LOG: A Basis In Truth
Date: Day 11, Month 8, Turn 26
Location: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Summer evenings involve booze. Sometimes.
Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.
It's the end of another lovely summer day in the 'Reaches, the turning earth sending the sun dipping below the horizon. Out on the Garden Patio Ledge, a varied collection of people have taken up residence in clusters and pairs, enjoying the fine weather - not to mention each other's company. Amidst them, K'del is lingering with his legs stretched out long in front of him, a beer in one hand; he's just farewelling a rider of a similar age, the brownrider sauntering off towards the bowl with the faintly wobbly steps of one who might well have spent rather a long time in the bar, today.
After a day spent running between the feeding pens and kitchens, Nat makes her way up to the patio just off the Snowasis, the dark rusty looking stains on her apron still a little damp. She makes her way up the steps, offering a respectful nod to the riders she passes, before finding an empty spot and placing the order for her usual bottle. It's as she's leaning back, looking over the sunset painted bowl that she recognizes the Weyrleader, and offers a polite wave in his general direction.
Lost in his own thoughts, K'del doesn't notice Nathalia's arrival and what follows; indeed, he'd likely miss that wave, too, if the motion didn't catch the corner of his gaze. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes against the sunset glare, letting a moment pass before he actually tips his head into an easy enough nod. Gaze dropping, his attention turns back to the half-drunk beer in his hand, which he sips from with the idle enjoyment of one who is very much not at work, right now.
Bottle arriving, Nathalia seems to be content for the moment to enjoy the peace, well as peaceful as a place like the Garden Patio could get any way. She doesn't seem the least bit bothered by going unnoticed, more used to it of late. Still, there is something about the scene that causes her to smile. "Am I to assume then Weyrleader that the dust has finally settled over Reaches?" She calls over with an easy smile. "You seem to be enjoying a bit of peace for a change."
S'thyn, or Kurdy, or Jimal, or Seth or... whatever name he might be recognized by, strolls out of the Snowasis. He has a cup of dice in one hand, and slip of paper in the other. He's been tailed by one of the older weyr kids -- carrying a pitcher of ale and glasses. "Hm. In the sun, I think. Right there," Seth gestures towards the table next to K'del's, and the weyrkid sets everything down, then holds out his hand. "Spend it wisely, kid," Seth says, handing over the paper and watching the weyrbrat disappear with a low chuckle.
Again, it takes K'del rather more time that is strictly necessary to turn his attention towards Nathalia - which is no slight to her: it rather seems that the Weyrleader is lost in his own thoughts, his own relaxation. When he /does/ glance back, he's got a rueful little smile in place, one that only twists slightly as he says, "Even the biggest storms have gentle eyes, I'm afraid." If he intends to say more, he's distracted from it, gaze flicking towards S'thyn as the greenrider arrives.
As uncultured as she is, she pops off the cork and takes a slow sip of the rum, savoring the too familiar taste, who needed things like glasses any way? It's with amusement that she observes Kurdy/Jimal's entry to the bar, the woman's mouth slants in a crooked smile. At K'del's response though she nods a bit slowly and thoughtfully. "That may be quite true sir, but at least you got a little bit of what you wanted from the hatching." Well the Islanders seemed to be adjusting from what little she'd seen of Rhaelyn. "I suppose we should just be thankful for those calm bits though, otherwise we might drown in the coming maelstrom." Grabbing her bottle she moves to a spot where she can converse more easily, and put her feet up on an opposing chair. "So which is it, Kurdy of Igen hold or Jimal of Bitra?" she finally asks of S'thyn, that amused smile widening just a tiny bit.
S'thyn takes his time pouring a glass of ale, taking an appreciative sip, before he tips the dice out onto the table in front of him. He studies them for a beat, then picks them up, shaking them in his hand, then rolls them. This continues for some time, and seems to garner his fixed attention, almost like he's making note of every roll in his head. The conversation nearby garners his attention, and it's met with a roll of his eyes. "I hadn't realized I'd chosen to sit in the 'waxing philosophic' section of the patio. I'm a little rusty but--" he clears his throat, before proclaiming: "'Birds rise from the water, the droplets falling in the direction from which trouble will come next.'" He even accompanies it with a little flourish for good measure. Nathalia's question of him earns a shrug of shoulders and an unworried grin. "Which do you prefer?"
Brows raised, K'del's remark is mild: "Did I?" His gaze flickers towards Nathalia's bottle, a definite frown lingering around his brows, though he doesn't - audibly - remark on it. Besides, there's S'thyn's contribution to the conversation to consider, and to do so, the young bronzerider swings his gaze around to regard the other man, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, well done. Not sure I could come up with something that-- bullshitty, not right off the top of my head like that."
If she notes the frown lingering, she blatantly ignores it, savoring another long drink. She gives a cool laugh for the green rider's assessment of the conversation. "You sound like a Harper, perhaps you should add that to your list of Identities." She studies from afar those dice with mild interest, and laughs at the K'del's comment. When she does answer though, its with the sweetness of subtle sarcasm. "Well Jimal does roll off the tongue better I suppose, I never could remember Kirby." Oh yes she got it wrong on purpose, judging from that grin. "I would prefer the truth, though to be honest. If you prefer I won't even alert that Island girl you were discussing with at the gather." Another beat and a drink from that bottle.
S'thyn reaches for his glass of ale with his left hand, while absently shaking the dice in his right hand as if it's an unconscious gesture. It's the Weyrleader's latter comment that earns a deep-throated chuckle, "Oh. Well said, Weyrleader. That, I think, deserves a drink." He leans to pour a second glass of ale, and refusal or not, leans over to set the glass on the table near K'del's shoulder. "I spent a lot of time with the nomads. Now there's a bunch of people who are expert bullshitters. Bet they could talk you out of your dragon, if they tried." There seems to be an undertone of respect in the rider's voice, rare as that may be. Nathalia's suggestion earns a snort. "A harper? Wouldn't do that if you paid me. Besides, I'd never be able to keep up the pretense they manage, that they're doing all their skulking and spying for the good of Pern." His hand waves that thought away dismissively. "Jimal, then," he settles for, with a knowing grin of lips, glance flickering towards K'del as if watching expectantly -- since the Weyrleader, at least, knows just /who/ he is.
Given K'del's drink is most of the way drunk, and the bar is - well, not here, he seems pleased enough to accept S'thyn's ale, dipping his head forward to the greenrider in an easy gesture of thanks. Perhaps it's the drink that encourages him to play the greenrider's game - or perhaps it's simply the balmy evening. Regardless, as he reaches to take the drink up, he lifts it towards the pair of them, his drinking companions, and says, only, "Jimal, then. And Nat. Who can drink as much as she likes as long as," and his gaze lingers for just a moment or two too long on the girl, "she can pay for it all, later."
