Log: Breakfast at the Snowasis
Who: Anvori, Milani
When: Morning, 8/6/19
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Milani checks in with Anvori. The girls, life, and business are discussed. Anvori helps Millie get her mojo back a little. (Minds out of gutter pls!)
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
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.
Mornings at the Snowasis are quietly busy affairs. There's no one to create the bustling noise of work, and yet Anvori seems to have his hand fulls with preparations to open the bar. Behind the counter, the trim man is leaned over a cutting board, deftly slicing lemons and limes, as well as an assortment of other tropical fruit to be stored on ice in the backroom, while five crates of various ales teeter against the wall nearby, serving as a blockade to the only means of escape (other than climbing over the counter itself). Eventually, he'll have to move those crates elsewhere if he, or the handyman oiling the pulley elevator from kitchen to bar, wish to leave. But later. For now, he's busy with that citrus and whistling a cheery little song.
Quiet, not brisk footsteps bring Milani into the Snowasis to perch on a stool at the bar, clipboard set down atop it as she takes in Anvori at his preparations. The headwoman listens for a little bit, without interrupting, fingers starting to tap in time with that whistled song. Finally: "Good morning," she offers over pleasantly, a little smile on her face. "Have I mentioned that I like what you're doing with the place?"
Does he notice her approach? It's hard to tell, what with the focus he puts into wedging an orange into six neat pieces and dropping them into a bin. As he wipes his hands off on the apron about his waist, a hazel look rises below lifted brows as they travel up from counter top (and what he can see of Milani there) slowly up to her face. "Headwoman!" he regales her with a jovial greeting and teasing wink, "What might I do for you?" Anvori leans in, his elbows braced to the countertop so one hand might rest his head a little. It also allows him to look up at Milani with a crookedly quirked smile, rather than down upon her perched body. "Do you? I'm glad the changes suit. Waiting for the ice and snow shipment for the afternoon."
"Just stopping in to see how things are going," Milani says, smile widening a little in response to his. Both of her hands fold together, elbows perched on the bar, but they don't shift towards her face to make a platform for her chin, they just stay, hovering loosely clasped to one side. "It's nice to come in and see people doing something other than /just/ drinking or gambling," she says sincerely. "Are they late?" she asks next about the shipments in question, gaze shifting to the exit to the ledge, patio and bowl beyond.
Cutting board and the knife with it get tucked beneath the bartop and on his sound of the counter, pressed to and balanced against the backing. The tubs of cut citrus in its three boxes: green, yellow, and orange, are carried in stacks to a different section of the bar so they might be distributed equally along the long length before he's back in front of Milani. Even while working, while walking away, Anvori's attention somehow remains fixed to the Headwoman, however absently and he notes, with a glance that follows hers outwards, "Closer to noon. Even at the Reaches, there's not that many people who drink so early and not too much of a need for snow or ice. Not yet at any rate." He resumes that lean forward, elbows and forearms to the bartop in front of Milani and his shoulders hunched forward. A dimpled grin casts to the red-haired woman, his gaze made light and merry by the sunshine that catches in their hazel coloring. "Did you want anything? A drink? A smoothy? We have a lot of fruit we've been shipping in lately from Monaco." A beat. He might not indulge in gossip much, but he does work in a bar. So ever so casually, maintaining natural genuinity, he inquires, "Doing ok there, red?"
Away from the outside, back to the bartender comes Milani's gaze, one eye caught by that same light that makes his so merry, the other left in shadow. She nods about the schedule, opens her mouth to refuse the offer of something then she laughs a little. "That actually sounds really tasty. The smoothy option," the headwoman answers and reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, braid loosening already in spite of the early hour. "I've had better sevens, better months, better times in general," Milani answers honestly, but softly. "It's passing though. Nowhere to go but up, right?" And her smile, though genuine has something of a 'brave in the face of trouble' quality to it.
