Logs:Nice Kid
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| RL Date: 8 October, 2012 |
| Who: I'kris, Taikrin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Taikrin sizes up the new brownriding gold-catcher. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, E'gin/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions |
| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr 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. It's almost-but-not-quite snowing, and that means a lot of unhappily moist riders tromping in from the ledge. Taikrin is one of them -- alone, for once, though she's muttering to herself to make up for it. She makes a bee-line for the bar, where the bartender is pouring her a glass of whisky before she's even finished crossing the room. "Wish it would flaming snow and get it over with already," she mutters disconsolately to her drink. "I just wish it'd warm up," says the oh-so-conveniently located I'kris, who is sitting on one of the stools just a few paces away from Taikrin. He's turned his head to glance at the other brownrider, and if his grin is quirked with self-effacing amusement, well, and why not? "My poor, thin, southerner blood is going to need a steady stream of alcohol just to avoid freezing solid." He's got a beer in hand, which gets lifted in time with his nod of greeting. "Yeah?" Taikrin asks, somewhat less depressed after a bracing sip of her drink. "Reckon you might be nuts if you could be somewhere else right now. But you're--" beat "--Svissath's, ain't you? That kid who took up with Lujayn? Reckon you're regretting it now, ain't you?" From her tone and the quirked grin, she seems more amused than anything else. There's another incline of I'kris' head in confirmation. "I'kris," he confirms. "Svissath's. The kid weyrling brownrider from Monaco who stole High Reaches' queen; sorry about that." He's too relaxed in his stance for that to be anything but a joke, and his expression, much like Taikrin's, is wholly amused. "I cannot tell a lie: I'd rather be sunning myself on a beach somewhere right about now. But-- duty calls. Svissath wants to be here, my Weyr wants me to be here, and so here I am." "And I reckon Rielsath wants you around too, yeah? Hey, gimme another one for our poor abused Monaco kid!" Taikrin interjects to the bartender. "Don't feel too bad about it; seems to be she's got a thing for browns, the younger the better. Fresh meat, yeah? How're you finding the whole thing? Weird, knowing you got a horde of babies on the way, ain't it?" I'kris lifts his chin, and then his shoulders, rather as though he's aiming both to make him look more confident and composed, for his amusement is increasingly tinged with hesitant thoughtfulness. "I suppose that's true," he agrees. "I get the impression she's rather bored with the exercise already. I keep hearing that, anyway. About the browns. It's-- weird, yes. I suppose it is." Head tipping to one side he adds, "Do you speak from experience, then? You can't be the last-- that is, I don't imagine you're, uh, 'E'gin'." "No, no," Taikrin laughs, as if the very idea were ridiculous. "'M Taikrin. Szadath's." She even goes so far as to set her glass down on the bar, so that she can offer her hand to I'kris. "Never had Rielsath, but we had one the time before last. Been meaning to look you up, actually; my feel's that us lot have to stick together against the bronzes, if you know what I mean?" I'kris' handshake is firm and rather well-practiced, and he seems more confident for having executed it. "A pleasure to meet you, Taikrin," he tells her, firmly. "I suppose you're right. We're - fewer in number, in terms of siring clutches at least. Greater overall, of course. We... have to work harder, to prove ourselves." That's determination in his tone: quiet, but undeniably focused. "Of course, bronzes produce larger clutches, and queens, but it seems... that's not strictly necessary in Interval, is it?" "And I don't know as how anyone's ever proved a brown can't sire a queen, anyhow. Reckon we'll find out one of these days, yeah?" Her grin is crooked, and more than a little smug. One swift drink polishes off her glass, leaving Taikrin free to lean sideways against the bar so she can continue to size up her new drinking companion. "Way I see it is we've got a chance to prove ourselves, yeah? Ain't got it all handed to us. Don't you think?" I'kris hesitates, and then his mouth opens as though he's about to argue that first statement. But evidently he thinks better of it, his mouth closing again, and another smile twisting into place upon those slender lips. "Anything's possible," he agrees. "You're right, though. Yes, absolutely. We have to prove ourselves. Bronzeriders... it's different for them. We have to do it ourselves, because no one's just going to look at us, or think about us, or... any of that. Yes. Yes." The concept animates him, has him straightening all over again. "My Father was disappointed in me. But I love Svissath." "Reckon my ma don't think much of me either, on account of how I ain't married with a passle of babies, you know?" Taikrin punctuates that last with a snort and a raised eyebrow, as if including I'kris in some joke. "But that's alright. We don't stand out like the bronzeriders, so I reckon it just makes it easier for us to sneak up on 'em from behind and take what's ours." As her refill arrives, she raises her glass in salute. "Right?" Whether the joke I'kris gets is the right one is impossible to know - but he does laugh, and it's genuine enough. "Mm," he agrees. "That's true." His own mug, though by now largely empty, is raised to match that salute; he drains the rest of it in a single swig, and slides it back across the bar for a refill of his own. "And I bet it'll be all the more worth it, as a result. Because we earned it, and not because of... the colour of our dragon, or-- or our parents, or anything else." His expression sets, stubborn. "They'll never see it coming." "All the golds. Just