No busting out of bodices, sadly.
RL Date: 8/20/08
IC Date: 8/2/17
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.
Parked on the stool at the end of the bar, N'thei enjoys the pre-crowd quiet that pervades the room. There are only a few die-hards in here this early, before dinner's had time to settle, before people have started coming in to get their after supper drinks or their nightcaps or whatever other excuses a Weyr full of alcoholics can dream up. A couple of pretty barmaids-- not that there are any other kind of barmaid!-- are taking down the bright colored decorations and hanging up the warmer tones of autumn in preparation for the changing of the season, and the bronzerider's watching one trying to streeeeetch to reach a high curtain rod. Nice view.
Walking from the patio ledge to just past the threshold of the entrance to the Snowasis, Oysric already appears to be wearing for the colder seasons. Taking his tuque off his head and holding it with his right hand, the stablehand makes his way slowly toward the bar. Until, of course, the sight that captures N'thei's attention. The decorations aren't enough to make him look, but the stretching barmaid certainly is, stopping him in his tracks for the briefest of moments before making his way by N'thei. "They been at it for very long?" Oys asks of the decorating barmaids to the Weyrleader, the stablehand's eyes still on the woman. He even sets his marks down for a drink without looking back. At least. Not yet.
Just... a little... more... and that bodice isn't going to be able to keep ample cleavage in place. Just a little more-- please please please. But she manages to press it up and over with her fingertips and exhales beautifully with her hands on her hips to eye her work. "Not long enough." N'thei's answer is suddenly disappointed, not so much for Oysric being there as for the lack of costume malfunctions on the part of the bar staff. Ah well, she's still got more curtains to place. He empties his glass and resumes the hopeful staring.
Oysric chuckles dryly at hearing N'thei's answer and the subsequent disappointment. His drink arrives promptly, but doesn't drink it so much so. Not when the barmaid's about to put more curtains to place. "I always wondered what the big deal was about autumn," Oys offers, his lips twitching into a brief look of amusement. Finally, however, the stablehand shifts 180 degrees to drink, eyes still trying to watch despite the drinking, angled sideways. Soon, though, the man sets his glass back down and sets himself back at the right angle to see the show better.
"Sweaters. People really have a thing for sweaters." N'thei watches roundabout where a sweater would be located if the barmaid were in the market for one; it would be a crime if she were, considering now she's crouched next to a basket of autumnal linens and-- "To low-cut bodices." Lifted glass, down the hatch, she's none the wiser for being gawked at.
Oysric's hand immediately finds his glass to raise at N'thei's toast to low-cut bodices, drinking the booze down deeply afterward. "You're the 'leader," Oys gestures with his hand, "... can't you just wave a hand and have them all put in sweaters?" There's a wolfish grin sent toward the bronzerider before he sets his glass back down so that he can return to watching the none-the-wise woman.
N'thei must have never thought about it before, certainly not in terms of having them all put in sweaters. His brows furrow, his frown deepens after he gets that hard drink down his throat, and his eyes continue to chase the woman now that she's off to try the next curtain-hanging. "Why would I. /Some/ people have a thing for sweaters." As in, not him.
"Topless a better option?" Oysric asks, his baritone voice rasping only slightly, amused. At least the stablehand has the sense to ask this quietly. After all, who would want to disturb the stretching barmaids? He shifts on his stool as to grab at his glass again, drinking silently, or perhaps thoughtfully. Or both. His sips are slower than his previous ones.
Ah. Yes. N'thei goes from thoughtful frown to sudden smile at the idea of topless barmaids, especially ones who are just about to bust out of their blouses anyway. "But no; certain pale-eyed beauties might take too much of an interest if we suddenly stripped down the bar staff. Could probably get away with an inch or two off the bustline though." The new narrow of his eyes is specifically bent on just how low an inch-or-two would take things; indecent yet?
Not indecent yet, at least, not for the stablehand. "Got to watch for those pale eyed beauties," Oysric remarks, humorous. "They have a way of biting back." He considers the topless option, seemingly, for a while longer than the Weyrleader, but not by much. After all, if a button were to pop off some poor woman's blouse, he'd hate to miss such a scene. His own pale eyes (though, unfortunately this does not necessarily make him a beauty as it might other certain individuals) cant sideways to N'thei and back to the bar staff's workout with the curtains.
Abruptly remembered, N'thei asks out of the blue, "Hey, what did you do to Tiriana?"
