[Log] Redeeming Qualities
Who: N'thei, Tiriana
When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 18
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: N'thei gets Tiriana drunk again. Par for the course for these two.
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.
Contents:
N'thei
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
The bartender's quit. Happens every few months, seems, when N'thei takes a hankering to look over the books and decides to take out any shortage on the man pouring the drinks. So, in this past week, N'thei's had to spend more time than usual in here, holding down the fort until a suitable replacement is found-- and can be convinced to take the position. But at least he's been ridiculously cheerful in the past few days, which for him means he hasn't yelled at anyone and only thrown out one or two people a night. Presently, he's wiping down the bar with meticulous possessiveness; how many other things could fill the Weyrleader's days, yet here he is buffing out the rings left by moist mugs in a near-empty bar in the middle of the day.
N'thei might be willing to clean up after other people instead of doing his Weyrleaderly duties, but Tiriana is not about to debase herself like that when she turns up in the mostly deserted bar. Instead, she joins N'thei on the other side of the bar, sliding up on a seat and watching him for a few seconds. Then: "So what did you do to /this/ one, exactly?"
Surely, he noticed Tiriana when she came in, but N'thei gives no sign of it during that few-seconds she spends watching. He's happy polishing his bar, even leans down to breathe onto the surface and buff out a spot afterward. Ahh, satisfaction. Even when she speaks, he doesn't look at her really, though a smile spreads with frightening happiness at the thoughts that cross his mind before he answers. His own few-seconds later; "Would you like me to show you sometime?" He'd enjoy it~!
"I'll pass, thanks." Just the thought of it makes Tiriana's nose wrinkle up. If the last few days of N'thei-at-the-bar have made him happier, it's having the opposite effect on her: she surveys the place now with a distinctly sour expression. "Don't have to run every single employee off every three months," she says, though she doesn't sound too invested in the complaint. Even she can see the futility in that one, apparently.
"Change is good." And N'thei's eyes pointed scout the bar for the one or two people who have not suffered from the constant turn-over. Notably, they're amply endowed women-- but none are about presently, so he shrugs and folds up the towel so it rests under his palm. "Drinking today, my dove, or just keeping the stool warm." It's a roundabout way of offering to take her order. The more sour she becomes, the more insufferably pleasant he seems by comparison.
Tiriana snorts. "And so is finding somebody dumb enough to take the job on again," she answers. No comments on the kind of people who don't get fired around here. Instead, she nods once, a concession to his offer. "Fine, get me something. --I think I like you less happy."
'Something' to N'thei and 'something' to Tiriana may not necessarily line up, but he goes about it with only one dubious look at the goldrider. Shotglass. Whiskey. "Good of you to volunteer to take on the responsibility. Expect we'll have a new bartender before the week's out," he adds cheerily, measures out her dose and retreats to re-cork the bottle. "What's stuck in your craw today, sunshine?"
She eyes the drink poured out for her, but there's no complaints about the whiskey. "Yeah? We will," she answers, puffing up at the inferred slight in his words. "And nothing's wrong with me, nothing new anyway. What's with /you/?" Giving him a dubious look, she takes a drink finally, makes a faint face at the taste.
N'thei sets the bottle on the bar, next to the rag, next to the glass. As it seems to be his lot in life, he intends to refill it at least once; middle of the day, Tiriana might as well be forcibly inebriated, right? At the nothing's-wrong-with-me remark, he opens his mouth like he's got a ready retort, but she fills it in for him, leaves him with a mild smile in lieu of the barb he's been denied. "That's a long list, isn't it. What's with you, what's with me. Between us..." There are hours and hours of issues to cover.
How much forcing is involved, when she's already sliding the emptied glass back over for the promised refill? "Mine's not long," she informs him, with a small shake of her head. "Not that there's anything wrong with me, especially not to discuss with you." Nevermind the concession of 'nothing new' seconds earlier. She continues quickly, "And anyway, what else do you have to do today? Wipe off tables and rearrange the liquor?"
"Don't knock it." The wiping off tables and rearranging liquor, said with a protective frown across the bar. N'thei refills the glass almost absently, this time not bothering to recork the bottle. Afterward, leaning against the cabinets behind him, arms crossed, he prompts, "Will concede I've got issues when you admit to the same, darling. Till then-- drink up." Irony lights his smile.
