Logs:Drowning
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| RL Date: 9 January, 2015 |
| Who: Zmeyth, V'ros, A'rist, Lythronath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros and A'rist have drinks, and discuss bro emotions. |
| Where: Dive Bar, Crom |
| When: Day 8, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Chilly. |
| Mentions: Z'riah/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions |
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| Zmeyth's intrusion is, per usual, dark and smoky; he has a proposition. « This place, » imagery of a tiny dive bar and the immovable Crom landscape, « Mine wants to know if yours is thirsty. Our duties are done and he's.. » Humor, dark and twisted, roils in the brown's mind touch. « Upset. » (To Lythronath from Zmeyth) Upset is a hard thing for Lythronath to resist, even when he's not the one causing it. « Thirsty. » It goes to everyone, to Zmeyth, to A'rist, with all that other information jumbled together into one feeling that hits like a punch to the get. They're coming. (To Zmeyth from Lythronath) The dive bar, located in the austere Crom hills, is bustling with activity. In part due to the latest altercations in Nabol, even if the dreaded thieves have been apprehended; though rumor has it some escaped, and the tithe is still sought after. V'ros is holding up one corner of the bar, rubbing elbows with a portly vintner from the region, who boasts effusively of his latest vine yields. But the brownrider is only listening with half an ear, wearing his riding leather as well as a world-weary expression as he cradles a whiskey glass between his hands; him not being a big drinker, it's surprising in and of itself. Noise booms in the small shack of a place, with both holders and riders merrily imbibing to wash away the stink of politics, and strife, and anything else that's caused them undue stress in recent days. A'rist's eyes narrow; that's how all that noise is acknowledged, when he opens the door, steps in, and nothing goes silent. No Old West here. Maybe, the squinting helps him focus. Maybe, he's just gotten pretty good at scanning a room. He finds V'ros soon enough, and invites himself to a stool. And, after a quick grin to his bro, stares at that vintner for a while. If this is the brownrider's idea of a party, who's A'rist to judge? The bronzerider's presence is acknowledge with a slap on the back of his shoulder, which is to say, this isn't V'ros' first drink. He has a weary smile for his friend, before he hails the bartender to their end of the bar to fill A'rist's drink order. "Needed to.. get away. Drown it out. You know?" He seems to think the other man does know, and heaves a heavy sigh that speaks volume by itself. "We can.. find a table if you don't want.." His eyes flick to the vintner, who has kept talking, regardless of V'ros paying him any mind. "Right," V'ros mumbles, and turns away from the bar to scan the available seating. There, off to the side and in the back, a table with three chairs that's vacant still. He gets A'rist's attention and points, so he knows where they're headed, but they'll have to push their away between chairs and side-step plenty bodies to get there. His whiskey is set carefully on the table, once he makes it, and he starts to tug off his jacket, to sling it over the back of the chair. "How's.. things?" Iceberg, Lythronath, girls? A'rist has learned a few things from Lythronath. One of those things is demonstrated when that vintner gets up to follow them, A'rist turns, and gives him one hell of a look that keeps him at the bar. There's a little tug of satisfaction to the edges of his riding jacket before he gathers his drink off the bar, and joins the brownrider a second time. "Killed a really big buck earlier." Beam. Drink. "So that was good. How's for you?" V'ros scoots his chair forward, and the wood makes a horrible scraping sound as it drags against he stone floor. His arms cross on top of the table and he pulls his whiskey glass within the safety of that circle. "You? With.. what? Knife?" he asks, surprised, lifting his glass to take a light sip before setting it back down. His fingers tap-tap-tap on the top of the table, just as he's clearing his throat. "I don't know.. I can't.." He winces. "Zmeyth caught that Monaco greenrider's dragon uh.. it's.. he's.. a he," which should explain it all. "How do you.. I thought, after talking to everyone, after everything.. it would be.." - easy? A'rist is listening, he is. His face goes more sympathetic, caring. He leans in toward the table, and cradles his whiskey more in the way of one warming the glass, settling in for the long haul. And with all this, and brown