Nathalia says, "No I think you could probably keep up with even the Harpers at this point." It was an old game, one she'd been playing since she'd met 'Jimal' though there's an odd quirk of her mouth. "So long as I may call you Mal for short then, I don't give a damn who you are." She lifts her bottle to that before letting her gaze linger on K'del a moment, considering what he might be implying. "While I may have been booted from the hall I do have what is left of my savings and most of the money I won from hatching bets. When that's gone I will probably just trade company for drinks. They did already put me to work in the kitchens, studying under the old butcher." Whether or not she is joking about the company is hard to tell, but she still is smiling at least. "Don't worry about me possibly being a drain on the weyrs resources. Or playing the part of a petty thief.""'
S'thyn's grin deepens as K'del plays along, looking particularly pleased. He, too, raises his glass and takes a gulp. "Free ale tastes so much better than normal ale," he says, though it's hard to tell whether that's in direct response to the Weyrleader's comment of Nathalia, or in reference to his own pitcher of ale. A twitch of shoulders seems to be unconcerned acceptance of the new nickname bestowed on him. "Do I /look/ like I want to save the world?" He snorts, clearly amused at the notion, then leans in, mock-whispering, "They only do it so they can write a song about it after, you know."
K'del's snort is an amused one, postponing a response to Nathalia so that he can put in to the rest of the conversation a firm, "Pretty sure saving the world is overrated. Better for everyone if there's no saving needed, and they just make up their songs and stories to keep us happy. Know /I'd/ rather be safe at home with a drink and a girl; much happier." Despite the light-heartedness of that remark, there's no question about the flicker of concern that registers in his expression as he turns back to Nathalia, though all he does is nod, just once, before he busies himself with another swig of his drink.
Nathalia nods about free ale, and his comments on harpers earn a deep laugh from the now butcher. "Why yes, you know Mal I think your probably right." She does grin at the rider, "No sorry nothing about you screams to me 'hero' but then again, those songs are just songs." For K'del's contribution there's a little huff and a nod. "Happier indeed." That bottle gets lifted again but the sips are smaller as she's finally reached a comfortable level of intoxication and simply wants to maintain it.
S'thyn purses his lips for a moment in thought. "According to the ballads, you're destined to do it at least once. Hazards of the job," he says, with an almost apologetic shrug of shoulders directed K'del-wards. "Heck, they might've already composed something about you valiantly and single-handedly rescuing those poor wronged exiles or something." Given the relaxed nature of the conversation it's probably not the best subject to bring up, but no one ever accused him of being a diplomat. He's still rolling those dice around in his right hand -- half leaning over to talk with K'del and Nathalia, since he's settled himself, and his pitcher of ale, at the next table over. "Songs always have a basis in truth, though. Otherwise we'd have songs about children impressing firelizards and flying away to a magical land with flying runners and one-armed evildoers."
"Faranth," says K'del, with a disgruntlement that is at least partially put on. "Not sure I want my children and their children growing up with songs about the teenaged Weyrleader who could." Or something. "Perhaps I'd better fail spectacularly at everything, forever, and fade away into obscurity." He stretches out his long legs further, booted feet arching towards the last of the sun as it disappears beyond the rim. "Reckon my kids'd love songs about children and firelizards and whatever else that was. More than exiles, anyway." At least, for now, actual reference to the islanders only draws a shift of his shoulders - for now, the weyrleader still seems /mostly/ relaxed.
Nathalia says, "Oh I am sure there's going to be songs about our brave and fearless leader. No doubt they will exaggerate the tails of his good looks and his /other/ exploits." She teases, "Yes here's to the valiant Teenager who could." She laughs lifting the bottle again. "Oh your children will be fine, just make sure no one sings the more risqu ones till they are a proper age, otherwise young boys might get Ideas." As for magical lands with flying runners, Nathalia just shakes her head. "Oh sure there's some truth, but there's also a lot of pretty words added I am sure.""
The Snowasis is the perfect place to cultivate an addiction, though Azaylia's tastes tend to differ from the usual patrons. Despite the managable size of the cump, the Apprentice uses both hands to hold it near her chest, elbows tucked in tight to avoid bumping anyone. Unsure steps bring her to the ledge, led by the slowly shrinking shaft of light that had managed to slip into the connected bar. The tall girl pauses, eyes taking in the repurposed ledge with something akin to awe, even more so as she recognizes a certain rider. "Oh. Is this part only for important people?" Her quiet question sounds plausible to her own ears, and a step is taken back. Surely a place this nice isn't for everyone, right?
S'thyn refills his own glass, then leans forward to offer the same duty to K'del -- then after a hesitation, Nathalia, as well. "Do you think the Weyrwoman would let you? Failing spectacularly is a two-pronged affair, after all," he observes with a wry twist of lips. As to the talk of tales, "Huh. I would've thought an island of stowaways would be the stuff of fascinated legends. Seems the tales have spread all across Pern already, after all. Just waiting for the official version of the harpers, at this stage." Azaylia's arrival, and question, earn a surprised cough. "Hardly. Well, not in my case. I'm just an itinerant from Ista, after all." He defers to K'del with an elaborate gesture.
K'del accepts the refill with a pleasant smile and yet another head-bob of thanks, laughing as he does so. "No, I imagine she'd have my head on a stake outside her weyr before /that/ happened-- and then /she'd/ definitely be the stuff of legends." To Nathalia, his remark is lazy, but not unamused: "You wound me! Is it truly possible to exaggerate my good-- oh, hello, Azaylia." For good or bad, her arrival distracts him from what what he was saying, and, instead, he waves her over: "Join us. If you'd like."
Nathalia accepts the ale with a grateful smile for 'Mal' There's a roar of a laugh though for the words 'important people,' and she nods in agreement with Mal/S'thyn. "I just work in the kitchens." She does nod in agreement though, "Yes there's plenty of room for more, the more the merrier!" She takes a slow small sip of that ale.
Azaylia forces herself to wait where she is for an answer, though the weight clearly settles on the ball of her back foot. Prepared for a speedy spin and retreat, naturally. A small smile does it's best to appear, combating nerves as she decides to accept the invitation. Her steps come to a startling stop at Nathalia's sudden laughter, cup nearly spilling from her hands as the apprentice manages to fumble and keep it steady. "Ah, I just work the stables." She echoes, picking a spot at random, doing her best not to invade anyone's space too thoroughly. "I'm Azaylia." She gets that out of the way right then, burying her face into her cup quickly afterwards.
S'thyn clucks his tongue, a little sympathetically, then advises K'del, "I'd start sleeping with a neck brace if I were you. Just in case." The click of the dice within his hand is audible as he shakes them, spilling them out on his table a couple more times before taking another gulp of ale. He reaches for the pitcher again, pouring another glass, offering to Azaylia. "Price of entry," he says, as if to head off any refusal. "I'm Mal," he says, adopting the nickname he's been given with far-too-smooth aplomb.
