Logs:Another Turnday Gift
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| RL Date: 5 May, 2012 |
| Who: A'nas, Quinlys, S'thyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys heads to Ista, where she has drinks with A'nas and S'thy-- Jimal. |
| Where: Sandbar, Ista Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 9, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
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| The Sandbar, Ista Weyr Standing on stilts over the water's edge with a broad ramp leading up from the beach, the thatch-roofed building sits well above the highest tide line. The walls of the structure are nothing but timber frames, open to the cooling sea breezes but equipped with hinged panels of woven grass that can be lowered during inclement weather. Within, supporting pillars are draped in cast-off nets and shells and myriad tables provide seating with spectacular panoramic views of the ocean, beach, and the bustling activity of the docks to the west. A finely polished, sparkling slab of obsidian serves as the bar and it's smooth surface is etched with decorative carvings of shipfish and flowers and other emblems of the tropical location. Shelves behind the bar are lined with bottles and glasses of various shapes and sizes and hanging in prominent view are slates listing the menu, beverages both alcoholic and not as well as a handful of greasy appetizers provided by the kitchen to the rear of the bar.
Enter Quinlys, who has already exchanged her riding leathers (better suited to a High Reaches autumn than an Istan one) for a simple cotton sundress, no knot in sight. Heading to the bar, it's as she waits for her drink to be served to her that she turns her attention towards the other patrons - it certainly doesn't take long for A'nas and his tablemates to catch her eye, and earn an appraising glance. "Done," A'nas declares when the stakes are high enough - a good word and claim to know the right people at the Weaver Hall has been thrown in to sweeten the deal by the former weaver among them. His arm drops away from the chair next to him, and he pops up. The round of empty and near-empty glasses are left for one of the waiters to bus, and he heads empty-handed towards the bar, conveniently winding up next to Quinlys. "You're not Istan, are you?" A'nas says without preamble, giving her a quick, impish grin before glancing to see where the bartender's got to and how long it will take him to work his way down the line. Quinlys learns her elbow on the bar, and turns her head in order to regards A'nas levelly as he approaches. "Not in the least," she confirms, with a smile that mimics his grin without being quite so impish. "Does my lily-white complexion give me away?" The bartender is busy mixing fruit and booze in liberal quantities, thought he resulting concoction - foaming and pink - slides across the bar towards the bluerider a few moments later. Yet another one of those Istan weyrbrats strolls in from the beach. S'thyn's looking relaxed in shorts and unbuttoned shirt, red hair mussed up in an artful, deliberate sort of way. The locals probably recognize him in that 'oh some rider's kid' sort of way, and one even greets him with a hearty, "Jimal! Come play a game or two with us?" from the group playing an impromptu game of dice. S'thyn -- or Jimal as the case may be -- demurs with a 'maybe later' sort of gesture, instead prowling towards the bar, crowding in behind A'nas and Quinlys in that kind of quietly intrusive sort of way. "Afraid so," A'nas answers, momentarily dropping into a patently false solemnity. "You're not brown enough for Ista, and you haven't burnt yet neither." He leans up against the bar even though it makes him shorter, watching the drink creation from start to finish, when it's passed over. "What'd you order? If you've just got here, and it's for holiday, you should let me get that - otherwise what kind of a welcome to Ista is that?" There's something puppyish rather than suave in the way he makes the offer, grinning again, hopeful. In trying to turn the charm on, there's just the barest of glances at the person crowding in, enough to determine a vagueish sort of recognition for someone seen around Ista and little else. Quinlys is just in the process of reaching for her glass when S'thyn-- Jimal-- crowds in behind her, and the glance she aims over her shoulder is annoyed: watch it! Personal space! "And if I'm just here for the afternoon, escaping colder climes for what little time I can - does that count? I really can buy my own drinks, you know." His puppyishness is apparently enough to be endearing, if not really suave; she shifts, deliberately pushing back at S'thyn to give herself some more room. S'thyn's reaction to Quinlys' push -- or deliberate over-reaction, in this case -- gives him an excuse to reach out and press a hand against the bluerider's shoulder for balance. "Oh, terribly sorry." He's not, of course, and it's written all over his expression, that unrepentant grin. His attention fixes on A'nas, a faint furrow of brow as if returning the sort-of-recognition in turn. Casually, his hand drops back to his side. "If you're offering a first round, count me in. I'll take the next." He's completely oblivious, or uncaring, of the fact that he's interrupted their getting-to-know-you moment. "Sure, sure," A'nas breezes over Quinlys' explanation of her presence. "I'm sure you can. I'm guessing that if you came from wherever, you're probably doing alright