eyes focused on V'ros, he asks, "You mean you couldn't get it in?" V'ros, too, leans in, because this is a topic better suited for their ears only, not the masses who might be eavesdropping or passing by. His gaze is intense, serious, until A'rist's question and then, he's plain flabbergasted, shaking his head slowly. "Uh, no, that's.. I did.. but.. it's not a.. it's an ass, A'rist. You.. you like it? I.. I guess I did.. when I was.. but now.." He may look a little pale, now that they're talking about it out in the open. "Oh." A'rist sits back, and bites at his lip, thoughtfully chewing away a bit of dry skin. "I dunno," somewhat around that chewing, before his lip is released. He twists at the glass in his hands, and tilts his head. "So now you're like... what?" Another sigh, levied just before he takes a mouthful of whiskey. "I don't know," V'ros replies, "I know I have to get used to.. it, but.. I can't.. I don't like it, I don't like thinking about what I did.. thinking about doing it again." He lifts his glass, slightly - see, this is what thinking gets him, potentially wasted in a bar located in Crom, whining about something he can't control. "You've always been.. okay, with.." He knows. A'rist just looks concerned, now, the wrinkled nose of a young man trying to wrap his head around the idea. "Because like... because that's now how you see yourself, you mean?" It might be the frequency of V'ros' drinks that have A'rist lifting his own glass, suddenly, for a good swallow. Ooh, that's definitely whiskey. He blinks, hard. Habituated, "I dunno. Never really was about me, I guess. Not like..." A vague gesture in the air over his head. "Me." "I don't.. know. Not good with words to start with and.." V'ros sucks in a breath and lets out a forceful exhale, sipping from his glass in the aftermath. "It's still hard to separate me from.. Zmeyth. After everything. After all the exercises. It's just.. how it is.. and I can't separate this from.. me, or him.. like that." One of the serving wenches skirts by, dimpling suggestively at the two young riders as she passes, which just causes a deeper frown from V'ros. "Should probably talk about something less.. depressing. Like that one?" as he points, after the ruddy-cheeked waitress with both ample bosom and ample derriere; it's any man's game! A'rist is trying, he really is. But that expression of concerned confusion is slowly becoming more and more blank. "So does Zmeyth like putting you with guys?" His eyes follow the waitress; that's all. The topic he chooses: "I don't know if a rider can separate himself from his dragon, with sex." "No," V'ros grouses, "no, not on purpose.. he can't.. he just chases." He lifts his shoulders in an apathetic shrug and finishes off what's left of his whiskey; it's fortifying. "That doesn't make it any better.. for me.. I liked it, in the moment.. it's just.." His hand comes up, and drops. "I need to.. get over it. Everyone else has." Blank expression has turned into something almost suspicious. "Why does it even bother you so much?" It so easily could sound of accusation, but it doesn't. A'rist isn't getting this. "Did it like... did it make hurt the other guy or something?" V'ros looks hurt by the accusation, that his bro doesn't immediately get what he's getting at. "No, he.. liked it.. he wanted more, but I didn't.. I don't like guys, A'rist," he says in a harsh, raspy whisper, and immediately glances around. "And I don't want.. to.. with guys." "Then don't," A'rist offers. "Except in flights." And finally, he scrubs at his face. "I dunno, man. Me and Lythronath, mostly if whoever it was isn't crying or refusing to talk to me... I dunno." He sends another look, on that note, over in the direction the waitress had gone. And then focuses, purposefully, on V'ros, and has another drink. "I guess I don't get it. But Lynner's been part of... of even that part," pointed and brief glance down, "since the first time anyone other than me even like..." Fingers curl slightly. And he scrubs his face again. "I don't," V'ros denies vehemently. "Zmeyth's only caught that.. one time, and it was him.." He drops his face in his hands, and when he speaks, it's through the barrier of his fingers, muffling the words slightly. "I've had sex with two people.. now." He lifts his head enough to squint an eye at A'rist. "I'm getting used to it.. still." That's all he's got, all he's willing to give, before putting his hand in the air, two fingers up to summon the waitress. More whiskey, please. A'rist has a question, he does. If only that waitress weren't so attentive, he might've asked it by now. Might not be looking down her shirt when she leans over to pick up the empty