"Don't think I need to drink until I admit it," Tiriana points out stubbornly. "Although at least you don't try to tell me for myself." She drinks now, though, but doesn't offer the glass for another topping-up just yet: not drinking that heavily so far. "And don't call me that, either." After all the nicknames so far, she finally gets around to noticing that, as an afterthought.
N'thei, truth; "Wouldn't matter if I did, would it, so why waste my breath trying. You know what's wrong with you." He could take some guesses. So-- shrug. For lack of anything more productive to do, it still being early-- and perhaps word having gotten out that both N'thei and Tiriana are in the bar today, so steer clear-- he just stands there, killing time. Don't call her that; "Why not."
"Which is nothing." Tiriana, having apparently settled on that course now, defends it to the bitter end, with another drink and the glass nudged back toward him afterward. "Because," she begins, eyes narrowing as he questions that order. "Because I said so and I'm not your darling, or dove, or--or whatever else you wish I was."
N'thei's eyebrows climb amusedly, but far be it for him to argue with Tiriana's self-assessment. Openly, anyway; that he disagrees is written all over his face, underlined by the pointed gestures employed to tip bottle-to-glass again. "Because you said so. Darling--" For the sheer purpose of being a jackass, that one. "Darling, because-you-said-so doesn't really matter to me. Did you forget?" Poor dear.
Tiriana bristles, but tries, with visible effort, to hold her tongue; or at least the most vicious retorts she can come up with. "I'm still not your darling, or anything else. Like I said," she points out as she pulls her glass back over to her. Hand left curled around it, she glowers. "We're not close enough for you to call me any of that crap--not that I'd let you even if we were, but."
Commendable patience bleeds into N'thei's voice when he points out, "You have to know that I wouldn't enjoy it half so much if it didn't get you so worked up." He steps across the distance to the bar again, now leaning his elbows forward on it with the bottle square between himself and Tiriana, with gray eyes all tranquil and unruffled. "Besides, I'm actually quite fond of you." Without the lilt of the perverse to it even.
"I am not worked up." Tiriana's talent for lying as as shoddy as ever, though, her riled state leaking through. Scowling, she drinks again, nevermind that still-early hour. "Oh, I just bet you're fond of me," she says then, and her mouth curls into a sneer. She'll put the dirty edge onto it, even if he doesn't.
Refill. Suppose N'thei will fire himself for running up Tiriana's tab without collecting first? "Now don't be like that, my honey," he wheedles sweetly, puts his chin on his knuckles and smiles across the bar at her like he's still got an ounce of charm left in him. "Went to all that trouble to go and get you at Telgar, didn't I, and give you a job suited to your skills here. Of course I'm fond of you, and never so much as an improper glance."
Disbelieving, Tiriana lifts her brows, then gives her head a skeptical shake. "I already had a job here, suited to my skills, and we all know exactly why you went to Telgar for me," she says, with a roll of her eyes. "How'd that work out for you, anyway? You ready to give up and try to send me back there again? That won't work either, you know."
We do? N'thei's eyebrows climb quickly, surprise betrayed, and he pretty much ignores all the rest of Tiriana's remarks in favor of that eye-roll comment. "Why do you think I went to Telgar for you?"
Tiriana never even stops to second-guess herself, spitting out an answer without delay. "Because I'm pretty. And bitchy, and it'd spite Telgar some too. But mostly because I'm beautiful and you think with your dick."
Umbrage-- showy umbrage, so it must not be authentic. N'thei straightens up with his hands coming flush down on the bar, with his previously charming smile all melted into an overdone frown. "Stop for a minute and think about something, love. Really try and get it to penetrate. You're not as beautiful or as bitchy, if you like the term, as she is. So even if it were true, it would only make you a pale second. Wouldn't it be nicer to think you're here because you possess some redeeming qualities all your own."
"As beautiful," Tiriana differs on that point, though not so much the other, even though it plainly pricks her pride to do so. She pulls the glass back, since it's once again full; but though she lifts it up, she can't quite bring herself to take a sip. She's probably had enough by now, anyway. Morosely, she eyes the glass all the same. "So what redeeming qualities do I have?"