Amused, albeit with a twist of ruefulness, K'del's response to S'thyn is, "I wouldn't be the first one she'd put into one of those things unwilling." But for now-- well, the summer evening is warm, and the Weyrwoman is nowhere to be seen. Nor, for that matter, is spectacular failure. For now. "We're all just people here, right about now," he puts in to the rest of the conversation. "Whatever we do when we're not here. Just people, enjoying the evening - right?"
Azaylia gets a smile from Nat, "I am Nat, Well met." Introductions out of the way she nods in agreement with K'del, "Yep, just enjoying the evening, a few drinks, and entertaining company." She settles on an appropriate word. "I have to tell you though; I admire anyone who can handle those dratted runners."
"I can't." Azaylia squeaks in response to Mal, holding her cup a bit closer and tilting it to revea the mystery drink as a smoothie. "I'm not allowed to drink." An Apprentice after all, she still minds her manners and thanks him for his offer, mumbled though it is. Lips curling into a friendly smile, aims it first at K'del for his invite, and then Nathalia as she's addressed. "Dratted? Oh no, the runners here are darlings." Azaylia insists, nodding her head once, "You just need to know how to understand them." Though the talk of neckbraces, "Is someone mad at you, Weyrleader?"
S'thyn winces expressively at K'del's words. "Point -- and warning -- well taken." At Azaylia's refusal, he frowns, considering her a moment. "Of course you are. The Weyrleader just said we're just people. Not what we do. That's tacit approval." And if he blithely takes the Weyrleader's words in vein, well, the man in question can correct him soon enough. For now, however, he simply nudges the glass closer to the apprentice, then leans back to watch.
Blithely; "Oh, the Weyrwoman, probably. But there's nothing to worry about - truly." He's moved weyrs. No more murder! K'del stretches out again, then draws his legs back to tangle with the legs of his chair, taking a long deep drink from his glass before he adds, partly to S'thyn, but partly, too, to the group as large, "She's not always that bad. But she can be. Best not to get on her bad side. I won't tell, Azaylia," with a bob of his head towards the apprentice, "if you want to give in, this once. Just one drink couldn't hurt, surely?"
Nathalia nods firmly at the drinking bit. "Apprentice beast crafter then?" She strings the information all together, but not before Mal gets a very dirty look at the words approval. "Trust me on this, if you love your craft, stick to the smoothie, and ignore whatever Mal suggests that might get you into trouble." There would be no more promising careers thrown away on Nathalia's watch. "One drink might not hurt, but. . ." She offers no end to that statement. "Don't feel pressured if you don't want to do it?" She ammends, before taking a long gulp of her own ale. It could be a slippery slope.
Azaylia leans forward to place her cup on the table, chilled hands rubbed dry on the tops of her trousers. "I still haven't met the Weyrwoman." As far as she knows. "Senior, I mean. I've met Lujayn." Mal earns an unsure glance, K'del's encouragement brings her hand to the glass. Quiet rationalization is offered to Nathalia, "I do love being a beastcrafter, but... a taste won't hurt?" Lips pursed gently as she tips the glass, a visible shudder runs down her spine. Her face collapses in on itself and the glass is promptly placed back down, tongue hopelessly rubbed against her top lip. "...no thank you." Shudderugh.
Mal, or S'thyn, whoever, he appears immune to dirty looks. He probably gets them all the time, so they're like water off a... water bird's back. "Apprentices are allowed to drink. They're just not supposed to get drunk," he says, in a kind of exasperated way. "Hardly be fair to have them attend a gather or a hatching and not even be able to toast, after all." The talk of Tiriana earns a musing roll or two of his dice, before he comments: "Can't say as I've ever had the pleasure of meeting the Weyrwoman, but you hear enough stories, and--" he trails off, chuckling. "Reckon you should get danger pay," he suggests to K'del, grinning at the thought. Azaylia's obvious dislike of the drink earns drop of his expression, as if he takes the refusal personal. "You don't like it? Maybe it was just the foam on top."
K'del swallows back a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he says, "Lujayn's the nicest of them; if she's the only one you've met, Azaylia, you picked the right one. Tiriana and Teris can be-- prickly. In different ways." Iolene, evidently, doesn't count just yet. "Danger pay, though; there's merit to /that/. Wonder if I can slip that through…" Sympathy floods his expression for Azaylia's obvious distaste for the drink, but not without an easy twitch of amusement. "Stick to your own drink, then. One of these days, we'll find something you like, properly. S-- Mal's right, for once. Can't think they'd object to a /little/ bit."
Nathalianotes before frowning deeply as the girl appeared to cave to peer pressure. It melts away all to quickly when she sees that face. There's a chortle, but there's a shake of her head for Mal. "It isn't like I lost my apprenticeship for nothing." She mutters under her breath, though possibly too low for anyone to make out anything of what she said. Her ale gone, she returns rather pointedly to that rum bottle, eager for a change of topic, something less personal. Lujayn's name gets a huge grin from the former smith turned butcher. "Lujayn is amazing." She beams.
Azaylia gives a quick little shake of her head for Mal's sake, occupying her hands with the smoothie from before as a silent excuse. "I'm sorry." She apologizes, sincere as ever at the fact that her disliking the peewater had any effect on Mal's expression. Once the berries and cream has washed away the bitter aftertaste, she finds her tongue loosening up as well. "I liked Lujayn. She tried to teach me and Emme and Khor- Kh'ry how to dance." Which makes her a saint in the eyes of Azaylia. Nathalia earns a glance for her mutter, the beastcrafter nudging her glass at the other girl, perhaps as a peace offering for whatever's got her frowning. "If they all taste like that," She gives K'del a weak smile, "I think I'm going to stay sober forever." And if anyone could…
"Good point. We should find something you like better," S'thyn nods his head agreeably with K'del. "Something sweet, I think." At Nathalia's mutter, his brows rise in silent inquiry. "You made your choice," he says, kind of casually throwing it out there. The talk of the goldriders doesn't particularly interest him, and he returns to rolling dice.
K'del, clearly, hasn't been keeping up on the ins and outs of former apprentices, so while his gaze flicks past Nathalia's face as she mutters, he doesn't seem entirely aware of what she's actually muttering about. More firmly, in agreement with S'thyn, he says, "A cocktail of some kind. White rum with fruit and cream-- like whatever it is you're drinking now. It'll taste nothing like this stuff, I promise." 'This stuff', of course, being the ale he downs another swallow of, cheerfully. "Lujayn's sweet, yes. Glad to hear she's been making positive impressions."
Nathalia says, "Lu's sweet, but she's tough too." There's a fond smile, she offers the girl a smile when the drink is shoved her way, as though to say 'not your fault.' She does however accept the ale. "Once you walk the tables I will be happy to introduce you to some of the better tasting ones." She grins. S-Mal is ignored, though there is a slight flinch, probably indicating that she didn't need to be told that little bit. Washing down whatever she's thinking with ale and rum seems to be the ticket at the moment."
