Logs:Drifting
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 January, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Z'ian |
| Type: Log |
| What: A nightcap in Z'ian's Weyr. |
| Where: Z'ian's Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 9, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy rain |
  |
| Tsanth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#1092R) This ledge must have been damaged somehow, many turns ago, for there are definite signs of rebuilding across the ledge - not to mention deep pock-marks in the stone that must, surely, have been made by something harder than draconic talons. Long and wide, it's well sized, with plenty of room for a bronze and some company, with a pretty enough view out over the bowl, and a decent amount of afternoon sun. The entrance into the inner Weyr has been partially bricked up, suggesting that it must, once upon a time, have been much wider: as it is, there's still room for a bronze to reach the stone couch indoors, and the brickwork renovations have allowed for a better angling of the passage, keeping the weyr inside protected from the elements. Jagged stones sit on either side of the entrance, looking rather as though they were once part of the walls. It was a long night. With her employer, Kimren, in a tizzy about some cargo going missing, Jo had to weather through business dealings with him in her ear so by the time she had Betweened back to the Weyr, it was late night and she was cranky. Instead of going home though, she had directed Tacuseth to send word to Z'ian's bronze to tell them - not ask - that they were landing on their ledge. She only circles around for a little bit before they get the OK, and then the blue is winging down to land beside the bronze with quick deftness. The convict rider dismounts with ease and pulls a large bottle from the carysack attached to her dragon's side, and before the weyr's owner could say anything at all, "Got booze. If you aren' up, get up!" Look at her. Already treating with a new-found friend. If there's dust and scuff marks on her leathers, she's not really noticing. The blue is winging down from the night sky and Z'ian is there, out on the ledge. Rather he's just a bit inside, sitting on one of the broken stones that reside by the entrance. The inner weyr looks lit with glows, but the outer is quite dark. Tsanth is outside, waiting to greet their new guests. Friendly, but not overly so. A stark contrast to how his rider typically behaves, if Tacuseth does any investigating. The bronzerider's got his arms crossed and when she dismounts, he greets her with a pair of lifted eyebrows. "You want glasses or should we just drink out of the bottle?" He asks, the voice emerging from the shadows tinted with humor. If she's got scuffs and dust, he's not in position to notice them yet. "Ya mean, ya don't?" Jo counters on those glasses, making a show of looking over her shoulder back towards her blue before she shakes her head and adds in, "Nope! No glasses, here. What, I pull a knife on ya and now ya think I'm all civilized?" She approaches him then, regarding the way he sits and she holds up the dark bottle with a smile that could be taken as sinister in the dim light. "It's late and I want a nightcap," she says, gesturing with the bottle towards his inner weyr. "Who better to spend a nightcap with than the bronzerider that can brave the blade of a wild soul?" "I was checking your preference. I've got some inside." Z'ian shoots back, turning his chin up to look at her. Her response has him quirking a grin, "They don't all match. But since you're suggesting that you're not totally civilized, I'm hoping you won't mind." With braced hands he pushes off of the rock, brushing his hair back. "I'm delighted that you thought of me. Come on inside." He cants his head, indicating the passageway towards the inner weyr. Leading the way, he pushes aside the heavy curtain that separates the living area from the cold outside. With better light he can take in the scuff marks and dust on her clothes, something he assesses with a few quick side glances. There's a small table, mismatched chairs and an abused couch over in the corner, he gestures to them absently. "Ladies choice. Long night?" He asks, rummaging around in a cabinet. Jo flashes a grin on the first, and then to the second, there's a shrug. "I've stolen a set of matching glasses before," she notes, turning to check out the inside of Z'ian's weyr, "and believe me, ya can't beat a set of mismatching glasses." She snorts when he gets up and follows along, her boots making step sounds as she walks up passed the curtain and pauses on the entrance to take everything in. She could be casing the place, the way she's looking. Sending him a glance before he heads off, "Nice place," she observes wryly before walking in, setting the bottle down on the table before she unzips the black leather riding jacket from the warmth of the weyr. Taking in the chairs and the couch before her dark gaze finds his back, "Ya know, if ya in the need for some chairs," she says almost teasingly, grabbing up the bottle and settling down with a sigh on the couch. "I just happen to know somebody that knows somebody's cousin. Just say the word." She uncorks the bottle and tips it back, getting a good gulp before she answers his question with a blithe, "Ya have no idea." If she's