Logs:Pleasant Conversation
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| RL Date: 25 April, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Jo |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Death threats may be involved. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 8, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jothan/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr 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.
These days, Jo's presence is not all that visible at the Snowasis like it used to be. Sure, she's still around and all, but perhaps it's evident that there's more important (or entertaining) things that has her attentions beyond the Weyr. This evening, however, finds her here, walking in in all her black leather and lethalness like a hunter looking for prey.....and she seems to make a beeline for the catch of the night by landing herself into the chair opposite G'laer's at his table. If he was expecting to be left alone this night? He is wrong. "Night for broodin'?" is her greeting, holding out her drink as she settles and makes herself more comfortable. "Cuz, I just thought I'd crash it a bit." The serious flat line of the greenrider's lips twitch just slightly as they settle on Jo's dark features. Surely he must have noted her presence in the bar, if perhaps not her exact approach, but once she's seated across from him, the bluerider has G'laer's attention. Any other man would probably greet with a smile or a scowl or any other expression that indicates welcome or lack thereof, but not G'laer. "Planning to assist or hinder my efforts if it is?" A night for brooding. Nevermind that brooding is best done solo. "Do you even know how to brood?" It's a swift follow up to the first question, accompanied by the slightest challenging arch of a single brown brow. "I brood all the time," Jo boasts as if it's a sport to be proud of before downing a healthy dose of her beer. "In fact, I think my father would say'o me that I'm quite the fuckin' master at it." Her tone suggest what's HIS excuse. Just a whole bunch of posturing between one greenrider and a bluerider. "Real question is, tho, why're ya here broodin' about? Especially if ya don' wanna be bothered, cuz, in this place?" and she gestures about the bar in indication thereof. "Yer gonna be bothered. Best broodin' place is the greenhouse, I find. The shore's not bad, either, but yer might run into a nosy passer or two. No one really hangs around plants 'less they got reason enough to." That's her reasoning, anyway. "Would he?" G'laer's brow arches in earnest now. "And if I tried to get it from the runner's mouth...?" How does Jo feel about the prospect of the greenrider having a face-to-face with her father? It might be curiosity only that prompts the question, but with the former guard, it is always difficult to identify true motive. "Maybe I'm looking for a nice piece of tail," he offers, straight-faced, in answer to her question. Nevermind that he hasn't actually admitted to brooding; this is all purely hypothetical, right? It's as he says, "I'll keep the greenhouse in mind for next time," that there is the tickle of a guffaw at the edge of Tacuseth's consciousness. Who knew Teisyth's mental approach could be subtle? "Would'ja wanna meet my ole' fucked-up dad?" Jo tosses his way, arching one brow. "He'll probably try to fuck ya up like he did me." She lingers a bit on her drink as she idly studies him, and when he offers the next on speculation, she snorts a bit and answers back, "A nice piece of tail. I don' believe that. Try again, darlin'." It's lofty in the way she says it, and one could almost see the toss of her head even though she doesn't. "Ya should keep the greenhouse in mind, though. In case ya decide ya wanna darken someplace again." And yes, she could very well be taunting him at this point, but it's hard to tell. Even Tacuseth's amusement can be felt, and when Teisyth's touch is barely felt, his own is much less so. "Might. After all, you speak so highly of him." G'laer's lips pull into his customary half-smirk, making the sarcasm that isn't evident in his inflection easier to discern. "Do you think he could?" Fuck him up. There's curiosity there and maybe a very faint trace of male ego, though the question is that: a question, not a boast. "Why not?" is questioned of her disbelief. There's the slightest hint of amusement in the way his lips twitch, not answering the taunt. Not yet. "Do ya like lookin' for controversy?" Jo rolls her eyes before draining her glass and setting it down. "Buy me 'nother and I'll consider sendin' ya to harass my dad. Not that he'd believe ya if ya said his one'n only daughter was alive'n well, livin' as a 'rider in a Weyr. And yeah. He's good at fuckin' folks up," she adds dryly. "Unless he's gotten soft in his age, which could have happen. I just don' believe that it has. Men like him don' age'n get soft." When G'laer questions her disbelief now, she's quick to answer back with a brazen, "Ya don' seem the type. I