Logs:Unscheduled Time Off
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| RL Date: 27 February, 2009 |
| Who: N'thei, Rimara |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 22, Month 1, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ) 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. Mid-evening and Snowasis is fairly crowded. People seem to be enjoying themselves, chatting, playing cards, laughing and drinking. Lots of drinking, which keeps the bartenders busy and the barmaids moving quickly through the tables and booths. Two of the women are working behind the bar tonight, with the bartender, while others work the floor. Rimara is one of those behind the bar, and it's plain the work has been steady. She looks a little different, having visited stores and found some new clothes. A long, dark blue skirt, a white blouse with a scooped neck, and a black leather stomacher laced tightly up the front. She's laughing and chatting with the patrons while steadily pouring drinks. A little more animated, there's even a bit of flirting, though it's a bit more subdued than the other girl. At the moment, she's just shown three riders a card trick. They didn't catch on, and now they're having to buy another round of expensive drinks. N'thei's in-and-out of here fairly often. Tiriana runs the day to day operations, makes sure the dishes are clean and the shifts are covered, but it's the Weyrleader that keeps an eye on the stock, that carries the master keys to the cabinets and the till and the back-room. Tonight, he's been largely absent up till now, when he comes in from the bowl with a loose dusting of snow that he's busy trying to shake off his shoulders and cap. For as many people as have horrible things to say about the man, there are a fair few that greet him heartily while he passes toward the bar, easily lays claim to a stool. "Come down here," is his prompt direction, put with beckoning fingers that intend to draw Rimara away from whatever patron she's currently schmoozing. He is his own priority. Rimara doesn't miss the beckoning and excuses herself from the three she's serving after she's placed their order in front of them. With a grin and a laugh, she leaves their company and approaches the Weyrleader. If her smile isn't quite as vivacious as it was a few moments ago, it's still a smile, and it's still present when she comes to a halt in front of him. "Sir?" she inquires, almost automatically using the cloth in her hand to wipe down the surface of the bar. It's second nature. Her hands settle on the cloth, and she simply now waits for N'thei to let her know what he wants with her. N'thei wouldn't be able to tell vivacious from vicious anyway, so the new flatness stays entirely lost on him. "Rumor has it," he begins without wasting time, though he does sort of gesture her to step a little to one side. At this exact moment, she is square between him and a bottle that he intends to reach from the patronly side of the bar-- not something most people would dare, but a long arm and the comfort of authority back him up neatly. "You took a day off. Unscheduled. Tiriana cleared that?" "Will you be needing a glass with that, Sir?" Rimara asks, stepping to one side as requested. She moistens her lips before she give her answer, her eyes flickering slightly with shadows. "No sir," is the honest answer. She fishes into her pocket, pulling out a small piece of hide. "I received this note from Weyrwoman Satiet, sir. I---" She stops, pressing her lips together for a moment, while she hands the note over with a shaking hang. "I felt the...Senior Weyrwoman's note was more the form of an order, sir, and I didn't want to disobey. I wasn't able to locate Weyrwoman Tiriana to check with her, sir. I was told she was away from the weyr, but I'm not certain if this was, in fact, true. I admit I was loathe to disturb her in her weyr, sir." There is some degree of concern here. She presses her lips together again, as if trying to keep from saying anything further. When handed to him, the note reads: "You have the day off. Start filling your empty head with knowledge." It is written in Satiet's handwriting. For a man who can barely be assed to put the appropriate lilt at the end of a question, N'thei does a pretty good mimic of Rimara's tone when he answers, "Do you think I can't get one if I want one, miss?" Bottle to counter, he draws up a newly curious expression on mention that this is all Satiet's doing-- curious, surprised, doubtful rolled into one. The note, after a glance, winds up folded and dropped into his coat pocket; so as not to litter. "What exactly brought you," a mere barmaid, "to the Weyrwoman's attention, then." The smile has faded completely, now, and Rimara stands in front of N'thei with a bit of a flush on her cheeks, and breathing that is, perhaps, a tad more rapid than moments before. "I was working the floor, sir, and I noticed a lady sitting in the armchair. She was holding an empty old fashioned, and so I thought, perhaps in error, to ask if she needed a refill." That is, in general, part of Rimara's job description. "She was ..." Here she pauses, uncertain, "...a little upset for being disturbed. She said she'd not been drinking at all, and hadn't been in Snowasis for some time. The upshot was, that I shouldn't always approach people to ask if they need a refill, but wait until I was beckoned to." She swallows an obviously very large lump in her throat. "That's what I took her to mean, sir, but I could be mistaken. She then told me to take the