Really-now. N'thei summarizes Tiriana in a glance, leans forward a little so he can see the whole of her on the other side of the bar, leans back with a look that finds her lacking. But there's the whole issue of him being utterly smitten with Satiet, so it's probably not a fair comparison on his part. Redeeming qualities; "If you weren't so fucking bent on making everyone think you were tough, you'd probably be a very strong woman." And he reaches for the glass, since she's not doing anything useful with it, lightweight.
She doesn't want it, but she's not about to let him have it: Tiriana draws the glass closer in to herself and drinks it quickly. N'thei gets the empty glass and a smug look. "I am strong," she snaps then. "And if I'm not out proving it, they aren't ever going to know it. And what, that's the best you've got, for redeeming qualities? No 'not as strong as her, though'?" The spitefulness that's supposed to be a dig at him just comes out sounding bitter.
"Do you think she's strong?" Another bit of news for N'thei, another something he'd never really thought about before, hmn. But back to Tiriana. "We'd know it even if you weren't shoving it in our faces, and we'd probably believe it a little more at that. --I'd have added confident in there if you weren't fishing for compliments, neh?"
"You don't?" Confusion briefly distracts Tiriana from being mad, and she frowns. Leaning back in her chair, she's silent for a few seconds. "I'm not fishing, I'm making conversation. /You/ brought it up, anyway." Pause. "And I only shove it in people's faces when they try to treat me like I'm not." So there.
N'thei doesn't answer the first, not specifically, not beyond a very slight shake of his head. She's right; he did bring it up, technically speaking, and he concedes that with a wishy-washy gesture before he collects the empty glass and sets it beside the bottle. No refill yet. "Just comes across like petulance when you do it though. Little girl stamping her feet." With a shrug of apology.
No more for Tiriana; she doesn't look too disappointed about it, when N'thei holds onto the glass instead of refilling it again for her. Testily, "It always worked before. So what am I supposed to do, then. Since you know so much about getting people to do what you want and all." Snort.
N'thei spins the glass between his thumb and index finger, absent twiddling while he debates whether or not it's worth it to fill it up once more, for either of them. "Different for me though, isn't it." Straightens up just a touch, squares his shoulders, impresses the whole issue of sheer size. "But-- does it actually work the way it is now? Knuckling up to people doesn't seem to have done you any favors."
The display doesn't seem to impress Tiriana, who scoffs outright. And as for herself, she says, stung, "It works well enough for me. And if I really wanted advice on handling peopel--" nevermind her asking his opinion "--I wouldn't be going to /you/. Like you know anything about... anything." So what was that about little girls and foot-stamping? She slides off the stool now, though with a hand holding onto the bar still--not exactly steady on her feet.
Again-- really? It works? "When was the last time you got what you wanted, darling." She's right; he doesn't know much of anything about anything, but N'thei does know how to spot a drunk on her feet, and he stays standing upright, a hand to the raise-able ledge in the bar so he can come around to her side of it hastily enough. "Steady?"
"I--" Tiriana starts to answer that, but maybe just this once, she recognizes the truth of that line about discretion and valor. Instead, she leans a little more on the bar, testing her legs before she snaps off a, "I'm fine," at him. Even if she's not so much. "I don't need your help."
Note, "That's not what I asked." N'thei turns to put the whiskey back on the shelves where it belongs, the shot glass over with what will eventually become the stacks of dirty dishes, the rag where it's been all this while. In the mix; "Steady or not?"
He gets a snakey look for that distinction. "I'm. Steady," Tiriana tells him, very clearly. And to prove it, she lets go of the bar, takes an experimental step away from it. Stays on her feet, prompting a triumphant glance back at N'thei. "So there." And then she eyes the door speculatively: next hurdle!
N'thei flips up that lever-counter just in case, lays it neatly back over onto itself and steps into the newly opened gap. He approaches no farther than that, and he doesn't even make a big show of coming that far, but the point is there just the same. When she falls on her ass, he'll be that much quicker to come and pick her up. "So there," he echoes, forehead lowered toward the distant door. --There's steps off the patio, remember.
It's probably only sheer stubbornness that eventually gets Tiriana to the door and out it, but she sticks within an arm's length or so of the wall on the way, just in case. It's a better alternative than relying on N'thei, apparently. And from the door, she pauses to look back at N'thei and inform him, coolly, "I can get myself home, thanks."
