The humblest trader I ever met
Who: Vaughan, Sexy Bartender (NPC), Skinner, and Raveki
When: Afternoon
Where: The Lucky Seven, Ista Weyr
What: Skinner returns from a two-year hiatus, and heads for the Lucky Seven in search of an old friend. He finds out that she's moved on, but gets to meet Vaughan and Raveki, who don't know quite what to make of him.
OOC: Log thiefed from Vaughan, who thiefed part of it from Raveki. I thank them both!
These hours in the afternoon, before the drinking hours truly begin, see mostly card players and serious regulars at the Lucky Seven. They see also, of course, the Seven's staff; a girl tends bar, another leans low over shoulders and pours rounds at a table in the card room. Another entertains two regulars at a table far from the bar, turning their desire to drink heavily so early in the day into a wealth of tips by making the business of acquiring whiskey an increasingly decorative one. A few men drink the ordinary way, at the bar, and among them is a man who does not drink at all. He does smoke, and he is familiar enough with the barkeep that when she comes to check on him they have a conversation-- the man speaks little but tips his head from time to time, and the girl seems comfortable with his way-- before she leaves him again, unpressed to buy alcohol, to tend her paying customers.
"Knock knock!" calls out a cheery, singsong voice, and in through the doors comes a young man holding a boquet of flowers. It's a scraggly bunch, clearly snagged from the paths outside the tavern and haphazardly assembled. Skinner pauses once he's stepped inside, looking around with an appraising eye. "Well, now, that's new," he remarks, though it's hard to say exactly what aspect of all-he-surveyed he finds so remarkable. The girl at the bar gets an eye, as well as the man she was just speaking to, and with an unbothered spring in his step lands himself on a stool right next to the smoker. "Hello, doll," he tells the bartendress. "And an afternoon to you," he adds for Vaughan.
'Doll' finishes putting up a brandy sour, barely sour, for an old bluerider down the bar who comes for the view; she gives him one with the drink, twisting her shoulders more than is strictly necessary as her fingers surrender the glass. Then she's brightly coming toward the mustachioed flower-holder, and perhaps because of the flowers she stops a foot back from the bar so he can see more of her, affects a schoolgirl's pose with an arm in front and one in back, hips back and chest forward, and blinks a few times, smoky lashes over light wide eyes. "Surely that's not for me," she breathes, and steps forward to put a hand on the bar, straightening out her spine in the process. A different presentation of her assets, but no less forward. "Can I get you something while you wait for...?"
Vaughan? Watches. Not the show. He's seen it. He does kind of watch the way she acts, the way she puts on her faces and her poses, taking some kind of cue from how she treats the newcomer who makes such a powerful entrance-- and since she treats him like a customer, so does the dockhand. "Good one," he agrees, affably. Just a guy drinking. Without a drink. He taps ash into the dish that's been left there for apparently that purpose, though it's not like there's any absence of ash on the floor. Maybe just not /his./
Skinner tips his head at the girl's display, the pull of his mouth suggesting he's impressed. He flashes her a quick grin. "I'll bring you one another day, love, with eyes as pretty as all that. Is June around?" He gives the flowers a wag when he speaks the name, indicating that this is who they're for. The small motion of the tapped cigar catches Skinner's eye, and draws it back to the dockhand for just long enough to take a quick measure of the man. "I'll have what this guy's having." Nothing. Leaning forward, he confides in the girl, "I had better not start drinking," and with a wink, "not yet."
'Love' blinks slowly, making the most of her eyes as pretty as all that, but buying time too. "June," she says after that moment, shaking her head at customers that don't buy booze or at a concept that lies somewhere beyond her reach: "June." As Vaughan's hand raises his cigarette from ash-plate to his lips, 'Love's' eyes follow; she searches his face for an answer and finds only a dead, gray stare. "June." So she looks again at Skinner, and with a bright smile supposes she's hit on the answer, and so she tilts her shoulders and puts down an arm on the bar and bends in real close, lashes sinking low. "Suppose you tell me what June looks like, handsome?"
At first, Skinner thinks it's a game. His eyebrows raise but his smile only grows wider, and he confirms with a nod that 'June' is his target. Doubt begins to creep in about the time she looks at Vaughan. Skinner's smile crumples into a thoughtful frown, and he begins to watch the girl more carefully for some sign that she's just playing with him. Just in case she is, he keeps his tone light. "June - buxom readhead, classy as a velvet curtain, owner of the Lucky Seven?"
"Oh, Tae--" But the girl leaning over the bar cuts short, and blinks prettily, and looks again at Vaughan, like maybe he'll help. But he's given up staring his only remotely appreciative stare at the barkeep and started squinting from the corners of his eyes at Skinner, a chance accomplished without moving his head. Now, with the girl checking on him, he goes ahead and turns his head, so he's squinting at the guy with the flowers head on. He drags, then plucks down the cig out of his mouth to tap it while he speaks, and smoke sneaks through the words as they come. "How long ago you see her, th'redhead?"
"Oh, Tae--" But the girl leaning over the bar cuts short, and blinks prettily, and looks again at Vaughan, like maybe he'll help. But he's given up staring his only remotely appreciative stare at the barkeep and started squinting from the corners of his eyes at Skinner, a change accomplished without moving his head. Now, with the girl checking on him, he goes ahead and turns his head, so he's squinting at the guy with the flowers head on. He drags, then plucks down the cig out of his mouth to tap it while he speaks, and smoke sneaks through the words as they come. "How long ago you see her, th'redhead?"
"Well, let's see, that'd be about two turns now," Skinner replies, but his eyes don't leave the girl at first. That she cut herself off only adds to the mystery, and that she keeps turning to Vaughan for support marks him more important than at first he seemed. Skinner rests his elbow on the bar, the flowers leaning in towards him, and returns Vaughan's head on look with one of the same. His eyes thin as he considers the man. "You know anything about her?"
"Oh," says the girl behind the bar, straightening. It wasn't the answer she expected. But Vaughan's unsurprised and shakes his head to the follow-up question. Knows nothing about her. But he takes another drag on the cigarette, pulling the ember close to his fingers with a deep breath, and sets the resulting stub down on the plate. After a moment holding the smoke he exhales gravelly words: "Know if she owned it, she ain't here now." He finishes sighing after that and looks to the bartender, who needs saving, poor girl. "Rum, neat." And she goes to get it, while the gray-eyed guy turns his heavy stare back to Skinner: "You her mister?"
Skinner says, "Her mister?" That way of putting can't help but get a laugh out of Skinner. "No. Are you hers?" He sends a glance after the girl, then returns to Vaughan with a brow arched. The flowers in his hand have grown more droopy even in the short while he's been sitting here, so Skinner transfers them to his lap where they can lie flat and be less obvious."
"Not hers." But someone's, then, maybe. Vaughan turns on his stool just a little, bodily, so his neck takes less of the work in keeping his heavy, gray focus so steadily on the bouquet-bringer. "Water, too. Tall glass," he asks of the barkeep when she returns with his rum and puts it down before him, so she's kept busy and free of obligation to worry about Junes who owned this business two turns ago. "Two turns," he remarks, not quite a question, and muscles beneath his eyes twitch as though supporting that leaden gaze is some work, and they bear it with experience but not always willingness. "What brings y'back?"
"When you say it that way, suddenly it sounds so long," Skinner comments after hearing 'two turns' repeated back to him. He shrugs it off with a light chuckle. "I wandered away, I wandered back. It's what I do." With no more flowers to hold, he brings his hands together, placing a thumb over the place where he's missing a pinky. "Used to do sales around the island here, and I set up the market, unless that's gone, too. Are you the Seven's current owner, then?" he wonders, with a glance back at the girl.
Vaughan's easy; listening suits him. (Talking, it might be already evident, does not.) He stubs out the discard of his smoke while Skinner explains his absence and his return, picks up the rum, gets a mouthful of it in while Skinner mentions the market. He swallows the mouthful a little harder, a little more ominously than intended, when the question comes, though, and while 'Love' or 'Doll' brings the tall glass of water and looks wide-eyed at Vaughan like, how did he know in advance he was going to choke??, picks up a fist in front of his lips like he needs a moment. Gulp. "No," he says, after, and shoves over the glass of water toward Skinner. "Gonna wilt, you don't vase 'em."
Skinner catches the glass of water easily, and if he's surprised to have it unceremoniously slung at him, it doesn't show. He just plops the flowers in there with a minimum of fuss, flashing a toothy smile at Vaughan for the thought and telling the girl, "Thanks for the water, doll." He pokes a flower head, lifting it to show the others what to do, and leaves them to enjoy their makeshift vase. "If June's not around, somebody's got to own it. Pity she left. We had such a good working relationship."
