[Log] Fellis?
Who: Tiriana, V'teri
When: Day 13, Month 7, Turn 25
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: A draw.
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:
V'teri
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
V'teri
High cheekbones and a square jaw complement V'teri's general rugged good looks, exemplified in his light gray eyes and the single dimple along his constantly 5'o-clock shadowed left cheek. His brown hair has a ruddy tinge to it, and waves becomingly to just above his ears. Tall, standing just above six feet, V'teri's athletic frame is clad in neat leathers kept simple in their natural brown, with an inner shirt of olive green. Heel-less black boots rise up to mid-calf, slouched at the top with the excess fabric folded over.
It's one of those lazy summer days, where the sun shines, the air is pleasant, and people are out in droves enjoying those few months of beautiful Reaches weather. The Snowasis on a day like this is, understandably, mostly empty except for a few people here and there, among whom is a bored looking V'teri, seated at a bar stool nursing a beer. His boot heels click against the floor over and over again in a nervous restless leg syndrome-esque pattern.
With the place so empty, it's a good time to actually get work done there, and that seems to be what Tiriana's hoping to accomplish today. It beats her weyr or the council room, at least. Seated at the bar a few chairs down from V'teri, she has a small file of lower caverns reports she's perusing, making the occasional note on but mostly just signing into order after a quick skim. The constant clacking, though, wears thin eventually. "/Must/ you do that?" she asks testily, giving the bronzerider a Look.
The heel taps a few moments longer, the length of time it takes for Tiriana's voice to penetrate the clouds of V'teri's pensive thoughts, and then stops abruptly. The young man cants his head sidelong to look down along the bar to where Tiriana sits, eyes still glazed with pensive thought, so easily misconstrued as boredom and then he blinks twice. A slow smile emerges and he tips his half-filled ale glass to the working woman before turning away to sip. Maybe, she's bought herself some respite from his heel clicking with that pleasant request of hers -- but no, not three breaths later it starts again, though this time, there's an impish curl to the corners of V'teri's lips.
For just a moment, Tiriana gets to turn back to perusing... whatever it is Weyrwomen peruse. But then the silence is broken and she's setting down her pen with a certain deliberateness that means she's trying really hard not to stab things with it. "Really?" she demands.
Again the heel clicking stops, and again V'teri turns to salute the woman with his ale glass. This time, however, he accords her with actual words, a bemused affirmation to her question, "Really." Those gray eyes of his gleam with a mix of appreciation and humor. "What's a woman like you doing indoors on a day like this?" He leans backwards on his bar stool, catching himself from falling completely by anchoring that ale mug against the upturned rim of the bar itself.
"Working," answers Tiriana, and she slides a couple of stools closer, her work left where it is. "Unlike all you mid-day drunks. If it's such a nice day, there's no reason for you to be in here pestering those of us who have better things to do, now is there?"
There's a dubious shade to V'teri's gaze as he flicks it quickly off of Tiriana to the so-called work she's supposedly doing. From there, those slate eyes veer to his surroundings and then to his ale glass, as if ascertaining some fact to himself, before dropping back to Tiriana with a telling little arc of his brow. Now it's his turn to go, "Really?"
And that's all Tiriana can take, apparently. Responsible grown-up Tiriana must be on hiatus today, because she eyes the leaning bronzerider for just one more moment, then kicks a boot out to try to knock over his precariously tilted perch.
Not expecting such an action, V'teri's half-turned, mid-sip, when Tiriana's boot finds a leg of his stool and kicks it over. Flailing, in what must be a rather comical spectacle, the bronzerider can't hook his ale glass to the bar fast enough before tipping over. And yes, the remnant ale pours all over his face even as his back lands with a resounding smack against the stone floor. His grunt of pain is belated as the shock of it all has to sink in before a vocal response can emit. Perhaps the bystanders know better than to get involved. It is Tiriana, after all. Too bad no one warned V'teri.