It wouldn't be hard to think Anvori knows or has heard of hyperbolized specifics, but with a look of no judgment, he moves to start reclaiming that previously cut fruit, even going so far as disappearing into that back, cooling, storage room for a moment with his crank blender. When he returns, it's filled with a dollop of some sort of yogurt cream, mango slices, strawberries, bananas, liquid sweetener, but no ice. "Tell me about it," he remarks rhetorically with a shake of his head, then goes on by relating, "Have had better years myself," with the most rueful touch of sympathy in those eyes. Unfortunately, speaking is on hold while the crank and grind method of blending sounds noisily in their immediate vicinity, but it's soon all over and he's pouring the semi-frothy drink into a tall cup for her. Smiling winningly; "You missed one." Glass in one hand, his hand reaching out with the other, one loose strand joins its sisters, as his finger moves to tuck it behind her ear.
"Mmm. Tough times at High Reaches Weyr," Milani proclaims with just a hint of self-deprecating humor. "Are things going better though? With the girls? The room is working out?" she asks with customary concern as she meets those rueful eyes with her own sincere ones, nevermind the lingering shadow of her own more recent troubles. Like she said, it's passing. Her hands drop while he's cranky, idly flipping through a page or two on that clipboard. His reach forward brings her gaze back up to him and this time her smile is sweet. "Thank you, Anvori," Millie says quietly, an added touch of warmth in her voice, the thanks likely intended for glass and gesture both as she reaches for the former, allows the latter.
It would be a man like Anvori that uses this moment to linger his fingers along Milani's ear, and slowly pull forth a sixteenth mark piece with a 'well, whatya know' sort of goofy look on his expression. "I guess your drink's on me then." He ventures a teasing, dubious look up and down the Headwoman's torso, and asks lightly, "Does this mean we're dating since I've bought you a drink?" Oh, if only that were the case, there'd be so many mixed up, wires-crossed relationships that come out of the Snowasis.
The parlor trick has the likely desired effect of making her laugh, so does that goofy look on him. "Thank you," again. But she reaches to capture his departing hand at those words, seeks to clasp it in both of hers and bends her head, to drop a light kiss to the back of his, aims to bring his hand back to rest her cheek there for a moment or two. And she voices some of that 'if only' aloud. "If only it were that easy, hmm?" She remains head bent for a moment then straightens, releases his hand and leans her chin in her hand, draws the drink close with the other and sips from it. "These are really tasty," she notes of the contents, tapping he side of the glass with one finger.
The light in Anvori's eyes recedes, a flicker of somber reflection watching the Headwoman, as his hand moves so obligingly to her desires. Without being bidden by any of her directives, there's a fond, reassuring caress for the young woman's cheek, a finger trailing down her jawline and then moving, once free, to tap at her nose. "The girls are adjusting much better than I expected," says the bartender, as he takes a few moments out of his morning schedule to attend to Milani. His hands drop to brace his lean against the counter as he considers the lithe, and slightly taller (were she not sitting) woman. "From the mouths of babes," he murmurs in a way that the comment isn't meant for public consumption, then stirs to flash a quickfire smile up at the young woman. "Riahla hopes to become a harper spy someday. Suireh...," his hands come together as he straightens a light, so his fingers might play against each other, "I imagine she will actually become a harper."
The caress draws out a movement of her shoulders, indicating a rapidly taken breath, but there's no audible sigh to follow it. The nose-tape makes her wrinkle said nose and grin at him, something of her more customary humor sneaking back in. "That's good then," Millie says with a little head bob. "Hopefully things might seem at least something like ... normal for them soon." Another sincere wish as she takes a second sip from her glass. In the wake of that low-voiced quip her head ducks and there's a little more laughter before she looks up again, a small light in her eyes for the amusing little 'compliment'. "A /spy/. Really. Like the tales of old, hm?" She leans a little across the bar and whispers dramatically: "Maybe we can sic her on poor unsuspecting Crom." A wink then and she draws back with a nod. "She's -- got a way about her. Suireh. You know?" Millie doesn't come up with a good word for it, but there's thoughtfulness in her voice and expression as she makes that statement.
