Sandbar reopening. --Part 2.
RL Date: 9/7/08
IC Date: 9/7/17
N'thei looks pointedly between F'rint, who is trying to talk to girls (a feat of which he is largely incapable), and Satiet, who has some sandy-haired dead-man-walking with her, before he raises a bland eyebrow at E'dre. "Fine. Go." See if he introduces E'dre to any girls after being abandoned. For his part... Balinne is first on the list, no surprise; holding his mug up so most people pass under his drink-arm without jostling it, he sidles and shoves that way. At long last, "Had a brownrider to introduce you to, but lost him along the way. N'thei." And sticks out his hand companionably.
"'m thinkin' you'd b'lucky t'find that," Jendel comments dryly back to Berit, grumbling as she has to force herself out of the seat and then take after Berit to continue the conversation. "Dunno. P'r'aps s'm like th'eat." Jendel suggests with a grumpy little shrug, before answering about Keseth, "Out somewhere. Prob'ly baskin'. G'figure, he likes th'heat 'n stuff 'ere." She snorts at the idea, before mentioning, "Knowin'im, 'e migh'be showin' off."
So Ch'val and 'Raliah,' so she named herself, get food; there is a little talk, and perhaps Ch'val even finds out what brought the girl to the Weyr and had her ma remaining behind at the hold. Perhaps not, but duly they eat and part ways, perhaps over words about when it's appropriate for a young lady to begin drinking hard alcohol, and some time after that Ch'val returns to the tables to discover if any samples are left.
Suizen's intention was to immediately go and get a drink, but so many people about had her detouring here and there, and convinently forgetting about the visitor she was escorting. But that just means by the time she's at the bar, she's right ready for another drink. Squeezing in between a couple of people, the Istan potter looks over things, before making a request, "Something sweet, an' cold?"
It takes the greenrider a moment to realize she's being spoken to. "What?" asks Balinne, blinking up from the drink she's experimentally sniffing. "A brownrider? Oh. No thanks, got my own." The grin she gives him is not without a certain bit of tension - I remember you and the skirt comment! - and she waves a hand at the drinks. "Sample?" Because that is what being polite is all about.
One couple has apparently tasted a few too many of the stronger alcoholic drinks and are beginning to giggle just a bit too obviously. The male swoops in for a kiss but his counterpart, definitely the drunker of the two, stumbles backwards and knocks over one of the new darkly stained chairs. This only makes the blonde girl laugh more, but a gruff, muscled bartender works his way over to them with a broom in his hands. The two get the idea and scoot out of the Sandbar, still tittering all the way.
N'thei, dubious; "You're sure? Young, eager?" He attempts to point out E'dre through the crowd but, where he has the height to make it work, Balinne is clearly lacking. No use. "Set. Thank you," he answers her offer with his mug lifted to prove it, drink, swallow, smile. "On a handshake mission, good to meet you." Funny how quickly it all turns when she's-got-her-own-brownrider, huh?
After a few more quick hellos and introductions, Virgil finds herself where the food's laid out. Normally she'd be all over a buffet, but this fishy business-- is it /all/ fish?-- brings her up a little short of outright enthusiasm. The crash of the chair and the events leading up to it beg her attention and when that couple exits she grins and comments to the nearest set of ears (Ch'val's), "Isn't that great?"
C'len grins at Nolee's remarks, "It's a change for me. But I grew up with seafood." With that, he digs in to the plate he got for himself, the second plate set to the side in case someone else should want it or, perhaps, for him to polish off later as well. Long legs stay underneath the table, rather than stretched out to the side as is his usual wont, not wanting to trip any of the people wandering by. Brows lift as he watches the bartender's activities near the clearly drunk pair, then shakes his head and applies himself to eating his food and chatting with a less drunk couple at the table next to his.
X'lar seems to remain by the bar, talking once in a while to Kip the bartender in between people tasting the drinks on the bar. X'lar himself tries a few of the the other tasting drinks, tossing the small glass back and writing in his own ideas on what it should be called. For now, he stays in the background, watching happily as the others enjoy the dockside tavern's re-opening.
Equally dry, "A window between people. There are just too many." And Berit is too short. She has no problem ducking underneath outstretched arms and squeezing past everyone though. "I cannot understand *why*. There is nothing dignified about sweating." Little relief shows as she finds the ventilation she hopes for - a small sliver of space between two bulky dragonriders. "An'dren, do you know Jendel?" asked of the tall bronzerider as she accepts the cup, both of her hands occupied with drink now. "And Jendel, this is An'dren." Introductions all around. "Where can put my wine?" Baldly stated as she gets on her tippy-toes, trying to look for a table to pawn off her glass.
Idraila enters the refurbished bar right behind the brownrider some might recognize as her older brother. The coaxing that he's giving her as they step in ceases almost immediately, as wingmates and other comrades rope him into a card game started to celebrate the reopening; he gives his sister only a short, sheepish look before leaving her to go enjoy himself. She's left to edge along the nearest wall while she looks around the room on near-tiptoe, wincing a bit at the racous laughter of someone near her.
"Mm," and Balinne attempts to see through the crowd, though it's half-hearted at best. Politeness. "Yes. Pretty sure." Young and eager seem not to be of terrible importance. She gives N'thei a 'suit yourself' sort of shrug as she picks up her third sample. "Ah. Hand shaking. A very important sort of task for one like you, yeah?" And so, balancing drink in one hand, she extends the other. "Balinne. Of Ista." Just to hammer that home.
Nolee nods to C'len, brightly adding, "I know. Boll," with a little proud smile for remembering. Then she's off and has already done the weyr's duty by the representative sent from Ista Hold, in smalltalk when the chair's crashing down nearby. "Oh for Faranth's..." she exclaims, pleased that at least the barstaff are tending the crows with alacrity. "Less drink. See, it should be a rule." The complaint falls on deaf ears, however, and soon Nolee's been dared into a round of darts. Which could be poor idea, considering the squint she has to give just to see the board. And indeed, her toss is off enough that it slides right into the middle of the buffet table near Ch'gal and Virgil, pricking a spit-roasted piggy.