"That does sound much better, I'll wait to see if I make Journeywoman before I think about it anymore." Azaylia accepts the kindness of strangers trying to find something much tastier to poison her body with. For now, she's happy with just overloading on sugar. Nursing her smoothie, she watches with morbid fascination as those around her actually seem to enjoy the ale. Hm. "Uh huh," On the subject of the Jr. Weyrwoman, "All the riders I've met have been very nice..." The rattle of dice draws her attention to S'Mal's hand, her head taking a curious tilt.
It appears S'thyn takes that suggestion to heart, given he scoops up his dice and pushes up onto his feet, disappearing into the Snowasis. It doesn't take long before he reappears, a cocktail glass in hand. He sets it down with a flourish in front of Azaylia before reclaiming his seat, watching her expectantly.
Listening, vaguely, to the conversations around him, K'del glances after S'thyn as the rider disappears so silently, watching vaguely for a few moments before he turns his attention back to the two women. "Hope so," he says, to Azaylia. "Rather hear, in general, that we're making positive impressions, you know?" His gaze wanders back to Nathalia, though, regarding her continued drinking with a certain amount of wariness; he bites his lip, but doesn't say anything, not until S'thyn returns, and he can /laugh/, merrily. "Oh, well done. Give /that/ one a try, Azaylia."
Nathalia looks real uncomfortable as that drink is set down, but it wasn't her problem was it? She gives the beast crafter a glance but shrugs instead. Azaylia would make her own choice. She does have something to say on the niceness of riders though, between sips. "It is good that there are more good impressions being made. I think I managed to run into every one that didn't leave a good impression when I first got to reaches." She laughs, the words slurring ever so slightly. "Careful though, depending on what's in it you may feel like a mule kicked you in the head in the morning, though usually another drink will put you right as rain." A beat. "Or lots of water and a visit to the infirmary."
Azaylia squeaks at the sight of that cocktail glass, easing backwards in her seat as if it's going to leap up and pour itself down her throat. Widened eyes flick from the drink to Mal, then back down, and all around to gauge everyone's reactions. Azaylia can't manage self-imposed pressure let alone a heaping pile brought on by her peers. Even if they're all supposed to just be people today, the Weyrleader's encouragement is the loudest and she switches her smoothie for the cocktail. Nathalia earns a nod, "I've been kicked by a mule. It was a baby, though, and only in the leg." Still, ow. No longer able to stall with tales of beast-induced injuries, Azaylia brings the glass to her lip and premptively winces. Sip. The shudder is less severe but still there, "Uhm. It'sbetter?" Guilt keeps it glued to her hand, glancing at Mal and forcing another sip.
"One drink is hardly hangover material." S'thyn says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. At least, certainly not for him. Yeah, he's watching Azaylia avidly, and lets out a pleased exhale of breath at her positive -- if tentative -- reaction. "Good, good. I would hate to be the one responsible for turning you off alcohol for your entire life. /That/ is not a burden I wish to bear," he says, overly dramatic, glance sliding away to resume rolling of the dice once more.
"Maybe it's time for you to stop, now, Nat? Seems as though you're more likely to end up with a hangover than Azaylia here." Again, K'del spares a concerned glance for the former smithcrafter, glancing briefly at the bottle in front of her, not to mention the ale. For all his concern, however, he can't help but smile at Azaylia's reaction to the cocktail. "Progress, anyway. Plenty of options, yet; I promise, though, we've no intention of getting you drunk. It's simply-- a nice way to spend an afternoon."
Nathalia keeps on her bottle, though the crafter's shudder is enough evidence for the girl to lean over and whisper to Azaylia. "Don't force yourself to drink it if you don't like it. Ok?" There is a reassuring smile for the crafter and an eye roll at Mr. Overdramatic accompanied by a laugh. She does pause at K'del's statement, and there is several beats of silence. She doesn't stop out right, but she slows down considerably. If there was ever a reason to /not/ drink Nat had probably gotten very close to becoming a prime example. "I won't feel a thing in the morning Sir, honest." She states slowly, defending her actions despite the fact that she is fully aware that he is right. Stopping that was the difficult part. She purposefully avoids looking him in the eye.
Azaylia deflates after the rider's exhale, pressure easing off her shoulders some. "Oh, no. This is much better." She exaggerates just a bit in order to spare Mal's feelings, large mouthful followed by a quick swallow. ..only 3 or so more to go. "And as long as I'm not breaking any rules..." The apprentice gives in with a smile, happy to be included by the others. Nathalia's whisper has her giving a little shake of her head, honestly not minding the task of emptying her glass. "I know, I didn't think you were trying to get me in trouble." 'Cause if you can't trust the Weyrleader, then who?
"Maybe we can make it a regular thing. Once a seven, we'll try something new. We take turns picking the drink, if it's good, we pay ourselves -- if it's bad, the person who picked has to pay." This is a drinking game S'thyn cannot lose, hence why he seems so animated about the idea all of a sudden.
K'del is pretty good, these days, at picking up when people aren't being honest with him. Well. Sometimes. His gaze lingers on Nathalia, and his head shakes. "If that's the truth, then I'm sorry for you." It's blunt, and seems to distract his attention away from happier topics - and even his own drink. A sweeping gaze takes in the other two, but after a moment, he rises, drawing himself up to his full height. "If you'll all excuse me?"
Azaylia gets a meaningful look, but Nat doesn't say much else. She's even mute to S'thyn/Mal's suggestion though from her expression she doesn't like the thought at the moment. "They do kick apprentices out of the Craft for drinking, though how often you're allowed to or if it is simply drunk rule varies from craft to craft." She slurs slightly but evidently, practice and concentration keep the words clear. "I would check with your Craft Master first and get the guidelines you should be following." That's definitely a blush of shame that colors her face though when K'del speaks, and she nods at the statement, blunt as it is it's the truth. "Have a good evening sir." She manages before sinking into silence.
Azaylia tries to stem the flow of Mal's enthusiasm, smile taking on a sheepish squint. "Ah, I don't make that much..." Not to mention once a sevenday sounds a bit excessive to the Apprentice. As K'del stands, she ceases her sipping and straightens up, "Oh. Of course. Have a nice night, Weyrleader." The feeling that she's missed something weighs heavily in her gut, quickly doused by the remains of her cocktail. Twitch. The bottom is particularly bitter. Azaylia bites her lower lip gently, a look of discomfort and worry prompted by Nathalia's warning. "I don't... think I'll make this a habit." She does her best to appease, one hand rubbing the opposite arm nervously.
"Oh. That's way too many rules and regulations for my taste," S'thyn says, holding his hands up as if to ward off any more quotes. And, as K'del rises, he does, too. "Hold up -- I'll walk back across the bowl with you." He says, scooping up his dice and shoving them into a pocket. "Do you ever have occasion to play dice...?" he can be heard asking as he steps away.
K'del's gaze passes from Nathalia to Azaylia and then back again as he takes his lead. As he and S'thyn disappear, his answer floats back: "On occasion. Perhaps, sometime--" And then they're gone.