empty glass with a full mark tip to the bartender." A pause. "Which I did. Next morning I received a book on how to mix drinks, and all the equipment to do it with. Yesterday morning, I received a book on knowing my audience, and that note." Another short beat. "Sir. I...I didn't think I should disobey the Weyrwoman. Sir." "Because you offered her a refill," N'thei summarizes in an odd tone, turns slightly to cast a glance in the general direction of the armchair-- which sadly lacks the Weyrwoman in question. Having appropriated the bottle, which was getting on toward empty anyway, he sets the mouth of it to his lip before he adds, "Lesson learned then?" The drink goes down, the corner of his mouth twitches, and he breathes out over the whiskey-burn all with his attention on the Satiet-free chair before he swivels on the stool back to face the bar and Rimara with it, awaiting the affirmative response he fully expects to receive. "Yes, sir," comes that affirmative answer. "I didn't know the lady, sir, but ignorance is no excuse. It won't happen again, sir, I give you my word." He can take that answer as truth, because from the look in Rimara's eyes, it's fairly obvious the girl never wants to go through that again. "I know Weyrwoman Satiet by sight, sir, and I'll not approach her again without being summoned." Again she presses her lips together, blinking a few times. "I did check to make certain my shift was covered, sir, and if I'd been needed, I'd've come in." In all that, here's what caught N'thei's attention: "Why do you say 'sir' so much?" "Because of your position, and because you're the boss around here," Rimara answers bluntly. "A show of respect." Or fear, take your choice. N'thei, for her edification; "Laying it on a little thick, love." What might have come next is waylaid by the cheerful passage of everyone's favorite busty barmaid breezing through the conversation with a pair of mugs in hand, with a twittery account of her evening for the man's pleasure, with a wave that splashes ale for Rimara, and then she's on about her business. Back to the conversation: "Could probably get you on Milani's staff still, you know. Not too late for a career change." "Honey tastes better than vinegar," is a quickly quipped, with, perhaps a bit too much attitude. Rimara's face freezes, then, and her eyes widen in horror at what her mouth has said. "I-I---that didn't come out right," she says flatly, softly, and she looks at that bottle as if she'd like to take a big swig of it herself. Or be ready to duck if it's thrown at her. "Sorry, Weyrleader, my mouth gets the better of me at times. Is there something else I should call you?" As for the suggestion of a career change, Rimara looks around. "I don't know anything about what a weyr Headwoman does." She looks at N'thei squarely. "Is it that you want me to quit, then?" N'thei waves off the cause of her chagrin. His aren't exactly virgin ears, and that was hardly ill-suited to mixed company. "If I wanted you to quit, I'd fire you." Like he has any cause to worry about his bottle's safety, he collects it to himself before pushing to his feet from the stool. "The Weyrwoman doesn't like you. Tiriana doesn't like anyone. And I know what people say about me. Just thought you might like to know that there are still other options. You seem more like..." He pauses, looks for a particular way to phrase it. "...one of Milani's people." Rimara's brow knits with a bit of confusion and she looks at the Weyrleader with her head cocked to one side. The list of people who don't like her makes Rimara frown, but that doesn't seem to be the source of her perplexity. "I'm not the housekeeping type," she tells him, "and I like it here better. It's what I'm used to, and I don't know if I'd fit in with Milani's people. Just because I don't look like---" She glances over her shoulder at the other barmaid while she wipes up the spillage. "---doesn't mean I can't be an asset here. Besides," and she leans a bit over the bar so her words won't be heard very far, "I enjoy a challenge, and I want to last more than two weeks... just because." "It's not about looks, love," though N'thei does spend more time eyeing buxom over there than he ever did Rimara, to be sure. That's also the general direction of where he's headed, but that might be owing to the card-game at the table she's waiting. Remembered, he takes a step back to add, "Oh, and next time the Weyrwoman comes in here? Tell her I said not to fuck with my barmaids. I didn't give her shit about who she hired to replace Hayda." Much as he disagreed with that decision, obviously. He taps an imperious forefinger on the bar twice, then turns-- with the bottle-- to claim a seat at said card game. Rimara doesn't quite know what to say. "Thank you for the advice," she says, and her tone is sincere. As N'thei steps away, she can't help but glance at "buxom" then at herself; perhaps she feels she comes up wanting in certain departments, but she knows he's right. It's not about looks. "Yes, sir," Rimara says, but she knows there's no way she'll /ever/ say /that/ to the Weyrwoman. That's just something she's not capable of, not if her life depended upon it. "Enjoy the game," she tells him, watching him approach the table. There her eyes remain for a long time, and she licks a fine film of sweat from her upper lip. Crises averted---or, at least stormy waters quelled---Rimara goes back to waiting on customers, and helping inebriated riders spend their money. |
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