"It's all fish," remarks Ch'val, though this is probably inaccurate, and not really intended as a reply to Virgil's question or her thought. But the crash does draw his attention and after a moment eyebrow-raised, he looks at the rider who asked about its greatness and makes an insightful, incisive observation: "What?"
With the hapless worker still cringing, Fayre turns on her heel and heads back into the crowd, her scolding mission accomplished. She finally makes her way over to the buffet and drink testing area, her hands rubbing together at the sight of all the delicious things laid out before her. She pauses to decide which should get her attention first, eventually choosing to go with the drinks. She sips a few, ponders, and scribbles down a couple of suggestions.
As if affixed to some mechanism that triggers her existence into being upon its mention, a tall, lanky creature emerges from the crowd near Balinne and comes to a stop at the greenrider's side. Dark-skinned and sporting a horrible, short haircut, the Istan brownrider-- the knot, see-- looks N'thei over with hooded black eyes and rolls her shoulders back. "Reckon you could shake mine."
Miraculously not talking /or/ eating, but beaming with pride, X'lar remains by the bar. Idraila's arrival is given a bright smile of recognition from the teen in addition to a raised hand that waves to her. At Kip's muttering, he looks back toward the dart table where a game has started between a Brownrider from Ista and a bluerider from Ierne. Kip receives a gesture of not-to-worry-about-it, and X'lar returns his attention to the mass of people enjoying themselves again, beaming smile firmly in place.
N'thei's "Mmn" is a vague answer to Balinne's one-like-you remark. He doesn't look thrilled to admit it, but there's the handshake, as promised. Unashamed, he adds, "Balinne. I know. My wingsecond--" Another one that could be found in the crowd, so says a glance around the room. "Told me so I didn't make an as-- fool of myself." Ah, to grin at someone lanky, to take a drink so the really-now expression has time to crystallize before he smiles at this bad-haircut-brownrider. "Do you want me to."
An'dren blinks at Jendel, head canting slightly as he thinks. "Nope," he says at length. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. It's nice to meet you, Jendel -- and please, call me Andy. Didn't know you were with Berit, or else I'd've gotten another drink." He tilts his own cup at the rider in apology, then holds a hand out for Berit's glass, his offer clear in the open curve of his palm.
Tiriana needs another drink. Cornered by a couple of well-meaning but apparently uninteresting Istan riders, she keeps darting looks over toward the bar, hopeful ones as she tips an already-emptied glass back for one more attempt at getting something out. And then attempts at polite toleration of hosts is abandoned, as she brushes past the pair, leaving them to complain while she darts to the bar for another.
"Your wingsecond has good sense," decides Balinne, though she appears momentarily baffled that anyone would bother to commit her name to memory, wingleader or not. Hand shaken, it returns to her drink - though the small, fruity looking thing hardly needs both to remain secure. A quirk of her lips, and a tip of her head have her smiling towards the new arrival. "Ought to try this," and she reaches for a darker, more dangerous looking drink to pass to the brownrider. Introductions can wait.
Suizen gets her small sample of 'cool and sweet', and takes a tiny sip. A large smile later, aimed at the 'tender, and she's working on making her way back out of the bar, to the beach, where less of a crowd probably can be found.
"Aye, dun think I've met y'b'fore, An... Andy, y'say?" Jendel asks, to make sure she's got it right - and then nods. "Right, Andy, th'n. Nice t'meet'cha. 'n dun worry 'bout't, 'm sure I c'n take care o' m'self," the brownrider assures An'dren, though she does take a brief look around - maybe the time for a drink should be soon! "'scuse me fer a sec, if y'dun mind." And she excuses herself from Berit and Andy - only to eventually return with a similar drink that An'dren had given Berit. "Look'd gud."
Idraila catches X'lar's smiling wave from between the heads and shoulders of the bodies crowded into the bar and, tilting back down to her heels, she begins to make her way toward him. Such an easy task it would seem, but it's made almost impossible thanks to all of the other people trying to get to where they want to be. Swept into the flow of feet, Idraila finds herself redirected toward the bar instead. Jostled already, she's thrown off completely as her path crosses with Tiriana's darting one. "Oh, pardon me, weyrwoman," the young woman murmurs humbly, eyes skimming the woman's knot and then dropping with a simple bob of her head.
Fayre's ears twitch at the declaration that the buffet is all fish and she abandons her drink testing in favour of whipping around to face Ch'val. "Mmm-mmm, plenty of other delicious things to eat!" She points towards a tray of well-cooked, greasy, chopped up tubers as an example. "See? Like those." Her eyes skim over the bronzerider's face and hair, trying to place the man. "Oh! You're a recent transfer, ain't ya? How're you likin' our fine Weyr? Y'had good timing to come join us, methinks."
Kip the bartender couldn't be happier to see the construction gone from the Sandbar and his bar replaced with the new obsidian one. It's a clean bar. Or at least it was until one rider slams down a shot of something, leaving a splash of the liquor on the brand spanking new bar. Kip, always attentive, begins washing away the excess. Only to find more spills and such left by less careful patrons to the bar. So much for it staying sparkling clean!
Nolee's deciding to retrieve the errant dart, as the crew attending has pointed and ohh'd and laughed a little. "Not even drinking," the goldrider complains. "Why's my aim so sharding bad. Going to have to buy a round, at this rate." She stalks toward the buffet table, hands on her hips, lips pressed thin. "Can you give me that?" is asked of Ch'gal as she points to the dark stuck in the roast pig, her patience hindered as she tries to wait a moment between Fayre's greetings to hedge in her demandy-question.
"Heard you're at Reaches now," X'lar notes to Tiriana in amusement as the junior makes her way to the bar. "I suppose my offer to pay for your Senior Weyrwoman's drinks also includes you, Tiriana." A brief pause and he notes Idraila as well, as the Istan scribe's path crosses Tiriana's. X'lar smiles happily to her, asking the older Istan woman, "Can I get you anything to drink, Idraila?" So much for X'lar's blessed silence.