casing the place, she can take the chairs first. He could use the space for a new set. But really, he either doesn't notice the observance in her gaze or he does a fine job of pretending not to while he rummages. A couple of glasses are pulled out, eyed critically and then replaced in the cabinet. Eventually he decides on two. He drops down on the other side of the couch, tossing one of the heavy formed glasses over to her. "I like to keep it homey." Z'ian replies with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "I could make my own chairs if I really wanted to. But my furniture isn't exactly on the top of my priorities list. Thanks for the offer." His smile is lopsided as he leans forward, pulling his own jacket off and tossing it over onto the table, "What keeps you out this late, anyway? And how the hell do you make it through the day without falling asleep?" "Homey," Jo echoes that drolly as Z'ian sits down and tosses one of the glasses towards her. She takes it up and starts to pour into it first. Ladies first, of course. When she's done, she tips the bottle his way then, both as a sign of her pouring for him or him taking it up and pouring it himself. Something said had a brow lifting as she then puts the glass between her thighs and likewise pulls off the scuffed leather jacket before setting it aside. "So ya good with yer hands," she notes on his statement about the chairs as she reclaims her filled glass, brows lifting with dry humor and that little bit of innuendo. It's her, after all. "Didn' peg ya to be a builder. This before Tsanth?" She does the civilized thing and takes a drink from the glass this time when Z'ian asks about her activities, choosing to answer the second first. "I paint eyes on my lids and have Tac direct me if I'm about to walk into a wall," she answers with a look going his way and her chin dropping. Then, more seriously, "It's rough sometimes, but I manage. I don't need a whole lot of sleep." There's a pause as she considers the first question, and him, that piercing gaze flicking over him as she leans back on the couch and stretches out her legs. "Things," she goes with vague, studying him. "Things that can only be done at night." She'll even add a little mischievous smile to the end of that. He leans forward and takes the bottle by the neck, apparently preferring to pour it for himself this time. The liquid sloshes into the glass and he lifts it to his nose, taking a whiff of what's inside first. Meanwhile, he takes the bottle and stretches out, placing it carefully on the floor right in front of the couch. Still within reach, but not in danger of being immediately knocked over. "Before Tsanth. My father does a bit of everything; I was frequently required to engage in a bit of everything. I can't build an ark or anything, but a chair. Sure." Z'ian grins and knocks back a generous amount of the booze in his glass. There's a moment's pause as he allows the burn from the alcohol to ease out. Then he laughs at her answer, flickering his gaze across her face as he probably imagines what she looks like with face paint on. "I wish I could get through the day with less sleep. It's overrated." His smile is amused but expression a touch more serious. "Sounds mysterious. A side job? One that involves cleaning?" He lifts his eyebrows and glances meaningfully at her dusty jacket, joking tone to make light of the possibly intrusive question. Relinquishing the bottle when Z'ian grabs it, "Does he still do it?" Jo asks, delving further, taking sips from her glass as she speaks. "Do ya miss it any?" She watches him knock them back and then she follows suit, leaning forward to pick up the bottle and refill it in record time. "All my folks are guards," she says, leaning back with the refill. "Keogh, ya know. They thought I would turn out the same, even though I was the only girl in the family." His answer to sleep gets a short chuckle and a wry "I agree. Very overrated." She regards him on the last though, his questioning getting a more demure laugh before she raises her glass briefly towards him. "Cleaning. Yeah," she says, her eyes following suit to the dusty jacket. "Oh. That." There's a pause, as if she was caught with her hand in a cookie jar and needed to put together a quick story as to how that hand got in there. "I was doin' some...storagin'," she says, looking positively bored by it. "Ya know, stuff ya don' want anyone seein'...too many eyes about. -You- understand." It's so blase, all of it. "Just, this man that I was storagin' for, well...he's an ass. Had a whole hive up his ass tonite and thought to get on my bad side. He's not usually one, but, tonite he was just goin' on and on...Hence," and she gestures between the two of them, and the bottle. "Too wired to go home." He finishes the rest of the booze, balancing the empty glass on his knee while he reaches forward for the bottle, topping his drink off. Since she's already refilled, he places it carefully back onto the floor. "Oh yeah. The old man will keep working until his body gives out or my mother stops him. But I don't think she's ready to have him around all day long." Z'ian rolls his eyes, smile wry. "Sometimes, things were easier then. But if I was there now would I wish I was somewhere else?" He shrugs his shoulders and leans forward, clinking his glass carefully against hers. "Keogh. I've never been