Location: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Summer evenings involve booze. Sometimes.
Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.
It's the end of another lovely summer day in the 'Reaches, the turning earth sending the sun dipping below the horizon. Out on the Garden Patio Ledge, a varied collection of people have taken up residence in clusters and pairs, enjoying the fine weather - not to mention each other's company. Amidst them, K'del is lingering with his legs stretched out long in front of him, a beer in one hand; he's just farewelling a rider of a similar age, the brownrider sauntering off towards the bowl with the faintly wobbly steps of one who might well have spent rather a long time in the bar, today.
After a day spent running between the feeding pens and kitchens, Nat makes her way up to the patio just off the Snowasis, the dark rusty looking stains on her apron still a little damp. She makes her way up the steps, offering a respectful nod to the riders she passes, before finding an empty spot and placing the order for her usual bottle. It's as she's leaning back, looking over the sunset painted bowl that she recognizes the Weyrleader, and offers a polite wave in his general direction.
Lost in his own thoughts, K'del doesn't notice Nathalia's arrival and what follows; indeed, he'd likely miss that wave, too, if the motion didn't catch the corner of his gaze. He lifts a hand to shade his eyes against the sunset glare, letting a moment pass before he actually tips his head into an easy enough nod. Gaze dropping, his attention turns back to the half-drunk beer in his hand, which he sips from with the idle enjoyment of one who is very much not at work, right now.
Bottle arriving, Nathalia seems to be content for the moment to enjoy the peace, well as peaceful as a place like the Garden Patio could get any way. She doesn't seem the least bit bothered by going unnoticed, more used to it of late. Still, there is something about the scene that causes her to smile. "Am I to assume then Weyrleader that the dust has finally settled over Reaches?" She calls over with an easy smile. "You seem to be enjoying a bit of peace for a change."
S'thyn, or Kurdy, or Jimal, or Seth or... whatever name he might be recognized by, strolls out of the Snowasis. He has a cup of dice in one hand, and slip of paper in the other. He's been tailed by one of the older weyr kids -- carrying a pitcher of ale and glasses. "Hm. In the sun, I think. Right there," Seth gestures towards the table next to K'del's, and the weyrkid sets everything down, then holds out his hand. "Spend it wisely, kid," Seth says, handing over the paper and watching the weyrbrat disappear with a low chuckle.
Again, it takes K'del rather more time that is strictly necessary to turn his attention towards Nathalia - which is no slight to her: it rather seems that the Weyrleader is lost in his own thoughts, his own relaxation. When he /does/ glance back, he's got a rueful little smile in place, one that only twists slightly as he says, "Even the biggest storms have gentle eyes, I'm afraid." If he intends to say more, he's distracted from it, gaze flicking towards S'thyn as the greenrider arrives.
As uncultured as she is, she pops off the cork and takes a slow sip of the rum, savoring the too familiar taste, who needed things like glasses any way? It's with amusement that she observes Kurdy/Jimal's entry to the bar, the woman's mouth slants in a crooked smile. At K'del's response though she nods a bit slowly and thoughtfully. "That may be quite true sir, but at least you got a little bit of what you wanted from the hatching." Well the Islanders seemed to be adjusting from what little she'd seen of Rhaelyn. "I suppose we should just be thankful for those calm bits though, otherwise we might drown in the coming maelstrom." Grabbing her bottle she moves to a spot where she can converse more easily, and put her feet up on an opposing chair. "So which is it, Kurdy of Igen hold or Jimal of Bitra?" she finally asks of S'thyn, that amused smile widening just a tiny bit.
S'thyn takes his time pouring a glass of ale, taking an appreciative sip, before he tips the dice out onto the table in front of him. He studies them for a beat, then picks them up, shaking them in his hand, then rolls them. This continues for some time, and seems to garner his fixed attention, almost like he's making note of every roll in his head. The conversation nearby garners his attention, and it's met with a roll of his eyes. "I hadn't realized I'd chosen to sit in the 'waxing philosophic' section of the patio. I'm a little rusty but--" he clears his throat, before proclaiming: "'Birds rise from the water, the droplets falling in the direction from which trouble will come next.'" He even accompanies it with a little flourish for good measure. Nathalia's question of him earns a shrug of shoulders and an unworried grin. "Which do you prefer?"
Brows raised, K'del's remark is mild: "Did I?" His gaze flickers towards Nathalia's bottle, a definite frown lingering around his brows, though he doesn't - audibly - remark on it. Besides, there's S'thyn's contribution to the conversation to consider, and to do so, the young bronzerider swings his gaze around to regard the other man, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, well done. Not sure I could come up with something that-- bullshitty, not right off the top of my head like that."
If she notes the frown lingering, she blatantly ignores it, savoring another long drink. She gives a cool laugh for the green rider's assessment of the conversation. "You sound like a Harper, perhaps you should add that to your list of Identities." She studies from afar those dice with mild interest, and laughs at the K'del's comment. When she does answer though, its with the sweetness of subtle sarcasm. "Well Jimal does roll off the tongue better I suppose, I never could remember Kirby." Oh yes she got it wrong on purpose, judging from that grin. "I would prefer the truth, though to be honest. If you prefer I won't even alert that Island girl you were discussing with at the gather." Another beat and a drink from that bottle.
S'thyn reaches for his glass of ale with his left hand, while absently shaking the dice in his right hand as if it's an unconscious gesture. It's the Weyrleader's latter comment that earns a deep-throated chuckle, "Oh. Well said, Weyrleader. That, I think, deserves a drink." He leans to pour a second glass of ale, and refusal or not, leans over to set the glass on the table near K'del's shoulder. "I spent a lot of time with the nomads. Now there's a bunch of people who are expert bullshitters. Bet they could talk you out of your dragon, if they tried." There seems to be an undertone of respect in the rider's voice, rare as that may be. Nathalia's suggestion earns a snort. "A harper? Wouldn't do that if you paid me. Besides, I'd never be able to keep up the pretense they manage, that they're doing all their skulking and spying for the good of Pern." His hand waves that thought away dismissively. "Jimal, then," he settles for, with a knowing grin of lips, glance flickering towards K'del as if watching expectantly -- since the Weyrleader, at least, knows just /who/ he is.
Given K'del's drink is most of the way drunk, and the bar is - well, not here, he seems pleased enough to accept S'thyn's ale, dipping his head forward to the greenrider in an easy gesture of thanks. Perhaps it's the drink that encourages him to play the greenrider's game - or perhaps it's simply the balmy evening. Regardless, as he reaches to take the drink up, he lifts it towards the pair of them, his drinking companions, and says, only, "Jimal, then. And Nat. Who can drink as much as she likes as long as," and his gaze lingers for just a moment or two too long on the girl, "she can pay for it all, later."