Focused on destination more than obstacles in her way, Tiriana moves like she expects the crowd to part like the Red Sea before her. Obviously, they don't. The girl pulls up shortly at the closest call, blinking blankly at Idraila before she catches her name and peers from the Istan woman to X'lar and back. "What?" she says, and while she doesn't look excited about the company, a place at the bar is a place at the bar. Tiriana shoulders her way on in there as best she can in the press of people. "Satiet let you buy her drinks?" --Don't worry about it," Idraila's apology is brushed off quickly when Tiriana glances back to her again.
A fairly radiant smile is placed on the bronzerider for his good-will - or servitude, however you want to think of it - as Berit hands over the offending wineglass. "Thank you ever so much. I cannot think what I would do without you," all superficial drivel, but at least her smile looks sincere. "I think this feels better compared to earlier." She sighs, wrapping fingers around her new cup, eyeing the contents, before taking a sip. Rolling the iced drink around in her mouth, she watches the departure of the brownrider, and sighs again only after she swallows. "This tastes good." Jendel is back. "Does. Smells good too. Does anyone know what is *in* it?"
As if in answer to her look, N'thei explains for Balinne, "No life, my wingsecond, so he thinks of clever ways to keep me from getting..." The pause, the glance to what's presumably Balinne's brownrider, the fringe of a smile. "In trouble. --Excuse me, best go congratulate your new Weyrleader, ask if I can have your old Weyrleader back, and get out of here, too hot."
"I am recently made Istan, yes," says Ch'val to Fayre, a little bit stiff for all of her outgoing manner. Still, he turns his focus along the line of her point and nods to the tubers, then finds himself obliged to answer to a power even higher than Fayre. "Weyrwoman." If she didn't know him on sight, maybe Nolee will place the tone of his voice. The word is acknowledgement, salutation of respect and agreement to the task she's set him (small as it is) all in one, and he reaches for the dart with a frown. "Here, ma'am." The dart's held out in open palm like an apple would be given to a runner. "I'm liking it very well so far," he tells Fayre, stealing glances between the two weyrwomen as though he expects to be interrogated doubly, now. "There's plenty of open space." Despite their current surroundings.
Surprised to hear X'lar's voice, Idraila blinks up from the knees she must have been studying to look at him, staring at him before his attention even turns to her, her smile already set at its widest. "I'd... yes, thank you," she tells him, voice struggling to gain ground over the hubbub around her. A little uneasy in the company of a foreign weyrwoman, her eyes keep darting over to Tiriana, though her smile remains full. "I'm not much of a drinker," she tells X'lar then, leaning closer in the hopes he'll hear all she has to say, "something fruity maybe? Whatever you suggest."
"She would have, had she left to find her... someone," X'lar remarks back to Tiriana. "Would you like a drink, Tiriana?" The bronzerider's attention returns back to the local, smiling at Idraila. Ch'val's given a nod that appears to be tempered by appreciation to the much, much, much older man. N'thei's last statement regarding Ista's old Weyrleader makes the younger bronzerider's brows shoot up. But as Idraila speaks to him, X'lar beams back at her and turns around, murmuring something to Kip. He's got two small tasting glasses of something tangy-fruity, one for Tiriana, the other for Idraila. "You can even write down what you think it should be named after you've had it, Idraila." Though it's addressed to Idraila, his last comment seems to include the Reachian junior as well.
An'dren takes the wine glass and grins when Jendel returns bearing a drink identical to his own. "Does, doesn't it?" Then, for Berit: "Um. Ice? Citrus of some sort, I think, and maybe... Dunno, actually," he admits at last. "I've found that it's easier for me to drink when I don't know the exact contents of my cup. If you'll excuse me?" He lifts the glass by way of explanation, then pushes his way back into the crowd, intent on pawning it off on someone else.
Stiffness isn't enough to put Fayre off, but seeing that there's a dart stuck in the nearby porcine roast is definitely enough to confuse the young woman. "Did...did you put that in there, Nolee? On purpose?" Her eyebrows raise in surprise as she eyes the Senior, the fact that it was a missed dart throw not clicking in her mind. She keeps her gaze set on Nolee as she answers Ch'val, "Aye, we've got beautiful land 'round here, and plenty of it. But when you stick everyone into one place, like here, it gets a wee bit more crowded. Are you likin' whatever weyr y'got assigned? Someone of your experience deserves a nice one." She gestures towards his bronze knot and greying hair, supporting evidence for her statement. His scars are notably not motioned at, but they certainly support her statement as well.
Bronzerider - ignored. Brownrider? Handed another drink. Balinne? Now more interested in peering at drinks and contemplating names than socializing.
A number of riders have already made a home at one of the tables for dragonpoker, a number of rather unsavoury words being spoken between them as the bet is raised. Yelling ensues when one greenrider decides to go against etiquette. Thankfully for them, and the Sandbar itself, a pair of bar maidens with low cut blouses walk by silencing the poker players altogether.
Seliene steps inside, her pace slowing as she heads in from the beach, clearly surprised by the number of people habitating the bar tonight. There is a slight dampness in her hair around the frame of her face, giving the indication that she is freshly bathed and scrubbed. She looks about, searching for some friendly faces in the crowd.
"Except in here," Nolee archly observes, following that with a delighted, "Iath's, why thank you," as she daintily plucks the dart from his open hand, her mood less sour for the little kindness. A hesitation, an aim to ask Nalaieth, perhaps, then a shrug as she gives up. "Only open compared to - where were you from?" The dart game is stalled behind her, dismay being raised, and Nolee glances back and forth, furtive. "On purpose? No. If it were on purpose, I'd've hit the sharding dart board." That Fayre's staring at her is noted by slow-blinking eyes: what did I miss? Then, "Perhaps it's time for the Harpers to play outside, and strike us up a dance, to relieve some of the crowding."
Being so good today. Really doing the Reaches proud. N'thei once more raises his drink arm to make his way through the crowd without throwing ale all over anyone, makes his way to wherever C'len landed-- he only walks right over the top of someone once, his head turned too far to pin his attention on low-cut-blouses a second. But no one's hurt and he eventually gets to his destination, one Weyrleader to another. "Ought to start charging other Weyrs for the use of our bronzeriders, sir, this is getting out of hand."