betcha the next female that walks by here that catches the both of our eyes, ya can' work her into yer bed more than I can. Unless men's yer thing. I'm still tryin' to get a bead around ya men that ride green." "Would you like me better if I didn't? Boring doesn't really seem your-- style." G'laer counters, letting his eyes flick pointedly across her black jacket in the brief pause before the last word, whereupon they abruptly return to her face. Then there's the matter of the empty glass; just how much is it worth to he-who-tries-not-to-buy-even-himself-drinks. "I'm not sure that would be wise, Jo. See, I've already bought you a drink once; wouldn't want you getting to think I'd make that a habit. Worse, too, if that'd lead you toward thinking that you could have what you liked from me, whenever you liked it. I expect you've got enough of that from enough people." Beat. "And I don't believe that you believe that. About me working a girl into my bed sooner than you could. I think you just want to watch me try." Though the glance that he tosses about the bar then might seem to indicate that he's not opposed to the proposition. "Why would your father not believe me if I said you were alive and well and living as a rider in a Weyr?" It's posed nonchalantly, of course, as he's looking around, ostensibly with most of his focus looking for a woman that might catch his eye, but the phrasing of the question is, of course, a little bit of a give away that his interest is more keenly elsewhere. "'N ya would know all about style, eh, greenrider?" Jo counters his question with one of her own, watching him with that barely-there smile as she toys with the rim of her glass. Perhaps it's clear that she's entertained by the bantering, the set of her shoulders suggesting comfort. Continuing, "Ya just don' wanna buy me drink to be more 'controversial', darlin'. Or yer outta marks. I could get what I liked from ya, whenever. If I wanna," she adds, each word deliberate and distinct. "That's the beauty with one such as me. Who's to say yer not givin' me what I want right now? My tastes are rather varied'n unusual." She does laugh at his next - about her getting a girl in before he could - and she gives into a single nod and a wry, "Touche." All the while she watches G'laer as he looks around, not much could be gleaned from her expression. His question doesn't get answered right away, either. She seems to be considering their female options when she finally does look away, watching for a moment before her gaze returns to him. "Cuz I ran away'n I'm s'pose to be in the mines, rottin' away. Or dead," is given matter-of-factly. "He's probably still tryin' to decide. Best to let him keep on thinkin' it." "Well, I don't own any tight pants..." If style is a question, Jo's pants are the inevitable example, "So how savvy can I be?" It's delivered dryly; surely there's no lack of confidence in his initial assessment, but it's fun to scatter aspersions about. "As it happens, I'm giving you what I like just now, and if it so happens that it coincides with what you like from me, then you're welcome to call it happy coincidence if you like, but you and I both know it's a far cry from getting what you want from someone unwilling or resistant to giving it. As with your second round," That he's still definitely not buying her, "Or as with this whole getting a girl into one's bed business. Half the fun is in the convincing. Well, maybe less than half depending on the girl." He lifts his drink, but before it gets to his lips, he adds, "Or more than half if you're very bad in bed. Or she is." After a swallow the subtle levity is gone and it's replaced by casual neutrality. "And what landed you in the mines?" This time he doesn't use the pretense of looking around but instead accords Jo with a direct look for the direct question. "Still obsessed with my pants," Jo makes a statement with a dramatic sigh. "Guess ya think I'm savvy then. I'll take that compliment." Even if he didn't mean it as one. "What exactly are ya givin' me? The experience of bein' told no?" Brow lifts at that. "But, ya go on ahead and be resistant. Yer just bein' no fun. I ain' bad in bed, neither." That's getting added for good measure, for all that he says. She's nonchalant about it all. "Anyway," she continues, taking a look around at those she recognizes in the bar, "yer an odd sort, I think. Must be that guard upbringin'. My older brothers act a bit like ya, 'cept they were a lot less fun. Can put a girl to tears in boredom, in fact. I'm a bad, bad girl ya know," she belatedly answers his last, now meeting his gaze at the end. "A heist gone wrong. That's the gamble of livin' on the fast side of life, I reckon. Ya win some, and ya lose some. I just lost big, is all." "You're still strutting about in them," So, of course, he has to comment. He likely chooses that particular verb as fodder for the banter rather than any true belief that Jo ever struts. His lips pull into the not-usual, but not-altogether-foreign half-smirk. Maybe