Logs:Exotic Tastes
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| RL Date: 12 November, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin invites Jo out to hang with a group of nomads. |
| Where: Somewhere in Igen, Igen area |
| When: Day 27, Month 3, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: It's Jo. Just expect. |
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| It's lateish (or is that early?) when Tacuseth feels the first brush of cool, wintry winds sweeping around him. The approach isn't immediate: the thoughtful, guarded presence of a (perhaps) familiar bronze observes for minutes more before the sense of the Monacoan bronze is solidified with, « Tacuseth. You and yours should come. » The where is depicted in images and senses rather than words: a hot, whipping wind; the sun beating down overhead; the flutter of sand-colored material in the breeze, the variety of pitched tents matched almost invisibly to the sand beneath. It's Igen, but not the Weyr, nor the Hold: somewhere else, with enough detail given for him to find them. Tacuseth's presence is an abrupt one at times, and this must be one of those times since he's there in Leiventh's head. It's all shadows and curiosity, the blue picking over the place before withdrawing his touch for a few moments. When it's back, « We'll come, » gets decided before his touch is gone completely. It doesn't take the pair that long to arrive in Igen, landing someways from the tents beyond. Jo must be dressing for the occasion since she doesn't have on her black leathers. Instead, it's a top that's woven and light, grey and falling off the shoulders along with beige pants of the same material. She drops to her feet in the sand with her wild hair whipping in her face, the loose-fitting clothes pulling in the wind enough to show off that she does have curves underneath as she starts toward the tents. There's not much -- not much that Leiventh shares beyond that image. No sense of R'hin; no emotional investment either way. Just a sense of infinite patience while he waits for an answer, and when it comes, an acknowledgement in sharp curl of cold winds around the blue before he withdraws, abruptly. Here, in the desert of Igen, it's warm, but early enough in the day that it's not unbearable. Leiventh stands out, even crouched as he is away from the tents, perfectly still -- a sphinx statue incarnate. There's a deep, rumbling greeting, more felt than heard, when Tacuseth appears. The place at first might look deserted, but as Jo walks towards the tents, she can hear the sound of music -- it sounds like some sort of pipes, several of them -- accompanied by drums. It appears to be coming from the largest tent, placed in the center of the camp. A peek through the slit of the tent would show a young, colorfully dressed woman, spinning in time to the music: around the edges of the darker insides of the tent, people are lounging on pillows, watching, clapping in time to the beat, drinking or talking. Tacuseth returns that rumble after he lands, and Jo looks in the direction that his wedge-shaped head points. Jo stops at the largest tent and does peer inside, looking for all in Pern like she belongs there. Those that pass by her and looks her ways gets a grinning nod before she slips inside, drawn to the young woman spinning to the music. Her dark gaze reluctantly turns from her to scan those lounging about, eyes narrowing as she tries in vain to pick out a familiar face. Booted steps take her farther in, her hair mussed up by the wind (or likely it naturally just look like that) and her steps lending a sort of swagger as she picks through the loungers wordlessly. R'hin does not help. Or at least he isn't going out of his way to draw attention to himself, although he's undoubtedly aware of her arrival, given Leiventh. Dressed in a loose, half unbuttoned white shirt and dark gray slacks, the bronzerider's staked out a piece of the floor, secured some pillows, and is lounging rather comfortably on his side, one elbow propping his head up. There's a decanter of something near to hand, and pale eyes are mostly watching the woman in the center. Mostly: his gaze cuts sidelong as Jo nears, a twitch of lips given, but no other movement to draw her attention his way. And while Jo might well receive some sidelong looks from the locals (they're probably not that used to random strangers happening upon them this far from civilization), since she's just walking around, they simply nod in her direction when looked directly at, but otherwise don't pay her much mind. A hand runs idly through her wild hair as Jo slowly makes her way around the tent. The heat has the woven clothes sticking to her skin as she moves, the dance getting her attention every so often as she does. When she does spot R'hin, lounging like the rest of them, there's a brief pose of her hand going to her hip as she just stares at the man for a few moments, then she straightens up with a few