Nathalia says, "No I think you could probably keep up with even the Harpers at this point." It was an old game, one she'd been playing since she'd met 'Jimal' though there's an odd quirk of her mouth. "So long as I may call you Mal for short then, I don't give a damn who you are." She lifts her bottle to that before letting her gaze linger on K'del a moment, considering what he might be implying. "While I may have been booted from the hall I do have what is left of my savings and most of the money I won from hatching bets. When that's gone I will probably just trade company for drinks. They did already put me to work in the kitchens, studying under the old butcher." Whether or not she is joking about the company is hard to tell, but she still is smiling at least. "Don't worry about me possibly being a drain on the weyrs resources. Or playing the part of a petty thief.""'
S'thyn's grin deepens as K'del plays along, looking particularly pleased. He, too, raises his glass and takes a gulp. "Free ale tastes so much better than normal ale," he says, though it's hard to tell whether that's in direct response to the Weyrleader's comment of Nathalia, or in reference to his own pitcher of ale. A twitch of shoulders seems to be unconcerned acceptance of the new nickname bestowed on him. "Do I /look/ like I want to save the world?" He snorts, clearly amused at the notion, then leans in, mock-whispering, "They only do it so they can write a song about it after, you know."
K'del's snort is an amused one, postponing a response to Nathalia so that he can put in to the rest of the conversation a firm, "Pretty sure saving the world is overrated. Better for everyone if there's no saving needed, and they just make up their songs and stories to keep us happy. Know /I'd/ rather be safe at home with a drink and a girl; much happier." Despite the light-heartedness of that remark, there's no question about the flicker of concern that registers in his expression as he turns back to Nathalia, though all he does is nod, just once, before he busies himself with another swig of his drink.
Nathalia nods about free ale, and his comments on harpers earn a deep laugh from the now butcher. "Why yes, you know Mal I think your probably right." She does grin at the rider, "No sorry nothing about you screams to me 'hero' but then again, those songs are just songs." For K'del's contribution there's a little huff and a nod. "Happier indeed." That bottle gets lifted again but the sips are smaller as she's finally reached a comfortable level of intoxication and simply wants to maintain it.
S'thyn purses his lips for a moment in thought. "According to the ballads, you're destined to do it at least once. Hazards of the job," he says, with an almost apologetic shrug of shoulders directed K'del-wards. "Heck, they might've already composed something about you valiantly and single-handedly rescuing those poor wronged exiles or something." Given the relaxed nature of the conversation it's probably not the best subject to bring up, but no one ever accused him of being a diplomat. He's still rolling those dice around in his right hand -- half leaning over to talk with K'del and Nathalia, since he's settled himself, and his pitcher of ale, at the next table over. "Songs always have a basis in truth, though. Otherwise we'd have songs about children impressing firelizards and flying away to a magical land with flying runners and one-armed evildoers."
"Faranth," says K'del, with a disgruntlement that is at least partially put on. "Not sure I want my children and their children growing up with songs about the teenaged Weyrleader who could." Or something. "Perhaps I'd better fail spectacularly at everything, forever, and fade away into obscurity." He stretches out his long legs further, booted feet arching towards the last of the sun as it disappears beyond the rim. "Reckon my kids'd love songs about children and firelizards and whatever else that was. More than exiles, anyway." At least, for now, actual reference to the islanders only draws a shift of his shoulders - for now, the weyrleader still seems /mostly/ relaxed.
Nathalia says, "Oh I am sure there's going to be songs about our brave and fearless leader. No doubt they will exaggerate the tails of his good looks and his /other/ exploits." She teases, "Yes here's to the valiant Teenager who could." She laughs lifting the bottle again. "Oh your children will be fine, just make sure no one sings the more risqu ones till they are a proper age, otherwise young boys might get Ideas." As for magical lands with flying runners, Nathalia just shakes her head. "Oh sure there's some truth, but there's also a lot of pretty words added I am sure.""
The Snowasis is the perfect place to cultivate an addiction, though Azaylia's tastes tend to differ from the usual patrons. Despite the managable size of the cump, the Apprentice uses both hands to hold it near her chest, elbows tucked in tight to avoid bumping anyone. Unsure steps bring her to the ledge, led by the slowly shrinking shaft of light that had managed to slip into the connected bar. The tall girl pauses, eyes taking in the repurposed ledge with something akin to awe, even more so as she recognizes a certain rider. "Oh. Is this part only for important people?" Her quiet question sounds plausible to her own ears, and a step is taken back. Surely a place this nice isn't for everyone, right?
S'thyn refills his own glass, then leans forward to offer the same duty to K'del -- then after a hesitation, Nathalia, as well. "Do you think the Weyrwoman would let you? Failing spectacularly is a two-pronged affair, after all," he observes with a wry twist of lips. As to the talk of tales, "Huh. I would've thought an island of stowaways would be the stuff of fascinated legends. Seems the tales have spread all across Pern already, after all. Just waiting for the official version of the harpers, at this stage." Azaylia's arrival, and question, earn a surprised cough. "Hardly. Well, not in my case. I'm just an itinerant from Ista, after all." He defers to K'del with an elaborate gesture.
K'del accepts the refill with a pleasant smile and yet another head-bob of thanks, laughing as he does so. "No, I imagine she'd have my head on a stake outside her weyr before /that/ happened-- and then /she'd/ definitely be the stuff of legends." To Nathalia, his remark is lazy, but not unamused: "You wound me! Is it truly possible to exaggerate my good-- oh, hello, Azaylia." For good or bad, her arrival distracts him from what what he was saying, and, instead, he waves her over: "Join us. If you'd like."
Nathalia accepts the ale with a grateful smile for 'Mal' There's a roar of a laugh though for the words 'important people,' and she nods in agreement with Mal/S'thyn. "I just work in the kitchens." She does nod in agreement though, "Yes there's plenty of room for more, the more the merrier!" She takes a slow small sip of that ale.
Azaylia forces herself to wait where she is for an answer, though the weight clearly settles on the ball of her back foot. Prepared for a speedy spin and retreat, naturally. A small smile does it's best to appear, combating nerves as she decides to accept the invitation. Her steps come to a startling stop at Nathalia's sudden laughter, cup nearly spilling from her hands as the apprentice manages to fumble and keep it steady. "Ah, I just work the stables." She echoes, picking a spot at random, doing her best not to invade anyone's space too thoroughly. "I'm Azaylia." She gets that out of the way right then, burying her face into her cup quickly afterwards.
S'thyn clucks his tongue, a little sympathetically, then advises K'del, "I'd start sleeping with a neck brace if I were you. Just in case." The click of the dice within his hand is audible as he shakes them, spilling them out on his table a couple more times before taking another gulp of ale. He reaches for the pitcher again, pouring another glass, offering to Azaylia. "Price of entry," he says, as if to head off any refusal. "I'm Mal," he says, adopting the nickname he's been given with far-too-smooth aplomb.