"Fruity," scoffs Tiriana at once, catching just enough of Idraila's words to understand. "Get a /real/ drink, why don't you." Beat. "Her someone?" Confused, with narrowing eyes as she studies X'lar, Tiriana doesn't put in her own drink order for something 'real' fast enough, and finds herself with something fruity instead; staring at it like it'll bite her. "What is it?" she wonders, with a curl of her lip as she picks up the glass and studies it.
So distracted he is by Ista's two working weyrwomen, Ch'val barely notes X'lar from the corners of his eyes, and further notes his current companion's Telgari roots, so Tiriana gets something of a glance-and-twitch where a salute or a duties might should have been.The graying man hunches his shoulders like he'd rather not be seen and focuses on Fayre. "Jungle view," he replies her, polite if gruff. "Nothing like that n'any other Weyr I know. M'honored." Beat. Dammit, he'd have liked to not say this out loud, knowing what he knows now about the attendees from the Reaches - but admits to Nolee, tightly, "Telgar." A beat. Maybe desperate, but it's hard to tell through all the gray stoicism: "Do you dance, weyrwoman?" Let them decide between themselves which of them he's speaking - or offering - to.
Having caught the dart-in-the-pig, C'len winces slightly; having polished off his portion of it already, he might've gone for more, but perhaps not now. He continues chatting with the couple next to him, visitors who've tried some of the drinks but not all. C'len casts a glance over to the tasting table. "After I finish eating," he's saying to them with a grin. "Don't want to end up like--" he's meaning to gesture to the area where the chair was broken by the drunken pair, but instead manages to indicate N'thei. The 'Reaches leader's arrival brings a grin, "It's been a string of moves, hasn't it? Vildaeth's doing. He's been complaining about the weather ever since."
Idraila flutters an uneasy glance at Tiriana again, then looks back at her tiny tasting glass. "Um, maybe the next one," she mutters in response, pausing to gauge what X'lar thinks of her drink choice before picking the thing up and sipping it down steadily. She smacks her lips over it, quiet while she ponders the different flavors.
A few Harpers catch the Nolee's words and take the hint. It's too crowded to play their instruments inside anyhow, so the group eagerly heads out to the black sands beach to play and entertain. A few patrons follow them out, eager for fresh air and dancing, which also serves to ease the crowding in the Sandbar some.
"Now, now, Tiriana, I'd rather one of my good friends not be treated so badly," X'lar remarks back to the Reachian junior. He nods in agreement to the goldrider, affirming: "Yes, her someone, she wasn't exactly specific. There may have been other someones as well." To Tiriana, additionally, "Taste it, and you tell me. Or better yet, write it down and put it in the jar." To Idraila, X'lar grins back at the scribe and offers: "What do you think? And hey, glad you could come, too, Idraila."
Seliene makes her way toward the bar and gives some consideration to what she may or may not like to drink. Lips pursed, she casts about once more at all the people, somewhat perplexed, it would seem. "A good night for a bar reopening, I guess. Must be a slow night on Pern. Everywhere on Pern, judging by the assemblage."
Don't want to end up like-- N'thei. "Most people don't." Good-natured shrug. "Congratulations of course, for all I don't envy you the weather." Said while he tugs at one side of his collar, still sweating. "Don't mean to mix business with pleasure, but I'm off from here to see A'son, and would rather go with permission in hand. He's a mate of mine from Impression, would like him to come home if he's wanting to." The vacuous business of pleasantries only works for N'thei for so long, so straight to business.
A glance-and-twitch. Tiriana would probably be rather proud, if she saw, but she's still giving that drink funny looks instead. Pickily, she waits until Idraila has the first drink, then questions, "So what is it? --And don't you reprimand me, either." The latter is a sharper word for X'lar, with a flat look before she finally tips her own glass back and takes a sip. No grimacing; must have been better than she expected. "Huh."
Fayre breaks her stare when the stabbing of the porcine is explained. "Oh. Well, yes, I do think that's the goal of the game. To hit the board. But maybe you get extra points for hitting giant roasts?" She shrugs sheepishly, smiling. To Ch'val, "Ah, jungle view! I'd love to have one of those, but o' course, I'm off of the Weyrleader ledges. Glad ya like it." She cants her head to the right when the bronzerider's origins are revealed. "Oh, Telgar? Is it strange getting used to the heat, then?" The weyrwoman grins and goes a bit over the top, batting her eyelashes. "I dance, and I don't even step on folks' feet when I do it."
"No, I think I have to pay a round, not get extra points. Someone should change the rules, though." Topics drift by, waves catching on the current and some sticking in Nolee's head. "Telgar. Cold there. Like Reaches." All the same in her mind. "Dance?" Nolee repeats, like an especially thick drudge being given the most basic of assignments. The dart is considered, the woman stepping back toward the group, giving it a pretty blind toss that results in it being stuck, this time, in one of the poles supporting the roof. A shrug, and coin is left behind to pay the round she owes. "Outside. Yes. Where the air is." And the packed-in sweaty bodies aren't.
There's a brief look of confusion--"Ah, didn't mean you, I mean the drunk pair from earlier," C'len clarifies. "Vil and I disagree about the weather," he continues with a shrug, pausing long enough to catch the question about A'son. "Oh, yeah, you were both from Nabrimeth's last clutch, right?" Getting to the point quickly doesn't seem to be an issue with C'len, equally straightforward. "Not a problem at all, if he wants to go back. And thanks for the Ale!"
"It's... sort of... orangefruit," Idraila responds to Tiriana, treading carefully from the sound of her voice, "and pineapple. But sharper." Clearly someone not well-versed in alcoholic mixes. "I don't know how they got it to be pink, though," she wonders, picking up her tiny glass and peering at the tiny ring of pink left at the bottom. "Oh. It's good," Idraila says, turning then to X'lar, nodding and smiling emphatically to get her point across. Glancing sideways at the goldrider, she then offers, "You order the next ones?" while gesturing gently at the busy bartender.
"Don't mention it. If I had to leave the Reaches, I'd be taking the best part of it with me." N'thei's eyes glance across the room toward the bar, specifically toward where he left the keg safely tucked on the other side of the bar. Then there's a cursory, "Thanks. Good luck." And he's off through the crowd again, finally to make good on his intent to get out into the fresh air; except not to look-up-skirts just yet, maybe later.