it's for the pants, maybe it's for the taken if possibly not given compliment. "The inestimable pleasure of my company, of course," is what he's giving her, his baritone having the tiniest edge of humor, "If I could put a value on it, I'd let you pay me in drinks, but as that's nigh impossible..." He trails off, smirk turning from half to whole for a moment before taking a swallow of his beer. "I might sooner believe your mattress mastery if she told me about it in the morning," the man indicates a woman about their age with light brown hair and a fit if not overly curvy frame sitting with another woman. Maybe he's suggesting a target for the earlier proposed test of pick-up skills. His being odd doesn't get either a challenge or admission, but he does observe, "If you found me boring, you wouldn't be here." At his table. The meat of Jo's last admissions seem to bear some mental chewing as he doesn't presently comment on just how bad a girl Jo is or isn't. "Maybe I'm allergic to other fabrics," Jo suggests in mild sarcasm before matching him smirk-for-smirk. She does look in the direction he points toward - the woman coupled with his comment on mattress mastery before she looks back at him and pops a kiss in his direction. "Why would she if yer not participatin' in such a challenge?" she notes right back. "And, why would I bother otherwise? No drink'n no play, right? And I find a lot of folks borin'. Don' stop me much from hangin' with them. So why are ya askin' 'bout my origins, huh?" It's her turn to question, it seems. "That guard in ya tryin' to decide whether to turn me in or not?" There's a brief flash of a dangerous-looking grin for that, as if such a possibility would give her a twisted sort of pleasure. The kiss has his lips twitching slightly, the smirk widening just a touch. "So she'll come back with stories not only of your salacious moves but leather sheets as well? Maybe I don't want to see the inside of your weyr after all." Not that G'laer has ever expressed the interest to do so out loud. This might be in answer to his participation or lack thereof, but his eyes have wandered away from the woman in question, so perhaps she's lost his interest already (if, truly, she ever had it). "There are no rules against you getting your own next drink," The greenrider expresses in a tone that is best termed 'lazy.' "I never stopped trying to place your face," Not in all these many, many months. "Do you think that's really a question?" Which doesn't, of course, indicate what the answer is. Jo sporting a dangerous-looking grin however briefly might well shake the resolve of lesser men. G'laer isn't unfazed though. No, the smirk just widens that much more, drawing ever closer to a smile which might, by some, to be considered a sign of imminent danger. "As if ya wanted to see my weyr in the first place?" Jo picks out - chooses to pick out - of his words. Leaning back with a shrug and looking like for all intents and purpose as if she has nothing to worry about from anyone, she responds to G'laer's next with a wry "I get my own drink, then I'm headin' own outta here. Anyway. Ya placed my face now, huh? And, it wouldn' be a question unless I'm askin' it. Granted, I asked ya two," and she lifts up two fingers for him to see. "Unless it's yer job tonight to confuse me'n get more outta me. Ya could be fishin' for a different kinda drink like that. Just like a guard." As if she would know, right? "Oh, I'd like to," G'laer has no problem saying as he glances down into his not quite empty mug. Then he swallows what's left before looking back at Jo, "I've more or less placed it." There's probably some research he'll have to do to confirm it. "If you try treating me to that sort of a drink, Jo, we're going find ourselves with one interesting dynamic." He twists the now empty mug, "Do you really want to circle each other with caution for the rest of our lives, occasionally swatting enough to rouse the beast for a round or two?" Could it be that the twitch of his mouth says that appeals to him? "Isn't it just simpler if we don't threaten each others' lives?" But possibly not as fun. "If I turned you in, what do you suppose would happen? I've always wondered that, about dragonriders." Beat, "For instance, if Rone hadn't been killed, what would have happened if I'd tried to collect the bounty on Rh'mis?" Rh'mis who's brown Rosvelth has caught Teisyth in her first and second mating flights. So awkward. The question might be rhetorical. "Not that Teisyth would've let me, of course. Though she doesn't quite have the same attachment to your Tacuseth. Not that that's ever mattered much to her where dragons are concerned. She likes everyone." This is said almost with a verbal facepalm. Perhaps the talk about his dragon is meant to distract the bluerider, or maybe secretly G'laer just likes talking about her. "I'm interested." He does answer in the end. "About your origins." Not that that really provides explanation, but he seems as honest as he ever seems. "Why?" This could be very well directed towards G'laer's answer on Jo's weyr, but she also manages to make it apply to his next on placing her face as well. She pauses before addressing the rest. "Caution?" Jo snorts as that. "Make it worth my while. I can be fickle sometimes. 