Logs:Assholes And Threesomes
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| RL Date: 27 December, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drex has a bloody nose. Rat engages him in talk about women and riders. And women riders. And threesomes. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, C'ris/Mentions, V'ret/Mentions, Lys/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Ethran/Mentions, N'klas/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Language. |
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| It's a pleasantly warm sort of evening, the sort that makes for a nice evening sipping cool wine by the ledge and enjoying the peaceful surroundings. Or, it would, anyway, if it weren't for the aftermath of some drunken fight that ends with each of the participants limping away to drown their sorrows. Drex, for his part, drops into the nearest chair, nose bleeding fairly profusely, leaning forward so that it drips down onto the stone ledge below. T'gar must have a nose for blood. The moment Drex drops into the nearest chair, he's walking out of the Snowasis with a filled mug and scanning the current surroundings to find him and his nose. Dressed in worn, hand-me-down riding leathers, the weyrling approaches him with the words, "Need a towel or were you hoping all the blood would attract one of these rock-hard females?" Whether he's invited or not, he sets his mug down at the closest table and pulls over a chair. Drex snorts at the offer of a towel -- or tries to, anyway -- it comes out a little muffled and wet-sounding. "Yer meant to lean forward so you don't swallow all the blood," he says, with the sageness of someone who's had their nose broken a fair few times. It's only after that that his head tips to catch a glimpse of whose addressing him, recognition coming fleetingly and belatedly. "Aint my fault all you riders are assholes." "Good advice," Rat comments on leaning forward. It's the last though that has him snorting and saying, "You mean there's more of me around? Can you point me in the direction of the nearest one? Maybe they and I could compare some notes." Nodding towards the man, "What happened anyway?" he asks as he claims his mug and drinks. "Like yer stamped with big tattoo soon as you get a dragon or somethin'," Drex is muttering, gaze back downward as blood drips from his nose. The slight movement of his shoulders might be a shrug, or might not be: "Fucked if I know. One minute I was drinking, then this asshole rider knocks into me and gives me this look like... like he fuckin' owns the place. What was I supposed to do?" Hit him, apparently, at least in Drex's worldview. "Because all riders know who you are and are out for your blood in particular," Rat is surly in returning. "Give me a fucking break, man. Not all riders suck rocks. I don't." Eyeing his bloody nose as Drex explains, and when that question gets uttered, "I'm surprised you didn't deck him into the next turn," he admits allowed. "A hit like that deserves it. I don't care who he is. If you want to go hunt him down...." Well, T'gar seems game. Drex is nodding at the first -- and likely regretting it, given the groan that follows -- so it's only belatedly that he recognizes that T'gar is being sarcastic. "Don't know you well enough to say that you don't. Maybe because yer only half a rider, yer only half an asshole so far. Ought to quit while you can, before you become like them," he gives a generic wave towards the Snowasis, while he spits out some more blood. "Already did," he says, proudly -- as much because of T'gar's agreement of the insult as anything. "Do they teach you to be like that?" he wonders, eyeing the weyrling sidelong. "You know, all haughty and shit?" "Been a fulltime asshole long before I came to this Weyr," Rat says with a non-chalant shrug. "Asaroth's more the asshole than I am. We were destined to be together and all that flighty-poofy shit." His Bitran accent isn't as strong as it usually is, either. To hearing Drex decked the man back, there's a grunted, "Good," from him. "Hope he looks worse than you do." Beat. "Haughty?" He seems to consider that question before his sniffs and shakes his head with a, "Nope. Way I've seen it, most these rocks walk on those sands with torches up their asses. You should see my whole class. Most them here see being a rider as a privilege. I see it as like any old job. Like the man tasked with shoveling shit all day in the stables. Same diff." Drex tries at another snort at T'gar's mention of destiny, though it ends with another rippled grimace, as he finally lifts his head up as the bleeding appears to be slowing. His gesture conveys, of course as clearly as his expression does at the question of whether the rider is in as bad a condition as he is. His gaze is on the weyrling as he describes his class, with a shake of his head. "V'ret aint bad. He aint turned into a dick yet, anyway. Aint any idea about the others." Hands spreads from himself as T'gar is bowing to Drex for his of course answer, and then with open amusement as his arms drop, "V'ret's good stock," he agrees. "He's getting ass with that charm of his faster than I am, the bastard. I hope he doesn't turn into a dick. Lys is alright and even N'klas. Don't have much to say about the rest of