Logs:Evening, guy.
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2013 |
| Who: Kh'mic, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Kh'mic and Z'ian bullshit the state of affairs. No one has any plans. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy. |
| Mentions: Taikrin/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ) 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.
Oh hey look, big surprise, it's winter and it's snowing at High Reaches. As if this doesn't happen EVERY TURN at about the same time, people find it in them to complain, coming in out of the cold with snow stuck to them and their feet stomping and making messes on the floor. Kh'mic, sitting at the bar, turns his back to the recurring theme while he brackets a mug with his palm, listening intently to a conversation of which he's not a part between a pair of greenriders. "...revolutionary, I'm telling you, now we just have to insist that, since greens mate too, why not let us be Weyrwomen, and we're home free." The speaker THANKFULLY seems to be saying this in jest, making his companion giggle happily. Amazing. They're even coming in wearing layers and layers of clothing! That they have to peel off and hang all over the hooks on the wall and then on the furniture too. That's what Z'ian is doing. He's peeling off the jacket and the gloves and the goofy hat and finding a space for them to go. Then he's heading to the bar and integrating himself immediately into the conversation while he orders a drink. "Hey, maybe they can stop giving the greens firestone and maybe they could lay eggs too! Wouldn't that be fucking awesome? Green and blue dragons for everyone." It sounds like haha sarcasm as he takes an empty seat at the bar and gets his mug of something warm yet boozy smelling. Kh'mic's not a totally unfamiliar face to him, so he nods a friendly enough greeting. "Evening, guy." Not that he remembers his name or anything. The exuberant speaker shouts a delighted, "Perfect! S'mot, add it to the list! Greens and blues all around!" Reeling, a little druuuunk this evening, the two greenriders slump off their benches and out, which is about when Kh'mic/Guy gets a greeting, nodding back and supplying without malice, "Kh'mic. Z'ian, yeah? Those two had been at it for a good while." His tone, flat as it is, makes it hard to tell what he thought about the performance. Z'ian didn't have to deal with them for very long so he seems to still find some amusement to their antics. His mouth twitches and he smiles a bit wryly when they stumble off of their chairs and leave. His eyebrows lift and fall as he focuses his attention onto the brownrider. "Right, Kh'mic. Sorry, I'm usually better with names." He lifts his shoulders and takes a tentative 'how hot is this, really?' sip from his mug. "Z'ian." Quick confirmation before he glances in the direction of the departing drunks. "I'm sure they were enthralling the entire time too. You were listening from start to finish?" Kh'mic shrugs aside the need for an apology, unworried by not being on a first name basis right off. He shifts, now that the pair are gone, so that he's facing Z'ian instead of the empty gap where the show'd been a moment ago, and shakes his head. "Just with half an ear. They were buying drinks for brownriders and calling them all 'new boss' for a while." He taps his index finger against the side of his cup, saying, "Who says no to a free drink?" "New boss." Z'ian repeats as one 'brow arches. Then he just rolls his eyes and sighs, taking a long draw from the mug in his hands. It must be the cold weather affecting him, he doesn't bother to let it rest on the counter. He keeps the warmth for himself as he adjusts, making it easier to face his new bar friend. "Not anyone that I know. Probably not me either." Then tacking on, "I don't think anyone is going to be buying me free drinks anytime soon." It's good natured amusement to a comment on an otherwise serious comment. "New boss," Kh'mic answers back, lobbing the term for the third time. His slow nod gains momentum to agree with Z'ian's lack of free drinks, offering, "It's cold comfort, anyway, so don't feel like you're missing out on much." He's still drinking it, mind, but at least the brownrider has the good manners not to look like he's ENJOYING it too tremendously. "It's a fine mess, isn't it?" he concludes into his drink, sighing ohwell and emptying the mug. "When I'm crying myself to sleep tonight over the lack of drinks, I'll try to remember that." Z'ian displays a slow, easy smile for the other rider as he lifts his mug again. It's possible that he's using it as a way to hide his own expression while he contemplates the brownrider over his drink. "Yeah, fine mess alright. I could probably get over the not bronze part. If my brain wasn't so busy rejecting every other fucked up component of the situation. But according to our Weyr's leaders, everything is just fine." Kh'mic has to lean pretty far down the bar to reach a salt-shaker that had, until not long ago, been employed in the drinking of tequila-shots. Credit to him for really committing to the grain-of-salt joke, since he puts it down in front of Z'ian and says, "Something for you to take their reassurances with. Seeing as our Weyr's leaders," he stops and coughs into his curled fingers, "are the ones that caused all this." "I'd need the seasoning if I was taking them." Z'ian answers, sliding the shaker back down towards Kh'mic. His shoulders seem to relax, even as he's beginning to smile wryly, crookedly. "I know it's not right to take enjoyment out of the suffering of others. But I am going to feel some satisfaction when they try to make this thing work and it starts blowing up in their faces." Between one long swallow from the mug and the next he manages to drain his drink. "I'm not following either of them." Taking it back, Kh'mic sits spinning the salt-shaker by the top for a few seconds, listening to the uneven sound of the base wobbling to a halt while he shrugs. "Short of open rebellion," he peeks over to see how that notion suits Z'ian, "what's going to make it blow up? There's no thread, so it doesn't really matter who follows and who doesn't. They can get prickly that half the Weyr's not kowtowing to 'em, but who cares?" He says it