'Sides, ya play yer cards too close to yer chest, much like me. That doesn' make for much 'beast rousin', I'm thinkin'. It gets interestin' when those cards aren' so guarded, however." He mentions turning her in and she's quick and say back, "What would happen? I'd like to see them try'n take Tac'n me, darlin'," and that dangerous glint in her lazy grin is back. "If ya had collected that bounty, ya might've gotten in bad with the folks around here," she answers now. "Ya know how 'riders are all about 'Weyr loyalty'n shit. Or, at least, they'd give more of a shit what becomes of yer dragon than you, and since a dragon can' really live without their rider...." there's a shrug, indicating that the rest is history. As far as her expression says, she's safe. When answers on her origins, "My origins aren' all that interestin'," she answers back a bit blandly. "Imagine how I'd end up if I had become a guard like I was suppose to. Just as well. So. This Rh'mis," she picks up on now, returning to something revealed as she traces the rim of her glass idly. "Why's he marked?" "I want to see if your bed frame is made of bones, like they say." G'laer's tone is bland, as if he were saying he wanted to see her rock collection. If she meant the why to apply to something else, G'laer doesn't seem to realize. Maybe he's sly, or maybe he's just bad with the complexities of the communication styles of the fairer sex. "I'll take my chances." The man replys wryly of making it worth Jo's while. "When you start to show your hand, I'll start showing mine, if you're so sure I've not been so far." If. "How do you suppose would they come for you, if thy did? Would they go the political route or try to steal you away in the dead of night or just kill you outright and let nature take its course with Tacuseth?" He poses the question in a clinical way, a theoretical way, a philosophical way. Such is the philosophy of bounty hunters. "If you'd ended up a guard, like you were supposed to, you'd be boring, like me." His lips twitch again in a sign that some humor is present. "He's not marked anymore, as far as I'm aware. Now that Rone's dead. He was down as a thief, but-" The man's brows furrow just a bit, "Seems that might not have been the case, but he was wanted all the same. You heard about how Rone was gunning for him even after Rosvelth claimed him out of the stands?" His answer to her first must be the right answer, for Jo is laughing. "Such a request," is all she comments on, shaking her head. "Ya been showin' yer hand? Hmm." She doesn't comment further, and by the tone it's hard to tell where her expression is leaning towards. She answers his next instead, nodding and saying back, "I prefer they just try'n kill me outright. Have the balls to. I would think those of the Weyr would compared to other places. If knockin' me out is that important, do it face-to-face and make sure Tac goes, too." It's matter-of-fact, the way she says it with little inflection. "And I agree on me havin' ended up a guard. A life of crime saved me from my fate. This Rh'mis almost sounds like a kindred spirit, though. Perhaps I should seek him out and reminsce over the age-old memories of theft'n mayhem." There's a pause in her quips before she finally shakes her head on his last and answers, "No, I haven'. Enlighten me." "Maybe you'll grant me it one day. Just be glad my dragon isn't inclined to visit places when she's not invited." The greenrider answers of the request. The nod that answers her preference might indicate he finds merit to it, and might even prefer the same himself were he in her shoes, but he doesn't comment further. "Ha." G'laer half-barks, "A life of crime saved you." It's not so much that he finds that funny as, "This is starting to remind me of all the talks I had with Taikrin when I was barely more than a boy and on the detail that brought her to the Weyr." All those many turns ago now. "I'm not sure Rh'mis is the reminiscing type. He likes Rhey, by the by, but don't let Tacuseth call him that. Rosvelth prefers Rh'mis." The insider tips. "He needs something. I don't know if it's a friend or a swift kick where it'll do the most good." He shifts his glass toward the end of the table where a passing server can easily get it next time she happens by. "Heard Rone met with the Acting Weyrleader after the hatching, for a good long while and came out looking unhappy. That was after his guards tried to grab Rhey in the stands and keep him from getting to Rosvelth on the sands. Don't think the kid's ever wanted to be here. But since he knows I was hunting him and might've turned in a friend of his," Who knows if that was a friend or not; not G'laer, anyway, "He sure as shit wants nothing to do with me." Too bad his brown doesn't feel the same way