them. You want another drink? Whiskey dulls the pain." It sounds like he would know. The sailor makes an agreeable grunt on the assessment of V'ret, though Drex makes a face at the weyrling's mention of girls. "More trouble than they're worth," he mutters, before something akin to relief flutters across his expression at the offer of a drink, "Wouldn't say no," he goes for a casual air despite eager expression. "You aren't lying," T'gar seems to agree in earnest about girls as he gets to his feet. He heads off briefly to see about drinks, returning with a good glass of whiskey for Drex and another mug of ale for himself before being seated. "Don't tell me you have women troubles," he states as he hands the whiskey over. Drex's bleeding has just about stopped by the time T'gar gets back, and just in time for the important thing: good whiskey. He reaches for the glass, lifting it in mute salute to the weyrling who brought it, before he knocks back a good half of it in one hit. With an exhale of satisfaction, he makes a face. "Aye. Who doesn't?" He tentatively presses at his nose, grimacing. "She sets up this dinner with a friend who turns out to be this rider who wants to get into her pants, and then they talk rider talk all evening and she gets upset at me for leaving." The noise he makes might as well expressively say women as readily as having spoken it aloud. Claiming the mug not yet finished, Rat raises it briefly to Drex's own before taking a wordless drink. Towards the end of the explanation, "Shit," he says, shaking his head. "About as bad as this girl I've been into sending her puppy-faced new boytoy after me to tell me to back off of her - instead of her telling me herself. Reachian women," he says with a look. "If this rider's trying to get in your girl's pants, why didn't you confront them? They might see you walking out as an invitation to snatch." Drex's, "Shit," is both vehement and sympathetic for T'gar's own woes. "Why the fuck do we do it, man?" He contemplates for like half a second, then grins, "They're something else, but man, are they smokin'." He makes a face at T'gar's question, and apparently this requires some more of the whiskey before he answers, "She's a rider, my girl. Figured, I dunno. Maybe they fuck each other, get it out of their system," except the jealous twist of his expression suggests that's not exactly a great outcome from his perspective. With a hiss of breath: "I aint a rider, man. Can't give her everything she wants." "Why we do indeed?" Rat murmurs on women, shaking his head as he leans back and stares after the view ahead of them. "She's fucking smokin', I agree. Beautiful. Tough. Has one of those smiles, man. Seen and been with a lot of women before coming here, but, they never smiled like her. Doesn't matter though," and he looks Drex way with a slight shrug. "My red thinks of me as a game and nothing else." Beat. "You really think she would do that to you?" he asks about Drex's girl now with a frown. "I get we're riders and all and we're suppose to....but if she's really into you," the rest gets a shake of his head. "Suppose to be a compromise. Don't matter if you're not a rider. Hear shit's hard with a rider, though. Flights. Stereotypes. I know I've got one to work with, being a bronzerider. Already people think I'm suppose to be like every bronzerider on Pern. Fuck that." "Fuck, man. Women," Drex makes a noise, lifts his whiskey and takes a deep, sympathetic drought. "Fuck do I know about how things work? She's the only girl I ever... had a relationship with, really," the sailor says, with a frown. After a moment, Drex grins, despite himself, at T'gar's latter words. "Fuck, man. Heard just about every weyrling bronzerider I know," which is probably a small sampling of three, granted, "Say that. Wonder if all those assholes," he points to a group of people, most of whom are riders but only some of whom are bronzeriders, "Said the same when they were weyrlings." "Really," Rat studies Drex on his admittance before nodding. "Yeah well. I've only had one relationship, too, and it didn't end well. I reckon you're doing better than me anyway, despite your girl and her problems." There's laughter on the last as he drains his first mug, shaking his head as he says, "I bet you marks every single one of them didn't live the life I lived, either. I bet you they came from some pretty Hold, or are weyrbred themselves." He snorts. "Yeah. I already came here knowing who I am, man. I don't need a dragon's hide to tell me how I should act. You can quote me saying that still five turns from now, if you're not sick of this place by then." Drex seems surprised by T'gar's own admittance, and seems to be a little more at ease about his own after that. "Mine was a fuckin' Blood, still hasn't admitted that to me though. Found out from a bronzerider who fucked her while we were supposed to be together." To add, presumably, insult to injury. The weyrling's words have him nodding, vigorously. "Yes. Fuck. Had some rider practically throw himself at me trying to get me to stand. Why the fuck would I want that? I don't need a dragon to be a man." His expression twists, as he regards the weyrling. "Why did you stand, then?" "She's blooded?" That gets Rat's attention, looking Drex over with a scandalous look. "Why