Hands open calmly, distant, unmoving, a gesture that placates whatever pride makes Tiriana insist on making her own way out the door... across the patio... down the stairs... across the bowl... N'thei says nothing, and he has the decency-- believe it or not-- not to start following her until she's far enough along that he's less likely to attract attention. Which would normally be creepy, but it's intended as a just-in-case rather than a weird-stalker-opportunity.
Just walking takes enough of Tiriana's concentration that she doesn't notice when she's being followed--not that she's always the most observant person anyway. The patio steps aren't too bad, and the flat bowl; but the steps up to her ledge are where she trips up and has to stop a moment to check herself. In the process, she glances around to make sure none of the Weyr residents are watching their junior stumble home drunk in the middle of the day, and her eyes settle on N'thei. It's hard to miss something that big, even when he's trying to be subtle. "Are you /following/ me?" Tiriana demands, voice raised to carry back to him.
There's subtle and then there's the extra-quick-step taken when she looks ready to tumble, a quicker sound of boots behind her, though he never really bridges the distance. N'thei's kept himself a fair bit back, enough that she'd actually really fall on her ass way before he could catch up to her-- which kind of makes his presence superfluous, doesn't it? Anyway. Casual; "Technically. But my weyr is practically next door."
"Oh, of course. That's totally it," Tiriana answers, with a sniff, disbelieving. And she turns back, pride pulled back together as she navigates up the steps to the ledge, one at a time, as she gets the rest of the way to her weyr's entrance. "It's so nice to know you really care. I never guessed."
N'thei stays down at the bottom, looks up with something like pride-- what a big girl, making it up all those steps all by herself! "Did tell you I was fond of you, remember." He does not invite himself in, just for everyone's peace-of-mind.
Small comfort at this point. Tiriana ignores him now, and stalks inside, presumably to sleep off the liquor he's once again shoved down her.
Just be grateful it's only liquor he's... shoving down her... right?
Ew.
Could be hot :D
Tiriana, not that drunk yet. Go try Satiet again.
////Yet.//// Next time~!
When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 18
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: N'thei gets Tiriana drunk again. Par for the course for these two.
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.
Contents:
N'thei
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
The bartender's quit. Happens every few months, seems, when N'thei takes a hankering to look over the books and decides to take out any shortage on the man pouring the drinks. So, in this past week, N'thei's had to spend more time than usual in here, holding down the fort until a suitable replacement is found-- and can be convinced to take the position. But at least he's been ridiculously cheerful in the past few days, which for him means he hasn't yelled at anyone and only thrown out one or two people a night. Presently, he's wiping down the bar with meticulous possessiveness; how many other things could fill the Weyrleader's days, yet here he is buffing out the rings left by moist mugs in a near-empty bar in the middle of the day.
N'thei might be willing to clean up after other people instead of doing his Weyrleaderly duties, but Tiriana is not about to debase herself like that when she turns up in the mostly deserted bar. Instead, she joins N'thei on the other side of the bar, sliding up on a seat and watching him for a few seconds. Then: "So what did you do to /this/ one, exactly?"
Surely, he noticed Tiriana when she came in, but N'thei gives no sign of it during that few-seconds she spends watching. He's happy polishing his bar, even leans down to breathe onto the surface and buff out a spot afterward. Ahh, satisfaction. Even when she speaks, he doesn't look at her really, though a smile spreads with frightening happiness at the thoughts that cross his mind before he answers. His own few-seconds later; "Would you like me to show you sometime?" He'd enjoy it~!
"I'll pass, thanks." Just the thought of it makes Tiriana's nose wrinkle up. If the last few days of N'thei-at-the-bar have made him happier, it's having the opposite effect on her: she surveys the place now with a distinctly sour expression. "Don't have to run every single employee off every three months," she says, though she doesn't sound too invested in the complaint. Even she can see the futility in that one, apparently.
"Change is good." And N'thei's eyes pointed scout the bar for the one or two people who have not suffered from the constant turn-over. Notably, they're amply endowed women-- but none are about presently, so he shrugs and folds up the towel so it rests under his palm. "Drinking today, my dove, or just keeping the stool warm." It's a roundabout way of offering to take her order. The more sour she becomes, the more insufferably pleasant he seems by comparison.