Amused, albeit with a twist of ruefulness, K'del's response to S'thyn is, "I wouldn't be the first one she'd put into one of those things unwilling." But for now-- well, the summer evening is warm, and the Weyrwoman is nowhere to be seen. Nor, for that matter, is spectacular failure. For now. "We're all just people here, right about now," he puts in to the rest of the conversation. "Whatever we do when we're not here. Just people, enjoying the evening - right?"
Azaylia gets a smile from Nat, "I am Nat, Well met." Introductions out of the way she nods in agreement with K'del, "Yep, just enjoying the evening, a few drinks, and entertaining company." She settles on an appropriate word. "I have to tell you though; I admire anyone who can handle those dratted runners."
"I can't." Azaylia squeaks in response to Mal, holding her cup a bit closer and tilting it to revea the mystery drink as a smoothie. "I'm not allowed to drink." An Apprentice after all, she still minds her manners and thanks him for his offer, mumbled though it is. Lips curling into a friendly smile, aims it first at K'del for his invite, and then Nathalia as she's addressed. "Dratted? Oh no, the runners here are darlings." Azaylia insists, nodding her head once, "You just need to know how to understand them." Though the talk of neckbraces, "Is someone mad at you, Weyrleader?"
S'thyn winces expressively at K'del's words. "Point -- and warning -- well taken." At Azaylia's refusal, he frowns, considering her a moment. "Of course you are. The Weyrleader just said we're just people. Not what we do. That's tacit approval." And if he blithely takes the Weyrleader's words in vein, well, the man in question can correct him soon enough. For now, however, he simply nudges the glass closer to the apprentice, then leans back to watch.
Blithely; "Oh, the Weyrwoman, probably. But there's nothing to worry about - truly." He's moved weyrs. No more murder! K'del stretches out again, then draws his legs back to tangle with the legs of his chair, taking a long deep drink from his glass before he adds, partly to S'thyn, but partly, too, to the group as large, "She's not always that bad. But she can be. Best not to get on her bad side. I won't tell, Azaylia," with a bob of his head towards the apprentice, "if you want to give in, this once. Just one drink couldn't hurt, surely?"
Nathalia nods firmly at the drinking bit. "Apprentice beast crafter then?" She strings the information all together, but not before Mal gets a very dirty look at the words approval. "Trust me on this, if you love your craft, stick to the smoothie, and ignore whatever Mal suggests that might get you into trouble." There would be no more promising careers thrown away on Nathalia's watch. "One drink might not hurt, but. . ." She offers no end to that statement. "Don't feel pressured if you don't want to do it?" She ammends, before taking a long gulp of her own ale. It could be a slippery slope.
Azaylia leans forward to place her cup on the table, chilled hands rubbed dry on the tops of her trousers. "I still haven't met the Weyrwoman." As far as she knows. "Senior, I mean. I've met Lujayn." Mal earns an unsure glance, K'del's encouragement brings her hand to the glass. Quiet rationalization is offered to Nathalia, "I do love being a beastcrafter, but... a taste won't hurt?" Lips pursed gently as she tips the glass, a visible shudder runs down her spine. Her face collapses in on itself and the glass is promptly placed back down, tongue hopelessly rubbed against her top lip. "...no thank you." Shudderugh.
Mal, or S'thyn, whoever, he appears immune to dirty looks. He probably gets them all the time, so they're like water off a... water bird's back. "Apprentices are allowed to drink. They're just not supposed to get drunk," he says, in a kind of exasperated way. "Hardly be fair to have them attend a gather or a hatching and not even be able to toast, after all." The talk of Tiriana earns a musing roll or two of his dice, before he comments: "Can't say as I've ever had the pleasure of meeting the Weyrwoman, but you hear enough stories, and--" he trails off, chuckling. "Reckon you should get danger pay," he suggests to K'del, grinning at the thought. Azaylia's obvious dislike of the drink earns drop of his expression, as if he takes the refusal personal. "You don't like it? Maybe it was just the foam on top."
K'del swallows back a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he says, "Lujayn's the nicest of them; if she's the only one you've met, Azaylia, you picked the right one. Tiriana and Teris can be-- prickly. In different ways." Iolene, evidently, doesn't count just yet. "Danger pay, though; there's merit to /that/. Wonder if I can slip that through…" Sympathy floods his expression for Azaylia's obvious distaste for the drink, but not without an easy twitch of amusement. "Stick to your own drink, then. One of these days, we'll find something you like, properly. S-- Mal's right, for once. Can't think they'd object to a /little/ bit."
Nathalianotes before frowning deeply as the girl appeared to cave to peer pressure. It melts away all to quickly when she sees that face. There's a chortle, but there's a shake of her head for Mal. "It isn't like I lost my apprenticeship for nothing." She mutters under her breath, though possibly too low for anyone to make out anything of what she said. Her ale gone, she returns rather pointedly to that rum bottle, eager for a change of topic, something less personal. Lujayn's name gets a huge grin from the former smith turned butcher. "Lujayn is amazing." She beams.
Azaylia gives a quick little shake of her head for Mal's sake, occupying her hands with the smoothie from before as a silent excuse. "I'm sorry." She apologizes, sincere as ever at the fact that her disliking the peewater had any effect on Mal's expression. Once the berries and cream has washed away the bitter aftertaste, she finds her tongue loosening up as well. "I liked Lujayn. She tried to teach me and Emme and Khor- Kh'ry how to dance." Which makes her a saint in the eyes of Azaylia. Nathalia earns a glance for her mutter, the beastcrafter nudging her glass at the other girl, perhaps as a peace offering for whatever's got her frowning. "If they all taste like that," She gives K'del a weak smile, "I think I'm going to stay sober forever." And if anyone could…
"Good point. We should find something you like better," S'thyn nods his head agreeably with K'del. "Something sweet, I think." At Nathalia's mutter, his brows rise in silent inquiry. "You made your choice," he says, kind of casually throwing it out there. The talk of the goldriders doesn't particularly interest him, and he returns to rolling dice.
K'del, clearly, hasn't been keeping up on the ins and outs of former apprentices, so while his gaze flicks past Nathalia's face as she mutters, he doesn't seem entirely aware of what she's actually muttering about. More firmly, in agreement with S'thyn, he says, "A cocktail of some kind. White rum with fruit and cream-- like whatever it is you're drinking now. It'll taste nothing like this stuff, I promise." 'This stuff', of course, being the ale he downs another swallow of, cheerfully. "Lujayn's sweet, yes. Glad to hear she's been making positive impressions."
Nathalia says, "Lu's sweet, but she's tough too." There's a fond smile, she offers the girl a smile when the drink is shoved her way, as though to say 'not your fault.' She does however accept the ale. "Once you walk the tables I will be happy to introduce you to some of the better tasting ones." She grins. S-Mal is ignored, though there is a slight flinch, probably indicating that she didn't need to be told that little bit. Washing down whatever she's thinking with ale and rum seems to be the ticket at the moment."
