Logs:You'll See
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 21 February, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Z'ian, S'varis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Telgar Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and Z'ian track down S'varis for a... chat. |
| Where: Seedy Bar, High Reaches Area |
| When: Day 22, Month 1, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
  |
| Maybe a long time ago this bar outside of High Reaches Hold would have been described as a nice place to go, but that was turns ago. Since that indistinct point in time, the place has fallen into disrepair and attracts a generally seedy and unsavory crowd. You come here to get a drink because no one knows your name and they don't care to ask. Z'ian's been discreetly checking into S'varis' favorite haunts, stumbling in his snooping onto this little hole in the wall. Having puzzled together the Wingsecond's rough schedule, it wasn't hard to figure out when he could be expected to show up here again. Plans to meet with Jo at the place are made with due haste and on a particular evening, Tsanth wings his way to the ground some distance away from the ramshackle building. The bronzerider makes his way to the overhang of the porch and disappears into the smoky bar. Once inside he ducks to the first empty table in a corner, waiting for his partner in crime to make her appearance. In the meantime, he begins to scan the crowd for sight of the other rider. Like a good ex-con, Jo knows all the disreputable bars from the Reaches on towards Crom and beyond, so when the call came in from her blue that their target was to be found there, the woman couldn't help but to smile. Dressed in the usual black riding leathers without a shoulderknot in place, the Glacier wingrider lands Tacuseth right where Tsanth was before she was down and heading into the bar in an easy stride. The Jo outside the Weyr has a slightly different demeanor than the one within - cocky, still, but far more intimidating looking. When she's on the threshold, those inside take notice. She pauses there with her narrowed eyes scanning the place, her dark hair wild and her knife hilt to the side in full display as she wipes something off of her black-gloved hands. Spotting Z'ian, she's approaching with the stalking gait of someone familiar with the area - as someone no one wanted to fuck with. "This seat taken?" is her low greeting to the bronzerider once she walks up, her lopsided grin faint but nonetheless there. S'varis is there, far across the crowded and smoke-filled room, presently regaling a group of men about his own age with some kind of story. Of course, a person would be forgiven for failing to recognise him, his customary fine-tooled leathers and generally debonair appearance traded for something rougher and more anonymous. Even his hair has been slicked back with something, transforming all those dark, walnut curls into something darker and straighter, and far less notable. The room erupts, abruptly, with a round of jeers and swearing rejoiners to whatever it is he's been saying; S'varis seems pleased and smug, and tosses a couple of small denomination marks onto the table for someone else to use to fetch the next round. Z'ian is dressed casually as usual, there's nothing about him that would outright scream rider to anyone there. Hopefully anyway. The bronzerider isn't dangerous like his partner, just invisible. He's pulled off his gloves by now and he's watching the other rider across the room with a cool gaze, the pause in the room dragging his attention away. Following Jo's arrival to his table, he grins crookedly. "Not at all." He tips his head in the direction of S'varis over there. "He's been having a good night so far. Made a lot of friends looks like." Seeming to be keeping her black gloves on for now, Jo only turns her head when Z'ian directs her to - towards the eruption of jeers to the other side of the room. Eyes take in the scene there, then the man they all seem to be surrounding with just a hint of amusement. She watches the interactions for a while, having no discretion in doing so before she turns back to Z'ian without claiming that seat and saying, "Sounds to me like he's in need of a couple more hanger-ons, doncha think? I doubt he'd likely know who we are." Brows lifts and fall at that, the promise of trouble clear in her gaze as she straightens up and turns toward the group. "I could certainly use a drink." One of the young men swaggers towards the bar, ordering a couple more pitchers of the cheap swill they serve as beer, here. It doesn't take long - soon, he's back at the table, sloshing the pitchers down upon the already-sticky wood, ready for people to refill their glasses. "Yer full of tales, aren't you, Sev? Reckon we ought to pay you for the entertainment!" says one of the men, his voice lifted inadvertently to carry through the low din already present in the bar. S'varis' smirk is more obvious than whatever he says; he seems to be taking pains to keep his voice low. His own gloves are folded over and shoved into the deeper pockets of his jacket. "I'd be surprised if he did." Z'ian replies as he pushes his chair back and slips out of it, stretching when he stands. The bluerider receives a quick look over before he begins slowly and most certainly slyly to suggest, "I bet