for yourself. But it's my /turnday/, and I'll be really put out if you don't let me." His expression turns into downright sad puppy territory as he jostles for the girl's attention without the actual jostling S'thyn's practising. His eyes all big and wide and soulful. Who would deny him? A'nas looks a little shrewder as he straightens up and eyes the other man, though he drops back into amiability after an initial once over. "Sure. Whatever she's having - unless you're threatened by pink." The hand on Quinlys' shoulder doesn't make the bluerider jump, but it does put a line in her brow that lingers, at least, only briefly. "Your turnday-- well, in that case." Her gesture is an expansive one; a moment later, she's telling the barkeeper, "Two more of those girly drinks, whatever they are. These pink ones. They're manly enough for it, don't you think?" The combination of puppydog expressions seems to amuse her, because when she glances back around again she's saying, "Is it an Istan thing? Surrounding women with looks like that? It's cute." "Well, happy Turnday, man," S'thyn claps a hand against A'nas' back, though it's more like a slap. Then, blithely, "I like pink. I normally prefer it on women," he's glancing sidelong at Quinlys for a moment, with the definite sense that he's mentally picturing that very thing, "But I'll make an exception." And then he goes all innocent, faux-surprised, "What looks?" He glances at A'nas, to see if he'll play along. A'nas sadpuppies with the best of them, though now with Quinlys' concession, not to mention the use of the word cute, it transforms into a beam. "Definitely manly enough for it." He bears up well under S'thyn's backslap, only rocking forward a little. "Dunno," he drawls back. "I'm just happy to have more people to celebrate with. The more the merrier, right? My friends over there," he indicates with a wave of his hand, "tell all the same jokes after awhile." "I don't wear pink," says Quinlys, straight-faced except for her eyes, which show her amusement pretty clearly. The banter between the two boys (let's face it: neither is especially encouraging a title of 'manliness') breaks that expression into a smile, and, as she picks up her glass, she suggests, "Then let's abandon your other friends, and you can entertain us for a change. For your turnday and all-- are we celebrating, or mourning, by the way?" "I like a good celebration. Especially when it involves liberal amounts of drinks -- even if they are pink." S'thyn's tone is wry, and the look he gives Quinlys a moment later is mournful. "You don't? You should try it. I'd expect you'd look very good in pink--" it's a blatant excuse for another long, speculative look, before he asides to A'nas, seeking support: "Don't you think?" Half turning, he scans the bar, then points to a table, "I think I see an empty table back there. Unless the man of the hour prefers to stand?" He defers, easily, to A'nas' preference. "Celebrating," A'nas says blithely. "Don't need to mourn until you're dead." He fishes for marks in order to pay the bartender, giving Quinlys another quick grin in the process. "It's a deal." He pays first, then pays attention to S'thyn's question and the look that it in turn prompts. It's a chance to peruse Quinlys at length, which he does seriously, frowning in his consideration. "I don't know - I mean, I'm sure you'd look great in anything, but I don't know if you're a pink sort of girl. Here," he says as the drinks arrive and keep him from staring at Quinlys any longer. "Table's better - cooler over there." "I think it'd clash with my hair," says Quinlys, who is not above rather enjoying the long glances she's getting from the two men; or above fluttering her eyelashes for emphasis. "Blue tends to be more my colour, but what can you do?" Pink drinks don't count, and she lifts hers to indicate the pair of them in turn while adding, "Lead on, then. I'm Quinlys, by the way. Happy to celebrate with you both." "It's often the ones that insist they're not pink sort of girls that secretly are," S'thyn's saying by way of answer to A'nas, though he's giving a cheeky sort of grin as he says it. He leans past the pair to secure his own pink drink, then makes his way towards the table, dropping down into the nearest chair. He's not unaware of A'nas staring at Quinlys, and it turns his smile into something closer to a smirk. "Jimal," he adds his own name, blithely. "See, I didn't want to say that in case you took it the wrong way. But blue would match your eyes. And your hair's lovely, by the way." A'nas tries to sound casual in order to get away from laying it on too thick. Especially when he goes on to say with another of his sly grins, "I'm A'nas - but you can call me Anil." Maybe the only thing that saves him from botching the smooth-talking - not that he succeeds - is the fact that he glances at the other man to incorporate him into the introduction. He picks up the third drink and says with unrestrainedly boyish enthusiasm, "Come on!" Quinlys' "A dragonrider!" probably lays it on pretty thick in a different way, but there's a mocking note to her expression as she says it that is probably aimed at herself. Glass in hand, she follows the other two, lounging down in her seat and setting her drink - briefly - on the table before she adds, "Thank you. I've always liked my hair, but not everyone is so enamoured. I guess you'd understand that?" The question is aimed at S'thyn, lazily, as she reaches again for her glass. "A