Logs:Party Girls
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| RL Date: 26 December, 2013 |
| Who: Tayte, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tayte works the party, Tela pokes her head in. |
| Where: Artful Artifice Weyr (K'zin's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 8, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Artful Artifice Weyr, High Reaches Weyr The exterior curtain shields the pair of dragon wallows from the elements, but it's really after the interior curtain set just behind them that things become more human-friendly. The entryway narrows to what would still be wide by people standards, but narrow enough to disabuse any dragon of the notion of trying to fit inside, then the cavern bubbles open into a fairly massive main cavern. Almost opposite the entrance is a pair of doors nearly side-by-side leading to back rooms, but in between there's space. Spacious might be an understatement here. To the right of the entrance the curved wall provides space for a very large table whose matching chairs can seat up to twelve. It's reminiscent of the council chambers, really, and the backdrop on the wall dotted with low cabinets behind it is covered in a to-scale rendering of a map of Pern. A map of High Reaches sweep and the Weyr's badge get a close-up on a mural to the immediate left of the entrance . A broad hearth interrupts and separates the second half of the expansive curved wall from the first, and the latter shows the greatest display of artistry in a mural of a hazy night sky dotted with stars. Closer inspection might lead one to find that the stars might be used as hand-holds if one were inclined to climb.
The red glow of the covered baskets, the upbeat music of the harpers, the bodies on the makeshift dance floor and lingering around the still plentiful food offerings being refreshed by a couple of hired hands, it makes for quite the scene. K'zin got the rager he wanted. Tayte's turning to the older apprentice she brought as a second set of hands and instructing her to hold down the fort while Tayte takes a breather and gets something to eat, and so it is that the blonde isn't with drink in hand, but is quickly gathering herself a plate of sumptuous sundries from the long table and cabinet tops. Telavi picks her way in from the ledge in a way that's not even wholly casual to one who doesn't know her well, as though it's a third continent she's still considering giving a miss. Delicately chosen footsteps take her right through the dance floor, not bothering to go around; it's a risk, counting on an instinctive sway of hips or a pause within her movement to let her slip between dancers without disruption to her person. She takes it anyway, gaze flitting across people, lingering on what's removed and what's recognizable until-- there's a not-unexpected redhead, if one who in sunlight or moonlight is most definitely blonde. She doesn't poke Tayte on the shoulder, does raise her voice once she's in elbow's range. "Look at you." It's light, smiling, happy to see her. A tip of her head sends her high ponytail over one shoulder, but just as her hair isn't fancifully done, she's not dressed to pull. Why, her skirt's more tailored than otherwise, and it nearly reaches her knees. Tayte is biting into a cracker with some kind of spread on it just as Tela's words register, so it makes for a classically awkward moment as she turns, trying to chew and deal with the remaining half of her cracker which is helpfully falling apart in her hand. In the end, it's not until she's shoved the rest into her hand and brushed hands off on her chic green apron that she clears her mouth of the food and is able to answer in kind, with an arch of a brow, "Look at you." The tone is different, as is the implication. The amber redhead must have expected the pinker one to be dressed to kill, and not... Her eyes linger on the length of the skirt. Not that Telavi doesn't have nice knees; she's not about to let those go, buffed and lotioned to be pretty, pretty, athletically pretty as ever with nary a scar in sight. She looks at Tayte, looks at Tayte looking at her skirt, and knowingly hikes it up just a fraction-- a light tweak of the fabric, and perhaps the vintner's attention. "I know," she says breathily. "It's my new look. How do you like it?" It won't take Tayte's looking at her eyes, violet today in the light, to spot how much it's a send-up. "It's unexpected." Tayte's answer leaves her tongue easily, letting her eyes draw back up the rest of the outfit. "At least for this time and place. I would have thought you might be looking to make tongues wag with your appearance here tonight." The