Tiriana snorts. "And so is finding somebody dumb enough to take the job on again," she answers. No comments on the kind of people who don't get fired around here. Instead, she nods once, a concession to his offer. "Fine, get me something. --I think I like you less happy."
'Something' to N'thei and 'something' to Tiriana may not necessarily line up, but he goes about it with only one dubious look at the goldrider. Shotglass. Whiskey. "Good of you to volunteer to take on the responsibility. Expect we'll have a new bartender before the week's out," he adds cheerily, measures out her dose and retreats to re-cork the bottle. "What's stuck in your craw today, sunshine?"
She eyes the drink poured out for her, but there's no complaints about the whiskey. "Yeah? We will," she answers, puffing up at the inferred slight in his words. "And nothing's wrong with me, nothing new anyway. What's with /you/?" Giving him a dubious look, she takes a drink finally, makes a faint face at the taste.
N'thei sets the bottle on the bar, next to the rag, next to the glass. As it seems to be his lot in life, he intends to refill it at least once; middle of the day, Tiriana might as well be forcibly inebriated, right? At the nothing's-wrong-with-me remark, he opens his mouth like he's got a ready retort, but she fills it in for him, leaves him with a mild smile in lieu of the barb he's been denied. "That's a long list, isn't it. What's with you, what's with me. Between us..." There are hours and hours of issues to cover.
How much forcing is involved, when she's already sliding the emptied glass back over for the promised refill? "Mine's not long," she informs him, with a small shake of her head. "Not that there's anything wrong with me, especially not to discuss with you." Nevermind the concession of 'nothing new' seconds earlier. She continues quickly, "And anyway, what else do you have to do today? Wipe off tables and rearrange the liquor?"
"Don't knock it." The wiping off tables and rearranging liquor, said with a protective frown across the bar. N'thei refills the glass almost absently, this time not bothering to recork the bottle. Afterward, leaning against the cabinets behind him, arms crossed, he prompts, "Will concede I've got issues when you admit to the same, darling. Till then-- drink up." Irony lights his smile.
"Don't think I need to drink until I admit it," Tiriana points out stubbornly. "Although at least you don't try to tell me for myself." She drinks now, though, but doesn't offer the glass for another topping-up just yet: not drinking that heavily so far. "And don't call me that, either." After all the nicknames so far, she finally gets around to noticing that, as an afterthought.
N'thei, truth; "Wouldn't matter if I did, would it, so why waste my breath trying. You know what's wrong with you." He could take some guesses. So-- shrug. For lack of anything more productive to do, it still being early-- and perhaps word having gotten out that both N'thei and Tiriana are in the bar today, so steer clear-- he just stands there, killing time. Don't call her that; "Why not."
"Which is nothing." Tiriana, having apparently settled on that course now, defends it to the bitter end, with another drink and the glass nudged back toward him afterward. "Because," she begins, eyes narrowing as he questions that order. "Because I said so and I'm not your darling, or dove, or--or whatever else you wish I was."
N'thei's eyebrows climb amusedly, but far be it for him to argue with Tiriana's self-assessment. Openly, anyway; that he disagrees is written all over his face, underlined by the pointed gestures employed to tip bottle-to-glass again. "Because you said so. Darling--" For the sheer purpose of being a jackass, that one. "Darling, because-you-said-so doesn't really matter to me. Did you forget?" Poor dear.
Tiriana bristles, but tries, with visible effort, to hold her tongue; or at least the most vicious retorts she can come up with. "I'm still not your darling, or anything else. Like I said," she points out as she pulls her glass back over to her. Hand left curled around it, she glowers. "We're not close enough for you to call me any of that crap--not that I'd let you even if we were, but."
Commendable patience bleeds into N'thei's voice when he points out, "You have to know that I wouldn't enjoy it half so much if it didn't get you so worked up." He steps across the distance to the bar again, now leaning his elbows forward on it with the bottle square between himself and Tiriana, with gray eyes all tranquil and unruffled. "Besides, I'm actually quite fond of you." Without the lilt of the perverse to it even.
