Logs:No Broken Bottles
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| RL Date: 20 December, 2008 |
| Who: Ananta, F'rint, N'thei, P'ax |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. Summer light lingers late, and the patio ledge is still awash in the fading afternoon sun, just starting to turn bluish now that Rukbat's sunk below the horizon of the bowl walls. Glowbaskets fill the darkening voids, leaving the tables nicely lit, leaving the one where N'thei, F'rint, and three others from Glacier Wing sit in various attitudes of victory or distress. Poker, always poker, with drinks to really drive home the good-ol'-boys enjoying their evening's respite. The brownrider, that being F'rint, has just won a hand, and his face is liable to split in two with the brightness of his triumphant grin, undimmed while N'thei grouses, "You ride those 8s any farther, brother, and you're going to wear them out." Funny. For having a weyr of her own to hole up in and seek solace, Rascela still finds herself out and amidst the rest of humanity at this hour. Studying done for the day (as far as she's concerned, at least), she winds up here of all places, with a leather-bound book of a rather well-kept variety under an arm and a small, hodgepodge kit of writing and drawing implements rolled up in her fist. The weyrling pauses not terribly far from where the riders are playing at poker, observing for the span of a few heartbeats with an impassive expression. Coming from the kitchens, the smell of something sweet clinging to her. Cookies? Probably. Head down chewing the last bit, Ananta meanders out to the patio. Her reverie broken by men's voices. Up go her eyes. And so does her heart. She slides over to table, not too close, but within ear shot of the poker players. There was more said about the 8s, about F'rint's luck tonight, about N'thei's lack of luck tonight, all of it with the good-natured ribbing quality with which so few could really get away. Then, collectively finding mugs empty, three of them-- N'thei included-- looked up and around for one of the Snowasis's barmaids with their pitchers. But N'thei's eyes found first Rascela, which drew forth a stern frown. "When did everyone decide all at once to hack off their hair, I'd like to know," he remarked blandly, looking on from her shorn head toward the next entrant, Ananta. Who also did not look likely to be carrying a pitcher of ale. Still; "Come here." With fingers bent to beckon her in his imperious, because-I-said-so way. The statement doesn't demand an answer; ergo, none is given. Rascela rolls a shoulder in a gesture that could be an 'I don't know' or just a need to pop that joint -- which it does, loudly. In either case, it transmutes into a transitory salute, respectful and short-lived. A half-turn and a step brings her to a nearby table, still within earshot -- and, more importantly, eyeshot -- of the Weyrleader's table, and drops her neatly into a chair. The book is popped open, the drawing tools placed reverently on the table's top, and she sifts through the pages in pursuit of an empty one. Room taken in. But, not in detail. As, she scoots around in her seat, looking for a comfortable spot, she hearrs a command from across the room. But, since her head was down at that moment, she assumes the words were for some other lucky soul. P'ax heads up a short flight of stairs from the bowl. P'ax has arrived. Something in the whole exchange makes the bluerider seated across from N'thei erupt in sudden laughter-- loud laughter, till he's sliding down in his chair with his eyes leaking and everything. The bronzerider, meanwhile, does not look so amused. The threat has no affect, but he puts it out there anyway; "Shut it, or I'll shut it for you." His eyes follow Rascela after her salute, mostly watching the ends of her short hair, for which she seems to offer no excuse. Then, to reiterate, "You." Meaning Ananta. "Come here." Meaning to him. Gray eyes flick askance to the Weyrleader, aware of his observation and returning it with her own. Then there's the bluerider laughing and her mouth quirks, neither a smile nor a frown just a thoughtful something. An empty page is found and she drags her fingers down it thoughtfully until a thick stub of red colour is taken up and starts to be applied. Rascela is peripherally aware of the exchange between bronzerider and girlie, as noted by the periodic glances that way, but, for now, she's going to stay here -- and well out of the whole mess. Yyth came for Uanth. Which means P'ax is left to find Rascela. He comes skipping up the steps, his knitted cap firmly in place over his unruly hair, and glances calmly around. And there's a Weyrleader. Crap. He gives an awkward salute, whether the man is