would she even keep something like that to herself? I would think being connected like that would be something someone was proud of and would use to their advantage." There's laughter at hearing how Drex was asked to stand, the weyrling reaching for his second mug. "Some think a dragon means manhood," he agrees. "Pretty much bullshit to me. It's a good reason not to stand." But did he, indeed? He levels a sobering look Drex's way before he answers him on that one. "I aim to be in charge," is his cut answer, the look hard. "Wingleader. Weyrsecond. Weyrleader. Whatever. I want the top, or at least as close to the top as I can get. Why else go through all this? It wasn't like life was all good for me before Asaroth. I've got nothing to lose." "Aint sure. We aint exactly had an in depth conversation about it, you know, given all the hiding it and all." Drex is slouching in his chair now, draining all but a fingerwidth of alcohol from his glass. "In charge?" he snorts, instantly regrets it, and waits a beat or two for his eyes to stop watering from the pain. "You gotta be one of them," he gestures towards the same group of riders he indicated earlier, "To do that. Which means you gotta be an asshole." His brow quirks, as if to ask, And you still want to do that? "You should," Rat says on talking about it. "Shouldn't hide something big like that if she's that into you, right?" Beat. When Drex gestures towards the riders, he's already shaking his head. "I wouldn't be like them," he answers with a roll of his shoulders. "I don't have to be them. I don't have to be anything they are. I'm breaking all the rules, man. Asshole's a given, but I think I would be effective in charge. Rather, some of them may not like it." He nods towards those riders. "I doubt I would be so likeable like K'del is." "I can't force her to talk about it. Shit, man, you know what women are like when they clam up," Drex shakes his head, albeit gently in deference to his bloodied nose. He's glancing down at the remains of the alcohol in his glass, contemplative. "Can't break the rules if you're in charge. Gotta be consistent, or you'll have a mutiny on your hands," the sailor sounds like he's speaking from experience. At the mention of the Weyrleader, he gives a shrug, like, the hell would I know about that? "He don't have to be likable, right? You fuck the Weyrwoman, people have to obey you, I guess." "As long as their legs don't, I guess," T'gar states on women clamming up as he takes a drink. "Not that I'm the best when it comes to women. My love affairs these days has been with glasses of whiskey." He grunts on leading and breaking rules before saying, "I'll be consistent on the surface. I don't think a leader should be rigid. Some bending should happen. I don't want a mutiny, but I'm not requiring everyone to like me either. As long as the changes made are something they can get onboard with." He lets off the intensity though, flowing back into his easygoing shrug and a, "Riders don't always obey. There are those here that have their own agenda. Those riders are the ones I'm interested in influencing first. You never did tell me what it is that you do," he mentions now, looking at Drex anew. "You seem too clever to be weyrbred." Another snort from Drex answers that, and the expected grimace of pain. "Stop man, shit," he groans, fingers tentatively poking at his nose. Downing the rest of the whiskey seems to dull the pain enough that he exhales slowly and slouches some more. "Thing is, brother, you pretend to be something long enough, gets hard to figure out what the reality is, y'know?" He tips his head, questioningly, as if he's not sure T'gar will understand that. He grins at the latter, "That," he says, as he pushes up, "Is a story that requires another round," he gestures towards T'gar's beer, "Another? Or onto whiskey with me?" If he's aware of weyrling limitations on drinking, it's obvious he doesn't care. "If you're buying," comes from Rat, seeming give Drex's words some thought as he nods. "I'll take whiskey this time. And yeah. I get it. It's going to take something for me to look at this long term, but I am willing do what it takes. I'm willing to take whatever precautions I need to make sure I keep true to myself. Sounds like you know what it's like, though." It looks like this weyrling isn't going to say anything about limitations himself. "My girl has a tab," Drex shares with a wry smile, like he's aware of the irony of living off his girl's wage while bemoaning his relationship with her. He heads towards the bar, giving that group of riders a dirty look that appears to be missed. He comes back with two glasses of the whiskey, setting them down on the table before slouching into his seat. "Here's to... being ourselves, no matter how many assholes try to stop us, eh?" he lifts his glass -- the nearest one -- and takes a generous gulp. "I'm starting to envy you," Rat lets him know upon hearing he has a tab. "I don't even think I can do that yet." He drains the last of his ale as Drex gets the whiskey, catching him giving those riders dirty looks with silent laughter from himself before returning. He grabs the closest glass and lifts it up to the toast, adding, "And here's to the women we can't seem to get out of our heads in the process." He takes a good