"Raveki," Vaughan says, but because this is so apropos of nothing-- having little to do with flowers, working relationships, or ownership in any explained way-- it might sound like an assemblage of syllables in an unknown tongue, some exotic curse. But the word makes the bartendress smile a little more courageously at Skinner's thanks, and she gives him a wink more playful than sultry before slinking down the bar to make sure the early drinkers have plenty to drink and someone to talk to, or look at. All those long moments later, after a clarifying mouthful of rum, the gray-eyed man adds, "Owns it." Very helpful.
Raveki? Skinner weighs this piece of random input with a glance at Vaughan, allowing the girl to get back to work on paying customers. "Raveki, then. Good to know. Here's hoping this Raveki likes to make a few purchases here and there. For himself? Or herself." He shrugs.
"Herself." Vaughan's measuring the wiry man beside him, now, the twitching beneath his eyes having fulfilled itself in a squint that is more keen than his stare was heavy. In the curl of his hand he tilts the rum, lets it rush around the glass in a circle, but after a moment he sets the glass down and puts that hand forward in a fairly unmistakable expectation of having it shaken. "Vaughan." One syllable, but he drawls, so a long one.
And Skinner greets this greeting with a grin, entirely cheerful. "Skinner," he replies, taking the hand. His grip is firm, for all it's missing a finger: the practiced shake of a businessman. "You spend a lot of time here, Vaughan, or have I caught you on a good day?"
Vaughan's hand is firm too, but rough, the careless shake of a very ordinary and rather dirty man. "Yup," he says, deliberate and slow, and even jerks down his chin in a fraction of a nod so that Skinner might understand that this abbreviated answer serves for both questions asked. Then he's turning back to his rum, putting an arm against the edge of the bartop, and it might seem their conversation is over until he picks up the glass and asks it, "You start out sellin' hides or what?"
Silence is just a part of this conversation. Skinner indulges in it himself, regarding Vaughan with a curious spark in his eye and some odd thought putting a twist upon his smile. "Trinkets, actually. Trinkets and magic tricks, but I worked my way up." He pulls one of his pants pockets out and wiggles it. It's empty. "From nothing, to nothing. A more genteel kind of nothing, happily: I no longer need to carry all my world's possessions on my back, or in my pockets. The name's got nothing to do with my business - or how I treat my clients, though there was a time when people thought that of me. Some probably still do," he muses, not upset by this.
Vaughan certainly did think that of him, for about four seconds after the words 'magic tricks.' The man's face doesn't make a habit of giving much away, but the quick shove of his sandy brows upward meant /something/ and what else but that? Those brows sink back down where they belong though, slowly, as Skinner puts out both the lining of his pocket and his defense. "So you're harmless," says the man whose occupation seems so far to be contributing to the dirtiness of a perfectly good bar by touching it, and he says it with an intonation like it's meant to be a funny, sarcastic perhaps; it's just that the tone doesn't affect his face. "What /is/ your business?"
"As a newborn kitten," Skinner confirms, though his grin is wolfish. "Like I said, I sell things. Find things. I may or may not run the market. If you ever have need of a particular item - a cigarette case, for example - I can find it for you, at a good price, and quality as you like it. I helped June build the bar," he gives as an example, waving his hand around. "Fabrics, furniture. Spread the word as I traveled, so she opened with a mass of ready patrons. You see, I do both small projects and large. The small ones mostly to oblige the people that I like, since I'm always traveling anyway. The margins don't compare."
"Might be the humblest trader I ever met, f'all that's true," says Vaughan, after a pretty long pause and a pretty good mouthful of rum. He's not an easy sell, if his blank indifference to cigarette cases, fabrics, and furniture is any tell, but then, he is blank and indifferent to so much, this might say nothing at all. "Market's still there. Or it's there, whether it's 'still' or not sounds like your call, not mine." This is a great mass of words, and it takes him some time to drag them all out, and afterward he empties the rum and puts down the glass and fingers the stub of the cigarette, the gesture conveying regret better than any pull of face could manage.
Skinner laughs at Vaughan's remark, undeterred by his dry manner of delivery. And he's happy to play along, in his more expressive manner: "I am undoubtedly the humblest. I'm glad the market's still alive; it was one of my better achievements, though whether it reverts to my control or not depends on the Headwoman. It's still Loe, isn't it? I had that news recently."
"Yeah, that's her." Vaughan's face doesn't change, but it does briefly disappear; he lifts a hand and puts it across his eyes, then pulls it down to his mouth, then pulls it further off the scruff of his chin. "Weyr's a funny place t'do business," he asserts after that, and lifts his chin in a jerky motion that's intended to help the barkeep notice he's gone dry of rum, and eventually she will and will bring him another without question. "Bet Vek'd like t'pick your brain."
Skinner quirks an eyebrow at that, but his tone is perfectly obliging. "My brain is at her service. If she can tell me what happened to June, so much the better." He smiles at the bartender when she comes back for Vaughan's rum and raises his fingers to get her attention for himself, also. "If I could have a glass of water, love?" That taken care of, he slips back into the conversation. "That's precisely the reason I do business here. The Weyr is overlooked; plenty of opportunities yet untapped."
'Love' looks at the glass of water that became a vase and, charmed, gives Skinner eyes and a flutter of lashes and a little dip of knees like a curtsey, but not exactly like, for his order. And, a moment later, she gives him a glass of water, also; this one contains a few chips of ice, which sets it apart from Vaughan's second rum. Well, that, and not being rum. "Don't mean funny like unexpected," he says as he surrenders the empty with a brush of knuckles and contains the new one in a curve of fingers, possessive. "Though maybe that. Mean funny like. Funny." Except he's not laughing. He's drinking, and sort of heavily, and staring gray over the raising rim of the glass at Skinner, see?
Skinner seems positively delighted by the girl's thoughtfulness in bringing him ice to go with his water. "Why, love, how nice of you," he tells her warmly. He drinks deeply but quickly, halving the glass in one go. "The water of paradise, purified by your touch, and the perfect reward to a long, hot journey. Thank you, love." He smiles his most charming smile after her, teeth sparkling and cheeks dimpling, then takes another drink. Over the rim of it, he looks at Vaughan. "Is it?" he asks, amused by the other man's amusement. "Maybe I'm too used to myself to get the joke."
"I like to see a man happy." That's Love, of course, and she is emboldened enough by such flattery to reach out to touch Skinner's dimpled cheek with drifting fingertips. She leaves after that, but in a lingering-look-over-shoulder way, in case he might turn into a mark after all. "Like difficult," says Vaughan, but shakes his head as soon as he's said it, brows drawing. This is frustration, so far as his face paints it, and he swallows dissatisfaction with another swallow of rum. "Like complicated." Better.
"I like to /be/ happy," Skinner tells the girl, and somehow makes his happiness sound like a compliment to her. But, while a man familiar with the Seven ought to know he can pay for more than drinks, he makes no move to find his money. Instead he turns to Vaughan, a bit puzzled now by his frustration. "Selling anywhere is complicated. Holders fling up bureaucracies, crafters get rivalrous, and weyrfolk just don't understand the concept of spending money. I say it," he adds, winking, "with affection."
If Skinner's puzzled by frustration, Vaughan's just as nonplussed by supposed affection. "I," he drawls, and then doesn't go farther than that for a long while, putting the rum down, looking at Skinner, looking past Skinner at Love, looking past him on the other side at probably nothing, coming back to Skinner with no luck having found any explanation for the other man's behaviour-- which this man, clearly, finds awful bizarre. "Ain't weyrfolk," he decides, at that length, jawing out the words like they were tough meat. "But some ain't got much t'spend. Weyr provides." He snorts.
Skinner snaps his fingers and leaves the forefinger pointed at Vaughan. "Exactly. The Weyr provides for all their needs, so what do they need to spend money for? That's the common theory." He leaves off his glass and drums his fingers on the table. "But it's really just the opposite. The Weyr provides, so why do they need to hang on to money? Not to buy food, or shelter. It's spending money. They won't grow more just by sitting on it. That's just plain stagnation, which is no good to anyone."
"Sure," says Vaughan, and with a quickness that might suggest he's given this some thought himself; he even turns on the barstool, straightening, dragging some of his slumped attention away from the drinking and the wasting of an otherwise perfectly good afternoon. "But then why should th'Weyr feed 'em spending money? Just f'th'convenience of having a market, a bar, a diner?" He coughs, or coughs up a laugh, a short rough sound that could pass as either one. "No. T'get it back out of th'market, th'bar, th'diner, with interest from th'mainland."
