Logs:Other Side of the Bar
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| RL Date: 26 December, 2015 |
| Who: Quint, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint and V'ret are both seeking a drink, but having no luck. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Lys/Mentions, Anvori/Mentions, Alysce/Mentions |
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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. Things are relatively quiet in the Snowasis, given most of the weyrfolk are in the midst of dinner. There's a bustle and anticipatory energy about the place, however -- there's some big wing competition planned for the evening, and the staff are moving about in preparation, making it difficult to attract their attention for long. Quint's standing by the bar, waiting for one of the staff to make an appearance, though he doesn't seem impatient, his fingers tabbing against the bartop instead, glancing around at the occupants with an idle interest as if contemplating who might welcome an uninvited chat from the local harper. Once upon a time, V'ret could have made himself useful at a time like this. Instead, departing dinner on the early side and making his way in for an after dinner drink, he winds up at the bar himself, looking mournfully at the other side like he could totally just climb over and help himself. Or help someone else. But, no. He's stuck being a weyrling without a drink. "The hell have they got going on? Should have left at least one person behind the bar." It's more of a gripe than a proper inquiry. And of course, V'ret is not without an observer -- Quint taking in that mournful look with a slight, curious tilt of head and a faint, sympathetic smile. "Some big event tonight, apparently," he answers the weyrling's question like it was directed towards him. "You in here to claim early seats, or..." with a closer look, like he might recognize the weyrling, "Try and get a feel for your eventual destination?" "Just here for a drink," a much more modest goal. V'ret attempts to wave down someone, but the thing about former coworkers is that they're never going to see you as quite as important as the usual paying customers. "Hey," he protests after being put off, "it's not just me." This may or may not be effective... at some point. Then his attention turns back to Quint: "Before the Hatching, I used to be over there," indicating the far side of the bar. So close, so very far away. "Try to come and catch up when I can, and still working out if I've got plans for tonight." Aside from the fact that the silver thread suggests he ought to have plenty to be doing. If Quint is surprised by the modesty, it doesn't show; instead the harper gives a knowing, agreeable sort of nod. "Tonight might not be the right time to do it," he allows, with a brief chuckle as V'ret attempts the attention of his former coworker. He follows the weyrling's gesture over the bar, with a thoughtful twist of lips. "Think they'd object if you slipped behind there for old times? I wouldn't tell," the harper adds, with a tip of head, leaving the decision to the weyrling. "Hm," is his response to V'ret's plans for tonight. "Keeping your options open, eh?" "I don't know if they'd object. Anvori might. But it's not like I'm going to steal anything." V'ret, he has such an honest face. And he's so very tempted by it. And if somebody yells at him, wouldn't that at least make them come over and solve a problem? "We'll leave a tip for them even if they don't really deserve it." It's a justification, as he's headed back behind the bar. "Tell me what you want, quick." Too much temptation. But he's not attempting to cheat the systme: for himself he's just after a glass of the second-cheapest beer. "Nah," to the last, finally. "Girl's got first refusal, but if she turns out to be busy, I'll figure something out then." The harper's silent while the weyrling voices his thought processes aloud; it's only once the younger man moves around behind the bar that Quint pulls some coins from his pocket, setting them on the bar. "I'll have same as you -- figure a barman's got to know what the best bang for buck is, right? Yours is on me." He grins at V'ret's latter, "Lucky girl, then. I'm Quint, by the way," he offers up, glancing over his shoulder as if keeping an eye out for the actual staff. "I can at least tell you what's not terrible," V'ret says with a grin, filling another glass. "Appreciate it. This one's not swill, anyway, which some of the cheap ones are. Working man's drink. Respectable." He takes the marks and, rather than putting them away, stacks them up very nearly on a napkin on the far side of the bar. Show of good faith. Not like he can't keep an eye on them when he heads back around. "V'ret. My bronze is Zoth." Yes, there's pride in it, even if the bronze part is obvious from the knot. "Quint. I should know all the crafters by now, from our lessons, but it's a lot of names to remember." Quint gives a nod, casual enough to not let on that he might well know the weyrling's name already. "Oh, ho. Next you'll say all us harpers look alike -- Alysce, at least, would take a fair amount of offense to that, I rather suspect. Luckily for you, I'm quite happy being the generically handsome harper." Even if he does say so himself. Once V'ret heads back around the bar, he reaches for his drink, lifting it and tipping it marginally towards the weyrling in toast, "To the working man's drink." "Well. You know how it is. I'm obligated to think that everyone between the ages of sixteen and sixty looks basically alike and completely unremarkable, except the woman whose attention I'd like to keep." And V'ret smiles for that, perfectly serious, for all intents and purposes. He does the half-lift to return the toast, then drinks, and sighs for the relief of his singular goal achieved. "It doesn't come naturally to me, but I do the best I can. Harpers, though. It seems useful to know Harpers. Not the least that everybody knows you lot can drink." There's a low-throated chuckle for that, as if Quint perfectly understands V'ret's meaning. "No tall order in a place like this. There's plenty of interesting women in this Weyr," the harper remarks, after gulping down a mouthful of the beer, nodding in silent appreciation of the ex-bartender's choice. "Well," the harper in question affects a look of embarrassment at V'ret's latter comment, "It is a special skill we have to acquire before we walk the tables, true. Surely though, as an