he'd like to get to know you though." She's the recipient of a wolfish grin before he separates from her and melds into the crowd that surrounds the 'Reaches Wingsecond. He'll reappear up at S'varis' table, next to him but looking as if he's absolutely been there the entire time. He's even managed to pick up a sticky, nasty glass up along the way to get refilled. He's laughing along with all the others a the loud man's statement. Get to know her? Jo's all smiles there, though hers seems to take on a more sinister tint to it. "I'm sure he would," she drawls stepping away from the table as her dark gaze lingers on the dragonrider in question. When Z'ian slinks off though, she remains behind, watching. She watches the bronzerider get himself lost into the little crowd before she herself saunters over to the bar to pick up a drink for herself. Once that is done, a mug in hand, the convict rider in her stalking gait boldly approaches the crowd of men, catching the tail end of one of men's words as she puts in behind them, "Well I definitely want to hear about these tales that has the men here so enthralled that they fail to see any sort of woman enter this place." If some of them part ways for her, she'll step forward, her cocky presence set in the sway of leather-clad hips and in the toss of her wild hair. Of the pair, Jo is clearly the one S'varis is least likely to recognise - and as all the heads at the table lift and turn to look at her, there's no sign in his expression that he has. A few of them leer, but the bronzerider seems more interested in giving her a lazy up-and-down glance, coolly analytical. "Hello," he says. "You seem to have all eyes on you now." All might go well, except that - well. One of the men leans across to refill Z'ian's mug, and in doing so, glances up at his face, and frowns. "Who," he says, in a heavy High Reachian accent, "are you?" That's when S'varis turns, too, tearing his gaze off Jo in order to stare at the other bronzerider - and this time, there's a sickening look of recognition. That could have gone better. But it hasn't slid so far down the slope that the situation is unsalvageable. Z'ian flashes the man refilling his mug with a disarming smile, "Oh, I'm no one that you would know." And he can do the Reachian accent just as well as the older man, he's after all, born and raised in the region. Even if he doesn't typically allow for it to show. The bronzerider slips an arm around S'varis' shoulder, casual and companionable. His voice is pitched low so that the other man and maybe a few around him are able to decipher what he's saying, "I came down to hear your stories-" And that grip around the Wingsecond's body tightens up and he lifts his chin in Jo's direction. "And I thought I'd introduce you to a friend of mine. She likes to hear stories too." Despite the leers, right now Jo only has eyes for S'varis. She's like a predator having spotted her prey, the smile following along those lines in the face of his words to her. Raising a mug to his study, "Ain' that just?" is her return to all eyes on her. "Unless yer all jealous of little ole' me takin' yer shine away, darlin'." Playful. With a tone like that, it's hard to detect that she was deadly or trouble waiting to happen, but once Z'ian drapes that arm about him, her manner of tease ends. She listens to the bronzerider as she drinks from her mug, and he jerks his chin her way, the bluerider could only flash that crooked grin and wink his way. It's all saucy. Totally harmless. S'varis is many things, but 'stupid'-- well, he might be stupid. He's also ambitious, and smart enough to know when to play, and when to fold. "I may have a few stories worth your ears," he says, aiming to sound casual for all that there's definite tension in his stance, tension Z'ian will be able to tell given their close physical proximity. "More stories later," he says, brightly, for the group. "The lady and I want to get better acquainted, and he's going to help." Their jeers are good naturedly disappointed, more than a few eyes tracking after Jo-- and a few catcalls suggesting that if Sev isn't enough man for her... "Shall we?" Z'ian gives the taller man's shoulders a friendly shake, "That's great. I've heard a lot of really interesting stories about you recently. I'm just sorry that we haven't gotten the chance to speak before this. Shame really." The bronzerider tsks sadly as he takes the dirty, refilled mug off of the table to go along with them. There's point in wasting the drink, is there? He gives the crowd a once over sweep with his eyes, glancing at Jo before beginning to steer S'varis out of the crowd, aiming to take him right out the backdoor. Where with any luck there won't be so many prying eyes on them. With S'varis's words of getting to know her better, and the catcalls that follows, Jo sends the man that look of pure promise as she says, "I'm always in the mood to feel up new friends." Pause. "I mean, get a feel for new friends," she deliberately corrects, perhaps leaving that for the jeering men now that Z'ian has their target in his clutches and is steering him towards the backdoor. She herself is slower to follow, taking up the rear with a little smirk thrown over her shower at the small group of men catcalling in her wake. She was truly in her own element. She seems content in letting Z'ian run the