There's a moment of reflective silence for that 'way about her' that Suireh has; an agreeable, rueful silence that ends in a press of his lips and a shake of his head. Truly, from the mouths of babes. "I've been hoping to speak to one of the harpers to see if they might take a closer look at her. I-," his palms lift, shoulders rising as well in a shrug, "Know enough about music to recognize a voice, but I don't know if she has any talent for it other than..." Abruptly, the man shakes his head and moves away for a moment to retrieve a rag. Returning, aimless sweeps makes it seem like he's at least somewhat busy while preparations for the day continue behind him. "As Headwoman, you knew my sister well?" Enough time's past, he can talk of her with that careful neutrality, and that even even smile on his lips.
"If you think she has the talent, that's a good idea, Anvori," Milani says, gentle-voiced now, eyes resting on his face and taking in the shifts of expression on his. "I get teased for being tone-deaf in my family," she adds with a wink and laugh. "She just seems -- both more tuned into everything around her and more ... removed from it at the same time?" Her brows furrow trying to get at this concept, voice dying out as he steps away. The question elicits a sharp inhale and Milani's eyes lift to his again. "I knew her as Weyrwoman, Anvori. At times, maybe a little more because of her ties to my family. My mother knew her well, when she was younger." Apology in her eyes the slant of her mouth.
His rag falls still. As to be expected. There's a nod for her response, and an apology writ on his expressive face for such a nosy question. "She never played for you did she?" Anvori's arm resumes its absent motions - the counter in front of him will either wear down for his efforts or be the most spotless half-circle in all of Pern. Or both! "Our mother tried to teach us the basics, some of us. Istonin never took to it, and mother wasn't an instrumentalist but could strum well enough to accompany herself." In recollection, the tenor goes faintly distant. "But Satiet always enjoyed it." His head shakes sharply, and tinier more frenetic shakes of his head frees himself of those memories. "In any case, it wouldn't surprise me if Suireh was harper-bound. How's the drink?"
"Played? No, I had no idea she could ..." Milani says blinking in surprise and trails off. "I mean, I knew of the harper blood in the family, your mother," the headwoman says nodding to those later words. She's thoughtful still, fingers absently smoothing the top sheet on her clipboard. "Worth it to see about it as an option for a few turns from now," she agrees with an encouraging smile for the bartender and tilts the glass a little. "Very good. Refreshing and filling at the same time. Liquid breakfast that's actually good for you." Humor back in her voice as she smiles at him, tilts the glass up and has another swallow.
"Good. Maybe we'll do an expanded breakfast hour in the Snowasis then." Beyond the skeleton crew that does preparation work in the mornings, such as now. "Fresh fruit juices and a standard breakfast plate that's unchangeable but shareable?" Anvori's face scrunches into his gleaming smile and the subject of the past few rounds, minutes, is shed in favor of that lighter fare. The handyman calls over, having finished his sprucing of the elevator, and stands ineffectually before the crates of ale. "Sorry about that, Les." / "Would move it myself if I knew where it should go." / "No problem." Favoring Milani with an apologetic look, Anvori moves quickly to take crates two at a time, arms stretch and chin lodged against wood, to that back storage room until all five are out of the way. "Thanks again!"
"Coule be a good extra revenue stream," Milani replies with a nod, shifting easily enough to business matters. "Plus, a sharable plate, that /could/ be romantic," she says with a hint of teasing in her voice and she smiles back at him, draws her glass down to almost empty on the next swallow and maybe, just maybe, gets a little kick out of watching Anvori-the-hunk moving crates. "It'd mean more shifts for the workers though, right?"
"Oh, romance over morning breath. That could be our new slogan," offers the plebian to the Headwoman, his head turned over his shoulder as he stands there with that last crate all arms and legs flexed as he raises it to a shelf above his head. Lots of flexing, lots to see, and it's not above Anvori to put on a well-timed show if there might be an audience no mater how dimly lit that back storeroom might be. /Something/ must be visible and made all the more intriguing for those shadows. "More shifts. More work. Maybe-," his fingers drop to the counter as he's made a very leisurely walk back, "More chance of failure." He crooks a smile down at the seated woman. "Could be a good side project if someone had the time to work out the numbers of whether our kitchens could handle it."
Milani giggles, gaze dropping again at that quip. She does peek around the frame of that storeroom. Hot guy. Shadows. She may have been down a lot lately, but hey a little appreciation goes a long way. "Maybe," she concedes and takes the last sip from her glass. "I'll put Alieva on it, see how her budget balancing skills are coming along," Millie decides just like that, brows lifting. "If you want to pursue it?"