looking or not, and beelines for Raz and the sort of blunt protection she might provide. Not N'thei's night. Twice ignored, still out of beer, he does what he always did in situations like this: takes matters into his own hands. "Give me that damn glass," with a snatch across the table to collect the empties, with a sneer at the giggling bluerider, with a comment-- not suitable for mixed company-- about the man's sexual preferences. Mugs dangling by the handles from his finger, he disappears for a time into the Snowasis, giving P'ax a brief look and nothing more. Dodged the bullet there, neh? There's a lifted chin and a cocked thumb for P'ax, indicating the nearest seat to her that is, oh-so-thoughtfully, away from the Weyrleader. Rascela shifts her grip on the implement, from marking to producing a broad stripe at one corner that bleeds down with a roll of her fingers. Nothing distinct as yet, just ghostly entities in red. All of that pauses, of course, when the Weyrleader gets up to tend to the drinks; only after the man's back is to her will she permit a thin smile, canted sharply with amusement. Clearly a look of disappointment covers Ananta's face. She reaches across the table for someone else's half filled glass. Sniff. Mmmm, swallow. A look around to see if anyone noticed. Nope. A little oblivious to any of the other people in the room. It's like they've faded into the background, now that her interest has left the room. P'ax drops himself into the seat Raz indicates, glancing at her task. "What's that?" he demands, and then is distracted by N'thei. His voice is low, whispering for Raz's ears alone, "Who put the bug in his bonnet?" N'thei's not yet returned. Which really is better since it seems the world breathes a little easier without him. At the table without him, it's F'rint who pipes up toward the weyrlings; "Best not let him think you're talking behind his back, little ones, or it'll be the worse for you." "You'll see," Rascela reckons of her artwork, more lines being added -- this time in black. A nose? An eye? All horribly distorted -- deliberately so. Of course, the whispering of P'ax is answered by a grunt -- she neither knows nor cares enough to answer -- and then a flat look for F'rint's words. As if she'd be the type to talk behind someone's back. Honestly. Instead: "Y'ever get yer weyr set up?" for P'ax, of course. P'ax gives F'rint an unfriendly look. "Best not ask me what I think of eavesdroppers who bend their ears hard enough for a whisper between two friends." He pulls the brim of his hat lower and tips his head back towards the brownrider's drawing. "That's... interesting." He stretches his long legs out befoe him and turns to regard the bowl briefly. "I did! K'del came by to see, did he tell you? We didn't even kill each other. It was even a little pleasant." So must for the best of intentions. F'rint gives a startled blink at P'ax's reaction to what was meant to be friendly, slightly ribbing advice. In his tenure as N'thei's Wingsecond, he's yet to encounter that particular reaction-- sometimes contempt, occasional wonderment, but never downright back-talk. He goes on looking bemused while he starts to collect up the cards, his heavy brows all knitted up, and the bluerider next to him issues a long, looooow whistle at the exchange. "Let's just play, it's my lucky night," F'rint says resolutely-- though still puzzled, still puzzled. Seeing that her drink has a fly floating in it, Ananta slides it back across the table. Probably best not to drink strangers beers. Well, all that's left to do is follow a certain someone to the bar. Ananta's needing something harder than beer tonight. Of course, there's a sharp look at P'ax from Raz for his reaction, her mouth pulled aside but no comment issuing -- either for Weyrleader's Wingsecond or her greenriding companion. This is perhaps for the better. Another line is applied, dragged, and transforms into something else on the next page over; an incoherent squiggle for now. For P'ax, an eventual, "S'good t'hear." There's a beat, then, "Surprised Uanth ain't taken a spork t'Yyth yet." P'ax is just like that. Porcupines have prickles. "Yeah, sorta surprised myself. Been meaning to come see your collection, when the time's convienent for you, of course." He inclines his head towards her. "Do you want anything, by the way?" It's the bluerider that keeps it alive; "I say tell him and let's see what comes of it. The man's been aching to break someone's jaw for weeks anyway. Why not--?" He hitches his thumb toward P'ax, wiggles his brows hopefully while F'rint slouches down toward the horizon of the table to shuffle cards a little disconsolately. His lucky night and he gets snapped at by a weyrling, what is the world