[Log] Drunker Than I Thought
Who: Tiriana, Vaan, Whitchek
When: Day 16, Month 7, Turn 19
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana welcomes a couple of newcomers to the Weyr.
Notes: Ends abruptly because my roommates stole me for lesbian time. (Not as dirty as it sounds, kasadel and blueaid)
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.
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
Whitchek
Not the sort who'd ever stand out in a crowd, this Whitchek. Maybe six foot even, on the slim side but with solid shoulders, dark hair cropped close. His face is angular, chin narrow, the fair skin clear of the usual adolescent splotches but still a little pocked where they once appeared. Although habitually clean-shaven, by late in the day there's a visible shadow along his jawline.
He dresses with the casual indifference of the typical late adolescent male--heavy-duty trousers, a tunic with slightly too-short sleeves often pushed up to the elbows, usually colors that vaguely match but not always. None of it bears very close inspection, especially not by any mother prone to nitpicking over such formalities as clean socks.
Vaan
He is six feet tall and about 150 pounds. He has short light brown hair with light blue eyes. He has a fairly toned build to him. He have a constant smile on his face. There is a scar on his forearm from a tunnelsnake bite.
The sun's setting on another warm summer night at High Reaches, inspiring a number of people to loiter out on the ledge and enjoy it. Those less interesting in pretty clouds are mostly inside, playing cards, flirting with waitresses, and drinking. Of those activities, Tiriana is only engaged in the latter: a fresh mug of beer in front of her while she's staked out a table for herself in the busy bar.
Vaan sits quitely at a table watching people walk by he has a mug of Klah in his hand. He hope's someone will come talk to him as him being new to the Reaches weyr.
You can always tell a new arrival. They're the ones wandering around staring at the sorts of things everybody else takes for granted. Whitchek would probably blend in with the crowd just fine, except that he's got that slack-jawed tourist look, staring at the hangings, the ceiling, the passerby. He's paying so little attention that he goes to step around a table and nearly collides with a waitress, who lets out a string of colorful curses and admonitions that seem to pass right over the young man's head. His mouth works at a response and fails utterly, and she goes on with her tray of drinks, leaving him standing there as much stared at as staring.
Just sitting in a chair drinking is entertaining enough for some, maybe, but Tiriana has a restless expression on her face as she glances around the bar, looks over the other patrons: a bunch of regulars, a few less familiar ones, and the outright new in Vaan and now Whitchek. Tiriana's eyes wander over both of the latter two with particular curiosity, though it's to the latter that she speaks. Lifting a brow at Whitchek's gawking, she drawls, "It's a bar. A very good bar, but it's a bar. Is it /really/ that amazing?"
Vaan he stares at whitchek as the waitress walks away curseing up a storm. He gives him a small chuckle as he sips his klah. He looks down into his mug. " hmm I have to really stop drinking it so quickly." he slowly stands up and walks to the counter and gets a refill as he is walking back to his seat. he sees a woman walk towards Whitchek. He sits dow nand watches closely to see what's to come of her walking up to him.
"Yes--that is, no. I mean, I know. I wasn't looking for a bar." Behold, Whitchek's mouth does in fact work. He slings down the pack from his shoulder. "Paid for a ride, evidently didn't pay enough for good directions," is muttered almost to himself. He still looks just about everywhere else but at Tiriana, but a lovely woman in good clothes is not usually the type a wandering visitor immediately asks for help. "Just looking for a place to stow my kit, sleep tonight, try to track down someone for work in the morning."
Not looking for a bar? Who says /that/? Tiriana's brows both lift as Whitchek tries to explain himself. "It's the other way. Clear across the bowl, practically--the dorms are. But I expect we get more people being dropped off for the bar first and the dorms later--when they're too drunk to get home. --You," and noticing Vaan looking at them, she hails the other man, wiggles her fingers to call him closer. Apparently, Tiriana has no qualms about interrupting his quiet drink for her questions. "Do you know where the residents' dorms are?"
Vaan He try's to duck his head before being noticed but too late. He slowly walks to the woman. " hello I'm Vaan Would you like some help?" hearing her question. " I am sorry I am new to the weyr I have no idea were they are. If you don't me asking who may you be." He takes a slow sip of klah. " I don't mean to be rude but you did call me over the least you could do is give me your name. right?"
Clearing his throat a little, Whitchik says, "Never been that drunk before, miss, I have to say. Across the bowl, then. Right." He hauls up the pack again, then gives just a teensy bit of a wistful look over to the bar. One hand wanders into his pocket, the whispered sound of wooden marks rubbing together unheard in the din of the room. "I'll be on my way, then, I suppose. My thanks for your kindness." With Vaan coming over, he turns to be on his way out. And then looks back over his shoulder, again. Perhaps it's just been that sort of a day.
"Rather forward, aren't you?" Tiriana wonders, leaning back in her seat to eye Vaan, look him up and down. Despite her rejoinder, she seems not to mind too much--that, or she's glad for any opportunity to brag about herself. "Tiriana. The Weyrwoman," says she, with a smirk. But her other company's leaving, and Tiriana sits up a little, leaning forward to tell Whitchek, "Leaving already? You don't want a drink, the grand tour, anything? Sit and stay a while." It's not too much of a request, really, as she promptly directs another question at both young men: "So just what is it you expect to do here?"
Vaan With a small look of shock on his face. " I am sorry Weyrwoman Tiriana for being so foward earlyer. But your just the person for me to talk too. I wish to move here to the weyr. I was kicked out of my father's home and I took off for here. I just want to have a home here." he feels his impish side comeing out. " So you offer grandtour's would you mind showing me around the weyr."