A hand lifts to rake his fingers through his hair, and made merry by some thought that he then voices with laughter ringing in his tenor, "Is she pretty?" Cause, for Anvori, of course that makes all the difference. But it's ultimately a tease and the bartender reaches out to scruff Milani's hair a little, dropping that hand to pull his thumb against her chin, almost as if he might wipe some errant smoothy smudge away. "If Alieva can get the work done, I could. But-," as it is, he shakes his head and leans into that chin hold a little to look quite solemnly into Milani's blue-green eyes. "I don't have the time to do much of that legwork, red."
"Yes," Milani says with a little alugh for that question. "She's ... young," the headwoman adds slowly. "The youngest of the assistants. She's not twenty yet," is elaborated. "But she's got a good way with people. Setting them at ease." A little smile perks up the corners of her mouth. "Like you." And her hand lifts to cover his again as he curves his hand to her chin. "I know, Anvori," answered equally solemnly. "We'll give you the backup, your idea, but let's see if we can make it work together, hm?"
It's not quite a shake, but it should suffice. Her hand is touching his even if the palms aren't met. Anvori's forehead tips forward and he whispers in mock-confidentiality, "It's a deal. Now, get on with you. Don't you have people to boss around and handyman's bottoms to ogle?" In retrieving his hand, he turns with such timing, though his gaze fixes to Milani over his shoulder. There, butt ogling.
Her smile stretches wide for a moment and some of Milani's usual verve comes to the fore. "Oh definitely. Though I'd rather be ogling --" laughter as he turns, "-- yours." With a wink as she nabs her clipboard, slips off the stool and gives him a little wave. She pauses though, leans way in over the bar and matches his recent tone: "Nice ass," with a little squish of her eyes and she turns to make her way back out far more jauntily than when she came in, maybe even a little swish in her hips, though she doesn't look back.
It goes without saying that Anvori watches, at least a little, before he shakes his head all rueful and goes about his morning business. Oh hai there, there's the ice and snow delivery to stow away.
When: Morning, 8/6/19
Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
What: Milani checks in with Anvori. The girls, life, and business are discussed. Anvori helps Millie get her mojo back a little. (Minds out of gutter pls!)
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
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.
Mornings at the Snowasis are quietly busy affairs. There's no one to create the bustling noise of work, and yet Anvori seems to have his hand fulls with preparations to open the bar. Behind the counter, the trim man is leaned over a cutting board, deftly slicing lemons and limes, as well as an assortment of other tropical fruit to be stored on ice in the backroom, while five crates of various ales teeter against the wall nearby, serving as a blockade to the only means of escape (other than climbing over the counter itself). Eventually, he'll have to move those crates elsewhere if he, or the handyman oiling the pulley elevator from kitchen to bar, wish to leave. But later. For now, he's busy with that citrus and whistling a cheery little song.
Quiet, not brisk footsteps bring Milani into the Snowasis to perch on a stool at the bar, clipboard set down atop it as she takes in Anvori at his preparations. The headwoman listens for a little bit, without interrupting, fingers starting to tap in time with that whistled song. Finally: "Good morning," she offers over pleasantly, a little smile on her face. "Have I mentioned that I like what you're doing with the place?"
Does he notice her approach? It's hard to tell, what with the focus he puts into wedging an orange into six neat pieces and dropping them into a bin. As he wipes his hands off on the apron about his waist, a hazel look rises below lifted brows as they travel up from counter top (and what he can see of Milani there) slowly up to her face. "Headwoman!" he regales her with a jovial greeting and teasing wink, "What might I do for you?" Anvori leans in, his elbows braced to the countertop so one hand might rest his head a little. It also allows him to look up at Milani with a crookedly quirked smile, rather than down upon her perched body. "Do you? I'm glad the changes suit. Waiting for the ice and snow shipment for the afternoon."
"Just stopping in to see how things are going," Milani says, smile widening a little in response to his. Both of her hands fold together, elbows perched on the bar, but they don't shift towards her face to make a platform for her chin, they just stay, hovering loosely clasped to one side. "It's nice to come in and see people doing something other than /just/ drinking or gambling," she says sincerely. "Are they late?" she asks next about the shipments in question, gaze shifting to the exit to the ledge, patio and bowl beyond.