"Which is the clever thing to do," Skinner agrees. "And back when I got here, they only had one bar taking advantage of that, and it was mostly frequented by weyrfolk. Like I said - untapped market, great possibilities. Better for the Weyr and Ista as a whole, when it's not a vacuum of cash."
Raveki arrives from her room.
Raveki has arrived.
"Yeah," says Vaughan, looking a little less inspired than he was ten seconds ago; there was, then, a silvery keenness in his eyes that does not go out, exactly, but is dulled to a shade of oxidized pewter, dead tired. "Yeah, it's got t'be good for th'coffers." And he turns to his rum and cups a hand 'round it, draws it toward himself-- but not to drink. He slides forward, bends a knee against the bar's side, picks up the glass and puts down a foot. Moving. Going. From a barstool beside Skinner, in front of whom rest two glasses of clear liquid, one of them containing a slightly-worse-for-wear bouquet of flowers.
"Good for the coffers is good for everyone else," Skinner suggests with a shrug, but he doesn't try to press the issue on a man whose attention seems to be wandering. Still, he gives Vaughan a keen look of his own, right before flashing him one of those brilliant, toothy smiles. "Else you and I wouldn't get to be here, enjoying the drinks. Water or otherwise," he chuckles.
Shapeless sack slung over her elbow, apple in hand, Raveki strolls through the door. She has an easy smile on her face and pauses at the table nearest the door to lean in and say a few words to the pair of men there before turning her sauntering steps to the bar. When her eyes have adjusted to the comparative gloom she spots Vaughan and turns her steps a bit, heading for that part of the bar with more purpose to her steps. "Hey," she offers, dropping a hand to his shoulder before turning her smile on Skinner, "And hello to you too." Dark eyes flick back to Vaughan and her brows go up.
Aaand Vaughan's foot on the floor picks up onto its toes in its sandal, pushing him back into place on the stool, securing his shoulder under the dark-haired woman's hand. "Hey," he returns, and then does something he never does, or at least has not done yet, which is this: tip his head toward her and then toward the man beside him and provide introductions. "Raveki," he says, with precision, "This is Skinner." With clarity. But then he puts the rim of his glass to his mouth and fills the latter with some of what's in the former, rendering himself useless for further informing.
"Ah, so you are Raveki!" Skinner exclaims, sounding quite delighted. "And you are ravishing. I don't know if I can resist calling you Ravishing Raveki, but feel free to retaliate by calling me Skeevy Skinner, or something more complimentary, if you like." But the flash of his teeth, perfectly white, suggests he won't mind either way. "Vaughan tells me that you run the Seven these days. Tell me, do you know what happened to June? She used to own the place, but it appears she has moved on, and here's me, no idea where to look for her."
Raveki's hand was preparing to fall back to her side, but with Vaughan more firmly beneath it, she decides to leave it there. It does mean she doesn't have any hands for shaking, so she sets the apple on the bartop to free one up. A lean and a stretch across Vaughan brings that hand into Skinner's proximity but it sort of falters halfway there in the face of his enthusiasm. A split second is all that passes before a charmed smile is on her lips and the hand is being offered, along with a little drop of eyes and lashes. "You flatter me shamelessly, so of course it is a pleasure. I'm afraid I arrived after June left but what I heard is that she took some of the profits and was taking some time to herself somewhere pleasant. A retirement of sorts? Sorry I don't have any better details than that for you." Her eyes flick over him, assessing perhaps though the smile is firmly still in place. "If I hear from her I'll be sure to let her know you inquired."
Vaughan can go through a glass of rum in a short conversation's time, but he can also spend days on it, and rarely seem bothered if it's not cold or fresh. This one, his second of the afternoon, is going to be one of the lingering kinds of rums, because he drinks throughout the whole of the madam's introduction to Skinner and return, and still has plenty when he finally puts the glass down with a faint but audible clink. "Brought her flowers," says the lank-haired man, gray eyes steady on Skinner again, since he's the topic-- but then he turns his head and looks up at Vek. "Helped her build th'bar. And th'bay and mountains too, I hear."
Skinner gives Vaughan a light reproachful look. "And the sky, don't forget. I won't have my accomplishments undervalued." He takes Raveki's hand as he took Vaughan's before it: a firm shake, business-like in contradiction to his general effusiveness. "The breadth of it is that I did a good amount of business with June, but if she's moved on to better things, then I'm happy for her. Happy also that the Seven's still around, and hasn't," he shoots a mischievous look over his shoulder, at the girl who's been tending the bar, "lost its charm." When he returns that look to Raveki, the mischief is gone; it's all shine.
Raveki's grip is equally firm, giving as good as she gets. "You brought her flowers?" Her glance slides to the flowers then back, and her grin deepens a bit. "Very sweet of you. And I am glad to hear you still appreciate what we have to offer. I do hope we'll see more of you in that case... or are you just breezing through Ista?" Handshake finished, she hooks the nearest stool with her foot and drags it over, hopping easily up onto it and then waving the bartender over. "Just water, please."
Released from the tender weight of the madam's palm, Vaughan puts that foot back down on the floor and shoves his stool back from the bar a little, so Raveki can have whichever side or spot she wants with her own, the better to talk to this man arisen from a past they don't share. This passer-by, or passer-through. But he does not interrupt; he has a look for Raveki, a tip of his head and a flash of teeth that is so brief it might be hard to know it is a grin-- but that gives away the fine whiteness of teeth rather well-kept, for a man so otherwise dingy.
Skinner reaches out and gives the glass-vase a wiggle, the flowers within it flopping limply from side to side. "I like to let her know I care. With flowers picked from right outside her door, no less." As the bartender comes back to get Raveki's drink, he leans his elbow far on the table and addresses her in a stage whisper, "Doll, already I'm crazy about you, too, but if you keep inventing excuses to come back to me, the other men are going to get jealous. Ahem." He leans away again very quickly, as if that little act of his never happened, and smiles at Raveki. "I imagine you'll see more of me, although I do breeze in and out as business takes me."
Without a word too or from the gray-eyed man, Raveki scoots forward a few inches almost at the same time he scoots back, and she flashes him the smallest of grins. "You need another rum while she's here, hon?" For the girl delivering water she grins and winks, but then Skinner is leaning over and her dark brows go up, blatantly incredulous. "You're some kind of charmer, huh?" There's a little doubt there, but her smile is perfectly cultivated into something just short of flirtacious. "So when June was running things, you were a customer? Or just a helping hand?"
'Hon' says, in his quiet drawl, "No." 'Doll' says, "Oh, I like 'em jealous," but then gives Raveki a look that is hesitant-- oh well, the boss winked, it must be all right. She leaves the waters, and again does the over-shoulder lingering-look for Skinner before going back to being conversational with that guy down the bar who didn't bring or find someone else to be conversational with. Vaughan meanwhile lifts his glass so Raveki can see there's still rum in it, and smirks at her, "I struck out once, see if that's two more." Regarding, perhaps, what Skinner was, to June.
Despite calling for secrecy, Skinner openly plants his chin on his hand and grins after the girl, enjoying every moment of that lingering look. Just before she reaches her other customer and has to turn away, he winks. "Oh, some kind," he tells Raveki with a perfect lack of shame. "I was a business associate," he suggests, to spare her and Vaughan more guessing. "I got her the supplies she needed; she gave me free drinks; I kicked her back more customers..." He trails off with a twirl of his finger, indicating that his arrangements with June could go on. "She and her girls were a lot of fun," he finishes wistfully.
Raveki just tips her chin up at the bartender, a permissive little gesture, then turns clearly amused eyes back to Skinner. "Well darlin, I never had the pleasure of meeting June, but the girls and I are still a lot of fun, I assure you. And we are still in need of supplies, if you can beat the deal we have currently." Her voice drops the slightest bit and she leans an elbow into the bar too. "Though I don't generally have those kinds of talks right here at the bar. If you'll be around long enough to reinstate some of your prior arrangements I'd be happy to chat with you about it." Her eyes flick to Vaughan and her smile softens a bit. "Helping hand is sort of like business associate. I win." What exactly she 'wins' is apparently unimportant.
And what /his/ guess was goes unspoken, but it's possible the upward shove of one sandy brow and the steadiness of his stare at Raveki means something, to her, that it doesn't to most. It's possible she reads his wordless language. It's sure not like he speaks their wordy one, not with native fluency, anyway-- but anyhow, Vaughan tips his glass to the madam for her 'win' and turns his stare, brows even, onto Skinner. His mind is apparently miles away: "I bet Loe's goin' t'be glad t'see you." He even looks glad on the headwoman's behalf. See? This is his glad face. It's better than dead.
