Logs:Fort Gone Wild
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 28 December, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Taikrin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: The brownriders slum up Fort's very fancy bar on what might or might not be a date. |
| Where: The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain. All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts. Obvious exits: Inner Caverns Fort is definitely not Taikrin's favorite place, but in the name of showing Riorde a good time, she's willing to even brave the bad memories held by the first Weyr. She's ultra-brash to hide her discomfiture, leading Riorde up and down corridors in search of, well, this place. Once inside, she can't help but gawk for a moment like the hillbilly miner girl she is at heart, but then it's all bravado and arrogance. "See, their brews ain't so good down here, but they got some pretty things on account of bein' so old, you know?" So what if they look out of place? She'll happily lead the way to the bar, chatting all the while. "Reckon we can find something decent to drink, though." Riorde can't quite play it cool; she can't stop staring at the focal point of all this elegance, that chandelier. Even following Taikrin towards the bar, she twists around to keep it in her sights and executes a full pivot to take in the rest of the room. "You didn't say it was -- like this," she tells Taikrin, voice hushed and subdued. "I could've worn something nicer. My dress." Even with a fairly new set of leathers on for the jaunt to Fort, Riorde glances down at herself, self-conscious. "We didn't really stop here when we were learning the between points. All of Fort isn't like this, is it?" Something in her voice suggests that she hopes not. "Ehhh, it's no big deal." Taikrin refuses to show signs of intimidation, even though her leathers are older and less crisp-looking than Riorde's-- and the bartender is watching her resignedly when she turns to grin cockily at Riorde. "And I like how y'look in leathers." A pair of seats at the bar are claimed, and Taikrin continues her commentary as she slips into one of the stools. "I ain't really explored around here all that much, t'be honest. Been around Southern a mite more. I hear all the weyrs up here got baths though, and the Weyrwoman ones are all big enough to fit a whole cothold in." Smooth movement as the younger brownrider slides onto the other stool can't keep her from acting gauche; except for the quick smile she favors Taikrin with, Riorde has shifted from staring at the surroundings to eying the people in them like they, too, are somehow exotic and peculiar. "All of them?" she repeats, studying a group of riders not so far away who look normal enough; she watches them closely for any sign of a slip, some ineffable sign of otherness. "People said I was lucky just to get my little one. They've got things like that just because they're older, right?" "Got 'em 'cause they're the first," Taikrin corrects, maybe a little smugly, but also maybe a little jealously. "There's supposed to be a lot of old stuff floatin' around here. Might be fun to poke around later, see what we turn up?" This particular quirk in Taikrin's grin implies that this poking around might also involve some dark closets and secluded niches. She's distracted from her leering only by the throat-clearing of the bartender, and gets halfway through asking for 'the usual' before she remembers where she is, flushes, and orders instead, "Whatever's good, yeah? Best brew in the house?" "Same thing." Riorde finally looks back at Taikrin, perhaps because of the suggestion-- or perhaps because one of the riders caught her gawking and politely-but-pointedly raised an eyebrow. Riorde tries a similar expression with Taikrin, not taking her seriously, an amused sort of I-see-through-you half-smile serving for response. "I'll try what they've having," she leans forward totell the bartender, gesturing down the way toward a drink that fits with the decor: something blush-colored served in a martini glass with a curved stem, decorated with a twist of a citrus peel. Riorde's drink is girly-fancy, and Taikrin is /dying/ to make fun of her for it; it's written all over her face, though she somehow manages to bite back the words themselves. Rather, she tries to keep it conversational. "I /do/ hear things are kind of weirdly small in some weyrs, though, like they had way too many greens? Though... I wonder what that'd be like, a Weyr full of mostly just greens. Seems like nobody'd ever get any sleep... and maybe they made themselves some /especially/ interesting rooms, like. You think?" Okay, so maybe that's not quite as conversational as most people would call it; the bartender is certainly giving Taikrin an odd look as he deposits Riorde's girly-drink and Taikrin's mug of amber beer. Riorde /is/ girly -- at least girlier than Taikrin, though that isn't saying much -- and not about to take any flack for indulging in it. Her back is straight and spine long as she pins a rather imperious look on the other rider, brushing the hair she's deliberately kept long forward over one shoulder. "Sounds like your idea of the perfect Weyr," she answers dryly, reaching for her drink. "Though, does Szadath even look at greens? Or just golds?" Does Riorde know she's broaching a touchy subject with that idle inquiry? It's the kind of question Taikrin would usually laugh off or make light of, but here, in this Weyr, the question turns her face a kind of sickly pale shade and all she can do is make a noncommital noise and hide her expression behind a pull from her beer. A long, /deep/ pull from her beer. Although Riorde's expression isn't mobile, her narrowed eyes show concern as she watches Taikrin, not exactly knowing what she's done to cause that atypical reaction -- it was just a question, wasn't it? "Taikrin?" she ventures. A pause. "Bet you'll think my drink's rubbish, it's got some kind of fruit in, but it's strong -- want to try?" Two thirds of a beer later, Taikrin's recovered enough equinamity to attempt at grin at Riorde from over her glass. "He likes what he likes," she answers breezily, before doing her best to move on as quickly as possible. "Your drink is /girly/ and probably sweet and I reckon I'd be happier finding out what it tastes like by kissing you." Beat. "'Cause I like sweet and girly on /you/ just fine, but I reckon I'd never live it down if someone caught /me/ drinkin' it." She's leering openly, her expression nearly comical in its exaggeration. Without knowing exactly what happened, half an eye on the almost empty pint glass, Riorde adjusts. "Not that sweet." Accompanied as it is with a quirky grin, her correction takes the form of banter. "And there's nothing wrong with a little experimenting. /I/ don't care what anyone thinks about what I drink." Emphasis turns her declarative statement into a challenge. "Good. Then you drink all the funny girly drinks, and I'll drag your drunk ass out of here." There's a sharp bite to Taikrin's flirting, despite herself, and her laugh is a little too strident. "Seems to me it works out okay for both of us, yeah? Maybe we'll just steal one of those fancy old weyrs; they can't be usin' /all/ of 'em." "That /is/ why you brought me here isn't it?" The sharpness is unmistakably mirrored in Riorde's tone for all that superficial flirting being just that--superficial. And for the sake of making a point, she overlooks the fact that the visit to Fort started with her own suggestion to see something besides seedy crossroad taverns. Before finishing her drink with two long swallows, Riorde tilts the glass towards Taikrin in a mock-salute. "Then I'd better catch up." "Well, obviously." Still, the more she drinks -- and Taikrin will drink a lot -- the more genial she'll get. First chance she gets, though, it'll be hightailing it back the High Reaches, because Fort is a Very Scary Place, where Bad Things Happen. And, if Taikrin ends up /very/ drunk, Riorde might even get an emotional, discombobulated version of exactly why that is. Or Taikrin might just end up passed-out-drunk after a couple sloppy attempts at making out. Fifty-fifty! |
Leave A Comment