Cutting board and the knife with it get tucked beneath the bartop and on his sound of the counter, pressed to and balanced against the backing. The tubs of cut citrus in its three boxes: green, yellow, and orange, are carried in stacks to a different section of the bar so they might be distributed equally along the long length before he's back in front of Milani. Even while working, while walking away, Anvori's attention somehow remains fixed to the Headwoman, however absently and he notes, with a glance that follows hers outwards, "Closer to noon. Even at the Reaches, there's not that many people who drink so early and not too much of a need for snow or ice. Not yet at any rate." He resumes that lean forward, elbows and forearms to the bartop in front of Milani and his shoulders hunched forward. A dimpled grin casts to the red-haired woman, his gaze made light and merry by the sunshine that catches in their hazel coloring. "Did you want anything? A drink? A smoothy? We have a lot of fruit we've been shipping in lately from Monaco." A beat. He might not indulge in gossip much, but he does work in a bar. So ever so casually, maintaining natural genuinity, he inquires, "Doing ok there, red?"
Away from the outside, back to the bartender comes Milani's gaze, one eye caught by that same light that makes his so merry, the other left in shadow. She nods about the schedule, opens her mouth to refuse the offer of something then she laughs a little. "That actually sounds really tasty. The smoothy option," the headwoman answers and reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, braid loosening already in spite of the early hour. "I've had better sevens, better months, better times in general," Milani answers honestly, but softly. "It's passing though. Nowhere to go but up, right?" And her smile, though genuine has something of a 'brave in the face of trouble' quality to it.
It wouldn't be hard to think Anvori knows or has heard of hyperbolized specifics, but with a look of no judgment, he moves to start reclaiming that previously cut fruit, even going so far as disappearing into that back, cooling, storage room for a moment with his crank blender. When he returns, it's filled with a dollop of some sort of yogurt cream, mango slices, strawberries, bananas, liquid sweetener, but no ice. "Tell me about it," he remarks rhetorically with a shake of his head, then goes on by relating, "Have had better years myself," with the most rueful touch of sympathy in those eyes. Unfortunately, speaking is on hold while the crank and grind method of blending sounds noisily in their immediate vicinity, but it's soon all over and he's pouring the semi-frothy drink into a tall cup for her. Smiling winningly; "You missed one." Glass in one hand, his hand reaching out with the other, one loose strand joins its sisters, as his finger moves to tuck it behind her ear.
"Mmm. Tough times at High Reaches Weyr," Milani proclaims with just a hint of self-deprecating humor. "Are things going better though? With the girls? The room is working out?" she asks with customary concern as she meets those rueful eyes with her own sincere ones, nevermind the lingering shadow of her own more recent troubles. Like she said, it's passing. Her hands drop while he's cranky, idly flipping through a page or two on that clipboard. His reach forward brings her gaze back up to him and this time her smile is sweet. "Thank you, Anvori," Millie says quietly, an added touch of warmth in her voice, the thanks likely intended for glass and gesture both as she reaches for the former, allows the latter.
It would be a man like Anvori that uses this moment to linger his fingers along Milani's ear, and slowly pull forth a sixteenth mark piece with a 'well, whatya know' sort of goofy look on his expression. "I guess your drink's on me then." He ventures a teasing, dubious look up and down the Headwoman's torso, and asks lightly, "Does this mean we're dating since I've bought you a drink?" Oh, if only that were the case, there'd be so many mixed up, wires-crossed relationships that come out of the Snowasis.
The parlor trick has the likely desired effect of making her laugh, so does that goofy look on him. "Thank you," again. But she reaches to capture his departing hand at those words, seeks to clasp it in both of hers and bends her head, to drop a light kiss to the back of his, aims to bring his hand back to rest her cheek there for a moment or two. And she voices some of that 'if only' aloud. "If only it were that easy, hmm?" She remains head bent for a moment then straightens, releases his hand and leans her chin in her hand, draws the drink close with the other and sips from it. "These are really tasty," she notes of the contents, tapping he side of the glass with one finger.