coming to? From the tunnel between patio and bar, a shadow about N'thei's height-and-shape starts heading back with a shadow about the height-and-shape of ale mugs in hand. Fly soaked beer mug in one hand. Ananta's bag in the other. She doesn't trust the people around here to leave her things alone. Bending around chairs she makes her way towards the tunnel. Wondering about where she left those blue bits of glass. Oh. Strait ahead. A shadow. Her stride slows as she draws closer to the Weyrleader. "Sir?" "Any time I ain't got company s'good." Which is helpful and not-so-helpful by turns. Rascela leaves it there, perhaps just trusting him to figure it out. Now, later; whenever, really. P'ax' question, though, that draws a singular left-right-center shake of her head. "Don't really. He wants more of those things. Spiral-things. Got a whole-" a glance is given to her work-in-progress and then the page is marked by turning a corner down. The book is riffled through and then opened on a series of pages filled with illustrations. Designs, for the most part. "Anythin' like that." And there's a sidelong look to the poker players when she slides the book over for P'ax, a flick of attention to the shadow and the shadow's shadow. Curious. P'ax might take exception and punch someone. The look on his face tells this much clearly. "Ooh, I'd let Yyth bite him," he mutters to Raz, scuffing his boot sole loudly at the same time to dilute the words. He flops back in his chair with a sigh, and then restlessly launches himself out of it a half-second later. "I meant a drink. I'm going to go get one, you want?" He glances out towards the bowl again, eyebrows drawing inwards. A fidgeting tug of his shirt and a restless itch to his neck give away his uneasiness. "I'll keep an eye out," he assures, seeing her drawings. The good thing is, the poker players can't actually hear anything Rascela and P'ax are saying-- nothing worth repeating, anyway. There's just an instigator there, and one who knows N'thei well enough to enjoy pushing his buttons. While the bluerider sits with a wicked smile curling his mouth, the bronzerider just about walks over the top of Ananta, fully expecting that anyone and everyone would just get out of his way. So, barely managing not to spill his very full beers, he comes to a sudden stop with a peer down at her that is anything but inviting. "What." That tall shadow approaching quickly. Ananta is looking over it's shoulder at a face further back, still lit by the light of the Snowasis. "Huska?! I knew it was you." Her favorite harper since childhood. This said at the same time as the brusk "What." Oh, a misunderstanding. Obviously a reasonable assumption, on N'thei's part. He is the most important man around High Reaches,after all. Of course he should respond to "Sir?" But, Ananta wasn't speaking to him. "Uhh?" "Hnh." Her look to the shadow and then to the riders eventually slides back over to her fellow weyrling. "Shoulda specified." But the words are just that; bluntly uttered without inflection. Rascela retracts the book, flipping back to what she was working on. Time to work on those caricatures; slowly but surely. To P'ax, a flat, "Somethin' decent. Don't care what. I'll buy next round." And there's a slight tip of her head, those last words lifted enough for the poker players to hear if they're paying any sort of atttention at all. P'ax nods his head sharply. "Yeah, sure." And another glance is shot to the poker players. Ah, here we go. P'ax can't afford to get into trouble. Cue, fleeing. Fleeing into the jaws of the enemy, at least. He doesn't know what's good, either, poor kid. "Excuse me," he says with a hint of impatience, coming up behind Ananta. Sir? But not him? N'thei looks unaccountably irritated, to be waylaid, to be mistaken, to be a lot of things. P'ax coming up around the interlude does not help matters, and he can only give the pair of them one of his better frowns-- one of the ones that usually get called implacable or dangerous-- and push past them to drop beer mugs on the table, one at his chair and one in front of F'rint. "Never will understand how I'daur puts up with it. --Whose deal?" Best they keep to themselves, really. "Damn it!" Said in a mutter, as prince charming passes. Huska approaches just in time to catch the end of it. She ignores him and turns as N'thei flies past. And only as he slams the beers down, does she start over in his direction. She on auto-pilot. Something about his nasty personality. She likes his...fire. "N'thei." P'ax watches after Ananta like her head's fallen off and is now rolling across the floor. Probably an early response to her near future. Oh well, not his concern. Turning, he jams his hands in his pockets and heads into the