ex-bartender, you know plenty of sorts like that, though?" Another drink and V'ret sets his glass down on the bar. "I've always pictured that it must start with a classroom full of little children getting graded on how much watered-down wine they can get down." Big grin, for that. "I know plenty of individuals who can drink, sure. But more variability than I've come to expect from your craft. For every bronzerider you see in here nightly, seems like, there's a serious fellow who never has more than a single glass of wine." "Pretty much," Quint allows, "Although mix in some early teaching of drinking games and you're pretty well spot on," he says with easy aplomb, facetiousness visible only in the quirk of lips. With a glance around -- more people are starting to come in from dinner -- his gaze wanders over the crowd, a subtle flicker of finger indicating the direction of his gaze. "After a while, you can spot them just by the way they nurse their glasses. Single, single -- definitely multiple, multiple... hm, he's a single, but splurges to two for special occasions." V'ret regards his own glass, and the lack of progress he's making on same. "How do you distinguish, then, between the singles and the multiples who happen to be temporarily kind of broke and have to make things last?" He's asking for a friend, obviously. Since he's now taking a couple more drinks. "Not that I'd trade my dragon for anything, but man, you get to missing the tips and the free drinks, after working a job like that." "It's all in the expression. Resigned," Quint scans the bar for a likely candidate, before indicating one, "Versus determination," and then a second. "We wear the things that matter to us on our faces, more often than not." And perhaps he's not talking about the folks around the bar now, given the harper's gaze is now on his companion at the bar. With a smile, "I imagine it won't be too long before your graduated with a stipend to outstrip whatever you earned at the bar. Or is it more than the tips and free drinks you'll miss?" he wonders aloud, taking another gulp from his glass after he's done so. "Equal, maybe, as a wingrider. But the living quarters are much better, so it does work out to a big improvement. I'll miss the hours, too. I'm not a morning person. I'm hoping there will turn out to be some way to just volunteer for all the late-night watches and sweeps, but it seems unlikely." A lamenting sigh, but another drink washes it away. These are all minor complaints, in the grand scale of things. There's a dragon. V'ret is not actually that discontent. "A new wingrider," Quint speculates, sympathetically, "I imagine you'll end up with all the morning shifts none of the older wingriders want. Your only hope is that there's another clutch, sooner than later, that can take all the bad shifts, eh?" He about drains his glass, with only the slightest of dregs remaining. "Your girl, she a rider too?" A laugh, there. "There'll have to be one at some point. I hope. Interval and all, I know they're less often, but Aidavanth has to rise sometime, even if I hope I'm nowhere near here when it happens." Despite that not being the usual bronzerider line on such things, V'ret raises his glass as though to toast the notion, then has a long drink. "Yeah. Green. Clutchmate. We spend so much time around each other, maybe it was inevitable. Didn't think much of her at all, at first." Quint's brows rise in momentary surprise at that. "No?" It's non judgemental, more like an offer for him to talk more on the subject. "I'm sure your girl will understand, living in a Weyr. It's a hard adjustment for many to make. I do my best to avoid Weyrs during goldflights, myself," he adds, with a kind of awkward grimace. He hasn't any more beer to join in the toast, but he does nod, slightly. "That's nice. The stuff of harper's tales -- it was meant to be," he says, with an easy smile. "Oh, Lys'd understand, sure. But I can't think of many things I'd like less than to wind up in bed with Jocelyn. Or Farideh." If V'ret keeps making that kind of progress on his beer, it's not long for the world. "Not weyrbred, myself. Now, more than a few greenriders, not that I'd tell her that, but I'd be thrilled to get the chance." Voice down, conspiratorial, only clearly not so much that it's a genuine secret. Not between guys, right? "Well, I've heard it tell you don't much mind in the moment. Although I'd imagine it awkward after, depending on how well you know -- or don't -- the woman," Quint allows, musingly, with the kind of air of someone who's never had to deal with such a dilemma, and is quite happy about that fact. "You don't get along with the weyrwomen?" he wonders, lightly, before he grins at V'ret's latter words. "Well, maybe your Zoth will take a preference to greens over golds, mm?" This gets considered. "I don't mind Irianke, but I don't really know her," V'ret admits. "I'm hoping so, about the greens. But so far he's not showing any sign of caring about any of them, so hard to tell. He only barely tolerates my amorous interests. I would have thought by now he'd be at least starting to, but, no such luck." Apparently, whatever his trouble with any of the weyrwomen, he would consider this to be a net positive. He drains the rest of his glass, looks at it with furrowed brows. Quint's only had one glass of beer, and he's a harper besides, so it'd be difficult for him not to notice that V'ret only answers the score on one of the goldriders. Still, he doesn't press, instead observing: "Well, he's young, yet. You wouldn't have even had the talk yet, I expect?" The bar is getting more crowded as people flock in for the wing competition -- one of them jostles the harper as he moves past, though the harper merely nods to him in turn. "Soon enough," V'ret waves off this. With everything getting more crowded, he leaves the glass where it is, and stands, though that only makes him more in the way of people heading in. "I think if it's going to get busy here, I'm going to see if a friend of mine wants to come over for cards somewhere quieter. Busy nights are a lot less appealing when I don't feel the results in my pocket, after. But nice meeting you properly, Harper." "And you, weyrling," Quint returns, sincerely. "Thank you, for the," he lifts his empty glass, briefly, before tapping at his nose. "Have a good evening." He seems content to sit where he is, seeking to get the attention of the bartender on duty again for a refill. |
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