The light in Anvori's eyes recedes, a flicker of somber reflection watching the Headwoman, as his hand moves so obligingly to her desires. Without being bidden by any of her directives, there's a fond, reassuring caress for the young woman's cheek, a finger trailing down her jawline and then moving, once free, to tap at her nose. "The girls are adjusting much better than I expected," says the bartender, as he takes a few moments out of his morning schedule to attend to Milani. His hands drop to brace his lean against the counter as he considers the lithe, and slightly taller (were she not sitting) woman. "From the mouths of babes," he murmurs in a way that the comment isn't meant for public consumption, then stirs to flash a quickfire smile up at the young woman. "Riahla hopes to become a harper spy someday. Suireh...," his hands come together as he straightens a light, so his fingers might play against each other, "I imagine she will actually become a harper."
The caress draws out a movement of her shoulders, indicating a rapidly taken breath, but there's no audible sigh to follow it. The nose-tape makes her wrinkle said nose and grin at him, something of her more customary humor sneaking back in. "That's good then," Millie says with a little head bob. "Hopefully things might seem at least something like ... normal for them soon." Another sincere wish as she takes a second sip from her glass. In the wake of that low-voiced quip her head ducks and there's a little more laughter before she looks up again, a small light in her eyes for the amusing little 'compliment'. "A /spy/. Really. Like the tales of old, hm?" She leans a little across the bar and whispers dramatically: "Maybe we can sic her on poor unsuspecting Crom." A wink then and she draws back with a nod. "She's -- got a way about her. Suireh. You know?" Millie doesn't come up with a good word for it, but there's thoughtfulness in her voice and expression as she makes that statement.
There's a moment of reflective silence for that 'way about her' that Suireh has; an agreeable, rueful silence that ends in a press of his lips and a shake of his head. Truly, from the mouths of babes. "I've been hoping to speak to one of the harpers to see if they might take a closer look at her. I-," his palms lift, shoulders rising as well in a shrug, "Know enough about music to recognize a voice, but I don't know if she has any talent for it other than..." Abruptly, the man shakes his head and moves away for a moment to retrieve a rag. Returning, aimless sweeps makes it seem like he's at least somewhat busy while preparations for the day continue behind him. "As Headwoman, you knew my sister well?" Enough time's past, he can talk of her with that careful neutrality, and that even even smile on his lips.
"If you think she has the talent, that's a good idea, Anvori," Milani says, gentle-voiced now, eyes resting on his face and taking in the shifts of expression on his. "I get teased for being tone-deaf in my family," she adds with a wink and laugh. "She just seems -- both more tuned into everything around her and more ... removed from it at the same time?" Her brows furrow trying to get at this concept, voice dying out as he steps away. The question elicits a sharp inhale and Milani's eyes lift to his again. "I knew her as Weyrwoman, Anvori. At times, maybe a little more because of her ties to my family. My mother knew her well, when she was younger." Apology in her eyes the slant of her mouth.
His rag falls still. As to be expected. There's a nod for her response, and an apology writ on his expressive face for such a nosy question. "She never played for you did she?" Anvori's arm resumes its absent motions - the counter in front of him will either wear down for his efforts or be the most spotless half-circle in all of Pern. Or both! "Our mother tried to teach us the basics, some of us. Istonin never took to it, and mother wasn't an instrumentalist but could strum well enough to accompany herself." In recollection, the tenor goes faintly distant. "But Satiet always enjoyed it." His head shakes sharply, and tinier more frenetic shakes of his head frees himself of those memories. "In any case, it wouldn't surprise me if Suireh was harper-bound. How's the drink?"
"Played? No, I had no idea she could ..." Milani says blinking in surprise and trails off. "I mean, I knew of the harper blood in the family, your mother," the headwoman says nodding to those later words. She's thoughtful still, fingers absently smoothing the top sheet on her clipboard. "Worth it to see about it as an option for a few turns from now," she agrees with an encouraging smile for the bartender and tilts the glass a little. "Very good. Refreshing and filling at the same time. Liquid breakfast that's actually good for you." Humor back in her voice as she smiles at him, tilts the glass up and has another swallow.
