double-take, H'vier is given a look that is reminiscent of earlier that day before Taikrin and the newly dealt cards snag her attention once again. "Got a handful," the brownrider shrugs, unconcerned. "What kind of stakes we playing for, anyways? Reckon I can deal in something other than marks if we're playing too rich." One of the Glacier riders snorts; clearly he has heard this song-and-dance before. Taikrin shoots him a quelling look that goes completely ignored, then leans back in her chair to take her own ease. "Look like you're doing okay for yourself, in any regards. You turning Bitran on me?" He's definitely watching closely enough to note Azaylia's double-take but it doesn't set him moving away from the bar just yet. H'vier takes in the other riders, particularly the recently joined Taikrin, as he nurses his drink. Eventually he will start moving across to approach the table but he doesn't seem to have any intention of joining the game. He'll just stand nearby and rubberneck. No doubt there's a murmur of agreement for Taikrin's accusation. The goldrider is supposed to be an easy one to fleece. And could she stop smiling so much? It's unsettling. "I have plenty of marks." Azaylia points out, "Not that much clothing on." No shame in the truth. What? There'll be no rubbernecking on her watch, once she notices the bronzerider nearby. Standing up, there's a tug at the bottom of her dress, "H'vier. You can come be my good luck charm." Cards hidden against her chest, she motions for him to take her seat. But then, where will she..? To Iesaryth, Hraedhyth's touch comes from a place of genuine concern and curiosity. Is it her fault that wafting smoke carries with it a hint of something smug as plumes seek out her sister's breeze? Awake, she's not alert, letting heated influence drift while her body is so comfortably still. What is Iesaryth up to? And so far from home? Taikrin's attention flickers over towards H'vier at Azaylia's demand. There's a challenge in her expression, in the toothy grin and hard eyes. "Rider," she greets begrudgingly. Still, a bronzerider is nothing to look at when Azaylia's legs are right there on display. It's perfectly allowable for her to look, at least for a little bit, right? It certainly restores some friendliness to the smile she points back at Azaylia like a weapon. A charming weapon. "No, reckon you don't at that." Beat. "You sure you don't want to be my good luck charm? Help me win back some of those marks I spent?" Anyone that has seen the bronzerider in action might be surprised by the affect that the goldrider seems to have on him right now. H'vier's gaze moves along the length of Azaylia's body and he clears his throat before a brief glance over at Taikrin. "Evening," to the brownrider as he moves to take Azaylia's seat, already reaching to try guiding her into his lap. He definitely knows where he wants her to sit. "Luckiest bronzerider ever. Promise." Azaylia doesn't need much guiding, settling snugly against H'vier and leaning back so he'll be able to see her hand. "Don't give away my cards." Who knows what she has with that impish curl to her lips? Brown eyes flick back up to Taikrin as she leans forward in order to bet, tossing marks into the pot. That charming smile has her freezing, "Could always put that on the table?" Her being Taikrin's good luck charm. "What would I get if I won?" She wonders, easing back onto the bronzerider's lap. To Hraedhyth, Iesaryth has been oddly evasive about where precisely she is and what precisely she's doing (or who she's doing it with), but the weather has been pleasantly warm where she is, warm enough to doze in sand and under hot sun, quiet with her rider sleeping nearby. Without the human worrying these days past, it's been so peaceful. But the waters are dark and the skies above an odd unnatural dull green. Storm's a'brewin. Taikrin's disbelief solidifies into a knot of anger. Unlike Szadath, who burns ice cold at his vantage point by the feeding grounds, his rider flushes with ruddy heat. Her fingers curl into fists, and then she's knocking her chair back and shooting to her feet to snarl at H'vier, "You get your filthy sharding bronzerider hands off of her!" The Glacier bluerider curses, hissing at Taikrin to sit down scorch it but she's having none of it. H'vier is oh so very helpful, snaking an arm out around Azaylia's waist to help keep her steady on his lap. So it might be just a little bit possessive. Who can really blame him right now? Besides Taikrin, at least. The brownrider's bluster makes H'vier look over at her with an infuriating sort of smug grin on his face. "She can decide whose hands she wants on her." So long as they're his. Since Iesaryth isn't so keen on sharing, Hraedhyth decides she'll make up for it. Too bad the younger, more of a pup really, gold isn't here. It might not be sunny and warm, but it is perfect weather to snuggle up with a male. Black smoke blends in with darkening skies, a mental shove that is meant to be playful and not at all stifling. Really. « You do not have to hurry home. » Ever. What? No, a misheard drum, doing its best to drown out ocean's waves. Big sister has it all under control, here. (Hraedhyth to Iesaryth) "Taikrin?" It's surprisingly calm, given the brownrider's sudden outburst. Finally, it seems her smile will be