Oasis. For awhile, it's beginning to look like either the Oasis swallowed him whole or he took a cue and fled out the back door. No such luck, however. He finally comes back with two somethings, staring at them in bewilderment. He thrusts one at Raz. "I don't know what it is, so you might be drinking horse piss, I couldn't actually tell you. Good luck." There's a tilt of her head to P'ax, then Rascela lapses further into silence to continue her work -- and work in a little something at another corner. She glances up periodically to check on P'ax' status, but otherwise seems engrossed in her self-appointed task. When he returns, she snorts, "Could be worse. Y'ain't met m'uncles." There's a jerk at the corner of her mouth in something that could be construed as nostalgia and then she's taking up her mug to drink without batting an eye. F'rint is still a little confused about his exchange with P'ax, so his goldfish-expression is excusable when Ananta ventures to the table. Fortunately, the rest of them men with whom N'thei plays have long-since grown accustomed to things like this-- and N'thei's reaction to them-- and they just wait. Leaving him to look at the girl in relentless silence; last time, he was friendly enough to ask "what." This time, it's just an expectant stare at her. All of which serves to keep P'ax alive-and-well, so that's a lucky turn of events, yes? Ananta sees P'ax with his mouth open as she passes. "You ok P'ax?" Again, a complete lack of common sense. Perhaps some would call her brave? She flips her bag open and reaches is for something. "I've been meaning to ask you about these." She holds out 2 beer bottles...with unfamiliar labels. "Are these of interest to you?" She's a collector of glass...especially from contraband goods. P'ax just shakes his head and settles back into his seat. "Do they drink horse piss?" he asks earnestly, leaning over to see how Rascela's drawing progresses. "Mostly, we drink klah at the Hall, you know? Well, there's wine and such, as well, but if you want anything better, I've never seen it. Maybe it's something the Masters keep a secret." A smile tugs the corner of his mouth. Until he takes a sip of whatever this stuff is that he aquired. His first reaction is a terrible face. And then he's coughing violently over his knees. N'thei might not kill him, but strong liquor might. "Ain't half bad for piss. Ain't half good, neither. But, s'a'right." Not that it's stopping her from polishing it off with only a slight distortion of her expression. "Hnh. They'd dare each other t'drink anythin'. Brine once. Reckon it can't be much worse'n that." P'ax' coughing just has the immediate effect of prompting Rascela to close her book and slide it to a side; away from any potential spray. She reaches over, snagging his mug and then taking a sip. "Hnh. You'll live." As if there was an option. A look essays across the table from N'thei to his 'second, one largely incomprehensible to all but the two of them; could be born from Ananta and her bottles, or P'ax and his choking, or Rascela's half-bad-for-piss. Whatever causes it... A moment later, the bronzerider's draining his beer in a long swallow and standing up, giving Ananta's beer bottles his most disinterested of glances; "No." Which cues the brownrider to add in, "Leave 'em with me, hon, and we'll have a look at 'em later." N'thei's part in the game seems to be over, with him pocketing his marks and saying around the table, "Try not to take all F'rint's money, gentlemen." Ananta is hardly detered. "Mmmm, I see. Well, I wonder who would be interested in these strange bottles." The men calling her "hon" and what not, barely enter her train of thought. For now. P'ax will happily let Raz relieve him of the mug while he regains his breath(and possibly his dignity). "Faranth, that doesn't taste like wine at all." He seems to be a bit shocked by that. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wandering towards Ananta still foolishly persuing N'thei. "Figure he'll break one of those over her head?" A low private comment to his companion. "Didn't reckon it would." Which is why she's now going to finish it, though at a much more measured pace than she drank hers. Rascela settles back in her chair, half-lidded, and allows her attention to drift across to the poker players; her words, though, are low-pitched enough for P'ax alone to hear. "Wouldn't bet on it." Nor is she going to encourage it by starting. Fingers lace and then are stretched out in front of her to crack them audibly. Nothing gets broken, neither heads nor bottles. N'thei leaves, the poker game goes on with far fewer interruptions, and presumably everyone goes home in one piece. |
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