show, the smirk now lingering as she follows the two out. There's nothing in S'varis' expression that suggests guilt, despite the way he lets himself be so manhandled - and it really must be 'lets', for he does have an inch or two on Z'ian. For once, Jo's words don't earn much of a reaction; perhaps he's distracted. It's cold outside, and he's not really dressed for it, but he pulls away from the other bronzerider, arms crossed in front of him, and lifts an eyebrow. "It a crime, now, to go and drink in a dive bar with some old friends?" he wonders, lazily, with bravado. "Are we going to jump straight into discussing crime?" Z'ian prompts amusedly, leaning one arm against the wall of the building when the other man pulls away. He doesn't appear to be ill at ease in the cold at all, maybe he's indoctrinated against it. Maybe it's that he's wearing a jacket. But seriously, "No, that's not a crime. However I was just thinking we could chat, really. We could talk about about that time or two or three that you hung out at Telgar or... Jo? What was it you heard about him?" The bronzerider asks, casting a glance over and towards the bluerider. Once outside, some of Jo's flirtations fade away to something heavy and disarming, the woman sauntering behind S'varis to take up a casual lean against the other wall. One would think the man in question was being boxed in, and with her knife suddenly free of its confines and being used as a tool to pick crude from under her nails at the moment, her attention seems to be very much there. It seems. Not seeming to care about the sharpness of blade against her sensitive fingers, "What was it called? The Ceiling...?" the convict rider takes up when Z'ian prompts, seeming to have forgotten the name of the bar from Telgar Weyr. "Ya know," and she glances up to land her gaze on S'varis's back, a hand moving about briefly. "That bar in the Weyr, up in Telgar. Whatever it was called. Anyways," and her tone stays casual, as if she was really discussing how cold the weather was outside or something. "Ya been there lately? Cuz, I was," and that knife flicks something unseen from under a middle nail, the metallic snick could be heard. "Met a pretty busty blonde barmaid there, too. Think her name was...Dazzle? Drizzle? Oh no, it's Dizzy. That's right." Snick. There's no reaction from S'varis, at the mention of Telgar - if he's guilty, he's a cool customer about it. His gaze slides from one rider to the other, then back again, lingering on Jo for rather longer than it does on Z'ian. "I've met a girl called Dizzy," he says. "Cute thing, isn't she? Jo. Yes, I spend time at Telgar every so often. I have a clutchmate who lives there; we talk. I like catching her up on news from home." "Right, you said he met with a girl named Dizzy. I'm starting to remember now... What did he want her to call him again? It wasn't Wingsecond, that's for sure." Z'ian shakes his head and delivers a close lipped smile to the other bronzerider. He takes a long drink from the greasy mug in his hand, making a face at the ale he just drank down. "This is pretty bad. But you know, I got one better. I don't know who Dizzy is but I heard she doesn't hold a candle to Teris and you know her pretty well, right? She's that clutchmate of yours. Real firecracker. Does she like it when you talk to her about home?" "It was 'Weyrleader', while they fucked in a storage closet," Jo, being crass as usual, is working that knife along with her eye flicking past S'varis to Z'ian. "Imagine my little ego boost when she offered to call me the same." Eyes back on the man's back, his cool and collected demeanor earning him a widening smirk from the leather-clad bluerider. "So yes, she's cute, and yer sayin' my name like ya like it, darlin'." Both of them, tossing words at S'varis like a sport, Z'ian's own and the namedrop getting a wry, "Teris, is it? My, my, now there's a pretty little piece. I bet ya tell her all sorts of stories, too, huh? Maybe 'bout the Reaches in particular?" "You've never roleplayed during sex?" S'varis sounds dubious about that, and then smirky. "It's fun. Adds a certain... something to it." He's smug, unfazed by this interrogation; unfazed by the information they have, for better or for worse. "Sure I talk about High Reaches to Teris. It was her home. She was born there, raised there, Impressed there. Why wouldn't I talk to her about things? I've known her since we were kids, more or less." "Right. Weyrleader. I really enjoyed that part." He really did. Z'ian is beginning to chuckle again in fact, definitely the funniest thing he's heard all month. It's probably against his better judgement but he quickly drains the rest of that disgusting ale, letting the heavy mug hang from his fingers. "So lets cut straight to the fucking heart of the matter. We want to know what you're up to, what you're talking to Teris about. Really. I want to know why my source at Telgar is telling me that you spoke to the fucking Weyrleaders. Oh and just for kicks, whose fucking authority are you going there on?" He meets S'varis' smug, smirky face with an all too easy smile of his own. "If you want to make this hard, well. Try and be cute. She's not just here because she's real pretty." And so what if there's just a tiny subtle touch of something proud there too? "All the time," Jo is quick to answer on roleplaying