Log: Where There's Smoke
It's late in the evening, the sort of time when Halsten would under ordinary circumstances be out at the Lucky Seven. Tonight, though, is evidently not that sort of a night. Tonight is a night to sprawl in a wooden chair by a fire not far from his own doorstep, occasionally poking said fire with a stick, sending sparks up into the falling dark. Some people are being sociable in their small groups--at the next firepit over, there are two middle-aged couples laughing uproariously about something or other. But Hal, for the moment, is just sitting with his stick.
It's the time of night that Ch'son would usually be lurking around the Lucky Seven as well but the bronzerider hasn't been spotted there for quite some time now. He has been spotted a time or twelve here, however, and that's where he is tonight. Here. He seems to be headed on his way out, knotless and, just now, attempting to realign the buttons on his shirt, which look like he put together in the dark, possibly drunk, as he starts making his way past Halsten's campsite.
Evidently, however unsociable Halsten is tonight, it's not enough to keep him from being friendly to passersby. "Hey, there," just the mild generic greeting, though it cuts off right about the point Ch'son gets close enough into the light to recognize. "Don't you look like a sight for sore eyes." Hal himself being dressed about as impeccably as usual, for all the sprawled posture, even his shoes barely dirty despite heels sitting in what is indisputably dirt. No wardrobe malfunctions to speak of.
Looking down at his buttons the way that he is, Ch'son doesn't entirely notice Halsten until the other man speaks. Since he does, Chaes pauses there near the trader's fire to better see what he's doing and get himself all worked out. "Aye. Ain't my usual stunnin' self, I know. Didn't mean t' go disappointin' you, though." He says it so seriously, even feigns an apologetic look, but it's all ruined after a couple moments by a grin that won't cooperate.
"You've missed one in the middle," Halsten suggests, so very helpful, even though from this angle he probably can't really ascertain that this is true. A moment more of critically narrowed eyes, then he uses his stick to nudge at the legs of one of the other chairs. "Might be easier if you had the light to see it. Just how unattractive was she, you couldn't stand to open a glow after?" There's some neck-craning and peering past the Weyrleader and off as though he might figure out just which campsite he originated in.
Ch'son glances back down and starts feeling along the line of buttons to see where he's screwed it up this time. But he gives up on them in favor of settling himself down in one of the chairs there. A moment is used to glance back the way that he'd come from and then he's shaking his head. "She weren't that bad. Little thick, maybe, but," he shrugs, "don't mind that none. She fell asleep. Didn't wanna go wakin' her up so she could stop me from goin' or nothin'."
Once Ch'son has taken a seat, Halsten's back to fire-poking. Like constantly jostling the logs around is going to improve the quality of the flames at all. Or like it really needs to be a bigger fire, anyway; nobody's going to freeze to death around here tonight. "No, understandably. Well, at least sleeping is better than talking." Little yappy hand gesture made with thumb and fingers. Then that hand drops down to fiddle in his pocket. "You want a smoke?" Since he's getting one for himself and all.
"Most anything's better 'n talkin'." Even though that would appear to be the reason that Ch'son has joined Halsten here, to partake in this talking thing for at least a little while. "If I don't gotta pay for it, sure." It's not something he's making a habit of but it's not like he's got much else to be doing or anywhere to be. "You got a bed out here? She was mostly just blankets on the ground. Don't think I could do that night after night." Especially not now that he has a quite comfy, high quality bed and mattress.
Talking to Halsten is not nearly the same thing as talking to a woman, obviously. In the generous spirit of the evening, he rolls one cigarette and offers it out to Ch'son before doing another. He lights his own off a branch stuck into the fire until it smolders. "Yeah. No. I don't do that sort of shit. Had to for too long. On the road... what, ten years? Something like. Figured I deserved a damn bed. Don't care what other people are willing to put up with."
Ch'son leans forward toward the fire after taking the proffered cigarette from the other and has it lit soon enough, careful not to set the whole thing to flames. "Nice that y' got some privacy, though. Never had too much a that till I got my own weyr," he says all casual like, kind of absently, before taking a small, experimental pull from his cigarette. He manages not to cough, at least, which is better than he did last time he smoked around the trader.
"Far as I'm concerned, one of the main points of making my own living is having decent living arrangements while I do it. But I had my time with that. Sleeping in the back of a wagon with two other guys snoring their heads off. Good times." Or not. Halsten is not particularly concerned with supervising Ch'son's tobacco use to ensure that he has a satisfactory experience. The trader's got his own to work on, and a fire to tend. "But you do have a weyr, and I presume will continue to do so long as you live. Guess something to be said for that." If not a very big something, judging by his tone.