toast, anyway. Happy turnday, Anil!" S'thyn's not exactly the sort to be self-conscious, though Quinlys' pointed comment makes him run a hand through his red hair, followed by a casual shrug. "Kids are jerks. It used to rankle me. Now I find it fun." He's lifting his drink, toasting in kind, "Happy turnday," and with several gulps a good half of his drink is already gone. "So, a rider, hm? Whose your dragon?" that, to A'nas, with a little quirk of curiousity that is no doubt normal for a weyrbrat. "You are at a Weyr," A'nas points out, looking over his shoulder to address Quinlys and yet not sloshing his drink about. "It can't be /that/ shocking." He slides into a seat along with the others, lifting his own pink drink in response to their toast. "Happy turnday to me! Here's to new friends who like the same fruity drinks that you do." There's nothing delicate about his first sip. "Yup," he confirms, licking his lips. S'thyn's the focus of a long look, ever-present smile turning just a little bit smirky. "Guess. What would you put me on?" Quinlys isn't shocked. She may even wink at A'nas, quite merry, though she's largely distracted with the taking of a sip from her drink. "It makes us stand out," she confirms, to S'thyn. "And yeah - fruity drinks and new friends, and all of that." The guessing game between the two boys has her turning her attention back and forth, her own mouth drawing in thoughtfully, but not in a lingering fashion. "Will your dragon be offended, if he gets it wrong?" S'thyn straightens a little, considering A'nas like he's been offered a very interesting challenge, indeed. "You like to think you're a bronzerider, but you're not arrogant enough for it. So, I'd guess a brown." A pause, a tip of head, "Maybe a green." He flickers fingers towards A'nas, while casually commenting to Quinlys, "I'm sure I can outrun his dragon. It's one of the things you learn being at a Weyr for so long." Someone's aiming to claim the position of cocky bronzerider, it would seem, though it's spoiled somewhat by the fact he takes a sip of his very pink drink. A'nas schools his expression, playing at seriousness for the length of the conversation. "My dragon doesn't know what offense is." No pronouns, and he calls Quinlys on it. "Are you trying to catch me out?" He takes another long drink before addressing S'thyn. No sips for him. It would spoil the image he's trying to achieve. "Which will it be? Final answer. And, my dragon would like to think differently. Guessing all you've raced is one of those old ones that would rather sit around flopped in the sun. I'd hardly call that a race." "Really?" says Quinlys, rather as if she's utterly unused to dragons; she's all big eyes and admiration. "Of course I'm not trying to catch you out. If I was, you wouldn't have managed to avoid the trap." She's pretty confident of that, too. "My guess is that your dragon is blue. They're the really fast ones, aren't they? Fast at acrobatic, perfect for sweeping up redheads who might be causing offence." She, too, takes another long drink from her glass, and wipes the back of her mouth with her hand. "Greens are /much/ faster than blues," S'thyn says that with a final sort of nod, as if he's using it to make his choice. "If you think your dragon's fast, Anil, she's got to be a green. Right?" There's a sidelong look at Quinlys, kind of distractedly amused. "Where did you say you were from?" "And what," A'nas begins, spinning out the guessing game, "does the winner get?" The pause between that question and his reveal is only a couple seconds long, however, given that the correct answer's in the air. He tips his half-full glass towards S'thyn in acknowledgment. "Green." His drink's close to being finished after the sip he takes. "She said she's just here for the afternoon," the now confirmed greenrider says S'thyn while his gaze is on Quinlys. "And she's not from here. So my guess is a rider too, and she's just playing at not knowing if the blues are all that fast or not." Quinlys' free hand, the one not being taken up by her drink, is lifted in a defensive gesture. "Hey now," she says. "There's no need to turn this guessing game on me. Perhaps a friend with a dragon dropped me here, or someone on business, or something. There are plenty of reasons why I might be here, and not a dragonrider. Is she pretty, your green? I mean, of course you'd say that, but it's obvious that some are prettier than others. Olly-- people tell me all the time that some are." "The winner gets the next round, it seems." S'thyn's grinning and pleased with himself, draining his glass, and gesturing for the pair to do likewise. "Better be finished by the time I get back." Although he's obviously intrigued by the back-and-forth accusations of Quinlys' status, drinks interest him more, and he's up and pacing towards the bar a moment later. A'nas puts away the rest of that fruity pink drink, hardly needing encouragement. "Already there," he calls after S'thyn before paying Quinlys further attention, not looking like he's buying it. "Uh huh. /My/ friends never just took me weyr-hopping on a whim. And I don't take anyone anywhere, unless it's on business. And you're here drinking, so it can't be business. Who's Olly?" He toys with his empty glass, tilting it so that a pink drop spills sideways. "Sure, she's pretty. And she knows it." The rest of Quinlys' drink disappears, too, and the empty glass is raised towards the retreating S'thyn in pre-emptive gratitude. "They didn't? Your friends