"I am not worked up." Tiriana's talent for lying as as shoddy as ever, though, her riled state leaking through. Scowling, she drinks again, nevermind that still-early hour. "Oh, I just bet you're fond of me," she says then, and her mouth curls into a sneer. She'll put the dirty edge onto it, even if he doesn't.
Refill. Suppose N'thei will fire himself for running up Tiriana's tab without collecting first? "Now don't be like that, my honey," he wheedles sweetly, puts his chin on his knuckles and smiles across the bar at her like he's still got an ounce of charm left in him. "Went to all that trouble to go and get you at Telgar, didn't I, and give you a job suited to your skills here. Of course I'm fond of you, and never so much as an improper glance."
Disbelieving, Tiriana lifts her brows, then gives her head a skeptical shake. "I already had a job here, suited to my skills, and we all know exactly why you went to Telgar for me," she says, with a roll of her eyes. "How'd that work out for you, anyway? You ready to give up and try to send me back there again? That won't work either, you know."
We do? N'thei's eyebrows climb quickly, surprise betrayed, and he pretty much ignores all the rest of Tiriana's remarks in favor of that eye-roll comment. "Why do you think I went to Telgar for you?"
Tiriana never even stops to second-guess herself, spitting out an answer without delay. "Because I'm pretty. And bitchy, and it'd spite Telgar some too. But mostly because I'm beautiful and you think with your dick."
Umbrage-- showy umbrage, so it must not be authentic. N'thei straightens up with his hands coming flush down on the bar, with his previously charming smile all melted into an overdone frown. "Stop for a minute and think about something, love. Really try and get it to penetrate. You're not as beautiful or as bitchy, if you like the term, as she is. So even if it were true, it would only make you a pale second. Wouldn't it be nicer to think you're here because you possess some redeeming qualities all your own."
"As beautiful," Tiriana differs on that point, though not so much the other, even though it plainly pricks her pride to do so. She pulls the glass back, since it's once again full; but though she lifts it up, she can't quite bring herself to take a sip. She's probably had enough by now, anyway. Morosely, she eyes the glass all the same. "So what redeeming qualities do I have?"
Really-now. N'thei summarizes Tiriana in a glance, leans forward a little so he can see the whole of her on the other side of the bar, leans back with a look that finds her lacking. But there's the whole issue of him being utterly smitten with Satiet, so it's probably not a fair comparison on his part. Redeeming qualities; "If you weren't so fucking bent on making everyone think you were tough, you'd probably be a very strong woman." And he reaches for the glass, since she's not doing anything useful with it, lightweight.
She doesn't want it, but she's not about to let him have it: Tiriana draws the glass closer in to herself and drinks it quickly. N'thei gets the empty glass and a smug look. "I am strong," she snaps then. "And if I'm not out proving it, they aren't ever going to know it. And what, that's the best you've got, for redeeming qualities? No 'not as strong as her, though'?" The spitefulness that's supposed to be a dig at him just comes out sounding bitter.
"Do you think she's strong?" Another bit of news for N'thei, another something he'd never really thought about before, hmn. But back to Tiriana. "We'd know it even if you weren't shoving it in our faces, and we'd probably believe it a little more at that. --I'd have added confident in there if you weren't fishing for compliments, neh?"
"You don't?" Confusion briefly distracts Tiriana from being mad, and she frowns. Leaning back in her chair, she's silent for a few seconds. "I'm not fishing, I'm making conversation. /You/ brought it up, anyway." Pause. "And I only shove it in people's faces when they try to treat me like I'm not." So there.
N'thei doesn't answer the first, not specifically, not beyond a very slight shake of his head. She's right; he did bring it up, technically speaking, and he concedes that with a wishy-washy gesture before he collects the empty glass and sets it beside the bottle. No refill yet. "Just comes across like petulance when you do it though. Little girl stamping her feet." With a shrug of apology.
No more for Tiriana; she doesn't look too disappointed about it, when N'thei holds onto the glass instead of refilling it again for her. Testily, "It always worked before. So what am I supposed to do, then. Since you know so much about getting people to do what you want and all." Snort.
N'thei spins the glass between his thumb and index finger, absent twiddling while he debates whether or not it's worth it to fill it up once more, for either of them. "Different for me though, isn't it." Straightens up just a touch, squares his shoulders, impresses the whole issue of sheer size. "But-- does it actually work the way it is now? Knuckling up to people doesn't seem to have done you any favors."
