Trouble and Delight
Location: Aramia's Bar
Time: Night on Day 19, Month 9, Turn 2
Players: Roa, Ashwin, Aramia (NPC), Triess (NPC), Wrendall (NPC) and various other bar patrons.
Scene: Roa goes to Tillek to meet Ashwin's family. She learns a lot more than she expected.
This scene was the culmination of a lot of back history. To fully understand the nuances, you can go here to get a glimpse of young Ashwin growing up. Then check out what happened when he joined the Guard, and what his mother had to say about it afterwards. Then there is this scene in which Ashwin discusses his upbringing with Roa, and this one in which Roa is convinced to visit Ashwin's family. Finally, look here for a layout and description of the bar and those who work there.
The day was hectic and there are, really, still things to do. But certain readings have been left for later, certain infirmary tasks reassigned. Roa bathed, and secretly panicked over what to wear and ended up settling on her usual fare. This elusive woman was, after all, going to meet -her-, so she might as well be herself. Or as much of that as she could be. So the braided bun is the same, if a little tidier. Her general aesthetic is her own, if a little crisper.
The flight to Tillek is short and cold, and perhaps to spare Tialith the stares, or perhaps to spare the bar the questions, the queen, once finished delivering her passengers to the main hold, wings off to the dragonheights. This necessitates a brief but pleasant greeting, Roa dropping in to pay her respects to Anshuman, chatting lightly about Nabol and G'thon and Lexine (all in very vague and courteous terms) before beating a hasty retreat. By this time it's full dark, and the plan seems to be walking the next leg of the journey. Roa has removed her knot, shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket (which is not, as it happens, a riding jacket just now) and follows besides Ashwin in pensive silence. There's a sort of grim look about her features. Marching to the gallows, but too proud to show them her fear.
Ashwin is comfortable with both the parts he'll play tonight. He's comfortable as he stands by the door, waiting for his lover to finish her conversation with the man he was once sworn to. He waits until they're well clear, and in the dark, before he reaches out to wrap an arm around her, shortening his stride carefully. He looks no different to usual - shirt sleeves, underneath his jacket. Light, laughter and sound stream out the windows of the tavern, and the door flies open to allow a group of sailors to exit, singing loudly. Ashwin draws to a halt, keeping her with him, to allow them to pass. Then, with a squeeze, she's released so that he can claim just her hand instead, and pausing only for a brief, encouraging grin, lead her in.
Oh, for a longer pause. Oh, in fact, for turning around and going home. It's one thing to know Ashwin grew up in a bar. It's quite another to be expected to go there when the place is in full swing. Still, if she cannot quite muster a return smile, she can at least follow after, fingers squeezing Ashwin's somewhat frantically.
Inside, it's a typical night. The place is kept immaculate by bar standards, and the floor only really gains any sort of stickiness by the end of the night. The room is warmly lit by a generous fire and equally generous glow sconces, and folks are drinking, laughing, shouting, playing cards. Women's heads bob in and out of the mostly male populous, some carrying trays of drinks and others just carrying themselves. There is a tall, slim, blonde woman working behind the bar with a shorter fuller figured brunette. The slender woman's green eyes are crinkled into a smile as she takes this or that order. Over at one of the tables, a group of sailors includes another pale head: a tall, lanky man currently losing a few of his marks to his compatriots. Somebody at the table's recently said something to set the whole group laughing.
It is, however, one of the women without tray who finally notices their arrival. She too is tall, her skin tanned, her eyes a unique shade of pale brown. She wears a burgundy dress that draws forth the reddish highlights in her hair and as she spots the guard, she begins to weave her way though. "Ashwin!" The woman starts to lean in for a moment, as if to steal a kiss or perhaps demand one, but she stops short, eyes flicking over and finally taking note of that other figure. The little dark-haired one. Holding his hand. There is, for a moment, simple surprise on the woman's face, but then it blossoms into a gentle smile. "Oh, you poor dear. Did he find you working yourself up to it on the stoop? He's kind that way, isn't he, but I'm afraid we're not hiring just now."
Ashwin lifts his head to scan the room, taking in the woman behind the bar, the sailors at the table, and any number of the other patrons and women in between. Just what he would have done, had the woman demanded a kiss, is anyone's guess. He's spared the decision, and offers her a wry, familiar smile - he's at ease with her, whoever she is. "You're certainly not hiring this one," he replies, a tug on Roa's hand aiming to bring her in against his side, out of the stream of traffic, and perhaps to serve as a more concrete signal. "She's spoken for. You working tonight, or you going to have a drink with me?"
'She' is studying the interaction with quiet curiosity, because it is perhaps the first time she's seen Ashwin openly at ease around anyone. Let alone a fully dressed female. Roa offers a small smile and a nod, and if the comment about hiring has flown over her head, maybe that's just as well.
"Spoken for?" This time the surprise is feigned and the little scrap of a thing is given another bit of scrutiny in the guise of a warm smile. "Well, welcome then." And then back to Ashwin. "Seyra's going to flip. Does Aramia know? I'm workin', but only a half-night, so save a drink for me, would you, Ash? I can cover the bar for a few, you wanna go say 'hi'."