IC Date: 9/7/17
N'thei looks pointedly between F'rint, who is trying to talk to girls (a feat of which he is largely incapable), and Satiet, who has some sandy-haired dead-man-walking with her, before he raises a bland eyebrow at E'dre. "Fine. Go." See if he introduces E'dre to any girls after being abandoned. For his part... Balinne is first on the list, no surprise; holding his mug up so most people pass under his drink-arm without jostling it, he sidles and shoves that way. At long last, "Had a brownrider to introduce you to, but lost him along the way. N'thei." And sticks out his hand companionably.
"'m thinkin' you'd b'lucky t'find that," Jendel comments dryly back to Berit, grumbling as she has to force herself out of the seat and then take after Berit to continue the conversation. "Dunno. P'r'aps s'm like th'eat." Jendel suggests with a grumpy little shrug, before answering about Keseth, "Out somewhere. Prob'ly baskin'. G'figure, he likes th'heat 'n stuff 'ere." She snorts at the idea, before mentioning, "Knowin'im, 'e migh'be showin' off."
So Ch'val and 'Raliah,' so she named herself, get food; there is a little talk, and perhaps Ch'val even finds out what brought the girl to the Weyr and had her ma remaining behind at the hold. Perhaps not, but duly they eat and part ways, perhaps over words about when it's appropriate for a young lady to begin drinking hard alcohol, and some time after that Ch'val returns to the tables to discover if any samples are left.
Suizen's intention was to immediately go and get a drink, but so many people about had her detouring here and there, and convinently forgetting about the visitor she was escorting. But that just means by the time she's at the bar, she's right ready for another drink. Squeezing in between a couple of people, the Istan potter looks over things, before making a request, "Something sweet, an' cold?"
It takes the greenrider a moment to realize she's being spoken to. "What?" asks Balinne, blinking up from the drink she's experimentally sniffing. "A brownrider? Oh. No thanks, got my own." The grin she gives him is not without a certain bit of tension - I remember you and the skirt comment! - and she waves a hand at the drinks. "Sample?" Because that is what being polite is all about.
One couple has apparently tasted a few too many of the stronger alcoholic drinks and are beginning to giggle just a bit too obviously. The male swoops in for a kiss but his counterpart, definitely the drunker of the two, stumbles backwards and knocks over one of the new darkly stained chairs. This only makes the blonde girl laugh more, but a gruff, muscled bartender works his way over to them with a broom in his hands. The two get the idea and scoot out of the Sandbar, still tittering all the way.
N'thei, dubious; "You're sure? Young, eager?" He attempts to point out E'dre through the crowd but, where he has the height to make it work, Balinne is clearly lacking. No use. "Set. Thank you," he answers her offer with his mug lifted to prove it, drink, swallow, smile. "On a handshake mission, good to meet you." Funny how quickly it all turns when she's-got-her-own-brownrider, huh?
After a few more quick hellos and introductions, Virgil finds herself where the food's laid out. Normally she'd be all over a buffet, but this fishy business-- is it /all/ fish?-- brings her up a little short of outright enthusiasm. The crash of the chair and the events leading up to it beg her attention and when that couple exits she grins and comments to the nearest set of ears (Ch'val's), "Isn't that great?"
C'len grins at Nolee's remarks, "It's a change for me. But I grew up with seafood." With that, he digs in to the plate he got for himself, the second plate set to the side in case someone else should want it or, perhaps, for him to polish off later as well. Long legs stay underneath the table, rather than stretched out to the side as is his usual wont, not wanting to trip any of the people wandering by. Brows lift as he watches the bartender's activities near the clearly drunk pair, then shakes his head and applies himself to eating his food and chatting with a less drunk couple at the table next to his.
X'lar seems to remain by the bar, talking once in a while to Kip the bartender in between people tasting the drinks on the bar. X'lar himself tries a few of the the other tasting drinks, tossing the small glass back and writing in his own ideas on what it should be called. For now, he stays in the background, watching happily as the others enjoy the dockside tavern's re-opening.
Equally dry, "A window between people. There are just too many." And Berit is too short. She has no problem ducking underneath outstretched arms and squeezing past everyone though. "I cannot understand *why*. There is nothing dignified about sweating." Little relief shows as she finds the ventilation she hopes for - a small sliver of space between two bulky dragonriders. "An'dren, do you know Jendel?" asked of the tall bronzerider as she accepts the cup, both of her hands occupied with drink now. "And Jendel, this is An'dren." Introductions all around. "Where can put my wine?" Baldly stated as she gets on her tippy-toes, trying to look for a table to pawn off her glass.
Idraila enters the refurbished bar right behind the brownrider some might recognize as her older brother. The coaxing that he's giving her as they step in ceases almost immediately, as wingmates and other comrades rope him into a card game started to celebrate the reopening; he gives his sister only a short, sheepish look before leaving her to go enjoy himself. She's left to edge along the nearest wall while she looks around the room on near-tiptoe, wincing a bit at the racous laughter of someone near her.
"Mm," and Balinne attempts to see through the crowd, though it's half-hearted at best. Politeness. "Yes. Pretty sure." Young and eager seem not to be of terrible importance. She gives N'thei a 'suit yourself' sort of shrug as she picks up her third sample. "Ah. Hand shaking. A very important sort of task for one like you, yeah?" And so, balancing drink in one hand, she extends the other. "Balinne. Of Ista." Just to hammer that home.
Nolee nods to C'len, brightly adding, "I know. Boll," with a little proud smile for remembering. Then she's off and has already done the weyr's duty by the representative sent from Ista Hold, in smalltalk when the chair's crashing down nearby. "Oh for Faranth's..." she exclaims, pleased that at least the barstaff are tending the crows with alacrity. "Less drink. See, it should be a rule." The complaint falls on deaf ears, however, and soon Nolee's been dared into a round of darts. Which could be poor idea, considering the squint she has to give just to see the board. And indeed, her toss is off enough that it slides right into the middle of the buffet table near Ch'gal and Virgil, pricking a spit-roasted piggy.