"Loe's always glad to see me," Skinner answers lightly. "She expresses it through anger. Luckily, I speak her language." His gaze moves easily from Vaughan to Raveki, speaking in their own language, and brings out another smile for the latter. "You got it, doll. If I can't get you better prices than your current supplier, then I'm not worth having, and I'll be sure to stop by for that conversation before I go breezing away. I did," he admits with a tip of his hand, "come straight back here from the Hold, so I've got to get a measure of my old contacts around the island yet."
Pearly teeth brush berry-stained lower lip, as that moment stretches between Vaughan and Raveki, but he breaks it with the tip of his glass and her eyes flash back to Skinner. A hint of color climbs up her cheeks and the tilt of her grin goes sheepsih for a beat, like maybe she might have forgotten he was sitting there for just that split second. "So you know Loe. And you understand her too, which is rare, I think. She could possibly use a day of being glad so don't take too long to find her." Now he gets the wink, just a little flutter of lashes. "And take your time with making contacts and the like. I live here so I'm not hard to track down, whenever you are ready."
Vaughan's staring at Skinner transforms from heavy but ordinary (for him) staring, a kind of rare-blinking rudeness that is his apparent signature, to something else entirely. It's just a twitch of his eyes that seems to leave them wider than they were, paler-- and slowly that paleness seems to seep into his flesh, gleaming beneath the sweat and tan of a laborer's skin. He could say, if he was a saying kind of man, many things right here. Many of them might be on the tip of his tongue, but his throat has gone unexpectedly dry and he reaches for the rum instead. Suddenly, it is not all-day rum. Suddenly, it is one-minute rum, and half of it's gone in a swallow. Then he can speak, and even as he's surrendering the glass to the bar and pushing down off of the stool he uses the gift of speech to say something entirely irrelevant to what must be in his mind, carefully not staring at Skinner. "What Hold?"
Skinner has, by and large, ignored the subvocal communications going on around here, but it's hard not to notice Vaughan going visibly /pale/, and impossible not to comment on it. "Are you all right, man?" He's not going to offer his own water, because dudes don't share glasses, but he does look from Raveki's glass to Vaughan since it's clear that this exchange would fall within the Code. Still with an eyebrow raised at that rapid grayshift, he answers the other questions that came at him. "Keep Loe waiting? Never. I'm headed off to find her next, just thought I'd drop by here as it was on my way. I took a ship into Ista Hold," he explains, and where he came from before that, he either doesn't think to say, or is purposefully not sharing.
It is not exactly easy to miss the paling and the rush of words through Vaughan's head if not actually to his lips. Raveki's eyes slide over his face but she doesn't press for whatever it was he's keeping ot himself - and least not at the moment. Nor does she offer him her water, though it is sitting right there should he decide to snag it on his own. Instead she just softly clears her throat and says, "And what brought you to the Hold?" The words are light, polite interest ruined in part by the fact that her gaze is on Vaughan's face until the last word when they drop back to Skinner, smile still in place. "I've never been there."
With a careless hand Vaughan pushes his barstool into place and out of the way, now that he doesn't need it anymore. "Fine," he answers Skinner, perfectly mild, and even looks at the man after saying it. These few seconds aren't enough to make him look less stricken, but they have let him school his expression and cool his eyes, and after a moment he jerks a little nod that will, eventually, prove to have been farewell. Then he turns to Raveki and mutters, "He founded the market." Like that explains something. Something big, like why the sky is blue. And then he bends close to the madam's shoulder and acts very much like he intends to kiss the side of her neck-- but does not, and straightens, and prowls on slapping sandals off toward what they both know perfectly well is the kitchen and not the way out.
"Well, you should!" Skinner tells Raveki. "It's not more than an hour's walk from here, and there are always plenty of things to do, even if you aren't me." Whatever that means. He doesn't elaborate; after all, Vaughan is leaving, and has to be seen off with a cheerful smile and twist of his hand. "Nice meeting you," he tells the smoker, and doesn't comment any further on that sudden paleness, or the retreat to the kitchen.
He founded the market. Raveki's brows go first up then down-- interested but the quizzical as this seems to mean rather more to the departing man that it does to her. Just the same she tilts her head to offer him a longer line of golden throat, but then he's leaving without actually touching her. She tosses a wiggle of fingers at his back, and is shaking her head as she turns her focus back to Skinner. "Even if I am not you? Somehow I get the sense that whatever you do is ever so much more entertaining than what I could find on my own. Somehow." Her gaze is keen when he has all of her attention, dark brown eyes weighing him. "Plus you came to find June and bring her flowers, then you drank water and distracted several of my employees all afternoon, so I also imagine that whatever it is you do at the Hold would cost less than anything I could dig up." She reaches for her as yet untouched water and takes a slow sip. "Maybe I need a guided tour."
Skinner beams at her, only too happy to take the hint - whether or not she meant to give it - and offer, "I am at your service, my lady. The next time I am headed Hold-ward, I'll stop by here first, and see if I can upgrade from distracting employees to distracting the proprietess. Not," he adds with a wag of his finger, "that I haven't enjoyed distracting your employees." He tips back the remains of his water and holds the glass up with a wiggle to attract the girl's attention, calling out "Doll" to get her attention. He sits back to wait with his cheek propped on his hand, completely at ease under Raveki's scrutiny. "So what brought you to Ista, doll, and running the Seven?"
Based on the lack of surprise at his offer and the easy way a pleased smile claims her lips, it's probably safe to assume that Raveki did indeed mean to give that hint. "That sounds perfect. Assuming I'm free to leave the bar, though if it's during the day that should be doable." She slides a finger down the side of her glass, gathering condensation, then flicks a glance at him out of the corner of her lashes. "Not too early mind you. We're open until not long before dawn and we all need our beauty sleep." She doesn't seem to have any objections to him calling the 'keep doll, or the grin on the girl's face as she leans more than necessary and takes her sweet time letting the water trickle into the glass. When he calls /Raveki/ doll though she just arches a brow and her smile turns to a smirk that's not altogether pleasant. "The Seven. They were short a girl and my madam at Boll thought it might be a good opportunity. The girls here were sort of collaboratively running things until just a few weeks ago when I took over more... officially."
Some kind of flirt, he is, and shameless to the core. He's perfectly dazzled by the generous view the barkeep gives him, and oblivious to any change in demeanor on Raveki's end. "You," he tells the girl pouring for him, "are everything a tired and thirsty man could hope for. I'd give you these flowers, if they weren't second-hand, and you desrving of much better tribute." You'd think it would be hard to carry on two conversations at a time, especially when one is so unctuous, but no: there is no limit to Skinner's smoothness, and apparently he can talk out of the side of his mouth just as well. "Has word of this lovely establishment made it all the way out to Boll? That's magnificent. And more so, in that it brought you here. The Seven needs good management."
Not the sort of madam to stop a man eyeing the merchandise, even if the merchandise is not hers, Raveki just leans a little further into the bar, balancing her chin in a raised palm. She waits through the flirtation with the girl behind the bar, who winks at Skinner and says, "I'd take em just the same. But you could bring my own tomorrow night if you prefer," right before she saunters off with a little swing to her step. Raveki sniffs, perhaps at the lack of subtlety conveyed by either party, and then she just nods. "Pell knew some of the girls, and might have been in touch with June too. As for managing, my madam taught me some things and I'm doing my best. No complaints so far."
"Bad management doesn't take long to show," Skinner opines, though his eyes are on the girl's backside. They return to Raveki only after the bartender's turned back to another customer, and when they do, he's once again flipped the switch from flirting to friendly without a trace left behind of the change. "If you've been in charge for more than a week, and haven't been pilloried yet, you're doing something right."
It's not a bad backside either, as it turns out. Raveki flicks the tiniest bit of a glance herself, then brings her eyes snapping back to Skinner when the turns back to her. "Not since I took over, nope. Right before." The confession draws a hint of that wicked grin back to her lips and she shakes her head, then says, "I don't need to keep you. Loe will not be pleased if she knows I made you dawdle on her way to see you."
Skinner raises his eyebrows at that hint of previous troubles, but he can pry into the gossip later. Lifting two fingers to his nose, he taps it and offers a rather off-beat salute to the Seven's new owner, standing with his glass. "I am a dawdling creature," he assures her, "and enjoyed my dawdle here. Nice to meet you, Ravishing Raveki. Dollface," this to the bartender, "I've got to head out now, but for you, for now, I leave these flowers. And I'll be back quite soon," he tells both women, with a grin, before gulping down the last of his water so he can leave them the empty glass. He's still crunching the ice as he walks out the door.
Raveki returns the little salute and then just shakes her head as she watches him walk out. When he is gone she turns to the newly christened Dollface, who is whisking her flowers up and setting them over on the shelves behind the bar. "He's got marks, get 'em all you want, but watch that one, hmm," is the madam's advice. Then she's slipping through the curtain and toward her room, water in hand.