give us time." Taikrin is more circumspect as she sips at hers, though she seems well-pleased. "We worked ten times as hard and earned the right. I like how you think, kid. I'kris." Her head tilts just a bit, her gaze appraising. "Reckon you're going to stick around? Keep Rielsath occupied? We could use more of the enterprising sort, and we don't want Rielsath getting lonely." I'kris seems pleased with this idea, and gives Taikrin an approving glance, sidelong, for all that he's theoretically focused on making sure the bartender refills his mug without too much head. "I like how you think, too, Taikrin. Oh yes, we're here until the eggs hatch. We're-- ambassadors, or something. Improving relations between our weyrs since we are, after all, pretty well linked by now." "Got a queen and now a bunch of eggs; reckon we are linked at that." Taikrin leans forward, elbows on the bar, so she can finish nursing at her drink. "Improving relations with our goldriders, amirite?" she laughs, side-long, in the kind of joke she probably figures a teenage boy might find amusing. Or maybe it's just that her internal teenage boy finds it amusing. "Still, it's a shitty time to be up here. You'll like being on the sands. Loads warmer." "Svissath's half High Reachian to begin with," adds I'kris, though it's hard to tell whether he really finds this to be a good thing or not - he's carefully neutral on the subject, and turns his attention towards his beer, taking a careful sip of it. He does seem amused by her remark, smirking, though he adds: "It's just a pity Lujayn is old enough to be my mother, nearly. I'd rather one of the others, you know? At least none of them are related to me. I'd rather be stuck on the sands here than at Monaco, anyway, that's for sure. The warm'll be a nice change. How do you people stand it?" Taikrin's wingmates might recognize her nonchalantly bland expression as something more than what it is. "Way I figure it, an experienced partner's the best thing in your first couple of flight catches. They really know their way around what they're doing, if you catch my meaning? Teach you some good tricks the little ones don't know." Her gaze is still sidelong on I'kris as she measures his reaction. "Anyways, we get used to the cold. Me, I was born to it. Helps if you have a partner to keep warm with, though." I'kris seems torn on this topic, as though he can't decide between the good and bad points of an older partner. "So you're saying I should try and get in Lujayn's good books while I'm here," he says, evenly. "And let her keep me warm. Or should I move on and find someone else? I suppose Lujayn wouldn't seen terribly old to you. Not," hastily, "that I think you're old. It's just-- well. You're probably right. An older woman can teach a person a lot of things. Cheers to that." He lifts his mug again. "She is older than me," Taikrin points out dryly, though she can't quite help the beginnings of a wry grin. "All I'm saying is that a goldrider in the bag is worth two in the bush. And a private bath feels might nice this time of turn. Especially if it's got room for two." She raises her glass to meet his salute, though the remainder of the brown liquid is swirling at the bottom. "Cheers." I'kris' reply is almost a dreamy sigh; it's certainly appreciative. "A bath. I take your point entirely, Taikrin." And cheers to that, that's for sure-- he clinks her glass with his, then takes a long sip from his own. "I'll have to see what I can do. Maybe Brieli will feel sorry for a clutchmate... though that Azaylia, she seems more approachable, maybe. Or Lujayn." But it's plain his heart is not in this older woman thing. "Just how many goldriders you plan on catching, anyways?" The hint in Taikrin's voice and the slant in her gaze is a little stronger. "You know they ain't like greenriders, right? Don't take so kindly to someone hopping between them." Something spasms across her face briefly, something decidedly not so friendly. "Most of us mere dragonriders, in any case." With effort, she brings back the friendly tone so that she can order another couple of drinks and add, "Reckon you'll figure out how to pass the time, a friendly kid like yourself." It draws I'kris to a pause - a sudden realisation. "No," he says, hastily. "Of course not. I'm not that kind of a rider, I assure you. I'm not here to steal all your-- I'm sure I'll be fine, of course. Definitely. It's certainly not my intention to cause problems. Just... one of the brownriders. Making my mark, but only... Well. You know." His flurry of words comes to an abrupt halt. "Hey, hey, take it easy," Taikrin laughs, all genial smiles now that I'kris has clearly gotten the point. She thumps his shoulder with her free hand, as if he were just one of the boys. "We're all friends here. Tell you what. Couple of my greenrider friends are coming off sweeps soon; want me to introduce you? Some of them even like boys. Ain't nothing wrong with making a few new friends, yeah?" I'kris is relieved, and possibly in a way he shouldn't be, by Taikrin's return to geniality, and even by that thump of the shoulder. Her mention of 'liking boys' draws a sidelong glance that is all study - and promptly accompanied by a semi exhale - but he bucks up quickly enough. "I'd like that," he says, determinedly. "New friends. And as Monaco's ambassador... I could even buy a round or two." Or more. Whatever it takes. "That's the spirit," Taikrin laughs, all comraderly good humor -- if she caught his disappointment, she doesn't let on. "Nobody knows how to have a good time like a set of Glacier riders. Besides--" She polishes off the last of her whisky (again) and smirks. "This is how we keep warm all winter." Reckless, liver-murdering alcoholism~ I'kris positively beams-- and so, the drinking begins. He's high on marks, for a still-weyrling, and full of good cheer. Easy to like, in a puppydog kind of way, the longer the evening goes on. What a nice kid! |
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