"It's all fish," remarks Ch'val, though this is probably inaccurate, and not really intended as a reply to Virgil's question or her thought. But the crash does draw his attention and after a moment eyebrow-raised, he looks at the rider who asked about its greatness and makes an insightful, incisive observation: "What?"
With the hapless worker still cringing, Fayre turns on her heel and heads back into the crowd, her scolding mission accomplished. She finally makes her way over to the buffet and drink testing area, her hands rubbing together at the sight of all the delicious things laid out before her. She pauses to decide which should get her attention first, eventually choosing to go with the drinks. She sips a few, ponders, and scribbles down a couple of suggestions.
As if affixed to some mechanism that triggers her existence into being upon its mention, a tall, lanky creature emerges from the crowd near Balinne and comes to a stop at the greenrider's side. Dark-skinned and sporting a horrible, short haircut, the Istan brownrider-- the knot, see-- looks N'thei over with hooded black eyes and rolls her shoulders back. "Reckon you could shake mine."
Miraculously not talking /or/ eating, but beaming with pride, X'lar remains by the bar. Idraila's arrival is given a bright smile of recognition from the teen in addition to a raised hand that waves to her. At Kip's muttering, he looks back toward the dart table where a game has started between a Brownrider from Ista and a bluerider from Ierne. Kip receives a gesture of not-to-worry-about-it, and X'lar returns his attention to the mass of people enjoying themselves again, beaming smile firmly in place.
N'thei's "Mmn" is a vague answer to Balinne's one-like-you remark. He doesn't look thrilled to admit it, but there's the handshake, as promised. Unashamed, he adds, "Balinne. I know. My wingsecond--" Another one that could be found in the crowd, so says a glance around the room. "Told me so I didn't make an as-- fool of myself." Ah, to grin at someone lanky, to take a drink so the really-now expression has time to crystallize before he smiles at this bad-haircut-brownrider. "Do you want me to."
An'dren blinks at Jendel, head canting slightly as he thinks. "Nope," he says at length. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure. It's nice to meet you, Jendel -- and please, call me Andy. Didn't know you were with Berit, or else I'd've gotten another drink." He tilts his own cup at the rider in apology, then holds a hand out for Berit's glass, his offer clear in the open curve of his palm.
Tiriana needs another drink. Cornered by a couple of well-meaning but apparently uninteresting Istan riders, she keeps darting looks over toward the bar, hopeful ones as she tips an already-emptied glass back for one more attempt at getting something out. And then attempts at polite toleration of hosts is abandoned, as she brushes past the pair, leaving them to complain while she darts to the bar for another.
"Your wingsecond has good sense," decides Balinne, though she appears momentarily baffled that anyone would bother to commit her name to memory, wingleader or not. Hand shaken, it returns to her drink - though the small, fruity looking thing hardly needs both to remain secure. A quirk of her lips, and a tip of her head have her smiling towards the new arrival. "Ought to try this," and she reaches for a darker, more dangerous looking drink to pass to the brownrider. Introductions can wait.
Suizen gets her small sample of 'cool and sweet', and takes a tiny sip. A large smile later, aimed at the 'tender, and she's working on making her way back out of the bar, to the beach, where less of a crowd probably can be found.
"Aye, dun think I've met y'b'fore, An... Andy, y'say?" Jendel asks, to make sure she's got it right - and then nods. "Right, Andy, th'n. Nice t'meet'cha. 'n dun worry 'bout't, 'm sure I c'n take care o' m'self," the brownrider assures An'dren, though she does take a brief look around - maybe the time for a drink should be soon! "'scuse me fer a sec, if y'dun mind." And she excuses herself from Berit and Andy - only to eventually return with a similar drink that An'dren had given Berit. "Look'd gud."
Idraila catches X'lar's smiling wave from between the heads and shoulders of the bodies crowded into the bar and, tilting back down to her heels, she begins to make her way toward him. Such an easy task it would seem, but it's made almost impossible thanks to all of the other people trying to get to where they want to be. Swept into the flow of feet, Idraila finds herself redirected toward the bar instead. Jostled already, she's thrown off completely as her path crosses with Tiriana's darting one. "Oh, pardon me, weyrwoman," the young woman murmurs humbly, eyes skimming the woman's knot and then dropping with a simple bob of her head.
Fayre's ears twitch at the declaration that the buffet is all fish and she abandons her drink testing in favour of whipping around to face Ch'val. "Mmm-mmm, plenty of other delicious things to eat!" She points towards a tray of well-cooked, greasy, chopped up tubers as an example. "See? Like those." Her eyes skim over the bronzerider's face and hair, trying to place the man. "Oh! You're a recent transfer, ain't ya? How're you likin' our fine Weyr? Y'had good timing to come join us, methinks."
Kip the bartender couldn't be happier to see the construction gone from the Sandbar and his bar replaced with the new obsidian one. It's a clean bar. Or at least it was until one rider slams down a shot of something, leaving a splash of the liquor on the brand spanking new bar. Kip, always attentive, begins washing away the excess. Only to find more spills and such left by less careful patrons to the bar. So much for it staying sparkling clean!
Nolee's deciding to retrieve the errant dart, as the crew attending has pointed and ohh'd and laughed a little. "Not even drinking," the goldrider complains. "Why's my aim so sharding bad. Going to have to buy a round, at this rate." She stalks toward the buffet table, hands on her hips, lips pressed thin. "Can you give me that?" is asked of Ch'gal as she points to the dark stuck in the roast pig, her patience hindered as she tries to wait a moment between Fayre's greetings to hedge in her demandy-question.
"Heard you're at Reaches now," X'lar notes to Tiriana in amusement as the junior makes her way to the bar. "I suppose my offer to pay for your Senior Weyrwoman's drinks also includes you, Tiriana." A brief pause and he notes Idraila as well, as the Istan scribe's path crosses Tiriana's. X'lar smiles happily to her, asking the older Istan woman, "Can I get you anything to drink, Idraila?" So much for X'lar's blessed silence.