there. What's it like?" He pauses between thoughts and adds, "I guess you decided not to stay in the family business." His light eyes follow the path of her gaze back to him, one eyebrow lifted up for that demure laugh, his mouth tugging to the side in a different sort of smile. "Like chairs that you get from your friend that has a cousin that has a friend? Those sorts of things for storing?" It's more or less rhetorical; the bronzerider throws his arm across the back of the couch before nodding his head. "Did you keep out of trouble?" He asks, bringing the glass to his mouth. "With him, I mean. And his hive." Just to clarify. "Love the Weyr life, is it?" Jo says to Z'ian on his home, rubbing at her face as he clinks his glass to hers. "I think it took all of weyrlinghood and then some to get used to this place. Still am, in some areas." To the talk of her own homeplace, there's a snort as she hooks one leg over the other, tapping a booted foot idly as she answers with, "Dreadful. Must have been why my mother didn' stick around. I followed suit. I'm usually the one pesterin' the guards, darlin'." She knocks back her drink then and when he brings up the first on her story of 'storagin', there's an amused look and a lopsided grin that she's trying hard not let it be realized. "That's right. Just like. Good discount, too." Eyes flick towards that arm that gets thrown back on the couch as she slouches down more, and his question on trouble gets a snort. "Something was missin' and he thought he could trip me up," she explains casually. "I mean, really. Do I look like someone that steals?" Both hands lift away in indication of herself. "With 'this' cute face? S'what I told him." "I'm happy here. I feel like I have a place." Z'ian confirms, knocking back some of his drink. "I was drifting before I came to the weyr. It's not a comfortable feeling." He finishes it off and lets the glass rest on the cushion of the couch, balanced against one of his long legs. Absently, he glances towards his own arm when she slouches down. Self-aware, he draws it back out of what's potentially her personal space before continuing. The corners of his mouth tug and like that, his smile breaks free again. "You look like someone that doesn't let herself get tripped up easily. Whether or not you look like someone that steals? I saw you eyeballing my table." The rickety table, the one that probably no one wants but him. Maybe. Maybe not even him. "With your cute face. Same one you probably pester the guards with." His finger runs along the edge of the glass and he leans forward, picking up the bottle. He offers it to her first, hand ready to pour. Interest flares when Z'ian mentions that he used to drift, the bluerider studying him anew now. "The drifting, or the not having a place?" she questions, bringing that glass to her lips and finishing it off. When he pulls his arm back, there's a raised brow, imperceptible, with a spark of challenge in her eyes that seems to suggest to him that he was fine where he was. She then leans to take up the bottle to top her own glass off, she finds herself regarding that radiant smile of his that seems to tug at the corners of her own mouth. To the stealing, "Hey. That table probably could use a good stealin' to make it feel better, Z'ian," she returns in good humor, the banter and his easy manner seeming to do much in loosening the tension from her wiry frame. Could be the booze, too. She knocks the whole contents back of her glass, and she flashes him a too bright, very quick smile for his comment on her 'cute' face. "Yeah, yeah. I was adorable back then. Not so much now. Might be why he thinks I stole whatever it was." It clearly doesn't seem to bother her, one way or another. "Just, didn' like his tone, is all. His face was begging for a kiss with my fist, but, since this girl's got expensive tastes sometimes," and there's a shrug as she lets that trail off, and she scoots forward with her glass, since he's offering to pour. "So, it's left me peeved, but now, I'm not so much. Tell me where ya drifted." "Both, I guess." Z'ian answers, lips pursed and drawn to the side as his expression turns more thoughtful. His hand dips and he fills her glass, twisting his hand at the wrist to finish the pour off neatly. Then he takes up his own glass again and does the same, returning the bottle to the floor. "To be honest it was more of a mental drift. I'm the youngest of three with two older, successful brothers. No direction, no focus. No talents. We grew up with little and if my father hadn't been such a diligent hard ass, my life might have turned out differently." He drinks finally, downing a significant portion of his glass and staring into the remaining liquid. "That and Tsanth." His teeth draw across his lower lip. "Sorry, I try not to talk about myself this much." Which really, he's probably barely scratched the surface. Pitching his voice lower, humor that's seasoned with caution for her. "But just so you know, if you steal my table, I'm going to have to steal it back. Or take yours." Blue eyes pop back up, crinkling at the corner as he musters his more common jovial energy back to the surface. His arm gradually returns, long limbs stretching out as he levels her with a considering gaze. "Men don't like it when you kiss them with your fists." He offers helpfully then adding, "Tell me what back then was."