whether it's true or not, her boot scuffing the ground behind S'varis. "What do ya take me for?" But then she falls silent when Z'ian gets to the heart of the matter, the woman straightening up and displaying her fingers out before her to check her nails. The smile she sends Z'ian is one of being quite impressed with him, a brow lifting a bit to his directness with the man in question before she's brought into it. From behind, "Please, make this hard for me," she drawls out, her tone akin to someone being quite bored now with the proceedings. "I rather enjoy watchin' blood explode from someone's nose first." First. Stepping from the wall to approach him, the knife now sliding into its sheathe with audible slowness, flanking him now so that he could at least see her form, "But yer no trouble, arencha?" she purrs, letting her long fingers curl upon landing on S'varis' shoulder now as she regards him. It's this, now, for the first time, that shakes something in S'varis' resolve - but the thing is? He's a believer. A moment later, he straightens his shoulders, whether or not that will dislodge Jo's fingers, and says, quite simply, "Do you love your Weyr? Z'ian. Jo. Because I do. Because I'm worried about my Weyr. Yes, I talked to Teris about our problems. Yes, I talked to her Weyrleaders about them, because there is absolutely nothing stopping me from doing that. As a rider. As any resident of High Reaches. If our 'Weyrwomen' don't get their act together, we may need to go to Council, and so yes, I spoke to Telgar about it. What of it?" His stare is a challenge to both of them, unblinking and confident. It's not often that Z'ian expresses complete exasperation coupled with irritation. He exhales slowly as his eyebrows lift in response to that cute little speech. "Listen, Sev." And here the bronzerider switches the now empty, heavy mug to his wall leaning hand. "I've got some news for you. There is something stopping you from going to Telgar. From going to the Weyr Council. That person is me. And my friend here. Oh and every other person at High Reaches that doesn't want some pansy ass fuckwad like you running off all independent like and getting outsiders involved in our business. Our weyr will be taking care of this problem on her own." He lifts his now free hand to rub at his face, flickering a glance towards Jo. To that speech? It clearly does nothing for Jo. She doesn't look upset nor happy from it despite the lingering smirk still in place - along with her fingers now digging a purchase into S'varis' shoulder. Looking briefly over to Z'ian to gauge his expression and response, once Z'ian's done she adds in, "And I could give a shit, to be honest. Sounds to me like yer about to screw with my livelihood, and I don' take kindly to that. Get me?" She leaves the politics to Z'ian, though she does add in, "And I wouldn' worry about the Weyrwoman, darlin'. Not yer concern. Yer concern, right now? Is us." "You do what you like," says S'varis. "Beat me up, if that's what you think is best. Violence won't solve this problem. Violence is nothing to politics. I won't let anything stand in my way of fixing this situation-- I will do anything I can to protect my Weyr." There's a challenge in his stare, though it's not fixed on Jo anymore, not when she's at his shoulder like that. He stares at Z'ian, instead, allegedly nonplussed. "Is that the route that you want to take? The martyr? That's fine with me." Z'ian rolls his shoulders, easing the tension that's developing in them away. "But you're going to be the martyr somewhere else. If you don't want to be reasonable and cut the shit, well. You won't be living at our Weyr anymore, you'll be gone. Transferred out, stationed... somewhere? If you don't think the two of us can make that happen, you're delusional. Violence is nothing compared to politics, you're right." There's the sidelong glance towards Jo again and his smile returns, crooked. "H'kon isn't going to turn away his wingmate coming to him with hard evidence and a credible source. Darling... How close are you and Taikrin again?" "Who said anythin' about beatin' ya up?" Jo, the deadpan innocent. She pulls that card when she wants, and she's doing it now. "A bloody nose hardly constitutes...or even a nick here and there...or an arm twisted and bruised up..." She could go on. Looking to Z'ian, his words seem to resonate since towards the end of that, the convict rider is answering back with a rather blithe, "Pretty close. We practically braid each other's hair and swap stories by the fireplace in our spare time. Somethin' like this, she's gonna love to hear." That seems to sound like a warning, though with Jo, a lot of things tend to be. "'Sides. What makes ya so certain you can fix it, huh? Or protect anythin' other than yerself?" "Taikrin," huffs S'varis, dismissively. "If you people think either she or H'kon have any real power, you're much mistaken. Even the Weyrwomen..." He trails off from that, meaningfully, bypassing answer of most of what the other two have to say so that he can add, more firmly, "Someone needs to take action. Someone needs to actually do something. Is that so hard to believe? After all... isn't that what you are doing?" Z'ian begins by shaking his head slowly before rolling his eyes. "You're an idiot." Which is right before he lets the empty mug drop to the ground and