Weyrwoman. Whitchek noticably pales at the word. "Weyrwoman," he repeats, after Vaan finishes. "I, er. Just out to see a bit of the world, you know." A bald-faced lie. Which he doesn't do especially well; his ears go red but he sticks with it resolutely. "Don't mean no--any," he corrects swiftly as soon as he notices the mistake, "trouble. Got nothing against working for my keep." He swallows. "Seems like a tour would work better in full light. I'd welcome a drink, but afraid I'm a bit... light in the pockets as of just now."
"Me? No," says Tiriana, laughing at that. She shakes her head, too amused to be snappish about Vaan's temerity. That, or maybe it's just the beer taking the edge off: she takes another long sip now before continuing. "Too busy for that, not as many people as seem to end up just wandering around here. That's why I have my headwoman staff. They're the ones to really talk to about getting moved in," and she tips her head toward Whitchek, too, including him in that sentiment. "Milani, and her assistants. --The house draft's pretty cheap. Nothing special but it'll get you toasted, obviously." A gesture takes in the general bar crowd, and she adds, "And you didn't say exactly what work it is you do want to do."
Vaan he smile's slightly at Tiriana. " your a lot more frienly then I expected. I would more then willing seek out the person to talk to become a weyr resident. The brew's cheap you say ah well I am down to my last few mark's I've had to work alot of odd job's to get the mark's too. So I heard the local gold had a flight reasonly. How heavy with egg is she? if you don't mind me asking about it."
"Not too picky," admits Whitchek. "Figure most places can use an extra set of hands for three squares and a bed. Unless that's a problem?" Another look over at the bar. "Don't want to be spending marks I can't replace anytime soon. But it's been a long day..." He trails off, but it's obvious that he's closer to talking himself into the beer than talking himself out of it. The look he shoots Vaan is something close to horror, evidently folks aren't so conversational with even young and pretty ladies of high rank where he's from.
"I'm not friendly," Tiriana answers at once, as though this is some great point of honor for her. "I'm just... possibly more drunk than I thought." She frowns, swishes her glass and eyes the remaining liquid swirling around in the bottom of it. Then, a shrug. Her eyes do narrow slightly, however, at Vaan's latter question. "My Iovniath, yes," she replies. "Not very--yet. A couple more months, probably, before she clutches." Pause. "It'll be a big one, though, I know it will," the goldrider adds hastily, adamant about her dragon's as-yet-unproven egg-laying prowess.
Vaan sips his mug of klah listening "hmm congratulation's I guess. From what I hear dragon clutches are smaller during interval's but I am sure it will be nice for you. I hope your lifemate has a good clutch I would enjoy watching a hatching. It would be interesting to say the least." he looks at whitchek. give's him a small grin. " what made that waitress leave you in such a fit."
It's not an answer, but Whitchek is not going to go pushing a drunk and professed-to-be-unfriendly Weyrwoman. The talk of eggs is evidently not of particular interest for him, so he uses the opportunity to go and shell out some of his last remaining funds for the previously mentioned cheap-but-effective libation. He takes a swig of it--there's some sort of a rule against sipping cheap beer, isn't there?--and makes a bit of a face, returning to catch Vaan's question. "She was rather... forward, wasn't she? Don't think I've ever heard a woman talk like that."
"Smaller, maybe, but they're--they're... So what?" So much for a good comeback, that's what. Tiriana's defensiveness falls flat, and she scowls outright at her beer this time before she finishes it off and sets the mug aside on the table. "That? That was nothing," she says, glancing around after the poor waitress who blessed Whitchek out. Then, Whitchek himself is given a rather dubious look. "What kind of backwater cothold do you come from, that you haven't heard people talk like that, huh?"
Vaan he smiles at the weyrwoman flowndering for a comeback. " Well I would enjoy comepany and all this talk but I have traveled all day so if you don't mind i will go find a place to nap have a nice evening."
Vaan heads down a short flight of stairs and a tunnel to the inner caverns hallways.
Vaan has left.
Disgruntled, Whitchek takes a moment for another long drink. Long enough to count to ten internally, for example. To take stock of all the things one shouldn't stay to the High Reaches Weyrwoman, for the sake of potential employment. Or continued shelter. "Nabol," he says, vaguely. "Anyway. There are still places on Pern where people have plain old-fashioned good manners." Another drink. This beer isn't lasting nearly as long as it should. Neither, potentially, is his stay.
"That way toward the dorms. There's signs. And other more helpful people," Tiriana says, remarkably helpful in her own right as she points Vaan off toward the caverns. She settles back in her chair then, feet pulled up with her as she gets comfortable. "Not here," she says then, rather smug about that fact. "What's the point of manners like that? We say exactly what we think, no holds barred, and it works out a lot better than tip-toeing around everybody. And anyway, I've heard places where they're even /worse/."
The earlier waitress passes again and Whitchek cringes away although she doesn't even look in his direction. "Sometimes, good sense dictates that not everybody wants to know what you think. Not gonna question that there's worse, but there's also better. A lot better." He goes to raise the drink to his lips and then seems to think better of it. "Discretion is the better part of... something. Isn't it?"
"Valor, supposedly," but Tiriana doesn't sound for a minute like she believes it. She even rolls her eyes at the thought. "It's not true, though. Valor is the better part of valor, duh. And trying to sugarcoat everything isn't brave at all; it just means you're scared of everything. Are you? Scared of everything," she rounds the question on him, with a lifted brow. That, and, "What did you say your name was again?"
Scared of everything? That could be true. Quite possibly true. Of course, the preceding conversation makes any admission of such things entirely impossible, at the same time, so the world will never know. "Whitchek," he introduces himself, sidestepping the question entirely. "You never did say," he's finally able to prod. "Is there enough work around here for me to make myself useful?"