When: Afternoon
Where: The Lucky Seven, Ista Weyr
What: Skinner returns from a two-year hiatus, and heads for the Lucky Seven in search of an old friend. He finds out that she's moved on, but gets to meet Vaughan and Raveki, who don't know quite what to make of him.
OOC: Log thiefed from Vaughan, who thiefed part of it from Raveki. I thank them both!
These hours in the afternoon, before the drinking hours truly begin, see mostly card players and serious regulars at the Lucky Seven. They see also, of course, the Seven's staff; a girl tends bar, another leans low over shoulders and pours rounds at a table in the card room. Another entertains two regulars at a table far from the bar, turning their desire to drink heavily so early in the day into a wealth of tips by making the business of acquiring whiskey an increasingly decorative one. A few men drink the ordinary way, at the bar, and among them is a man who does not drink at all. He does smoke, and he is familiar enough with the barkeep that when she comes to check on him they have a conversation-- the man speaks little but tips his head from time to time, and the girl seems comfortable with his way-- before she leaves him again, unpressed to buy alcohol, to tend her paying customers.
"Knock knock!" calls out a cheery, singsong voice, and in through the doors comes a young man holding a boquet of flowers. It's a scraggly bunch, clearly snagged from the paths outside the tavern and haphazardly assembled. Skinner pauses once he's stepped inside, looking around with an appraising eye. "Well, now, that's new," he remarks, though it's hard to say exactly what aspect of all-he-surveyed he finds so remarkable. The girl at the bar gets an eye, as well as the man she was just speaking to, and with an unbothered spring in his step lands himself on a stool right next to the smoker. "Hello, doll," he tells the bartendress. "And an afternoon to you," he adds for Vaughan.
'Doll' finishes putting up a brandy sour, barely sour, for an old bluerider down the bar who comes for the view; she gives him one with the drink, twisting her shoulders more than is strictly necessary as her fingers surrender the glass. Then she's brightly coming toward the mustachioed flower-holder, and perhaps because of the flowers she stops a foot back from the bar so he can see more of her, affects a schoolgirl's pose with an arm in front and one in back, hips back and chest forward, and blinks a few times, smoky lashes over light wide eyes. "Surely that's not for me," she breathes, and steps forward to put a hand on the bar, straightening out her spine in the process. A different presentation of her assets, but no less forward. "Can I get you something while you wait for...?"
Vaughan? Watches. Not the show. He's seen it. He does kind of watch the way she acts, the way she puts on her faces and her poses, taking some kind of cue from how she treats the newcomer who makes such a powerful entrance-- and since she treats him like a customer, so does the dockhand. "Good one," he agrees, affably. Just a guy drinking. Without a drink. He taps ash into the dish that's been left there for apparently that purpose, though it's not like there's any absence of ash on the floor. Maybe just not /his./
Skinner tips his head at the girl's display, the pull of his mouth suggesting he's impressed. He flashes her a quick grin. "I'll bring you one another day, love, with eyes as pretty as all that. Is June around?" He gives the flowers a wag when he speaks the name, indicating that this is who they're for. The small motion of the tapped cigar catches Skinner's eye, and draws it back to the dockhand for just long enough to take a quick measure of the man. "I'll have what this guy's having." Nothing. Leaning forward, he confides in the girl, "I had better not start drinking," and with a wink, "not yet."
'Love' blinks slowly, making the most of her eyes as pretty as all that, but buying time too. "June," she says after that moment, shaking her head at customers that don't buy booze or at a concept that lies somewhere beyond her reach: "June." As Vaughan's hand raises his cigarette from ash-plate to his lips, 'Love's' eyes follow; she searches his face for an answer and finds only a dead, gray stare. "June." So she looks again at Skinner, and with a bright smile supposes she's hit on the answer, and so she tilts her shoulders and puts down an arm on the bar and bends in real close, lashes sinking low. "Suppose you tell me what June looks like, handsome?"
At first, Skinner thinks it's a game. His eyebrows raise but his smile only grows wider, and he confirms with a nod that 'June' is his target. Doubt begins to creep in about the time she looks at Vaughan. Skinner's smile crumples into a thoughtful frown, and he begins to watch the girl more carefully for some sign that she's just playing with him. Just in case she is, he keeps his tone light. "June - buxom readhead, classy as a velvet curtain, owner of the Lucky Seven?"
"Oh, Tae--" But the girl leaning over the bar cuts short, and blinks prettily, and looks again at Vaughan, like maybe he'll help. But he's given up staring his only remotely appreciative stare at the barkeep and started squinting from the corners of his eyes at Skinner, a chance accomplished without moving his head. Now, with the girl checking on him, he goes ahead and turns his head, so he's squinting at the guy with the flowers head on. He drags, then plucks down the cig out of his mouth to tap it while he speaks, and smoke sneaks through the words as they come. "How long ago you see her, th'redhead?"
"Oh, Tae--" But the girl leaning over the bar cuts short, and blinks prettily, and looks again at Vaughan, like maybe he'll help. But he's given up staring his only remotely appreciative stare at the barkeep and started squinting from the corners of his eyes at Skinner, a change accomplished without moving his head. Now, with the girl checking on him, he goes ahead and turns his head, so he's squinting at the guy with the flowers head on. He drags, then plucks down the cig out of his mouth to tap it while he speaks, and smoke sneaks through the words as they come. "How long ago you see her, th'redhead?"
"Well, let's see, that'd be about two turns now," Skinner replies, but his eyes don't leave the girl at first. That she cut herself off only adds to the mystery, and that she keeps turning to Vaughan for support marks him more important than at first he seemed. Skinner rests his elbow on the bar, the flowers leaning in towards him, and returns Vaughan's head on look with one of the same. His eyes thin as he considers the man. "You know anything about her?"
"Oh," says the girl behind the bar, straightening. It wasn't the answer she expected. But Vaughan's unsurprised and shakes his head to the follow-up question. Knows nothing about her. But he takes another drag on the cigarette, pulling the ember close to his fingers with a deep breath, and sets the resulting stub down on the plate. After a moment holding the smoke he exhales gravelly words: "Know if she owned it, she ain't here now." He finishes sighing after that and looks to the bartender, who needs saving, poor girl. "Rum, neat." And she goes to get it, while the gray-eyed guy turns his heavy stare back to Skinner: "You her mister?"
Skinner says, "Her mister?" That way of putting can't help but get a laugh out of Skinner. "No. Are you hers?" He sends a glance after the girl, then returns to Vaughan with a brow arched. The flowers in his hand have grown more droopy even in the short while he's been sitting here, so Skinner transfers them to his lap where they can lie flat and be less obvious."
"Not hers." But someone's, then, maybe. Vaughan turns on his stool just a little, bodily, so his neck takes less of the work in keeping his heavy, gray focus so steadily on the bouquet-bringer. "Water, too. Tall glass," he asks of the barkeep when she returns with his rum and puts it down before him, so she's kept busy and free of obligation to worry about Junes who owned this business two turns ago. "Two turns," he remarks, not quite a question, and muscles beneath his eyes twitch as though supporting that leaden gaze is some work, and they bear it with experience but not always willingness. "What brings y'back?"
"When you say it that way, suddenly it sounds so long," Skinner comments after hearing 'two turns' repeated back to him. He shrugs it off with a light chuckle. "I wandered away, I wandered back. It's what I do." With no more flowers to hold, he brings his hands together, placing a thumb over the place where he's missing a pinky. "Used to do sales around the island here, and I set up the market, unless that's gone, too. Are you the Seven's current owner, then?" he wonders, with a glance back at the girl.
Vaughan's easy; listening suits him. (Talking, it might be already evident, does not.) He stubs out the discard of his smoke while Skinner explains his absence and his return, picks up the rum, gets a mouthful of it in while Skinner mentions the market. He swallows the mouthful a little harder, a little more ominously than intended, when the question comes, though, and while 'Love' or 'Doll' brings the tall glass of water and looks wide-eyed at Vaughan like, how did he know in advance he was going to choke??, picks up a fist in front of his lips like he needs a moment. Gulp. "No," he says, after, and shoves over the glass of water toward Skinner. "Gonna wilt, you don't vase 'em."
Skinner catches the glass of water easily, and if he's surprised to have it unceremoniously slung at him, it doesn't show. He just plops the flowers in there with a minimum of fuss, flashing a toothy smile at Vaughan for the thought and telling the girl, "Thanks for the water, doll." He pokes a flower head, lifting it to show the others what to do, and leaves them to enjoy their makeshift vase. "If June's not around, somebody's got to own it. Pity she left. We had such a good working relationship."