all pretty flatly, rehearsed even, like he's done been over this in his brains a few times already. "We look weak. Actually, we are weak." Z'ian tries that one on for size as he dispassionately glances at his empty mug. His fingertips work along the outer rim of it. "And sure, they could try and bend the wings. That doesn't really matter. It's outside the wings. Outside the weyr. It's an interval; the holds already don't like to give us much now. As is. So sure, send your wingriders led by a convict woman on a brown dragon to visit. Or send your wingriders led by a guy who might not be all there and see how it goes. Then when that doesn't go well, we can have the goldrider that's not capable of doing things alone try to fix things or the untrustworthy one with dubious intentions try to make peace. It won't happen tomorrow." He knows that much at least. "But it's coming." Kh'mic listens pretty well through all that, but it's clear he's thought up his response well before Z'ian finishes. "And your solution is just 'you're not the boss of me?' Doesn't seem like it's gonna do much to ward off this doomsday you're preaching?" Delivered in a questioning voice, he gives the bronzerider the chance to correct a missed assumption. "Sure is." Z'ian answers easily enough, unconcerned with Kh'mic's recited responses. "Until the next real goldflight. Meanwhile, I'm not going to be a part of the team that's responsible for doomsday." He looks up to consider the brownrider carefully before he slides his mug onto the counter of the bar, pushing it away from himself. "What about you? Aside from polling the weyr from your chair." Well, at least Kh'mic seems to find it amusing, in a dark way, his smile manifesting for the first time during this bleak chat. "Me? I'm a brownrider. If brownriders were up to solving this kinda mess, then it wouldn't really be a mess, would it? Besides that, it'd make you all look bad for having a brownrider lead the revolution to reinstate bronze authority." There were a lot of big words in that sentence; he signals the bartender for a refill to wash the taste of intellectual discourse out of his mouth. Z'ian snorts before he runs a hand up through his hair, turning to watch the bartender down the way. He glances out of the corner of his eye towards the other man. "Sounds like a whole lot of bullshit for 'I don't have any solutions either'." Not that he sounds like he's judging him or anything. Really. No, really. He's not that sort. When the refill comes for the brownrider's drink, he asks for one of his own before lapsing into some silence. Kh'mic shrugs, seemingly okay with being called a bullshitter. If the shoe fits. "Guess so. Maybe the only difference is that I'm not expecting it to, how'd you say? Blow up in their faces? It's shitty, it's bad for morale, but it doesn't really seem to make any difference. That I've seen." He still gets his drink, he still pays for it, he still drinks it and, judging by his appreciative nod, thinks it tastes good. "Sure, it hasn't made any difference in the immediate aftermath. I'm not convinced this isn't the perfect combination of ingredients to not blow up." Obviously. His drink gets refilled as well and Z'ian welcomes the mug back into his hands. Eventually he ends up shrugging, slight sigh. "Maybe I'm wrong. There's a reason I've never stepped up from wingrider, yeah?" A smile that's more typical of his usual fare breaks through, even it's more for himself than Kh'mic. It's probably a rhetorical question, but Kh'mic still touches his chest with his thumb momentarily and answers, "Again. Brownrider. Not the right person to be asking about who's fit to lead." Sip. "If it matters any, I do hope it blows up. I've been practicing my 'I told you sos' in the mirror for days now, and it'd be a shame for all that to go to waste." Z'ian rolls his eyes at the brownrider comment before drinking from the mug. He doesn't rise to responding to it this time around, if he ever really did before. Kh'mic's last has him slowly shifting his attention back over to him. It's a moment before he laughs and shakes his head. "I think you might be kind of strange." Just in case he wanted a virtual stranger'ss personal opinion on his personality type. "But hey, when or if it blows up? I'll buy you a drink and we can hang out telling everyone our 'told you sos'. Maybe we can do it in stereo so that it's really extra obnoxious." Kh'mic concedes the possibility by nodding and telling Z'ian calmly, "I've been called worse, so." He raises his mug to a half-hearted toast and takes a drink, pausing with his mouth still half-full to indulge the notion of doing it in stereo, the pair of them preaching the power of their foresight to the unwashed masses. He finishes swallowing and decides gravely, "I'm on board. There's definitely no chance for this to go wrong and us to get beat up for being righteous assholes." He puts some small-change marks on the bar, as a tip, and finishes his drink in one go. "I think I like you regardless." Of possibly being strange. Z'ian's comfortable with that, but maybe he just likes to be around people that are off-beat. At least he doesn't ask him out on a date next. He laughs and his mouth switch into an easy smile, just a touch of stupid bravado now. "Sure there is. But I've gotten my ass handed to me in worse company. We'll have a good time." The bronzerider isn't any where near to being done with his drink quite yet. He recognizes the moves of a person that is though, "See you around. Kh'mic." And he'll remember his name the next time, in theory. The term 'good time' - "That might be stretching it." Kh'mic nods affably nonetheless, returning, "See you around, guy." He stops to put on his coat before trudging out into the inevitable snow. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Thu, 31 Jan 2013 04:59:49 GMT.
<
I hear buttfaces gotta stick together.
No, but seriously, it's interesting to see what the folks of HRW think about all of this. Not Kh'mic, though. He's just a brownrider. ;)
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Thu, 31 Jan 2013 05:24:09 GMT.
< <3 you!
It's honestly sort of strange to play Z in situations where he's not happy-go-lucky. I'm sort of winging it.
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