drink, smacking his lips in satisfaction. "Aint anything to be envious of, trust me," Drex says, once the whiskey has burned away some of the feeling in his throat. His hand curls loosely around the glass, as he studies the weyrling. "Your girl -- she a rider too?" He rubs at his chin. "Seems to me if she thinks yer a game you ought to raise the stakes. You know -- try and make her jealous. Fine some pretty young thing to flaunt in front of her." Because that always works out well, and Drex is such an expert at such things. "Living pretty sweet from where I'm sitting," T'gar answers on the first. "Non-riding, girl-having, tab-having bastard. You have your freedom. You can walk away anytime, man. Can't do that as a rider." As for his girl, "If only she was mine," he says to that. "She's a rider, yeah. Ranked, even. She acts like I'm too young for her and that I'm just looking to fuck. You really think flaunting another girl in front of her would work? Knowing her, she'd fucking celebrate." Love affair - the whiskey glass he's currently cradling. "Aint that simple," Drex allows with a grimace. "Got a kid, now." It's not so much regret, as warmth that he tries to hide under the quick duck of his head. "He's a bit funny lookin', but aint his fault he got me for a dad, eh?" His shoulder lifts and drops in the barest of motions to indicate a shrug. "Yer sitting here drinking and lamentin', might as well be yours the way yer moping." Like he can talk, "I dunno. Don't know her, just sayin'. They did that shit. Hell, if she's a rider, she'd probably like a threesome," with the glumness of reality. "A kid," Rat looks surprised at hearing this. "Congrats, man. A son? That's good. You're going to raise him here?" There's the glimmers of a frown for that, as if he has an opinion on child rearing in a Weyr. On the girl, "If only it was as simple as me claiming her. Riders are into threesomes, huh?" He pauses, considering this revelation. "Is it because of the dragons? I don't mind threesomes, but I wouldn't do it with her boytoy and her. I'd want her all to myself, even. Are you Reachian?" he asks now. "We're still... working that out," Drex admits. "I'd like him to spend time on the seas with me, when he's older, obviously, but..." he gives another of those almost shrugs of his shoulders. "That's all anyone ever says about riders," that they like threesomes, apparently. "Aint ever really seen much to make me disbelieve it, personally." It's the latter question that makes him scowl. "Aint anythin'. I'm a sailor, belong to the sea," he says, firmly. Rat nods on the kid. "Good," he says firmly. "He should see all that there is outside of this place. Can't have the kid thinking that life is all dragons and horny riders." There's some low laughter on hearing about riders being linked to threesomes. "Must be certain riders," is all he says on that one. "I don't see two women showing up on my ledge for one." When Drex admits he's a sailor, he nods to that, seeming to see the man anew. "That's a life I could get behind," he says. "Too bad I didn't get the opportunity. Being here....for her....she must mean a lot to you." "I'll say," Drex, drinking to that sentiment of his kid having expanded horizons. He gives the weyrling a rueful grin, "Maybe yer not enough of an asshole yet for it to happen," with one of those half-shrugs of his. "Yeah, it's," he tugs a hand through his hair, "She is," he admits, kind of slowly. "Aint giving up the sailing life forever, but my kid's so young, y'know?" "Or maybe I'm too much of one that the women here don't take me seriously," Rat says to that with a brief raise of his glass to drink. Setting the drink down, "If you're willing to make this sacrifice, then I hope one day your girl sees that and makes the same sacrifice for you," he says. "Holding back her secrets and all. You both share a kid now. I know what it's like to give up something that was your life. It never leaves your blood, man. No matter who you've become." Drex kind of makes a face. "She can't really, not with a dragon and all. It makes you stuck," a point which the sailor makes while eyeing T'gar as if to impress that the same situation applies to him, too. He huffs out a breath, drains his glass, and starts to stand. "Guess you're right. Ought to go face the music, eh? Thanks, fer," he waves vaguely at the table, but probably means more than just he drink. "Yer alright, for a not-quite-yet-asshole rider," with a grin. "Stuck," Rat picks that word out, grimacing. Yeah, he seems to know about that, too. "Yeah." When Drex gets up, "Don't face it too sober," he teases, not getting up himself as he holds his glass. "These women look for ways to bring us down. Don't worry about it," he waves on the thanks. "It was good to talk to someone that makes sense around here. Someone that speaks my kind of language. It was worth the whiskey. Sounds like that means a lot, from you." That's for the last, and the weyrling finally drains his own glass. "Take care of yourself, brother." "I hear ya," the sailor says, with a twist of lips. "I'll buy you another sometime, on my girl's tab," Drex admits, without any trace of embarrassment. He's grinning instead, and with a last tip of head, heads out across the bowl. |
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