gossip mill is ever eager for it's next installment of anyone's drama. "Or are you here on the sly?" She shifts a touch closer to Telavi, as though there might be secrets to share or conspiracies to make. "Mmm. You caught me. I had a mask, but then I figured it just might be just a little too obvious, don't you think?" Tela glances over her shoulder as though to catch whoever might be seeking to catch them out, and then reaches to choose a bit of the food herself without yet trying it at all. "How are things on your end? I hope serving wasn't too terribly tempting," and for all that her tone is a touch meaningful, Tela is smiling at her chum's expression and not her belly. "Oh, it's always terribly tempting." Tayte hasn't given up her shifts in Snowasis, even if she has cut them back, and the tone is perhaps exaggeratedly mournful, "But the alternative..." She doesn't need to say that that can't happen again. "Things are alright, more or less. I won't bore you with the details." Apparently, the blonde's aware that people who don't want children aren't inclined to hear about the woeful realities of child-bearing. "Decided you'd grace us with your presence after all?" The woman's alto is teasing, but in an affectionate way. "He left," She volunteers, "Just a little while after it started." Because, of course, Tela wants to know, unless she specifically tells this grape tendril that she doesn't want to know what's on the vine. As a song comes to an end, Tela glances momentarily towards the harpers, adjusting her voice to match. "The alternative," she agrees quite, quite sincerely. Another day, she might be well content to commiserate with her friend's woes, but indeed, tonight's supposed to be a party. Or, at least, likely to be even louder again any moment. She also has a wry little shrug-- indeed!-- followed by a downcast glance that would be more demure if it weren't for the slight smile playing with her lips. Though it's perhaps less for the news, one way or another, than for the news-giver; she glances through her lashes, murmuring, "How kind of you to keep track of your part-time employer," as though either of them thought that's all there is. "You know, I'm a little surprised not to see H'vier lurking over your shoulder, frowning hugely if anyone dared to look at you edgewise." "Weeeeell," Tayte's expression is suddenly too innocent, "That may be because I didn't exactly tell him I was mixing drinks tonight." She dimples at the other blonde. "It's not a good looking man, so what I do that he doesn't know about won't hurt him, right? Besides it's been ages since I've gotten to do one of these parties. Why you 'Reaches types don't have more of them, especially given the dreary weather that's almost always here," Except on nice nights like tonight, "I'll never understand. He-" Her part-time employer, "-should make them sevenly and charge for entry." The suggestion is made and then she needs to put a few more of the food offerings on her plate into her mouth. Mixing drinks is hard work. "Didn't you!" Of course, Telavi has to dimple right back. "So not-good-looking is fair game? Or just not in the cards," she teases with a sidelong glance at one of the less-charming Taiga riders playing guard. "We used to have more at Benden... but really, maybe it's that if you're not staying in and staying warm, it's easy enough to just jump to Ista and then there's no admission." And also, it's Ista. Reminded, she follows suit with the food, even if she hasn't engaged in any of that hard work and she has to actually get a plate, gasp! "At least they do have some here?" as though High Reaches couldn't be trusted to not miss out entirely. "Even if standards do," how to put it, "...vary." Tayte reaches out a hand to swat at Telavi, not for the returned dimples but for the suggestion of infidelity. "I'm a kept woman now." Is that a sigh? It's hard to say over the way the music has kicked up again, requiring a little more volume from the ladies to continue their chit-chat. "So are you here for you or for him?" She asks it casually enough as she observes Telavi's food choices (after all, she might pick something that the pregnant woman wants to poach). Swatting lends Telavi an even more teasing smile, while 'kept' kicks it up a notch; the attendant question's distracting enough for her to shrug, though, enough that Tayte might be able to steal a thing or two before Tela even realizes the danger. "I'm here to peek," she says, with a roll of her eyes around the cavern: don't make it complicated! "It's so different." "Different?" Tayte asks through a mouthful of something Telavi might swear was on her plate a moment ago. "How?" is asked