"Good. Maybe we'll do an expanded breakfast hour in the Snowasis then." Beyond the skeleton crew that does preparation work in the mornings, such as now. "Fresh fruit juices and a standard breakfast plate that's unchangeable but shareable?" Anvori's face scrunches into his gleaming smile and the subject of the past few rounds, minutes, is shed in favor of that lighter fare. The handyman calls over, having finished his sprucing of the elevator, and stands ineffectually before the crates of ale. "Sorry about that, Les." / "Would move it myself if I knew where it should go." / "No problem." Favoring Milani with an apologetic look, Anvori moves quickly to take crates two at a time, arms stretch and chin lodged against wood, to that back storage room until all five are out of the way. "Thanks again!"
"Coule be a good extra revenue stream," Milani replies with a nod, shifting easily enough to business matters. "Plus, a sharable plate, that /could/ be romantic," she says with a hint of teasing in her voice and she smiles back at him, draws her glass down to almost empty on the next swallow and maybe, just maybe, gets a little kick out of watching Anvori-the-hunk moving crates. "It'd mean more shifts for the workers though, right?"
"Oh, romance over morning breath. That could be our new slogan," offers the plebian to the Headwoman, his head turned over his shoulder as he stands there with that last crate all arms and legs flexed as he raises it to a shelf above his head. Lots of flexing, lots to see, and it's not above Anvori to put on a well-timed show if there might be an audience no mater how dimly lit that back storeroom might be. /Something/ must be visible and made all the more intriguing for those shadows. "More shifts. More work. Maybe-," his fingers drop to the counter as he's made a very leisurely walk back, "More chance of failure." He crooks a smile down at the seated woman. "Could be a good side project if someone had the time to work out the numbers of whether our kitchens could handle it."
Milani giggles, gaze dropping again at that quip. She does peek around the frame of that storeroom. Hot guy. Shadows. She may have been down a lot lately, but hey a little appreciation goes a long way. "Maybe," she concedes and takes the last sip from her glass. "I'll put Alieva on it, see how her budget balancing skills are coming along," Millie decides just like that, brows lifting. "If you want to pursue it?"
A hand lifts to rake his fingers through his hair, and made merry by some thought that he then voices with laughter ringing in his tenor, "Is she pretty?" Cause, for Anvori, of course that makes all the difference. But it's ultimately a tease and the bartender reaches out to scruff Milani's hair a little, dropping that hand to pull his thumb against her chin, almost as if he might wipe some errant smoothy smudge away. "If Alieva can get the work done, I could. But-," as it is, he shakes his head and leans into that chin hold a little to look quite solemnly into Milani's blue-green eyes. "I don't have the time to do much of that legwork, red."
"Yes," Milani says with a little alugh for that question. "She's ... young," the headwoman adds slowly. "The youngest of the assistants. She's not twenty yet," is elaborated. "But she's got a good way with people. Setting them at ease." A little smile perks up the corners of her mouth. "Like you." And her hand lifts to cover his again as he curves his hand to her chin. "I know, Anvori," answered equally solemnly. "We'll give you the backup, your idea, but let's see if we can make it work together, hm?"
It's not quite a shake, but it should suffice. Her hand is touching his even if the palms aren't met. Anvori's forehead tips forward and he whispers in mock-confidentiality, "It's a deal. Now, get on with you. Don't you have people to boss around and handyman's bottoms to ogle?" In retrieving his hand, he turns with such timing, though his gaze fixes to Milani over his shoulder. There, butt ogling.
Her smile stretches wide for a moment and some of Milani's usual verve comes to the fore. "Oh definitely. Though I'd rather be ogling --" laughter as he turns, "-- yours." With a wink as she nabs her clipboard, slips off the stool and gives him a little wave. She pauses though, leans way in over the bar and matches his recent tone: "Nice ass," with a little squish of her eyes and she turns to make her way back out far more jauntily than when she came in, maybe even a little swish in her hips, though she doesn't look back.
It goes without saying that Anvori watches, at least a little, before he shakes his head all rueful and goes about his morning business. Oh hai there, there's the ice and snow delivery to stow away.