presumably break, right before he hauls off and aims a punch for S'varis' face. If he makes contact, excellent. If he misses and that punch lands off mark or just near to his face on the wall of the building, it won't stop him from continuing. "You know what, that is what I'm doing, you're right. You're done, you're not a Wingsecond anymore. You're going to hand in your knot. You're going to hope that you don't get transferred or posted somewhere awful. You're going to pray, that Jolie doesn't spend all her free time making your life hell for interfering with her livelihood with your misguided idiocy. You are most certainly not going to Telgar to play hero anymore either. And if you think for one second that I'm joking around with you, you're the one that's fucking mistaken." The firm, smirky and perhaps delusional tone of S'varis has seemingly finally irritated him. When the air suddenly shifts, Jo's behind S'varis and is trying to claim both his arms to hold him in place while that punch was coming from Z'ian. Unexpected! Her laughter, low and mocking could be heard, the convict rider seeming willing to hold the man up for any further blows, the woman tossing out, "Damn, Zach! Steal my blow, why doncha!" And to S'varis, her teeth baring at him in a smile, "Ya know, I can make lots of free time for ya, S'varis," she says, making that sound like a promise he wouldn't want behind Z'ian's warnings. "Guess I oughta give warnings of my own, huh? How about ya stop whatever yer doin', or I'll come pay ya a little personal visit? And I can promise that I won' be callin' ya Weyrleader when I'm done with ya, kinky." All enticing despite the words, if she has him, she releases him in a shove with both hands away from her. Her laughter still evident, "Tell anyone we threatened ya, and I might just stop by anyway," she adds stepping away with her cold eyes full of intent. The punch hits S'varis' face squarely, breaking his (once beautiful) nose. It obviously hurts, but it doesn't stop the bronzerider from spitting at Z'ian - and then at Jo. "You don't get to change my rank," he says. "My Wingleader chooses that. And my Wingleader? He supports me one hundred percent. Get over yourselves, both of you. You can talk, and you can punch me, as much as you like, but the truth is this: our Weyr is in chaos, and whoever you support, they're not doing enough to support it. No one is. You have no power over me." Z'ian looks less than pleased with himself for having just punched the Wingsecond and for having broken his nose. And extra displeased when spit lands on the side of his face. That gets wiped away with the top of his shoulder. But all of that is really nothing compared to the look of surprise that crosses his face when the other man openly admits that his Wingleader is the one supporting him in doing all of this. "That's golden, really. You almost had me convinced this was all you, but you're not smart enough for it on your own." The rest of what S'varis says does do something to trouble him, but his expression slides to guarded as he backs away from him. Quietly, "I think we've done enough here, Jo." Jo, for her part, is deadly quiet as S'varis rants at them, eyes darting briefly to Z'ian and saying nothing. She seems to be really listening to him, her own face a cold mask as she steps up besides the bronzerider and studies that broken nose and the blood running down it. With the revelation, and the spit she wipes away with her backhand, snorting, "Cute. He thinks we should get over ourselves, darlin'. Guess I've got only one thing to say to that." To all that. This time, Jo hauls back and lets loose a blow aimed for his stomach to topple him, and whether it connects or not, "Since ya offered and all. I don' like to disappoint." Turning from the man and wiping her gloved hands together, Z'ian's quiet words draw a look over to S'varis as she says, "Think I've heard enough shit for one day. Guess I'll be seein' ya real soon S'varis. In case ya wanna see me again." She was done. S'varis promptly buckles, as Jo's blow hits his stomach. At least the snow cushions his fall. At least the snow provides a beautiful canvas for the blood from his nose. But he stares after them: "You'll see," he says. "You'll see." The bronzerider doesn't get in the way of Jo when she goes to land that blow on S'varis' stomach. When he topples to the ground, Z'ian shakes his head again. One foot kicks the glass of the broken mug towards the wall of the building and he reaches out to tug on the bluerider's jacket. Definitely time to go. But he doesn't have anything left to say to the other man. Not even for the ominous 'You'll see' that echoes after them as they make their way around the building towards where their dragons are waiting, leaving him there in the snow. S'varis' last words, ominous in nature, gets that rakish kiss blown from Jo as she looks down at the bloody man. She's flashy enough to give a parting shot in her wake, but Z'ian's tugging her jacket and she thinks better of it. Instead, there's just sound of her low mocking laughter before she's heading off towards their waiting dragons to the sound of her crunching boots. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Feb 2013 09:22:23 GMT.
<
"Send him a message." It was circling the back of my mind as I read this. Takin' care of business~
Leave A Comment