glass, and replace it with a full one. It's only once she's gone, once he's shifting to sit back again, that he does ask, "Was your other one..." Eyebrows lift. To make it a question without words. V'ros sits back when the waitress arrives, back straight, with his hands in his lap; he is a good boy, though his eyes follow her as she sashays off to other tables. "Huh? No, no.. it was.. a girl, a greenrider, from Benden." He reaches for his glass, but pauses before his fingers can close around it. "How many have you.. Lythronath, caught?" "But you liked that one?" A'rist's eyes flick from waitress to V'ros, back to waitress, to V'ros. The question of how many, that requires a long sip of whiskey, and some careful thought. "I guess... well, usually wind up with someone after a gold flight. Lynner's pretty good at greens, so..." He's ticking off memories on the table, grimacing. "Mostly it's from him, though. We're careful. Well, I am." The waitress gets a brief stare. "She's alright." V'ros leans forward, folding forearms on the table, letting his troubled gaze fall on A'rist. "Zmeyth's only chased a few, so far, but no golds.. Aishani was.. and Azaylia.." He spins his glass, in a preoccupied way. "Do you just.. find anyone? Willing? Or do you.. have someone in mind.. that you go to?" "Lythronath hasn't caught a gold yet." Which V'ros surely knows, but it seems worth saying, and that, with a certain cold focus. "Not that there's lots of gold flights here," comes a moment later. A'rist shifts a little, uncomfortable, suddenly, and not in a good, waitress-inspired way. "I dunno. It just sort of happens. Try to keep it from going wrong. I dunno." He said it again, take a shot. Which the bronzerider more or less does. "That's not bad. Could have ended up like.. uh.. that guys.. what's his name.. F'ran? Igen's new Weyrleader," V'ros mutters caustically, and sips slowly of his new whiskey glass. "I don't want to be here for the.. next one. I don't want to.." He stops, because they've already spoken of this, and they both know where the other stands; one wants, one doesn't. "I don't want to make a mess of things." A'rist looks at V'ros, long and hard, that waitress temporarily forgotten. After what might be an uncomfortable amount of time, "What do you want to do? Not just who, but like... what are you gonna do? As a rider?" V'ros squirms, a bit, under his friend's stare, and ends up drinking almost half of his new glass; at this rate, they may have to carry him out of the bar. "I don't know. I just got.. around the idea of being a rider.. I think.. I want be.." He rubs the back of his neck while he thinks. "I want to be.. someone people can look up to? People that.. have questions.. a rolemodel.. but not.. a Weyrleader, or in any power position." "So like a weyrlingmaster maybe? I could see that..." What was a burning question seems, just as easily, to have been put aside. Except, "You'd have to get better about sex, though. Don't you... don't you like it?" "Maybe," the brownriders gives. "An assistant." V'ros is pointedly not looking at A'rist, keeping his eyes on other things around the room. "I don't.. I guess? The first time was.. it was.. short and awkward, and the second.." They know how he feels about that one. "I might.. I should.. over time. I've gotten used to.. all this, I can.. with that, too." A'rist grimaces a little, sympathetic. "I think you're supposed to like it, not just get used to it. Maybe with like... a girl you actually like?" It's wistful. Should that sound wistful, coming from a bro? "Yeah.. yeah.. that's harder than me getting used to it." V'ros recognizes he's finicky, at least, and shoots a rueful look after the waitress and her tray full of drinks. It's about then that the door bursts open and in pour a bunch of mixed-wing riders from the Reaches, obviously ready for a good time. His head swivels around, his body twisting with it. "Damn," he mutters, and grins sheepishly at A'rist. "In the mood for some company?" Because they're coming towards them, regardless, calling for the bronze and brown rider even as they move inwards. |
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Comments
Azaylia (17:18, 10 January 2015 (EST)) said...
Yeaaah, A'rist isn't the best to go for advice unless it's 'how not to damage your partner/make them cry'. XD Still, I love these bro scenes. <3 Poor, poor V'ros. He'd make such a good, stuffy holder and Zmeyth had to go and ruin it. xD
A'rist (12:30, 11 January 2015 (EST)) said...
And then feel bad about it on principle! Don't forget that part!
Tela (17:48, 11 January 2015 (EST)) said...
Such boys. Such fun to eavesdrop on.
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