nods to those that look her way as she makes her way over. Whether he offers for her to sit or not, she's dropping down to those pillows and leaning back with a lingering look on the dancer. "Lonely, are we?" is her greeting, chin lifting as she looks his way. The bronzerider's looking entirely unrepentant, hand on hip or no: in fact, that gesture makes him grin even more. In silent concession, however, R'hin's shifting back to make more room for her, patting the pillows just in front of him, though he keeps his indolent, languid position otherwise. He, too, is looking past Jo towards the dancer, admiringly: "I figured if anyone else would appreciate the view, it might well be you, temptress." By the time he uses that nickname he's looking back at her, too, pale eyes glittering with amusement. "Drink? It's... well they won't tell me what it is, but it's potent stuff. Makes the afternoon pass like," he snaps his fingers. Does she have somewhere to be? Apparently he doesn't. The liquid inside the decanter is dark, almost black, and there's a spicy heat to it when tasted. "That I do," Jo concedes on the view, returning her gaze to her. "This is remindin' me that I haven' had anythin' exotic on my tongue lately," she admits in her way, passing a crooked grin R'hin's way. "Temptress, though," she picks up on the nickname with a soft snort. "Mmm, are we to that stage already of givin' each other nicknames? Or is this yer way of makin' sure I live up to it? I'll take some." The drink. She seems to have nowhere else to be, even if she does. "I'm always in the market for somethin' new in my flask. How'dya find this place?" "Well, if you do end up with something... exotic on your tongue tonight, promise me I get to watch?" R'hin's laughter is barely audible, but visible in the amused twitch of lips. As for the nickname: "Don't take it personal. I like nicknames." He reaches past her -- probably leans against her more than he needs to to pick up the decanter -- splashing some of the liquid into a pair of glasses. "Met this family, mm, five, six Turns ago. Leiventh and I'd left a gather at Igen and we felt like flying, and we -- Leiventh, actually -- spotted their campsite, got curious. They're fine with outsiders as long as you don't try to coral them into going somewhere in particular -- they value their freedom." There's a distinct sense that the Monacoan admires -- maybe even envies -- the nomads that. Lifting one of the glasses for himself, he flicks a glance towards the dancer. "They go to trade with the smaller holds, mostly, but otherwise they move around constantly, different place every night. Hard to find them, but worth it when I do. They make the best damn... whateverthisis." He tips the glass slightly in Jo's direction as if in salute, then downs it in one hit, exhaling sharply after. "Bronzeriders, always wantin' to watch," Jo remarks, shaking her head with a wiggle of her brows. "Never ballsy enough to join." There's open amusement to R'hin liking to use nicknames, and his reaching past her has her straightening up more in such an innocent way to brush against him. She stretches. Yeah, it totally looks innocent. When he explains the family about them, she finally looks away to really check them out. "Makes ya wanna have what they're livin', hm?" she asks, regarding him once more. "Can' knock freedom, darlin'. It's the whole reason some of us make the decisions we do. Or, I did anyway. Ya don' keep much to home, do ya?" An observation, gesturing about them before she downs her own drink before she hisses through her teeth. "Shit, Nice," is her assessment, nodding his way. "I like it." "Wouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions, temptress," R'hin warns with a heated warmth. The twisting of the dancer nearer them draws his gaze: distracted, momentarily, it takes him a moment to pick up the thread of conversation: "What's not to like? They live life the way they want to; they aren't bound by Tradition as much as their preference. They've lived through generation after generation of Thread, and yet have never let that restrict them or their customs." There's an intensity with which he speaks, a kind of fascination and envy and wistfulness all in one. "And they welcome strangers with open arms; welcome them like long lost family." Home. He doesn't have much of an answer for that: just a twitch of shoulders like it doesn't warrant an answer: instead, the bronzerider's watching her reaction to the drink, looking as pleased as if he created the concoction himself. "They don't let me take it away, sadly. It's a family recipe. So we'll just have to make the most of what we have while we're here, hm?" iThere's the warm laughter of the Temptress herself, lingering on her drink as she shifts to make herself more comfortable. "Can' recall one that's proven me wrong," is her light counter with a tip of her glass towards her mouth. Her dark gaze slides over to R'hin when he speaks of the nomads with