"From what I remember, I said evening to her," Oys offers in response, blandly.
Defusing, N'thei adds after a moment of reverie, "Give my left ear to put that girl in one of those bodices and watch her do--" That. Climb up on a chair, hang a curtain rod, teeter and have to catch herself by clutching the chair-back on the way down. To the point-- "She let on like it was a little more than 'evening' you said to her. More to that story or should I just take her side as truth?"
"Who'm I to lie?" Oysric asks the other man, his dark brows arching upward in curiousity. "It wouldn't befit me to snark at some bit... bold goldrider." The stablehand shrugs his shoulders, both hands grabbing at his glass to take another longer drink of his booze. But, at the end of the drink, his lips do twitch into another wolfish-like grin at the picture N'thei paints so well with his words. "That'd be a sight," he offers with certainty.
N'thei's eyebrows climb warningly on the b-word, a sideways look making its way toward Oysric. Even still, loathe to drag his attention from the bodice-doings. "Put myself out to some length to get that bold goldrider at the Reaches, bite your tongue, lad. And tell me what happened after you said evening."
"Why's that?" Oysric asks N'thei. "Putting yourself out there for that bold goldrider?" He takes another sip of his booze before finally remarking dryly, "I do believe what had happened was that I was dodging the crowd coming here, so I took a detour that led to meeting her." A pause there, a slow beat. "And from there, I believe I complimented her on Iovniath." A pause, this time not that slow, but just enough for him to consider his next remark: "Then she decided to insult my brother. The good one."
Reflex; "Not your business. All you need to know is--" That he did it. N'thei reaches back across the bar, knuckles rapping momentarily to call the bartender, to refill his glass, add it to the tab. "Which one's the good one."
"Between Ays and Joe, you're tellin' me you can't decide on who'd be the good one?" Oysric asks, giving the bronzerider a sidelong glance, as if it were such a farfetched question to be asked by N'thei.
"Between you and me? No, I can't. The little one's squirrely and the big one's..." A'son. N'thei qualifies that no more than a shrug. "But I'll put my money on the Istan. And you got all pissed?"
"I don't believe I got... pissed.. at all," Oys offers to N'thei. There's a shrug there at the end, as if the stablehand doesn't see where the problem lies in this particular question or his answer to it. "I'd say she got pissed because some random guy decided to pleasantly greet her as I thought someone should a new member of the Weyr." Another pause, another nod. "The Istan," Oys repeats in reluctant agreement.
Fingers tap tap tap tap tap while N'thei waits for the refill, while his eyes hang from the promise of more than cleave-- no delivery though, she moves on to the next curtain rod. "Probably." His drink arrives, he empties it, sets it back on the edge of the bar, all swift and unbroken intent to get drunk quickly. "You should get a thicker skin about big brother, lad. Fair few people are going to have hard words about him, best not piss off a goldrider." The voice of experience.
"I believe I ended it with an offer of drinks here," Oys replies back to N'thei. "And given her... unique personality, I do believe you would be hard pressed to find someone who does /not/ piss her off." The stablehand's lip very nearly twitches into a curl at the next suggestion with regard to his big brother. "I have a thick enough skin," he states neutrally enough. And there go Oysric's hand, tapping the table much the same way N'thei does, apparently having emptied his first glass already and waiting for more.
Looking square at Oysric now, never mind that the girl's about ready to fall out of the blouse, N'thei says with a challengingly bright smile, "She and I had a lovely evening over drinks and conversation." Lies and more lies. "If I can put up with her, surely someone as..." Setting his glass down buys him just enough time to think of the word for Oysric. "Someone as innocuous as you are can play nice." In short: "Want her kept happy."
"Perfectly innocuous," Oysric remarks without any inflection. To N'thei's next comment on the lovely evening, he merely replies, "How nice for you." Thankfully, before the stablehand can be snide to the 'leader of the Weyr, his drink arrives and his mouth is quickly put to use in drinking. "I'll see to keeping her happy when I see her next," Oysric remarks, dry, but still earnest. The curtain work-out of the blouse'd woman receives his attention again, bringing his glass with him this time, taking a drink, then back to looking.
"Good." N'thei leaves his empty glass and pushes off the barstool, his eyebrows going up momentarily while he contemplates whether or not to walk out... or to say something to the girl about to fall out of her shirt. He takes an eyeful of Oysric getting an eyeful of cleavage and opts to just leave quietly.