totally suck, then. Mine always did," which is, of course, another giveaway - but it seems as though she's now accepting that the game is up, because she follows it up with the cheerful admission that, "Olveraeth. Blue. My blue." Their new red-headed friend doesn't return immediately, and a glance towards the bar tells why: S'thyn's talking with a tanned blonde and her brunette friend, and whatever he's saying is making them laugh, though it's hard to tell whether the laughter is /with/ him or /at/ him. "Pretty much," A'nas agrees, happy to slander his so-called friends. "Course, they didn't have dragons in the first place. So." He puts his glass down and sits back, slumped without concern for posture or propriety. "Aw, that was too easy," he chides Quinlys. "You just told. Where's the fun in that?" He turns his head to peer after S'thyn when the drinks start to take a little longer than expected - it isn't /that/ busy - and casually wonders after their companion, "Think he'll ditch us for them?" "Oh," says Quinlys. "Well that there's your problem, then. Me, I had plenty of friends with dragons, even some cousins. It all worked out." She doesn't seem bothered to have told, even with that chiding: in fact, it only seems to make her smile more, cheerful and irrepressible. "Olly was beginning to get offended, that I wasn't owning up to him. He's sweet like that." Shifting, she glances after the other red-head, laughing outright as she sees what A'nas is looking at. "If he succeeds with 'em, sure. But probably not." Oh. Looks like S'thyn has struck out. At least, he's finally heading back towards their table with three more of the pink drinks, which he drops cheerfully down on the table. Except: "Oh, sorry. I have to run. Something's, uh, come up." He's glancing over his shoulder at the two girls, then gives an unrepentant grin. "I'm going to give them a tour of the Weyr. Civic duty calls, you know?" Yeah, right. A'nas continues to lounge unabated, continuing to watch the proceedings at the bar even as he answers Quinlys. "That and the whole not weyrbred thing. Got in the way of bumming rides. What do you think the odds are?" he starts to speculate about S'thyn, but then the other man's headed their way and cutting off that line of questioning. A'nas sits up promptly when given a reason to do so - drinks! "Thanks, man," he says first, genuinely pleased. The grin's returned and no protest made. "Good of you to take it on. Someone's gotta do it." Quinlys allows, with a laugh, "That does make a difference, I guess. Not so many dragons, elsewhere." She, too, seems keen to see the outcome of S'thyn's attempt, and smirks broadly when he starts on his way back - although that abates at his words. Accepting the drink, her expression is inclined towards the 'civic duty, my ass', but her words are a warm and amused, "Good luck with it, dude. Have fun." After he's gone, though, it's all she can do not to giggle when she glances back at A'nas. "Never be let it said I'm not willing to take one for the team." S'thyn's grinning widely as he says it, and he barely waits for acknowledgement before he's heading back over to join his new-found-friends for their 'tour'. A'nas' grin lingers following S'thyn's retreat, falling back into smirkiness. A'nas doesn't fall back himself though; no, he leans forward instead, shoulders hunched up by his ears. "So, you were saying which Weyr you're at," he picks up with Quinlys in the middle of a conversation they weren't having. "In case I had it in mind to visit sometime. Cause you know, all this sun gets boring." Quinlys, in reply, seems drily amused. "Were we? It must have slipped my mind! So much distraction." She could be meaning S'thyn. Or the drinks. Or A'nas himself! It's all very hard to determine one way or another, particularly given her mirthful expression. "We're from High Reaches. You want to go skating this winter, come look us up. Frankly, I don't know how you manage to get anything done down here: way too hot!" Without being outright rebuffed, there's nothing to stop A'nas from continuing on in the same good-humoured, transparently attentive vein. "Boiling. But that's what the ocean's for. It's practically a given here that you'll strip down after the hottest part of the day and wash it all off." Quinlys is, apparently, the type inclined towards calling a spade a spade: "Are you encouraging me to do just that, Anil? Since it's so hot, and all?" Instead of looking caught out, A'nas just grins further before he shamelessly says, "Well it /is/ my turnday." And then he looks across the table expectantly in anticipation of the bluerider's reaction. And that? That makes Quinlys laugh, as she scoops up this second drink of hers and finishes it off in a single gulp. "Come on, then," she says, getting to her feet. "What kind of person would I be if I ruined your turnday like that." The flicker of surprise that has his eyebrows twitching up is short-lived, soon replaced with the reappearance of his cocky grin. A'nas looks well-pleased with himself, Quinlys, and his "turnday." He treats his drink in the same manner as Quinlys does hers, "Terrible. You'd be /terrible./ It's lucky for me that you're not." He's out of his chair in the next moment and imitating a gentlemanly gesture with his motion for Quinlys to proceed him. And when she does, he'll toss a glance and a smug grin back over his shoulder towards his group of friends: he won that bet. |
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