such intensity that she doesn't speak right away herself. She does once she even takes in that twitch of shoulders for her usage of 'home', turning her gaze back to the dancer as she asks, "Is it the man that's been Weyrleader that speaks so strongly, or the man before the dragon?" There's a pause to that before she tacks on behind it, "That is a life to admire. Many wouldn' take in a stranger, much less a convicted one. I can envy their life. How they live. A shame they don' sell this drink. Do they?" She seems willing to pay, lifting the glass his way for a refill. "Then you clearly haven't lived much," R'hin's quick to reply with a dark chuckle. The dance is winding down, as is the music: he's silent as he watches her with the gaze of someone who enjoys admiring, and isn't trying to hide it. There's clapping all around: the bronzerider joins in too, gaze tracking the dancer as she steps on light feet towards the musicians and the noise of the tent turns to a drone of lazy conversation. Jo's question makes him smile, abruptly. "It's the man that sits before you, molded by the life of both, I guess you could say." He rubs at his chin thoughtfully, regarding her, before he points out, "High Reaches took you in." He reaches for the decanter, refilling her glass first, then his own, as he laughingly says, "I offered marks once. They stared at me blankly then shoo'd me out of the tent. Took nearly five sevens to track 'em down again, I think they were teaching me a lesson. But... you're welcome to try. Maybe you'll have better luck?" Or maybe he just wants to see what'll happen? "And yer gonna show me how?" Jo counters on living, eyes on him again with that spark of challenge laid bare. Then the dance winds down and she looks away to the dancer to clap along with everyone else. Even she watches the woman depart and doesn't hide the lingering there, only returning her gaze to the bronzerider when he answers her question. "Mmm," is what she gives for it, his own observation getting a wry click of her tongue to teeth and one lifted finger in confirmation. "Yer honest," she also observes, this one a bit soberly. "Not many are. It's refreshin' when I do find someone who is." She lets that linger before she nods her thanks on the refill and takes a drink. She does chuckle at the lesson the group played on him, shaking her head before saying, "So, no marks, then. Maybe if I flash my tits?" Tits for currency, and the bluerider raises a brow his way. "Sometimes worked before..." She's considering it, even, or making a show of it. "Perhaps. It'll be time to sleep through the hottest part of the day soon, after all," R'hin's murmuring: not unaware of the bluerider's gaze on the dancer. "Honest?" An exhale of something that's a mixture of laugh and gaffaw. "Been accused of many things in my life; never of honesty. I wouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions. I'm normally honest about rarely being so." He hasn't sipped at his glass, yet: instead, he's watching Jo with a curve of lips, pushing into a bit more of a seated position: "Show me, again? I've forgotten what they look like. Whether they're trade-for-drink-worthy or not." "So it's yer aim to have yer way with me in front of all these folks," Jo announces to his ears only, even though that's probably not what he said. "Somehow, I doubt they'll even be ready for that, darlin'. And. Yer honest when it matters, it seems," she adds now at his laughter, giving a playful little shrug. "Honesty's a matter of perspective in my eyes. I'd also be entertained as to what many things ya been accused of." Of course. R'hin's last earns him a challenging look before she slides a look about her. Despite the first, which could be seen as a protest, it's obvious that she's considering his request. "Gotta work on that memory," she openly teases, not bothering to draw up the sleeve to her very bare shoulder. "Perhaps this will jog it back?" If he doesn't stop her, she reaches forward and grabs his free hand before bringing it to one woven-clothed breast in front of all. It seems she surprises him with that statement about honest: at least, enough that R'hin's brows rise, regarding her with amused and speculative look. "Well... there's that," he acknowledges. "As for what I've been accused of, you know, the usual. Kicking puppies. Drowning firelizards. Burning down perfectly good taverns. I swear that last was a genuine accident." He's shaking his head shamefully, though gaze quickly flickers towards the bluerider with amusement. "I am getting old," the rider's quick to say in his own defense. "Thankfully I'm still amazingly handsome, so there's that. Plus--" and here's where Jo's suitably distracting enough that he loses his train of thought, if momentarily, "--it helps when cute blueriders help jog it. Mm. It's coming back," he says, fingers shifting as if about to explore, face a mask of concentrating as if he's genuinely trying to remember-by-touch. Showing