Focused on destination more than obstacles in her way, Tiriana moves like she expects the crowd to part like the Red Sea before her. Obviously, they don't. The girl pulls up shortly at the closest call, blinking blankly at Idraila before she catches her name and peers from the Istan woman to X'lar and back. "What?" she says, and while she doesn't look excited about the company, a place at the bar is a place at the bar. Tiriana shoulders her way on in there as best she can in the press of people. "Satiet let you buy her drinks?" --Don't worry about it," Idraila's apology is brushed off quickly when Tiriana glances back to her again.
A fairly radiant smile is placed on the bronzerider for his good-will - or servitude, however you want to think of it - as Berit hands over the offending wineglass. "Thank you ever so much. I cannot think what I would do without you," all superficial drivel, but at least her smile looks sincere. "I think this feels better compared to earlier." She sighs, wrapping fingers around her new cup, eyeing the contents, before taking a sip. Rolling the iced drink around in her mouth, she watches the departure of the brownrider, and sighs again only after she swallows. "This tastes good." Jendel is back. "Does. Smells good too. Does anyone know what is *in* it?"
As if in answer to her look, N'thei explains for Balinne, "No life, my wingsecond, so he thinks of clever ways to keep me from getting..." The pause, the glance to what's presumably Balinne's brownrider, the fringe of a smile. "In trouble. --Excuse me, best go congratulate your new Weyrleader, ask if I can have your old Weyrleader back, and get out of here, too hot."
"I am recently made Istan, yes," says Ch'val to Fayre, a little bit stiff for all of her outgoing manner. Still, he turns his focus along the line of her point and nods to the tubers, then finds himself obliged to answer to a power even higher than Fayre. "Weyrwoman." If she didn't know him on sight, maybe Nolee will place the tone of his voice. The word is acknowledgement, salutation of respect and agreement to the task she's set him (small as it is) all in one, and he reaches for the dart with a frown. "Here, ma'am." The dart's held out in open palm like an apple would be given to a runner. "I'm liking it very well so far," he tells Fayre, stealing glances between the two weyrwomen as though he expects to be interrogated doubly, now. "There's plenty of open space." Despite their current surroundings.
Surprised to hear X'lar's voice, Idraila blinks up from the knees she must have been studying to look at him, staring at him before his attention even turns to her, her smile already set at its widest. "I'd... yes, thank you," she tells him, voice struggling to gain ground over the hubbub around her. A little uneasy in the company of a foreign weyrwoman, her eyes keep darting over to Tiriana, though her smile remains full. "I'm not much of a drinker," she tells X'lar then, leaning closer in the hopes he'll hear all she has to say, "something fruity maybe? Whatever you suggest."
"She would have, had she left to find her... someone," X'lar remarks back to Tiriana. "Would you like a drink, Tiriana?" The bronzerider's attention returns back to the local, smiling at Idraila. Ch'val's given a nod that appears to be tempered by appreciation to the much, much, much older man. N'thei's last statement regarding Ista's old Weyrleader makes the younger bronzerider's brows shoot up. But as Idraila speaks to him, X'lar beams back at her and turns around, murmuring something to Kip. He's got two small tasting glasses of something tangy-fruity, one for Tiriana, the other for Idraila. "You can even write down what you think it should be named after you've had it, Idraila." Though it's addressed to Idraila, his last comment seems to include the Reachian junior as well.
An'dren takes the wine glass and grins when Jendel returns bearing a drink identical to his own. "Does, doesn't it?" Then, for Berit: "Um. Ice? Citrus of some sort, I think, and maybe... Dunno, actually," he admits at last. "I've found that it's easier for me to drink when I don't know the exact contents of my cup. If you'll excuse me?" He lifts the glass by way of explanation, then pushes his way back into the crowd, intent on pawning it off on someone else.
Stiffness isn't enough to put Fayre off, but seeing that there's a dart stuck in the nearby porcine roast is definitely enough to confuse the young woman. "Did...did you put that in there, Nolee? On purpose?" Her eyebrows raise in surprise as she eyes the Senior, the fact that it was a missed dart throw not clicking in her mind. She keeps her gaze set on Nolee as she answers Ch'val, "Aye, we've got beautiful land 'round here, and plenty of it. But when you stick everyone into one place, like here, it gets a wee bit more crowded. Are you likin' whatever weyr y'got assigned? Someone of your experience deserves a nice one." She gestures towards his bronze knot and greying hair, supporting evidence for her statement. His scars are notably not motioned at, but they certainly support her statement as well.
Bronzerider - ignored. Brownrider? Handed another drink. Balinne? Now more interested in peering at drinks and contemplating names than socializing.
A number of riders have already made a home at one of the tables for dragonpoker, a number of rather unsavoury words being spoken between them as the bet is raised. Yelling ensues when one greenrider decides to go against etiquette. Thankfully for them, and the Sandbar itself, a pair of bar maidens with low cut blouses walk by silencing the poker players altogether.
Seliene steps inside, her pace slowing as she heads in from the beach, clearly surprised by the number of people habitating the bar tonight. There is a slight dampness in her hair around the frame of her face, giving the indication that she is freshly bathed and scrubbed. She looks about, searching for some friendly faces in the crowd.
"Except in here," Nolee archly observes, following that with a delighted, "Iath's, why thank you," as she daintily plucks the dart from his open hand, her mood less sour for the little kindness. A hesitation, an aim to ask Nalaieth, perhaps, then a shrug as she gives up. "Only open compared to - where were you from?" The dart game is stalled behind her, dismay being raised, and Nolee glances back and forth, furtive. "On purpose? No. If it were on purpose, I'd've hit the sharding dart board." That Fayre's staring at her is noted by slow-blinking eyes: what did I miss? Then, "Perhaps it's time for the Harpers to play outside, and strike us up a dance, to relieve some of the crowding."
Being so good today. Really doing the Reaches proud. N'thei once more raises his drink arm to make his way through the crowd without throwing ale all over anyone, makes his way to wherever C'len landed-- he only walks right over the top of someone once, his head turned too far to pin his attention on low-cut-blouses a second. But no one's hurt and he eventually gets to his destination, one Weyrleader to another. "Ought to start charging other Weyrs for the use of our bronzeriders, sir, this is getting out of hand."