shrinking as she keeps seated, "Taikrin." A bit more firm now, soft voice carrying some frustration. "Sit down. We've got a hand to play." H'vier is far from any help, and she turns her head to give him a lift of her eyebrows. He's not wrong, "I'll sit on your lap next. Promise." The younger gold seems to prefer the sun and the heat, the ocean nearby that seems much calmer than that in her mind, dark glossy waves rising. There's the faintest sense of metal, a flicker that's mirror-bright, but Iesaryth is possessive of that as smoke drifts over the water and breezes pick up to blow it back, the roar of the breakers rivaling the pounding of the drums. She doesn't remind Hraedhyth that they aren't actually blood, but there's rebellion there that's hers and her rider's both: don't tell me what to do. « Perhaps I will call them here. » Idle thought. Maybe. (Iesaryth to Hraedhyth) It's a hard, hard pill for Taikrin to swallow. She makes an effort to settle back down in her seat, though she's poised on the very edge of it and her body is coiled on hair-trigger alert. Her cheeks are still flushed, though, and her breath is quick. "Fine. Let's play." The brownrider jerks her gaze away so that she can stare daggers at her poor, well-meaning blueriding wingmate. "Deal me in." The look he gets from Azaylia is met with a mild, if still slightly smug grin. It looks a little strange coupled with the bruise on his face but it's clearly an expression H'vier is used to wearing. His hand at her waist might tighten when Azaylia mentions sitting on the brownrider's lap anyway but he doesn't protest the idea out loud. Instead he just stares smugly across the table at Taikrin. All else is ignored. Call them away? Who? Not Hraedhyth's males!? Fire roars in response to crashing ocean, sisterhood burnt up in the sudden territorial blaze that consumes her. « DO NOT. » Yes, she is telling you want to do little, itty bitty, gold! A maddening cackle sounds on the mainland, unhinged and all but forgetting that Iesaryth has her in physical size. « As if they would come. » She won't let them. (Hraedhyth to Iesaryth) Are they Hraedhyth's males? The last Iesaryth checked, before she left, they were the Weyr's. And is not Iesaryth part of the Weyr, no matter how far the (massive, giant, bigger than the older) queen may be from home? Her rider might not like it; it might go against the plan, but these things do happen. « We do what we like. » And we'll just see how it all turns out. (Iesaryth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia, and many patrons of the Snowasis, breathe a sigh of relief. "You heard the brownrider." She echoes her wingmate, and H'vier will be able to feel the tension drain out of her body. His tightening grip has her giving a giggle, one she tries to stifle with a bite to her lips, for Taikrin's sake. The bronzerider will also hear the faint murmur to herself, "Oh stop." Spoken through a smile that's slowly regaining its strength, "Iesaryth isn't even here." There's a flash of a dull, unnaturally greenish sky above dark forbidding waters that roar and crash with massive waves; a pull that's felt despite the distance - such a great distance that it's difficult to even tell where it really comes from. Iesaryth is somewhere hot and sandy and green, somewhere far from home; Iesaryth is waking up. Iesaryth is about to fly. (Iesaryth to all High Reaches dragons) Taikrin still twitches at the giggle. She can't look over there not when-- not when-- "What?!" The brownrider jerks out of her chair again, but this time it's to twist and stare, unseeingly, at the southern wall. "Shit! Where the shells did she go?!" Given that she's still staring at a wall, it's unlikely the brownrider is actually talking to anyone at the table. Drums have always been far from silent, but with each passing moment they have been growing in both power and volume. Hraedhyth's agitation is obvious, but what isn't is the cause. Not until... The queen gives an explosive roar, a blazing inferno of possessive fury. Of lust. She cannot burn Iesaryth out of existence, but she will do her damnest to scorch that vision out of the minds of HER dragons. Few escape to where they think the younger gold might be, but all too sudden the older queen has a hold on those that remain. There is no Iesaryth, only Hraedhyth, and she will claim 'Reaches sky this evening. (Hraedhyth to all High Reaches dragons) H'vier goes tense under Azaylia around the same time that she's murmuring to herself and Taikrin is talking to no one present. The bronzerider doesn't do anything like release the goldrider but soon enough he's murmuring something along the lines of, "We shouldn't be here." It's hard to tell if that's to Azaylia or his dragon, though. Possibly relevant either way. Azaylia wrenches herself away from H'vier's arms, trembling legs causing her to fall. Damn heels. "Hraedhyth!" Fear at that anger, such as she has felt only once before. Scuffed knees, wooden marks, riders, none of that matters as she runs out of the Snowasis and towards the bowl. Towards her weyr. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Thu, 24 Jan 2013 15:41:12 GMT.
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The giggling... OMG. Plus sides for not being around... ;)
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