"Raveki," Vaughan says, but because this is so apropos of nothing-- having little to do with flowers, working relationships, or ownership in any explained way-- it might sound like an assemblage of syllables in an unknown tongue, some exotic curse. But the word makes the bartendress smile a little more courageously at Skinner's thanks, and she gives him a wink more playful than sultry before slinking down the bar to make sure the early drinkers have plenty to drink and someone to talk to, or look at. All those long moments later, after a clarifying mouthful of rum, the gray-eyed man adds, "Owns it." Very helpful.
Raveki? Skinner weighs this piece of random input with a glance at Vaughan, allowing the girl to get back to work on paying customers. "Raveki, then. Good to know. Here's hoping this Raveki likes to make a few purchases here and there. For himself? Or herself." He shrugs.
"Herself." Vaughan's measuring the wiry man beside him, now, the twitching beneath his eyes having fulfilled itself in a squint that is more keen than his stare was heavy. In the curl of his hand he tilts the rum, lets it rush around the glass in a circle, but after a moment he sets the glass down and puts that hand forward in a fairly unmistakable expectation of having it shaken. "Vaughan." One syllable, but he drawls, so a long one.
And Skinner greets this greeting with a grin, entirely cheerful. "Skinner," he replies, taking the hand. His grip is firm, for all it's missing a finger: the practiced shake of a businessman. "You spend a lot of time here, Vaughan, or have I caught you on a good day?"
Vaughan's hand is firm too, but rough, the careless shake of a very ordinary and rather dirty man. "Yup," he says, deliberate and slow, and even jerks down his chin in a fraction of a nod so that Skinner might understand that this abbreviated answer serves for both questions asked. Then he's turning back to his rum, putting an arm against the edge of the bartop, and it might seem their conversation is over until he picks up the glass and asks it, "You start out sellin' hides or what?"
Silence is just a part of this conversation. Skinner indulges in it himself, regarding Vaughan with a curious spark in his eye and some odd thought putting a twist upon his smile. "Trinkets, actually. Trinkets and magic tricks, but I worked my way up." He pulls one of his pants pockets out and wiggles it. It's empty. "From nothing, to nothing. A more genteel kind of nothing, happily: I no longer need to carry all my world's possessions on my back, or in my pockets. The name's got nothing to do with my business - or how I treat my clients, though there was a time when people thought that of me. Some probably still do," he muses, not upset by this.
Vaughan certainly did think that of him, for about four seconds after the words 'magic tricks.' The man's face doesn't make a habit of giving much away, but the quick shove of his sandy brows upward meant /something/ and what else but that? Those brows sink back down where they belong though, slowly, as Skinner puts out both the lining of his pocket and his defense. "So you're harmless," says the man whose occupation seems so far to be contributing to the dirtiness of a perfectly good bar by touching it, and he says it with an intonation like it's meant to be a funny, sarcastic perhaps; it's just that the tone doesn't affect his face. "What /is/ your business?"
"As a newborn kitten," Skinner confirms, though his grin is wolfish. "Like I said, I sell things. Find things. I may or may not run the market. If you ever have need of a particular item - a cigarette case, for example - I can find it for you, at a good price, and quality as you like it. I helped June build the bar," he gives as an example, waving his hand around. "Fabrics, furniture. Spread the word as I traveled, so she opened with a mass of ready patrons. You see, I do both small projects and large. The small ones mostly to oblige the people that I like, since I'm always traveling anyway. The margins don't compare."
"Might be the humblest trader I ever met, f'all that's true," says Vaughan, after a pretty long pause and a pretty good mouthful of rum. He's not an easy sell, if his blank indifference to cigarette cases, fabrics, and furniture is any tell, but then, he is blank and indifferent to so much, this might say nothing at all. "Market's still there. Or it's there, whether it's 'still' or not sounds like your call, not mine." This is a great mass of words, and it takes him some time to drag them all out, and afterward he empties the rum and puts down the glass and fingers the stub of the cigarette, the gesture conveying regret better than any pull of face could manage.
Skinner laughs at Vaughan's remark, undeterred by his dry manner of delivery. And he's happy to play along, in his more expressive manner: "I am undoubtedly the humblest. I'm glad the market's still alive; it was one of my better achievements, though whether it reverts to my control or not depends on the Headwoman. It's still Loe, isn't it? I had that news recently."
"Yeah, that's her." Vaughan's face doesn't change, but it does briefly disappear; he lifts a hand and puts it across his eyes, then pulls it down to his mouth, then pulls it further off the scruff of his chin. "Weyr's a funny place t'do business," he asserts after that, and lifts his chin in a jerky motion that's intended to help the barkeep notice he's gone dry of rum, and eventually she will and will bring him another without question. "Bet Vek'd like t'pick your brain."
Skinner quirks an eyebrow at that, but his tone is perfectly obliging. "My brain is at her service. If she can tell me what happened to June, so much the better." He smiles at the bartender when she comes back for Vaughan's rum and raises his fingers to get her attention for himself, also. "If I could have a glass of water, love?" That taken care of, he slips back into the conversation. "That's precisely the reason I do business here. The Weyr is overlooked; plenty of opportunities yet untapped."
'Love' looks at the glass of water that became a vase and, charmed, gives Skinner eyes and a flutter of lashes and a little dip of knees like a curtsey, but not exactly like, for his order. And, a moment later, she gives him a glass of water, also; this one contains a few chips of ice, which sets it apart from Vaughan's second rum. Well, that, and not being rum. "Don't mean funny like unexpected," he says as he surrenders the empty with a brush of knuckles and contains the new one in a curve of fingers, possessive. "Though maybe that. Mean funny like. Funny." Except he's not laughing. He's drinking, and sort of heavily, and staring gray over the raising rim of the glass at Skinner, see?
Skinner seems positively delighted by the girl's thoughtfulness in bringing him ice to go with his water. "Why, love, how nice of you," he tells her warmly. He drinks deeply but quickly, halving the glass in one go. "The water of paradise, purified by your touch, and the perfect reward to a long, hot journey. Thank you, love." He smiles his most charming smile after her, teeth sparkling and cheeks dimpling, then takes another drink. Over the rim of it, he looks at Vaughan. "Is it?" he asks, amused by the other man's amusement. "Maybe I'm too used to myself to get the joke."
"I like to see a man happy." That's Love, of course, and she is emboldened enough by such flattery to reach out to touch Skinner's dimpled cheek with drifting fingertips. She leaves after that, but in a lingering-look-over-shoulder way, in case he might turn into a mark after all. "Like difficult," says Vaughan, but shakes his head as soon as he's said it, brows drawing. This is frustration, so far as his face paints it, and he swallows dissatisfaction with another swallow of rum. "Like complicated." Better.
"I like to /be/ happy," Skinner tells the girl, and somehow makes his happiness sound like a compliment to her. But, while a man familiar with the Seven ought to know he can pay for more than drinks, he makes no move to find his money. Instead he turns to Vaughan, a bit puzzled now by his frustration. "Selling anywhere is complicated. Holders fling up bureaucracies, crafters get rivalrous, and weyrfolk just don't understand the concept of spending money. I say it," he adds, winking, "with affection."
If Skinner's puzzled by frustration, Vaughan's just as nonplussed by supposed affection. "I," he drawls, and then doesn't go farther than that for a long while, putting the rum down, looking at Skinner, looking past Skinner at Love, looking past him on the other side at probably nothing, coming back to Skinner with no luck having found any explanation for the other man's behaviour-- which this man, clearly, finds awful bizarre. "Ain't weyrfolk," he decides, at that length, jawing out the words like they were tough meat. "But some ain't got much t'spend. Weyr provides." He snorts.
Skinner snaps his fingers and leaves the forefinger pointed at Vaughan. "Exactly. The Weyr provides for all their needs, so what do they need to spend money for? That's the common theory." He leaves off his glass and drums his fingers on the table. "But it's really just the opposite. The Weyr provides, so why do they need to hang on to money? Not to buy food, or shelter. It's spending money. They won't grow more just by sitting on it. That's just plain stagnation, which is no good to anyone."
"Sure," says Vaughan, and with a quickness that might suggest he's given this some thought himself; he even turns on the barstool, straightening, dragging some of his slumped attention away from the drinking and the wasting of an otherwise perfectly good afternoon. "But then why should th'Weyr feed 'em spending money? Just f'th'convenience of having a market, a bar, a diner?" He coughs, or coughs up a laugh, a short rough sound that could pass as either one. "No. T'get it back out of th'market, th'bar, th'diner, with interest from th'mainland."
"Which is the clever thing to do," Skinner agrees. "And back when I got here, they only had one bar taking advantage of that, and it was mostly frequented by weyrfolk. Like I said - untapped market, great possibilities. Better for the Weyr and Ista as a whole, when it's not a vacuum of cash."