"Fruity," scoffs Tiriana at once, catching just enough of Idraila's words to understand. "Get a /real/ drink, why don't you." Beat. "Her someone?" Confused, with narrowing eyes as she studies X'lar, Tiriana doesn't put in her own drink order for something 'real' fast enough, and finds herself with something fruity instead; staring at it like it'll bite her. "What is it?" she wonders, with a curl of her lip as she picks up the glass and studies it.
So distracted he is by Ista's two working weyrwomen, Ch'val barely notes X'lar from the corners of his eyes, and further notes his current companion's Telgari roots, so Tiriana gets something of a glance-and-twitch where a salute or a duties might should have been.The graying man hunches his shoulders like he'd rather not be seen and focuses on Fayre. "Jungle view," he replies her, polite if gruff. "Nothing like that n'any other Weyr I know. M'honored." Beat. Dammit, he'd have liked to not say this out loud, knowing what he knows now about the attendees from the Reaches - but admits to Nolee, tightly, "Telgar." A beat. Maybe desperate, but it's hard to tell through all the gray stoicism: "Do you dance, weyrwoman?" Let them decide between themselves which of them he's speaking - or offering - to.
Having caught the dart-in-the-pig, C'len winces slightly; having polished off his portion of it already, he might've gone for more, but perhaps not now. He continues chatting with the couple next to him, visitors who've tried some of the drinks but not all. C'len casts a glance over to the tasting table. "After I finish eating," he's saying to them with a grin. "Don't want to end up like--" he's meaning to gesture to the area where the chair was broken by the drunken pair, but instead manages to indicate N'thei. The 'Reaches leader's arrival brings a grin, "It's been a string of moves, hasn't it? Vildaeth's doing. He's been complaining about the weather ever since."
Idraila flutters an uneasy glance at Tiriana again, then looks back at her tiny tasting glass. "Um, maybe the next one," she mutters in response, pausing to gauge what X'lar thinks of her drink choice before picking the thing up and sipping it down steadily. She smacks her lips over it, quiet while she ponders the different flavors.
A few Harpers catch the Nolee's words and take the hint. It's too crowded to play their instruments inside anyhow, so the group eagerly heads out to the black sands beach to play and entertain. A few patrons follow them out, eager for fresh air and dancing, which also serves to ease the crowding in the Sandbar some.
"Now, now, Tiriana, I'd rather one of my good friends not be treated so badly," X'lar remarks back to the Reachian junior. He nods in agreement to the goldrider, affirming: "Yes, her someone, she wasn't exactly specific. There may have been other someones as well." To Tiriana, additionally, "Taste it, and you tell me. Or better yet, write it down and put it in the jar." To Idraila, X'lar grins back at the scribe and offers: "What do you think? And hey, glad you could come, too, Idraila."
Seliene makes her way toward the bar and gives some consideration to what she may or may not like to drink. Lips pursed, she casts about once more at all the people, somewhat perplexed, it would seem. "A good night for a bar reopening, I guess. Must be a slow night on Pern. Everywhere on Pern, judging by the assemblage."
Don't want to end up like-- N'thei. "Most people don't." Good-natured shrug. "Congratulations of course, for all I don't envy you the weather." Said while he tugs at one side of his collar, still sweating. "Don't mean to mix business with pleasure, but I'm off from here to see A'son, and would rather go with permission in hand. He's a mate of mine from Impression, would like him to come home if he's wanting to." The vacuous business of pleasantries only works for N'thei for so long, so straight to business.
A glance-and-twitch. Tiriana would probably be rather proud, if she saw, but she's still giving that drink funny looks instead. Pickily, she waits until Idraila has the first drink, then questions, "So what is it? --And don't you reprimand me, either." The latter is a sharper word for X'lar, with a flat look before she finally tips her own glass back and takes a sip. No grimacing; must have been better than she expected. "Huh."
Fayre breaks her stare when the stabbing of the porcine is explained. "Oh. Well, yes, I do think that's the goal of the game. To hit the board. But maybe you get extra points for hitting giant roasts?" She shrugs sheepishly, smiling. To Ch'val, "Ah, jungle view! I'd love to have one of those, but o' course, I'm off of the Weyrleader ledges. Glad ya like it." She cants her head to the right when the bronzerider's origins are revealed. "Oh, Telgar? Is it strange getting used to the heat, then?" The weyrwoman grins and goes a bit over the top, batting her eyelashes. "I dance, and I don't even step on folks' feet when I do it."
"No, I think I have to pay a round, not get extra points. Someone should change the rules, though." Topics drift by, waves catching on the current and some sticking in Nolee's head. "Telgar. Cold there. Like Reaches." All the same in her mind. "Dance?" Nolee repeats, like an especially thick drudge being given the most basic of assignments. The dart is considered, the woman stepping back toward the group, giving it a pretty blind toss that results in it being stuck, this time, in one of the poles supporting the roof. A shrug, and coin is left behind to pay the round she owes. "Outside. Yes. Where the air is." And the packed-in sweaty bodies aren't.
There's a brief look of confusion--"Ah, didn't mean you, I mean the drunk pair from earlier," C'len clarifies. "Vil and I disagree about the weather," he continues with a shrug, pausing long enough to catch the question about A'son. "Oh, yeah, you were both from Nabrimeth's last clutch, right?" Getting to the point quickly doesn't seem to be an issue with C'len, equally straightforward. "Not a problem at all, if he wants to go back. And thanks for the Ale!"
"It's... sort of... orangefruit," Idraila responds to Tiriana, treading carefully from the sound of her voice, "and pineapple. But sharper." Clearly someone not well-versed in alcoholic mixes. "I don't know how they got it to be pink, though," she wonders, picking up her tiny glass and peering at the tiny ring of pink left at the bottom. "Oh. It's good," Idraila says, turning then to X'lar, nodding and smiling emphatically to get her point across. Glancing sideways at the goldrider, she then offers, "You order the next ones?" while gesturing gently at the busy bartender.
"Don't mention it. If I had to leave the Reaches, I'd be taking the best part of it with me." N'thei's eyes glance across the room toward the bar, specifically toward where he left the keg safely tucked on the other side of the bar. Then there's a cursory, "Thanks. Good luck." And he's off through the crowd again, finally to make good on his intent to get out into the fresh air; except not to look-up-skirts just yet, maybe later.