IC Date: 8/2/17
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.
Parked on the stool at the end of the bar, N'thei enjoys the pre-crowd quiet that pervades the room. There are only a few die-hards in here this early, before dinner's had time to settle, before people have started coming in to get their after supper drinks or their nightcaps or whatever other excuses a Weyr full of alcoholics can dream up. A couple of pretty barmaids-- not that there are any other kind of barmaid!-- are taking down the bright colored decorations and hanging up the warmer tones of autumn in preparation for the changing of the season, and the bronzerider's watching one trying to streeeeetch to reach a high curtain rod. Nice view.
Walking from the patio ledge to just past the threshold of the entrance to the Snowasis, Oysric already appears to be wearing for the colder seasons. Taking his tuque off his head and holding it with his right hand, the stablehand makes his way slowly toward the bar. Until, of course, the sight that captures N'thei's attention. The decorations aren't enough to make him look, but the stretching barmaid certainly is, stopping him in his tracks for the briefest of moments before making his way by N'thei. "They been at it for very long?" Oys asks of the decorating barmaids to the Weyrleader, the stablehand's eyes still on the woman. He even sets his marks down for a drink without looking back. At least. Not yet.
Just... a little... more... and that bodice isn't going to be able to keep ample cleavage in place. Just a little more-- please please please. But she manages to press it up and over with her fingertips and exhales beautifully with her hands on her hips to eye her work. "Not long enough." N'thei's answer is suddenly disappointed, not so much for Oysric being there as for the lack of costume malfunctions on the part of the bar staff. Ah well, she's still got more curtains to place. He empties his glass and resumes the hopeful staring.
Oysric chuckles dryly at hearing N'thei's answer and the subsequent disappointment. His drink arrives promptly, but doesn't drink it so much so. Not when the barmaid's about to put more curtains to place. "I always wondered what the big deal was about autumn," Oys offers, his lips twitching into a brief look of amusement. Finally, however, the stablehand shifts 180 degrees to drink, eyes still trying to watch despite the drinking, angled sideways. Soon, though, the man sets his glass back down and sets himself back at the right angle to see the show better.
"Sweaters. People really have a thing for sweaters." N'thei watches roundabout where a sweater would be located if the barmaid were in the market for one; it would be a crime if she were, considering now she's crouched next to a basket of autumnal linens and-- "To low-cut bodices." Lifted glass, down the hatch, she's none the wiser for being gawked at.
Oysric's hand immediately finds his glass to raise at N'thei's toast to low-cut bodices, drinking the booze down deeply afterward. "You're the 'leader," Oys gestures with his hand, "... can't you just wave a hand and have them all put in sweaters?" There's a wolfish grin sent toward the bronzerider before he sets his glass back down so that he can return to watching the none-the-wise woman.
N'thei must have never thought about it before, certainly not in terms of having them all put in sweaters. His brows furrow, his frown deepens after he gets that hard drink down his throat, and his eyes continue to chase the woman now that she's off to try the next curtain-hanging. "Why would I. /Some/ people have a thing for sweaters." As in, not him.
"Topless a better option?" Oysric asks, his baritone voice rasping only slightly, amused. At least the stablehand has the sense to ask this quietly. After all, who would want to disturb the stretching barmaids? He shifts on his stool as to grab at his glass again, drinking silently, or perhaps thoughtfully. Or both. His sips are slower than his previous ones.
Ah. Yes. N'thei goes from thoughtful frown to sudden smile at the idea of topless barmaids, especially ones who are just about to bust out of their blouses anyway. "But no; certain pale-eyed beauties might take too much of an interest if we suddenly stripped down the bar staff. Could probably get away with an inch or two off the bustline though." The new narrow of his eyes is specifically bent on just how low an inch-or-two would take things; indecent yet?
Not indecent yet, at least, not for the stablehand. "Got to watch for those pale eyed beauties," Oysric remarks, humorous. "They have a way of biting back." He considers the topless option, seemingly, for a while longer than the Weyrleader, but not by much. After all, if a button were to pop off some poor woman's blouse, he'd hate to miss such a scene. His own pale eyes (though, unfortunately this does not necessarily make him a beauty as it might other certain individuals) cant sideways to N'thei and back to the bar staff's workout with the curtains.
Abruptly remembered, N'thei asks out of the blue, "Hey, what did you do to Tiriana?"