Raveki arrives from her room.
Raveki has arrived.
"Yeah," says Vaughan, looking a little less inspired than he was ten seconds ago; there was, then, a silvery keenness in his eyes that does not go out, exactly, but is dulled to a shade of oxidized pewter, dead tired. "Yeah, it's got t'be good for th'coffers." And he turns to his rum and cups a hand 'round it, draws it toward himself-- but not to drink. He slides forward, bends a knee against the bar's side, picks up the glass and puts down a foot. Moving. Going. From a barstool beside Skinner, in front of whom rest two glasses of clear liquid, one of them containing a slightly-worse-for-wear bouquet of flowers.
"Good for the coffers is good for everyone else," Skinner suggests with a shrug, but he doesn't try to press the issue on a man whose attention seems to be wandering. Still, he gives Vaughan a keen look of his own, right before flashing him one of those brilliant, toothy smiles. "Else you and I wouldn't get to be here, enjoying the drinks. Water or otherwise," he chuckles.
Shapeless sack slung over her elbow, apple in hand, Raveki strolls through the door. She has an easy smile on her face and pauses at the table nearest the door to lean in and say a few words to the pair of men there before turning her sauntering steps to the bar. When her eyes have adjusted to the comparative gloom she spots Vaughan and turns her steps a bit, heading for that part of the bar with more purpose to her steps. "Hey," she offers, dropping a hand to his shoulder before turning her smile on Skinner, "And hello to you too." Dark eyes flick back to Vaughan and her brows go up.
Aaand Vaughan's foot on the floor picks up onto its toes in its sandal, pushing him back into place on the stool, securing his shoulder under the dark-haired woman's hand. "Hey," he returns, and then does something he never does, or at least has not done yet, which is this: tip his head toward her and then toward the man beside him and provide introductions. "Raveki," he says, with precision, "This is Skinner." With clarity. But then he puts the rim of his glass to his mouth and fills the latter with some of what's in the former, rendering himself useless for further informing.
"Ah, so you are Raveki!" Skinner exclaims, sounding quite delighted. "And you are ravishing. I don't know if I can resist calling you Ravishing Raveki, but feel free to retaliate by calling me Skeevy Skinner, or something more complimentary, if you like." But the flash of his teeth, perfectly white, suggests he won't mind either way. "Vaughan tells me that you run the Seven these days. Tell me, do you know what happened to June? She used to own the place, but it appears she has moved on, and here's me, no idea where to look for her."
Raveki's hand was preparing to fall back to her side, but with Vaughan more firmly beneath it, she decides to leave it there. It does mean she doesn't have any hands for shaking, so she sets the apple on the bartop to free one up. A lean and a stretch across Vaughan brings that hand into Skinner's proximity but it sort of falters halfway there in the face of his enthusiasm. A split second is all that passes before a charmed smile is on her lips and the hand is being offered, along with a little drop of eyes and lashes. "You flatter me shamelessly, so of course it is a pleasure. I'm afraid I arrived after June left but what I heard is that she took some of the profits and was taking some time to herself somewhere pleasant. A retirement of sorts? Sorry I don't have any better details than that for you." Her eyes flick over him, assessing perhaps though the smile is firmly still in place. "If I hear from her I'll be sure to let her know you inquired."
Vaughan can go through a glass of rum in a short conversation's time, but he can also spend days on it, and rarely seem bothered if it's not cold or fresh. This one, his second of the afternoon, is going to be one of the lingering kinds of rums, because he drinks throughout the whole of the madam's introduction to Skinner and return, and still has plenty when he finally puts the glass down with a faint but audible clink. "Brought her flowers," says the lank-haired man, gray eyes steady on Skinner again, since he's the topic-- but then he turns his head and looks up at Vek. "Helped her build th'bar. And th'bay and mountains too, I hear."
Skinner gives Vaughan a light reproachful look. "And the sky, don't forget. I won't have my accomplishments undervalued." He takes Raveki's hand as he took Vaughan's before it: a firm shake, business-like in contradiction to his general effusiveness. "The breadth of it is that I did a good amount of business with June, but if she's moved on to better things, then I'm happy for her. Happy also that the Seven's still around, and hasn't," he shoots a mischievous look over his shoulder, at the girl who's been tending the bar, "lost its charm." When he returns that look to Raveki, the mischief is gone; it's all shine.
Raveki's grip is equally firm, giving as good as she gets. "You brought her flowers?" Her glance slides to the flowers then back, and her grin deepens a bit. "Very sweet of you. And I am glad to hear you still appreciate what we have to offer. I do hope we'll see more of you in that case... or are you just breezing through Ista?" Handshake finished, she hooks the nearest stool with her foot and drags it over, hopping easily up onto it and then waving the bartender over. "Just water, please."
Released from the tender weight of the madam's palm, Vaughan puts that foot back down on the floor and shoves his stool back from the bar a little, so Raveki can have whichever side or spot she wants with her own, the better to talk to this man arisen from a past they don't share. This passer-by, or passer-through. But he does not interrupt; he has a look for Raveki, a tip of his head and a flash of teeth that is so brief it might be hard to know it is a grin-- but that gives away the fine whiteness of teeth rather well-kept, for a man so otherwise dingy.
Skinner reaches out and gives the glass-vase a wiggle, the flowers within it flopping limply from side to side. "I like to let her know I care. With flowers picked from right outside her door, no less." As the bartender comes back to get Raveki's drink, he leans his elbow far on the table and addresses her in a stage whisper, "Doll, already I'm crazy about you, too, but if you keep inventing excuses to come back to me, the other men are going to get jealous. Ahem." He leans away again very quickly, as if that little act of his never happened, and smiles at Raveki. "I imagine you'll see more of me, although I do breeze in and out as business takes me."
Without a word too or from the gray-eyed man, Raveki scoots forward a few inches almost at the same time he scoots back, and she flashes him the smallest of grins. "You need another rum while she's here, hon?" For the girl delivering water she grins and winks, but then Skinner is leaning over and her dark brows go up, blatantly incredulous. "You're some kind of charmer, huh?" There's a little doubt there, but her smile is perfectly cultivated into something just short of flirtacious. "So when June was running things, you were a customer? Or just a helping hand?"
'Hon' says, in his quiet drawl, "No." 'Doll' says, "Oh, I like 'em jealous," but then gives Raveki a look that is hesitant-- oh well, the boss winked, it must be all right. She leaves the waters, and again does the over-shoulder lingering-look for Skinner before going back to being conversational with that guy down the bar who didn't bring or find someone else to be conversational with. Vaughan meanwhile lifts his glass so Raveki can see there's still rum in it, and smirks at her, "I struck out once, see if that's two more." Regarding, perhaps, what Skinner was, to June.
Despite calling for secrecy, Skinner openly plants his chin on his hand and grins after the girl, enjoying every moment of that lingering look. Just before she reaches her other customer and has to turn away, he winks. "Oh, some kind," he tells Raveki with a perfect lack of shame. "I was a business associate," he suggests, to spare her and Vaughan more guessing. "I got her the supplies she needed; she gave me free drinks; I kicked her back more customers..." He trails off with a twirl of his finger, indicating that his arrangements with June could go on. "She and her girls were a lot of fun," he finishes wistfully.
Raveki just tips her chin up at the bartender, a permissive little gesture, then turns clearly amused eyes back to Skinner. "Well darlin, I never had the pleasure of meeting June, but the girls and I are still a lot of fun, I assure you. And we are still in need of supplies, if you can beat the deal we have currently." Her voice drops the slightest bit and she leans an elbow into the bar too. "Though I don't generally have those kinds of talks right here at the bar. If you'll be around long enough to reinstate some of your prior arrangements I'd be happy to chat with you about it." Her eyes flick to Vaughan and her smile softens a bit. "Helping hand is sort of like business associate. I win." What exactly she 'wins' is apparently unimportant.
And what /his/ guess was goes unspoken, but it's possible the upward shove of one sandy brow and the steadiness of his stare at Raveki means something, to her, that it doesn't to most. It's possible she reads his wordless language. It's sure not like he speaks their wordy one, not with native fluency, anyway-- but anyhow, Vaughan tips his glass to the madam for her 'win' and turns his stare, brows even, onto Skinner. His mind is apparently miles away: "I bet Loe's goin' t'be glad t'see you." He even looks glad on the headwoman's behalf. See? This is his glad face. It's better than dead.