Tiriana pronounces, "Really," with a smug little smirk. And after watching the flailing and beer-spilling and general mayhem for a moment, she steps back over to her stool and her work like nothing just happened. Take that.
Not only is he soaked and smelling like day old alcoholic bread, he might have also pulled a muscle or broken something, as evidenced by another groan that elicits a wince on his square features. And still, no one attempts to help the poor guy out. Heartless bastards. So, very slowly V'teri starts to collect himself, pulling himself up to his bottom at least, very slowly which then draws forth a very unmanly whimper. "Remind me," he manages to grunt out, "Never to get on your bad side."
"Little late for that," points out Tiriana, glancing sideways at him as he hauls himself up. She picks up her pen again, though she toys with it more than actually signs anything. "Good advice for handling most Weyrwomen, though you definitely picked the worst one to ignore it on. Idiot."
"Mmmmm." It's pretty obvious V'teri is no longer listening to Tiriana at all. As for hauled up? Just barely now as he's managed to lean his athletic frame against the bar, resting his back. "Don't mind me. Just gonna rest here until a healer comes by to carry me off." He rolls his neck, chin lifting just fractionally to stare up all woebegone at Tiriana, light eyes suddenly enlightened. "Ahhhh. What I hear, you're not all that scary. Got slapped around yourself when you were younger or something?"
It's a dangerous look that Tiriana gives V'teri, but at least she doesn't do anything more to him. See, maturity! "I'm not the one laying in a pool of beer on the floor," she points out, just a touch frostily. "I don't know who's been telling you lies, but /nobody/ slaps me around. Now or then."
The woebegone look turns wane, the smile deepening despite the pain he must be in from that furrowed set of his brow. V'teri merely smiles in such a fashion and turns his eyes to the ceiling. "R'hin seemed to think otherwise." A big sigh exhales. "But guess he could be wrong about the mother of his children." Another groan emits and those eyes to the ceiling close and his head tips back further into the bar's side. "Got any fellis? Could get me another beer 'least for the one you helped me spill?"
"R'hin?" Now that's a name she doesn't hear much these days, and Tiriana's eyes narrow at the mention of the former Weyrleader. "Satiet was--different," is all the explanation she'll offer on that front. "You shouldn't talk about her. Who the hell do you think you are?" His requests are ignored, of course.
"Fellis. Please?" Miserable now and unable to mask it with good humor, V'teri slants a pleading look up to the heartless woman who sits so near. "Put me outta my misery. Least you could do for wasting good ale." Or, maybe not all his good humor.
"It's not that great," counters Tiriana. "And you are a whiny little bitch, aren't you? Man up already. It's your own damn fault anyway, messing with me. Everybody else knows better--you see?" A flick of her hand takes in all the bystanders who are either staring really hard at V'teri, or pretending they haven't seem anything at all.
"Roger that." V'teri concedes. He concedes it all, with hand gestures that waves it all off. He almost sounds glum now. Silence. Except. He starts whistling softly. But in a room that's mostly empty, it tends to echo.
Too sweetly, "Next time I'm going to smash the mug over your thick skull." Tiriana does not look at V'teri at all, instead staring far too intently at her own work and tapping the pen on the paper a couple of times.
The whistling stops. Blissful silence for Tiriana. With no distractions now to keep him from thinking of his back, V'teri's breathing might start getting a little louder due to its shallow, ragged out and intake.
Okay, time to throw down. Again, Tiriana's pen is set down purposefully, and she swivels to look at V'teri. "Okay, who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Dying," is V'teri's earnest, but possibly touched with just the slightest hint of sarcasm, response.
"Good," and Tiriana reaches to gather up all her stuff in one big messy bundle tucked under an arm. "Good day." And she stands up, turning to head to the door.
Tiriana's departure gets its very own send off. If Pern only had Star Wars, this would be her very own Imperial March, whistle-form. Now, maybe someone will help him up and carry his 5'11 dragonriding frame off to the infirmary cause he sure as hell isn't going to be able to do it himself.