"Everyone makes their own livin' one way or another." The way Ch'son says it suggests it's just words for the sake of saying something related to this little conversation they're sort of having. His eyes shift away from the flames to look at Halsten consideringly but he doesn't say anything else to the rest, just makes an acknowledging, affirmative sort of sound.
A slightly derisive snort, although Halsten isn't really looking at Ch'son as he does it. "Lot of folks just show up and do what they're told. Don't think that's the same thing. Or you. In your position, you could just refuse to get out of bed until that dragon of yours loses a flight and don't think they could rightly do a damned thing about it. Not really anything you did." Faint smile. "Sweet deal, though, if you can get it." A long pull on his cigarette, a relaxed exhale.
"No, it ain't nothin' I did. And I ain't ever tried t' say I deserve it. Or I'm the right person as t' be wearin' the knot around." The one he's not currently wearing. "Or that I even wanted it. But Taineth was damned near born t' lead the Weyr," if he does say so himself, "And I ain't gonna fuck it up for him if I can help it. Sure they'd all figure out a way t' get rid a me if they really wanted to, anyhow." He falls silent to slouch down further in that chair and tilt his head back after taking another pull, blowing out the smoke slowly toward the sky.
A hand is waved, dismissing all of that, or maybe just dismissing any possible objection to it. "Do I look like I care? Better you than some folks would interfere more in my business. Last I heard, you weren't raising a finger to meddle in my life." Except for that time with the punching, arguably, but if Halsten remembers that he's electing not to bring it up. He's just so comfortable in his chair. He gives the logs another prod. More sparks. That seems to bring a smile to his face for some reason. Simple pleasures.
"You're the one as brought it up," Ch'son points out, then shrugs, then falls silent to continue this slow process of smoking. All without lifting up his head. Eventually, though, "I do meddle. Have. In other business. /But./" Important but here. "The wings're my business. So y' only gotta worry about Nenita and Loe interferin' with yours." He's in no hurry to go sticking his nose in where other people don't think it belongs.
Hal takes a long drag, and grins as he blows the smoke out through his teeth. "And the wings are none of mine. Lovely lack of overlap. Well, Nenita doesn't seem inclined to be bothersome. And Loe--well, don't see her coming around much now. Freedom is a beautiful thing. Considerably more profit in it than in the alternative, for one thing, I'll tell you that right now." Pointing at Ch'son with two fingers, the cigarette still between them.
Ch'son lifts his head long enough to glance at Halsten, eyes narrowing slightly as he considers the other man. Possibly a little more dramatically than is really necessary. "Freedom means different things t' different folks. Suppose I ain't ever gonna be free, really, not of the Weyr. But I can go wherever I like. Tell my riders what they oughta be doin'." There's a slight emphasis on the 'my' bit. "Seems free enough t' me. More'n I'd have if I hadn't found Taineth." Boy, he's just downright chatty tonight.
"Whatever floats your proverbial boat." As the cigarette goes back to his lips, Hal's free hand makes a little wave gesture with the free hand. "Different strokes and all that business. If it's a priority, you make your own way. If it's not, well, guess you don't. Y'know, you want any more of this stuff..." The cigarette, presumably. "Just let me know. Just a small favor between friends." The word 'friends' has something pat to it, not quite genuine.
"They say I'm an asshole." This kind of comes out of the blue from Ch'son. It doesn't even relate very well to the conversation at hand. "You'd think it might help us get on a little better, aye? But I still don't think I like y' none." He takes a long pull from his cigarette, then holds it out to get a good look at it as he breathes out the smoke. "Think I'll stick t' the one vice." Just one! "But thanks."
Innocent eyebrows incline. "Which one would that be, then? The alcohol, the fat chick or the being an asshole?" Hal's just inquiring to be polite! Really! "But suit yourself. I'll take that as a compliment. I must be the nice one." He flicks what remains of his cig out into the fire to let it burn up completely, and hauls himself out of his chair, stepping off into the darker shadows for a moment to come back with a bucket. "You're welcome to hang out for awhile, but I gotta get to bed. Water, to put the fire out." In the bucket. "You mind?"
The bronzerider offers some small little bit of acknowledgement in the form of a grunt. It sounds both slightly amused and slightly incredulous. But he doesn't seem to have any major issues with Halsten abandoning him in the name of sleep. "Suppose not," he decides in response to the last and makes no move to look like he'll be getting on his way anytime in the near future.
The metal bucket is left where Ch'son can get to it easily, in the name of not inadvertently burning down the whole trading camp and Halsten with it while he sleeps, no doubt. "Great. 'Night, then." Cheery enough, but Hal's not going to linger about his goodbyes; once the bucket's dropped with a thud in the dirt, he turns and heads off towards his own tent, the light inside a faint glow around the tent flap for awhile yet before it goes out.