interest, "Burnin', really?" Jo is highly amused now, looking impressed. "At least yer ain' accused of bitin' canines on their backs or talkin' to tunnelsnakes yet. There's still time to be accused of that, I guess. I haven' burned down a tavern, though," she nods on that one. "I've been kicked out of enough of them for gettin' things bloody." Brows lift on him getting old and being handsome, stating, "There is that, yeah. Meanwhile, I seem to get more awesome the older I get. Not to mention the fact that I can' seem to resist older bronzeriders that have no intention whatsoever in steerin' me to be a good girl. Ah, influence." Nevermind that she seems perfectly capable of steering her own self towards being bad, that gaze seems to say it all. She's duly distracting him, too, her back arching and pressing her chest further into his hand as she echoes, "Cute? Haven' been called that since I was in pigtails, bronzerider." "Oh. Yes, I forgot about the tunnelsnakes," R'hin's quick to add to his list of misdeeds, with a rueful twitch of lips. "Mm. Yes, you strike me as a woman capable of looking after yourself... after you get yourself into a bind. I guess that's half the fun, though?" His hand is wandering now, yes, traveling down that curve of chest and seeking the edges of where the woven-cloth ends and the skin underneath begins. "Oh, now there's a decent suggestion. Pigtails. You. Me. This bottle of... whatever this is. And maybe our dancer friend?" Well, there's probably worse propositions, but the bronzerider isn't holding back. Laughing before she drains her glass, "Bein' good's overrated," Jo states with no apology for how her life's gone, that very faint hint of that danger being a mere flicker in her gaze. "Someone once told me that ya don' live if ya don' take risks." Like the one she's taking right now, seeming to encourage that wandering hand in the shift of muscle and curves. R'hin's laying out a suggestion that gets her full attention, the proposition earning him a look that clearly is accepting such a challenge. "Think she can be enticed?" she asks in verbal acceptance of it, long fingers brushing his one that's holding the glass. "I'll drink to that," R'hin says, at her comment about goodness and being overrated, and he does just that: drains his glass with a sharp, pleased exhale. "I have faith in you, temptress. I'm sure I caught her looking your way at least a couple of times." Hard to tell if the bronzerider's merely exaggerating or telling the truth: either way, he seems pretty confident in Jo's ability to catch the eye of the dancer. His fingers wiggle under the edge of her top, brushing against her skin, smile growing wider as he leans closer to murmur next to her ear, "How about I see if I can barter us a nice tent to spend the heat of the day in, while you go and make a new friend?" Jo raises her glass to his draining his own, his words of encouragement getting a wry, "Now, if I come back here with this drink thrown in my face, I will expect some sort of compensation for my pain'n sufferin'," the convict rider notes, letting her fingers brush his chin before withdrawing. She slaps his thigh before getting to her feet, saying over her shoulder, "Ya get that tent and we'll have fun regardless. In the meantime..." she lets that trail with a short chuckle before she's heading off in the direction the female dancer was seen to go, her wild hair tossed back and a certain sway to her hips that's marked by a swag. Jo is on the prowl! "Oh, there'll be no compensation. There might just be punishment though." And, yes, R'hin's watching her walk away -- of course he is. Even if he might prefer to watch her at work, he has a job to do, and he collects the decanter, glasses, and heads over to chat with some of the locals to make a deal. There's the occasional glance over his shoulder to check on Jo's progress as he does so. "Ha!" is what gets sent back over her shoulder as Jo heads off, finding the dancer easily enough and approaching her with a smile that was dangerous. One could see her saying something that would bring a smile to her face, and then the next moment she's leaning in to murmur something in the dancer's ear. A finger would caress up the woman's hand, brushing her fingertips while she murmurs words that were probably ones of seduction. Her body language is languid and close, only pausing to look the dancer in the eyes for her answer. The nomads certainly don't seem to have Holder's ideals when it comes to entertainment, nor when it comes to enjoyment. The dancer's answer is clear in the lean of her body towards the other woman's and the coy smile that flickers around her lips. That's probably all R'hin needs to see: he's following one of the older men out to one of the tents, to wait for the pair's arrival. Somewhere along the way, he's managed to secure himself a third glass: seems he intends for them all to have a pleasant afternoon. |
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