"Loe's always glad to see me," Skinner answers lightly. "She expresses it through anger. Luckily, I speak her language." His gaze moves easily from Vaughan to Raveki, speaking in their own language, and brings out another smile for the latter. "You got it, doll. If I can't get you better prices than your current supplier, then I'm not worth having, and I'll be sure to stop by for that conversation before I go breezing away. I did," he admits with a tip of his hand, "come straight back here from the Hold, so I've got to get a measure of my old contacts around the island yet."
Pearly teeth brush berry-stained lower lip, as that moment stretches between Vaughan and Raveki, but he breaks it with the tip of his glass and her eyes flash back to Skinner. A hint of color climbs up her cheeks and the tilt of her grin goes sheepsih for a beat, like maybe she might have forgotten he was sitting there for just that split second. "So you know Loe. And you understand her too, which is rare, I think. She could possibly use a day of being glad so don't take too long to find her." Now he gets the wink, just a little flutter of lashes. "And take your time with making contacts and the like. I live here so I'm not hard to track down, whenever you are ready."
Vaughan's staring at Skinner transforms from heavy but ordinary (for him) staring, a kind of rare-blinking rudeness that is his apparent signature, to something else entirely. It's just a twitch of his eyes that seems to leave them wider than they were, paler-- and slowly that paleness seems to seep into his flesh, gleaming beneath the sweat and tan of a laborer's skin. He could say, if he was a saying kind of man, many things right here. Many of them might be on the tip of his tongue, but his throat has gone unexpectedly dry and he reaches for the rum instead. Suddenly, it is not all-day rum. Suddenly, it is one-minute rum, and half of it's gone in a swallow. Then he can speak, and even as he's surrendering the glass to the bar and pushing down off of the stool he uses the gift of speech to say something entirely irrelevant to what must be in his mind, carefully not staring at Skinner. "What Hold?"
Skinner has, by and large, ignored the subvocal communications going on around here, but it's hard not to notice Vaughan going visibly /pale/, and impossible not to comment on it. "Are you all right, man?" He's not going to offer his own water, because dudes don't share glasses, but he does look from Raveki's glass to Vaughan since it's clear that this exchange would fall within the Code. Still with an eyebrow raised at that rapid grayshift, he answers the other questions that came at him. "Keep Loe waiting? Never. I'm headed off to find her next, just thought I'd drop by here as it was on my way. I took a ship into Ista Hold," he explains, and where he came from before that, he either doesn't think to say, or is purposefully not sharing.
It is not exactly easy to miss the paling and the rush of words through Vaughan's head if not actually to his lips. Raveki's eyes slide over his face but she doesn't press for whatever it was he's keeping ot himself - and least not at the moment. Nor does she offer him her water, though it is sitting right there should he decide to snag it on his own. Instead she just softly clears her throat and says, "And what brought you to the Hold?" The words are light, polite interest ruined in part by the fact that her gaze is on Vaughan's face until the last word when they drop back to Skinner, smile still in place. "I've never been there."
With a careless hand Vaughan pushes his barstool into place and out of the way, now that he doesn't need it anymore. "Fine," he answers Skinner, perfectly mild, and even looks at the man after saying it. These few seconds aren't enough to make him look less stricken, but they have let him school his expression and cool his eyes, and after a moment he jerks a little nod that will, eventually, prove to have been farewell. Then he turns to Raveki and mutters, "He founded the market." Like that explains something. Something big, like why the sky is blue. And then he bends close to the madam's shoulder and acts very much like he intends to kiss the side of her neck-- but does not, and straightens, and prowls on slapping sandals off toward what they both know perfectly well is the kitchen and not the way out.
"Well, you should!" Skinner tells Raveki. "It's not more than an hour's walk from here, and there are always plenty of things to do, even if you aren't me." Whatever that means. He doesn't elaborate; after all, Vaughan is leaving, and has to be seen off with a cheerful smile and twist of his hand. "Nice meeting you," he tells the smoker, and doesn't comment any further on that sudden paleness, or the retreat to the kitchen.
He founded the market. Raveki's brows go first up then down-- interested but the quizzical as this seems to mean rather more to the departing man that it does to her. Just the same she tilts her head to offer him a longer line of golden throat, but then he's leaving without actually touching her. She tosses a wiggle of fingers at his back, and is shaking her head as she turns her focus back to Skinner. "Even if I am not you? Somehow I get the sense that whatever you do is ever so much more entertaining than what I could find on my own. Somehow." Her gaze is keen when he has all of her attention, dark brown eyes weighing him. "Plus you came to find June and bring her flowers, then you drank water and distracted several of my employees all afternoon, so I also imagine that whatever it is you do at the Hold would cost less than anything I could dig up." She reaches for her as yet untouched water and takes a slow sip. "Maybe I need a guided tour."
Skinner beams at her, only too happy to take the hint - whether or not she meant to give it - and offer, "I am at your service, my lady. The next time I am headed Hold-ward, I'll stop by here first, and see if I can upgrade from distracting employees to distracting the proprietess. Not," he adds with a wag of his finger, "that I haven't enjoyed distracting your employees." He tips back the remains of his water and holds the glass up with a wiggle to attract the girl's attention, calling out "Doll" to get her attention. He sits back to wait with his cheek propped on his hand, completely at ease under Raveki's scrutiny. "So what brought you to Ista, doll, and running the Seven?"
Based on the lack of surprise at his offer and the easy way a pleased smile claims her lips, it's probably safe to assume that Raveki did indeed mean to give that hint. "That sounds perfect. Assuming I'm free to leave the bar, though if it's during the day that should be doable." She slides a finger down the side of her glass, gathering condensation, then flicks a glance at him out of the corner of her lashes. "Not too early mind you. We're open until not long before dawn and we all need our beauty sleep." She doesn't seem to have any objections to him calling the 'keep doll, or the grin on the girl's face as she leans more than necessary and takes her sweet time letting the water trickle into the glass. When he calls /Raveki/ doll though she just arches a brow and her smile turns to a smirk that's not altogether pleasant. "The Seven. They were short a girl and my madam at Boll thought it might be a good opportunity. The girls here were sort of collaboratively running things until just a few weeks ago when I took over more... officially."
Some kind of flirt, he is, and shameless to the core. He's perfectly dazzled by the generous view the barkeep gives him, and oblivious to any change in demeanor on Raveki's end. "You," he tells the girl pouring for him, "are everything a tired and thirsty man could hope for. I'd give you these flowers, if they weren't second-hand, and you desrving of much better tribute." You'd think it would be hard to carry on two conversations at a time, especially when one is so unctuous, but no: there is no limit to Skinner's smoothness, and apparently he can talk out of the side of his mouth just as well. "Has word of this lovely establishment made it all the way out to Boll? That's magnificent. And more so, in that it brought you here. The Seven needs good management."
Not the sort of madam to stop a man eyeing the merchandise, even if the merchandise is not hers, Raveki just leans a little further into the bar, balancing her chin in a raised palm. She waits through the flirtation with the girl behind the bar, who winks at Skinner and says, "I'd take em just the same. But you could bring my own tomorrow night if you prefer," right before she saunters off with a little swing to her step. Raveki sniffs, perhaps at the lack of subtlety conveyed by either party, and then she just nods. "Pell knew some of the girls, and might have been in touch with June too. As for managing, my madam taught me some things and I'm doing my best. No complaints so far."
"Bad management doesn't take long to show," Skinner opines, though his eyes are on the girl's backside. They return to Raveki only after the bartender's turned back to another customer, and when they do, he's once again flipped the switch from flirting to friendly without a trace left behind of the change. "If you've been in charge for more than a week, and haven't been pilloried yet, you're doing something right."
It's not a bad backside either, as it turns out. Raveki flicks the tiniest bit of a glance herself, then brings her eyes snapping back to Skinner when the turns back to her. "Not since I took over, nope. Right before." The confession draws a hint of that wicked grin back to her lips and she shakes her head, then says, "I don't need to keep you. Loe will not be pleased if she knows I made you dawdle on her way to see you."
Skinner raises his eyebrows at that hint of previous troubles, but he can pry into the gossip later. Lifting two fingers to his nose, he taps it and offers a rather off-beat salute to the Seven's new owner, standing with his glass. "I am a dawdling creature," he assures her, "and enjoyed my dawdle here. Nice to meet you, Ravishing Raveki. Dollface," this to the bartender, "I've got to head out now, but for you, for now, I leave these flowers. And I'll be back quite soon," he tells both women, with a grin, before gulping down the last of his water so he can leave them the empty glass. He's still crunching the ice as he walks out the door.
Raveki returns the little salute and then just shakes her head as she watches him walk out. When he is gone she turns to the newly christened Dollface, who is whisking her flowers up and setting them over on the shelves behind the bar. "He's got marks, get 'em all you want, but watch that one, hmm," is the madam's advice. Then she's slipping through the curtain and toward her room, water in hand.