"From what I remember, I said evening to her," Oys offers in response, blandly.
Defusing, N'thei adds after a moment of reverie, "Give my left ear to put that girl in one of those bodices and watch her do--" That. Climb up on a chair, hang a curtain rod, teeter and have to catch herself by clutching the chair-back on the way down. To the point-- "She let on like it was a little more than 'evening' you said to her. More to that story or should I just take her side as truth?"
"Who'm I to lie?" Oysric asks the other man, his dark brows arching upward in curiousity. "It wouldn't befit me to snark at some bit... bold goldrider." The stablehand shrugs his shoulders, both hands grabbing at his glass to take another longer drink of his booze. But, at the end of the drink, his lips do twitch into another wolfish-like grin at the picture N'thei paints so well with his words. "That'd be a sight," he offers with certainty.
N'thei's eyebrows climb warningly on the b-word, a sideways look making its way toward Oysric. Even still, loathe to drag his attention from the bodice-doings. "Put myself out to some length to get that bold goldrider at the Reaches, bite your tongue, lad. And tell me what happened after you said evening."
"Why's that?" Oysric asks N'thei. "Putting yourself out there for that bold goldrider?" He takes another sip of his booze before finally remarking dryly, "I do believe what had happened was that I was dodging the crowd coming here, so I took a detour that led to meeting her." A pause there, a slow beat. "And from there, I believe I complimented her on Iovniath." A pause, this time not that slow, but just enough for him to consider his next remark: "Then she decided to insult my brother. The good one."
Reflex; "Not your business. All you need to know is--" That he did it. N'thei reaches back across the bar, knuckles rapping momentarily to call the bartender, to refill his glass, add it to the tab. "Which one's the good one."
"Between Ays and Joe, you're tellin' me you can't decide on who'd be the good one?" Oysric asks, giving the bronzerider a sidelong glance, as if it were such a farfetched question to be asked by N'thei.
"Between you and me? No, I can't. The little one's squirrely and the big one's..." A'son. N'thei qualifies that no more than a shrug. "But I'll put my money on the Istan. And you got all pissed?"
"I don't believe I got... pissed.. at all," Oys offers to N'thei. There's a shrug there at the end, as if the stablehand doesn't see where the problem lies in this particular question or his answer to it. "I'd say she got pissed because some random guy decided to pleasantly greet her as I thought someone should a new member of the Weyr." Another pause, another nod. "The Istan," Oys repeats in reluctant agreement.
Fingers tap tap tap tap tap while N'thei waits for the refill, while his eyes hang from the promise of more than cleave-- no delivery though, she moves on to the next curtain rod. "Probably." His drink arrives, he empties it, sets it back on the edge of the bar, all swift and unbroken intent to get drunk quickly. "You should get a thicker skin about big brother, lad. Fair few people are going to have hard words about him, best not piss off a goldrider." The voice of experience.
"I believe I ended it with an offer of drinks here," Oys replies back to N'thei. "And given her... unique personality, I do believe you would be hard pressed to find someone who does /not/ piss her off." The stablehand's lip very nearly twitches into a curl at the next suggestion with regard to his big brother. "I have a thick enough skin," he states neutrally enough. And there go Oysric's hand, tapping the table much the same way N'thei does, apparently having emptied his first glass already and waiting for more.
Looking square at Oysric now, never mind that the girl's about ready to fall out of the blouse, N'thei says with a challengingly bright smile, "She and I had a lovely evening over drinks and conversation." Lies and more lies. "If I can put up with her, surely someone as..." Setting his glass down buys him just enough time to think of the word for Oysric. "Someone as innocuous as you are can play nice." In short: "Want her kept happy."
"Perfectly innocuous," Oysric remarks without any inflection. To N'thei's next comment on the lovely evening, he merely replies, "How nice for you." Thankfully, before the stablehand can be snide to the 'leader of the Weyr, his drink arrives and his mouth is quickly put to use in drinking. "I'll see to keeping her happy when I see her next," Oysric remarks, dry, but still earnest. The curtain work-out of the blouse'd woman receives his attention again, bringing his glass with him this time, taking a drink, then back to looking.
"Good." N'thei leaves his empty glass and pushes off the barstool, his eyebrows going up momentarily while he contemplates whether or not to walk out... or to say something to the girl about to fall out of her shirt. He takes an eyeful of Oysric getting an eyeful of cleavage and opts to just leave quietly.