after the swallow. "And does peeking mean you're here to see what girl he's knocking boots with tonight?" Those dramatically violet eyes narrow. Dramatically. Tela looks at her plate, and she looks at Tayte and-- "My dear vintner, you are a thief. A thief. I will answer your questions, but only after you admit your perfidy." "Nonsense. I'm a procurer of delicious vittles. It's entirely different." Tayte answers without missing a beat, flashing a smile at Telavi. "Besides, only a villain would dare deny an unborn babe it's sustenance." She arches a brow at the other redhead, "Are you a villain?" "I might be a villain." Telavi's not above a bat of long lashes, either. "Led into temptation by the example of some scurrilous... procurer," lending the word emphasis more significant than even food would deserve-- but then in the next breath her gaze cuts to the crowd not far beyond Tayte, and she turns away tight-lipped to get herself her own replacements. But, "I'm here to see what it's all like. Not what you said," she does add before she's satisfied, that last not much of anything other than weary. "Different in that this place won't echo, now will it? Here," for it turns out that she's just made off with an extra portion, 'for the baby.' "You're too kind," Tayte replies, but that doesn't stop her from accepting that which has been offered. "And what is it all like?" She asks as she eats. If she were not Tayte and this were not Tela, maybe Tayte wouldn't have asked, but Tela can't possibly think she's getting off that easy. A celebration of his Turnday-- "Loud--" but without him. So many people know which day his Turnday's on, now. "Put away," Telavi says truthfully. "Although I'm still waiting for someone to crash into the cabinets or throw some dip at a mural, not that I want it to happen, but you know how these things get," only then Tela's gaze flicks all of a sudden back to Tayte. In a hissed whisper, as much of one as the greenrider can manage and still be heard, "Tell me that isn't a weyrling behind me and to the left." As purveyor of booze, Tayte is familiar with each and every weyrling face. The way the freckles fold on her nose when she wrinkles it isn't a promising sign for Telavi. The slight nod is worse, confirming that, yes, it' is a weyrling. "He's coming this way. He looks like he's going to try to talk to you." Beat, "I'll pretend to be faint and you can walk me onto the ledge for some air." She offers quickly and quietly, prepared to feign just exactly such a thing the moment Telavi gives her consent. Talk to her. Ugh. "No, it's sweet of you, but I can handle it." Tela may not give Tayte her consent, but she does give her a glimpse of both dimples in action before she half-turns, brows lifted, only half- so that the vintner can keep her view. Is the weyrling in trouble? Does he have a more... problematic... reason to look her up? Did he think she was someone else? The greenrider stands in judgment that absolutely does not prevent her from finishing off her spicy cream-filled pastry with a delicate nibble. "Suit yourself," Tayte's answer comes easily enough, though there's a definite sense in her tone that were she in Telavi's shoes, she'd've jumped at the faked fainting spell. In any case, it seems that was the help she was willing to extend, not the 'stand by and bail Tela out when she gets tired of talking to weyrling in question.' "I'm back to work. Come see me if if you get thirsty." With that and a flash of her 'good luck' smile, the auburn woman is slipping past Telavi and the approaching weyrling. She glances back once, because she has to make a face once she's seen the dopey, clearly-already-had-his-one-permitted-drink look on the young man's face, the young man who Only Has Eyes For Telavi. Good luck, Telavi, indeed! A drink that might have been the size of his head. That still counts as one, right? It's a party! (That's what Tayte gets for leaving her apprentice alone with the bottles.) It's on the way out, after the weyrling has 'convinced' Tela to 'come back to his weyr,' that Telavi casts the busy bar and its tender a wistful look before giving Tayte a 'good night' sign, palm-to-palm hands pressed to her cheek like a pillow. If said weyrling could read the rest of her body language, no doubt he'd have fewer hopes-- hopes that get dashed when Tela and Solith do indeed escort him to his ledge, but definitely not his weyr; all he gets is an all-too-cheerful wave before the pair is off again, winking into between. Whatever Telavi's set off to do with the remainder of her evening, it must not have a thing to do with High Reaches at all. |
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