about a certain boxy, rust-colored green. "Tac wouldn've minded either way," Jo is smooth in telling him to his first. When he brings up Taikrin, she grin at the familiarity (or the memories he speaks of, rather). "Had a few bumps, she'n I," she related almost fondly of her. "I think things are decent now between us. Whaddya mean this Rhey needs somethin'? Maybe he just... is, ya know?" She almost sounds like she would know. She leans back as G'laer explains further about the brownrider, frowning a bit at something heard through the slight narrowing of her gaze before she softly snorts and folds her arms across her chest. "Well cuz ya ratted out his friend, of course," she points out on the young man not being fond of the greenrider. "I mean, ya either did or ya didn'. Shit like that's hard to forget, right? Still, yer also 'riders now. Sort of on the same side. Sometimes even I tend to forget that when most of yer life had'ja pitted against the rest of Pern." Studying for a moment in the pause that follows, "Hmph. Poor kid though. Been there." "Unrelated contracts. Don't know if the kid knew the one I turned in or not. Just down for a similar crime. But he was there when I collected. Only things--" The greenrider starts and then frowns. "They weren't on the level. Yet to sort out just how. Might never know with Rone dead and gone and the kid not talking." Then, "I suspect his objection to me is part because he knows I was after him, and I can sure as shells at a hatching see how someone would take that might bit personal, even if it was only business. I'd sooner leave him alone. It's not my fault that his dragon has a fancy for mine. But he needs something to make him stop threatening riders who could make him cry with stabbings when the deed is done. Or I can't think that he'll survive rider life for over long. That whole 'on the same side' now thing hasn't sunk in for him." Even after all this time, or so G'laer suspects. He shifts toward the end of the bench, expression still bland, but the movement does presage a preparation to depart. "Hmm," is all Jo gives for the explanation as to the other one getting turned in, a brow lifting at him. "Well. The threatenin' bit might be how he deals," she reasons a bit with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Ain' easy bein' surrounded by mostly do-gooders when yer weren' for a long time. Trust don' come easy. Damn randy dragons don' make things any easier, no." Although, yes, she's smirking. She seems to be finding it amusing that Rhey's dragon caught the greenrider's anyway. "Shit, I'm sure he'll figure it out. or die tryin', darlin'. Not like I had a great start either." Whether she may or may not have noticed the shift of G'laer in his preparation to depart, she seems content to linger around a bit longer at the table (or bar, as it were). "He'll pretty much have to. Dragons are a life sentence, even if you have the misfortune to outlive yours." The lack of response to the rest isn't denial or even G'laer ignoring it, it's silent allowance that everything she says is perfectly valid, a slight nod showing simple acceptance. "Maybe I'll buy you a drink next time, if you promise to take me home with you." The half-smirk returns as the greenrider gets to his feet. "Good luck with Rhey if you dare to poke a stick at that tiny beast." Something G'laer says in the first seems to cause Jo to pause, no words coming forth as she stares him down. It could be unnerving, even, but the moment does pass when he continues on, nodding and accepting what she says and saying the rest. That does bring something crooked to her lips as she shakes her head and says, "All that, just to see if my bones are made outta bones. Shit, Tac could send that green of yers an image of it if yer itchin' so bad to get that confirmed. Don' wanna inconvenience ya guardin' types'n all." There's a wink for that before she adds, "'Sides, ain' no one sees my bed unless I'm gettin' somethin' in return for it, darlin'," and she leaves at that, inclining her head when he gets to his feet. The nod seems to also be for his last about Rh'mis since nothing more is said about it, leaving for him, "Enjoy yer night, greenrider." If G'laer were the type of man to give a hearty laugh, he might do that now. But instead, he simply smirks. "Next time we can negotiate what gets me an invitation." Apparently, he really does want to poke around her weyr, "Now that we know there is a price." Dragon assurances aren't evidently good enough. He'll even add a half-smile before stepping toward the exit. "Doncha know the best things in life aren' free?" Jo makes it sound like it was something any mother or father would tell their offspring, the ease in which it's delivered when it comes to prices and her weyr. "Next time, darlin'." That's left there in his wake, the woman seeming content to remain at the table and linger longer before the dark-clad woman is up and out during a rousing and loud game of darts. |
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