"That does sound much better, I'll wait to see if I make Journeywoman before I think about it anymore." Azaylia accepts the kindness of strangers trying to find something much tastier to poison her body with. For now, she's happy with just overloading on sugar. Nursing her smoothie, she watches with morbid fascination as those around her actually seem to enjoy the ale. Hm. "Uh huh," On the subject of the Jr. Weyrwoman, "All the riders I've met have been very nice..." The rattle of dice draws her attention to S'Mal's hand, her head taking a curious tilt.
It appears S'thyn takes that suggestion to heart, given he scoops up his dice and pushes up onto his feet, disappearing into the Snowasis. It doesn't take long before he reappears, a cocktail glass in hand. He sets it down with a flourish in front of Azaylia before reclaiming his seat, watching her expectantly.
Listening, vaguely, to the conversations around him, K'del glances after S'thyn as the rider disappears so silently, watching vaguely for a few moments before he turns his attention back to the two women. "Hope so," he says, to Azaylia. "Rather hear, in general, that we're making positive impressions, you know?" His gaze wanders back to Nathalia, though, regarding her continued drinking with a certain amount of wariness; he bites his lip, but doesn't say anything, not until S'thyn returns, and he can /laugh/, merrily. "Oh, well done. Give /that/ one a try, Azaylia."
Nathalia looks real uncomfortable as that drink is set down, but it wasn't her problem was it? She gives the beast crafter a glance but shrugs instead. Azaylia would make her own choice. She does have something to say on the niceness of riders though, between sips. "It is good that there are more good impressions being made. I think I managed to run into every one that didn't leave a good impression when I first got to reaches." She laughs, the words slurring ever so slightly. "Careful though, depending on what's in it you may feel like a mule kicked you in the head in the morning, though usually another drink will put you right as rain." A beat. "Or lots of water and a visit to the infirmary."
Azaylia squeaks at the sight of that cocktail glass, easing backwards in her seat as if it's going to leap up and pour itself down her throat. Widened eyes flick from the drink to Mal, then back down, and all around to gauge everyone's reactions. Azaylia can't manage self-imposed pressure let alone a heaping pile brought on by her peers. Even if they're all supposed to just be people today, the Weyrleader's encouragement is the loudest and she switches her smoothie for the cocktail. Nathalia earns a nod, "I've been kicked by a mule. It was a baby, though, and only in the leg." Still, ow. No longer able to stall with tales of beast-induced injuries, Azaylia brings the glass to her lip and premptively winces. Sip. The shudder is less severe but still there, "Uhm. It'sbetter?" Guilt keeps it glued to her hand, glancing at Mal and forcing another sip.
"One drink is hardly hangover material." S'thyn says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. At least, certainly not for him. Yeah, he's watching Azaylia avidly, and lets out a pleased exhale of breath at her positive -- if tentative -- reaction. "Good, good. I would hate to be the one responsible for turning you off alcohol for your entire life. /That/ is not a burden I wish to bear," he says, overly dramatic, glance sliding away to resume rolling of the dice once more.
"Maybe it's time for you to stop, now, Nat? Seems as though you're more likely to end up with a hangover than Azaylia here." Again, K'del spares a concerned glance for the former smithcrafter, glancing briefly at the bottle in front of her, not to mention the ale. For all his concern, however, he can't help but smile at Azaylia's reaction to the cocktail. "Progress, anyway. Plenty of options, yet; I promise, though, we've no intention of getting you drunk. It's simply-- a nice way to spend an afternoon."
Nathalia keeps on her bottle, though the crafter's shudder is enough evidence for the girl to lean over and whisper to Azaylia. "Don't force yourself to drink it if you don't like it. Ok?" There is a reassuring smile for the crafter and an eye roll at Mr. Overdramatic accompanied by a laugh. She does pause at K'del's statement, and there is several beats of silence. She doesn't stop out right, but she slows down considerably. If there was ever a reason to /not/ drink Nat had probably gotten very close to becoming a prime example. "I won't feel a thing in the morning Sir, honest." She states slowly, defending her actions despite the fact that she is fully aware that he is right. Stopping that was the difficult part. She purposefully avoids looking him in the eye.
Azaylia deflates after the rider's exhale, pressure easing off her shoulders some. "Oh, no. This is much better." She exaggerates just a bit in order to spare Mal's feelings, large mouthful followed by a quick swallow. ..only 3 or so more to go. "And as long as I'm not breaking any rules..." The apprentice gives in with a smile, happy to be included by the others. Nathalia's whisper has her giving a little shake of her head, honestly not minding the task of emptying her glass. "I know, I didn't think you were trying to get me in trouble." 'Cause if you can't trust the Weyrleader, then who?
"Maybe we can make it a regular thing. Once a seven, we'll try something new. We take turns picking the drink, if it's good, we pay ourselves -- if it's bad, the person who picked has to pay." This is a drinking game S'thyn cannot lose, hence why he seems so animated about the idea all of a sudden.
K'del is pretty good, these days, at picking up when people aren't being honest with him. Well. Sometimes. His gaze lingers on Nathalia, and his head shakes. "If that's the truth, then I'm sorry for you." It's blunt, and seems to distract his attention away from happier topics - and even his own drink. A sweeping gaze takes in the other two, but after a moment, he rises, drawing himself up to his full height. "If you'll all excuse me?"
Azaylia gets a meaningful look, but Nat doesn't say much else. She's even mute to S'thyn/Mal's suggestion though from her expression she doesn't like the thought at the moment. "They do kick apprentices out of the Craft for drinking, though how often you're allowed to or if it is simply drunk rule varies from craft to craft." She slurs slightly but evidently, practice and concentration keep the words clear. "I would check with your Craft Master first and get the guidelines you should be following." That's definitely a blush of shame that colors her face though when K'del speaks, and she nods at the statement, blunt as it is it's the truth. "Have a good evening sir." She manages before sinking into silence.
Azaylia tries to stem the flow of Mal's enthusiasm, smile taking on a sheepish squint. "Ah, I don't make that much..." Not to mention once a sevenday sounds a bit excessive to the Apprentice. As K'del stands, she ceases her sipping and straightens up, "Oh. Of course. Have a nice night, Weyrleader." The feeling that she's missed something weighs heavily in her gut, quickly doused by the remains of her cocktail. Twitch. The bottom is particularly bitter. Azaylia bites her lower lip gently, a look of discomfort and worry prompted by Nathalia's warning. "I don't... think I'll make this a habit." She does her best to appease, one hand rubbing the opposite arm nervously.
"Oh. That's way too many rules and regulations for my taste," S'thyn says, holding his hands up as if to ward off any more quotes. And, as K'del rises, he does, too. "Hold up -- I'll walk back across the bowl with you." He says, scooping up his dice and shoving them into a pocket. "Do you ever have occasion to play dice...?" he can be heard asking as he steps away.
K'del's gaze passes from Nathalia to Azaylia and then back again as he takes his lead. As he and S'thyn disappear, his answer floats back: "On occasion. Perhaps, sometime--" And then they're gone.