Z'ian laughs and rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to cover his mouth temporarily. He regards Jo with something close to amazement, definite incredulity. "Refreshing?" He repeats around his fingers. "Me? I've been called a lot of things, that's probably not in the top ten." His expression sobers partially when she clarifies and his hand drops away. "I've always been a wretched liar. You want honesty; you came to the right place." He fingers the top of the glass, chin tipped down but eyes focused on her. "My father was less militant, but sounds like the same kind nature. He's not a warm man, never was. It's hard to have someone stare at you and know that they think you're... mediocre. When you want them to think more than that. At least for me." His gaze drifts, watching in bemusement as she flaps her hand at him. "Not if you can't prove I took it and where I put it." The bronzerider levels, his statement humorously challenging. "Oh. When you knock them unconscious they don't perform as well either, in case you were wondering." His drink is nearly done, so it doesn't take much to finish it. This time he leans over and places the glass on the floor next to the bottle. The movement doesn't detract from listening to her, maintaining a steady eye lock on her. "Adorable is something you call a girl, anyway. You're a woman and attractive. Even with the long dance."
"That sounds more like it. There's something about me that's not objectionable to most people. It's probably the mediocrity. Or the honesty." Z'ian shrugs his shoulders and then laughs, once again running his hand across his face. Whatever the real reason is, he's long ago stopped worrying about it. "It sounds like your life then was complicated. It also sounds like his problems with you didn't actually have to do with you at all." His fingers find their way to combing his hair back, resting on top of his head. "But sometimes other people do a good job making their issues yours." He smiles wryly and wags a finger in her direction. "Okay, so you'll know that it's me. Maybe I'll want you to know that it's me. And either way you won't know what I did with it." Watching Jo curiously, his grin widens gradually, mischievously. "I'm sure once they woke up and their eyes cleared they enjoyed it just fine." He ducks his head, breaking away from the challenging gaze for a moment before bringing his lighter eyes up to meet with hers, "Yeah, I guess that I am." He drops his hand away, "Woman, you've got some sort of affect on me." "Z'ian, yer not mediocre," Jo states the declaration pointedly with a look. "I liked to think those crazy dragons out there must have saw somethin' in the likes of us, for them to want to stick around us, right? Like, look where 'I' came from." There's a small shrug on the matter of her father, the woman looking away now as she goes back to checking out his place. While doing so, "He likely thinks I'm dead. They all do. I haven' bothered to changed their minds on that front." Eyes flick towards the finger that wags, then meets his honest gaze at his teasing gait. Lips purse briefly, "Uh-huh. Yeah okay. I'll just drop right by and find ways of getting' the whereabouts outta ya. I know where ya live now," and she waves a finger back and forth in indication of the weyr they were in. But then to the rest, that finger drops to her lap and she gives Z'ian a strange little smile that's oddly...shy. It's there and gone to something with more bravado though - a flicker of something schooled. She leans all the way over and grabs the bottle to check how empty it is as she says, "Are ya sure it's not the booze affectin' ya? This stuff's pretty strong. Have ya all goin' squirrly in the eyes with a tunnersnake, too." Hide behind a tease? Or maybe she is one. "You ever wonder if they've got bad taste?" Z'ian asks, wincing almost immediately when the audible complaints start to filter in from the ledge. Tsanth. "Never mind, I never suggested it. All the dragons have excellent taste." He glances past her to the curtain and exhales when dragon noises stop happening, leaning back into the couch. "Mmhmm. I already know your tricks. You'll try to punch me in the face, you'll try to sweet talk me or you'll try and get me drunk to get me to talk." He shifts a mock suspicious glance towards the bottle on the ground and