The display doesn't seem to impress Tiriana, who scoffs outright. And as for herself, she says, stung, "It works well enough for me. And if I really wanted advice on handling peopel--" nevermind her asking his opinion "--I wouldn't be going to /you/. Like you know anything about... anything." So what was that about little girls and foot-stamping? She slides off the stool now, though with a hand holding onto the bar still--not exactly steady on her feet.
Again-- really? It works? "When was the last time you got what you wanted, darling." She's right; he doesn't know much of anything about anything, but N'thei does know how to spot a drunk on her feet, and he stays standing upright, a hand to the raise-able ledge in the bar so he can come around to her side of it hastily enough. "Steady?"
"I--" Tiriana starts to answer that, but maybe just this once, she recognizes the truth of that line about discretion and valor. Instead, she leans a little more on the bar, testing her legs before she snaps off a, "I'm fine," at him. Even if she's not so much. "I don't need your help."
Note, "That's not what I asked." N'thei turns to put the whiskey back on the shelves where it belongs, the shot glass over with what will eventually become the stacks of dirty dishes, the rag where it's been all this while. In the mix; "Steady or not?"
He gets a snakey look for that distinction. "I'm. Steady," Tiriana tells him, very clearly. And to prove it, she lets go of the bar, takes an experimental step away from it. Stays on her feet, prompting a triumphant glance back at N'thei. "So there." And then she eyes the door speculatively: next hurdle!
N'thei flips up that lever-counter just in case, lays it neatly back over onto itself and steps into the newly opened gap. He approaches no farther than that, and he doesn't even make a big show of coming that far, but the point is there just the same. When she falls on her ass, he'll be that much quicker to come and pick her up. "So there," he echoes, forehead lowered toward the distant door. --There's steps off the patio, remember.
It's probably only sheer stubbornness that eventually gets Tiriana to the door and out it, but she sticks within an arm's length or so of the wall on the way, just in case. It's a better alternative than relying on N'thei, apparently. And from the door, she pauses to look back at N'thei and inform him, coolly, "I can get myself home, thanks."
Hands open calmly, distant, unmoving, a gesture that placates whatever pride makes Tiriana insist on making her own way out the door... across the patio... down the stairs... across the bowl... N'thei says nothing, and he has the decency-- believe it or not-- not to start following her until she's far enough along that he's less likely to attract attention. Which would normally be creepy, but it's intended as a just-in-case rather than a weird-stalker-opportunity.
Just walking takes enough of Tiriana's concentration that she doesn't notice when she's being followed--not that she's always the most observant person anyway. The patio steps aren't too bad, and the flat bowl; but the steps up to her ledge are where she trips up and has to stop a moment to check herself. In the process, she glances around to make sure none of the Weyr residents are watching their junior stumble home drunk in the middle of the day, and her eyes settle on N'thei. It's hard to miss something that big, even when he's trying to be subtle. "Are you /following/ me?" Tiriana demands, voice raised to carry back to him.
There's subtle and then there's the extra-quick-step taken when she looks ready to tumble, a quicker sound of boots behind her, though he never really bridges the distance. N'thei's kept himself a fair bit back, enough that she'd actually really fall on her ass way before he could catch up to her-- which kind of makes his presence superfluous, doesn't it? Anyway. Casual; "Technically. But my weyr is practically next door."
"Oh, of course. That's totally it," Tiriana answers, with a sniff, disbelieving. And she turns back, pride pulled back together as she navigates up the steps to the ledge, one at a time, as she gets the rest of the way to her weyr's entrance. "It's so nice to know you really care. I never guessed."
N'thei stays down at the bottom, looks up with something like pride-- what a big girl, making it up all those steps all by herself! "Did tell you I was fond of you, remember." He does not invite himself in, just for everyone's peace-of-mind.
Small comfort at this point. Tiriana ignores him now, and stalks inside, presumably to sleep off the liquor he's once again shoved down her.
Just be grateful it's only liquor he's... shoving down her... right?
Ew.
Could be hot :D
Tiriana, not that drunk yet. Go try Satiet again.
////Yet.//// Next time~!