then a meaningful look to Jo. "Wait, did I steal your table already? Is that why you're really here? Don't try and trick me now." The bronzerider takes in a deep breath and then laughs, curling his elbow up on the back of the couch and cradling his head with his hand. "I don't need to booze to talk to women and tell them they're attractive. And I'm not usually into tunnelsnakes." Jo laughs, and looks over towards where the ledge was as she answers that with, "Nah. I think they got great taste. Tac and me, we're a packaged deal. He totally gets me. Never had that before, but then, they get in yer head like lice, right? Can't really pick'em out and they're nosy as shit. Does Tsanth peeks in on yer dreams?" Z'ian's next on her punching him gets a quick, "Why not all three? And not exactly in that order." Pause. "Yer not that drunk." But she's leaning against the couch herself, regarding the bronzerider with her eyes narrowing slightly. After a moment, "Then what are ya into? Women that nearly cut your hand open? Like that...rough-around-the-edges type instead of the sweet and light, softness?" She leans on a propped hand, slightly in his direction as she shifts to face him on the couch. "Do lice make a lot of noise? They're awfully small to be doing that." Z'ian wonders, palm sliding up his face and his fingers working their way into his hair as he shifts to face her. He sighs, unconsciously glancing past Jo to the ledge before returning his attention onto her. "He does sometimes, wants to talk about them later on too. He's a damn nosy dragon. I wonder where he gets it from." His mouth curves, a sardonic smile taking root. "No, I'm not. It'd probably take more. I did a lot of liver pickling earlier in my life." Her question prompts his expression to become more thoughtful. "Not exactly, I'm into interesting women. If that means they wield knives and are more on the rough side than the soft?" He shrugs his shoulders, he can't help it if they do, right? "Those large ones out there do," Jo counters on lice, and she could hear and whuffling sound that is suspiciously Tacuseth. "Like dragon, like rider. Or, is it, like rider, like dragon? Or...Pshaw." To Z'ian's last, her silence having lingered, she studies him for a moment before she uncurls from the surprisingly comfy couch and gets to her feet. Stretching to the weyr ceiling before she bends to pick up the bottle, "Interesting," she echoes that, looking over at him. Looking at 'all' of him. "Hmmm. But are ya darin' enough to steal a kiss from a thief like I would yer table, bronzerider? I did come armed." Brow lifts to that, head tilting slightly to one side before she drawls out, "Tac supposes, I should sleep. Yer supplyin' the booze next time." "Didn't we talk about that last time? Is it the dragon or is it the rider? I still don't know." Z'ian shakes his head, smiling crookedly when Tacuseth makes himself known from the ledge. All of him is a lot of long limbs and lean muscle, half hanging off of the couch by this point. He watches as she climbs to her feet, dropping the hand out of his hair and moving to rise himself. Sweeping the glasses off the floor, he passes close by her and drags one finger very deliberately down her arm, "I am." The bronzerider's smile is a challenge as much as it is an answer to her question. He drops them off on the table before turning around to Jo again, leaning his weight against it. "Wouldn't think of doing otherwise." "Both," Jo answers on the dragons and their riders. "When ya got booze in ya, it's both." And like a hawk, the convict rider watches Z'ian as he approaches, passing by her and feels that finger down her bare arm as she meets that challenging smile with one of her own. When he moves away, that's when she does to shrug back into her jacket and turn to tuck the bottle under one arm. Flipping a hand through her hair, she goes to pass by him this time and as her shoulder brushes his chest when she leans as an aside to him, her voice lowers as she answers to him, "A kiss might cost ya. Hope ya can afford the price." She leans away, all hips and leather and all with that chuckle at the end as she starts to head for the curtained entrance. Her voice back to normal levels, she tosses a hand out in a back wave and a wry "Until next time, bronzerider. Watch yer table tonite." Right. |
Leave A Comment