"Try not to faint dead away," Ashwin murmurs, dryly amused. "Seyra got her flipping over last seven, I hope." Not a great deal of optimism, there. "And Aramia knows. Visiting under orders." He glances down at Roa for a moment, arm tightening to a squeeze around her shoulders. "We'll find a table, if you'll cover and let her know we're here?" Another glance down to Roa, then. "What'll you have to drink?" And eyes up again. "Beer, for me." And finally, belatedly, "I'm sorry. This is Triess."
Triess rolls her eyes. "There's only one way you manage to make me nearly pass out, and it ain't by bringing girls home. Not even Weyr girls. As for Seyra, I wouldn't get your hopes too high that there won't be shriekin' and huggin' before the morning." She looks down at Roa, "Nice to meet you. Me and the rest of the girls'll be by in a tick, right around when you start to get tired of the two-word sentences." Roa's thrown a wink.
The little weyrwoman offers another smile (just slightly forced) and then a quiet, "Well met, Triess. I'd have a beer too, please." And then the woman behind the bar is given a second, longer glance, now that she's been identified.
"Two beers it is." Triess turns and makes her way to the bar, though more of the girls are starting to notice Ashwin and his tagalong. Instead of rushing to Ash, however, they are quietly creeping towards Triess. Get the news. Formulate a plan of attack.
For his part, Ashwin wrinkles his nose at Triess in return for her 'two word sentences' barb, pausing only for a moment as the two women exchange glances. Then there's a roar from the far side, a group of men wearing the badges of guards exploding into laughter and catcalling at some remark. That decides him, and with a nod for Roa, he turns his back on the departing Triess, steering Roa towards one of the corner tables as it comes free - away from the group of his former colleagues, for now at least. He does pause in his stride as he watches two of the girls moving past in a purposeful manner, but then his attention's back on Roa as he pulls out a chair for her. "You all right?" See, three words!
Working. Covering the bar. Half the girls don't have trays and one is seated on some sailor's lap. So Roa is coming to quickly understand just who, and what, the girls might be. Her brows quirk upwards slightly, but then there's roaring and, thank goodness, steering away. And there is also Triess' first comment to mull over as she sinks into the offered seat. Elbows are on the table, hands clasping so when she settles, her face from the nose down is hidden. She does lift her head to reply, "I'm all right. How many of all these folks in here know you?" Danger, danger, red alert. The pair of girls that moved in and out of Ashwin's line of sight are, in fact, talking quietly with those roaring guards.
Ashwin sinks down into his chair after she does, back to the bar in general, studying her face in silence for a moment. "Fair few," he concedes, reaching out to wrap one of his hands around hers. "Spent a bit of time here at one point." It's a dry understatement, delivered with a faint smile. "You need to be somewhere else, you just give me the eye, understand? We'll back out. She'll have had her chance to clap eyes on you."
Roa's eyes travel over to the stairs that lead up into the rooms above. "You lived up there?" she asks, curious. "Since you were thirteen. Which means you know all the girls and a fair few of the locals. I'm all right." Her fingers curled in his give a little squeeze. "If I can manage a gather in heels, I can manage this."
And speaking of clapping and eyes, the drinks are coming over on a small tray, and it is Aramia who holds them. Approaching the table, she sets one down then the other before pulling out a third chair and seating herself, tray resting against her chair. Ashwin's offered a single nod and then Roa is given a long and open look before Aramia turns back to her son. "Squared away?" is all she asks.
For the time being, the guards have all manage to acquire a girl for each of their laps. But it seems to be more a matter of having a place to sit than anything seductive. There is quiet talking, some gesticulating, a few glances towards Ashwin's table and, occasionally, laughter.
He glances briefly back over his shoulder, to the balcony. "Sure, up there," he agrees. "Not the whole time, though. I was in barracks after a couple of turns. Still, the point stands. Spent enough time here to know them all." A quirk of a smile for her words, and then Aramia's arriving. Look how Ashwin's trained - he comes politely to his feet when she arrives, and sinks back down as she does. "Ma, this is Roa," he murmurs, hitting the quietest volume available to him that will still carry over the noise. "Roa, my Ma, Aramia." There's no sign of nervousness at this introduction. No sign that he knows that behind him, his old friends are getting a little free attention.
Roa's not noticing that either. What she is noticing, instead, is Aramia's arrival. Not so much that she arrives, but the -way- in which she arrives. And the way in which Ashwin responds. Roa doesn't stand, but she does offer a nod as she's introduced and a quiet, "Pleased to meet you."
Aramia doesn't look surprised. Not outwardly. However, her eyes return immediately to the younger woman as her name is given. The gaze is returned, blue eyes and green studying each other in silent speculation. 'Roa' is a name Aramia knows. Folks have been placing bets on that name when there's nothing else to bet on. There is just the slightest tightening of her jaw before a decision is reached and Aramia offers Roa a small nod. "Welcome," she says plainly enough.
It may be that it has not occurred to Ashwin that her name will be known. If that is the case, then he's disabused of that notion, now. His thumb, in the act of tracing gently over her knuckles, pauses - his jaw squares in a movement that's a more obvious version of his mother's. Then she speaks, and he resumes movement once more, squeezing the smaller hand within his, gently. "Try and fend the girls off a little if you will?" he asks, retreating fractionally from the ease with which he addressed Triess. "I've got a feeling about their reception."
Aramia quirks a single brow at her son. "You brought her in here without a knot and on your arm. You knew what that meant. Fend them off yourself." And then she turns to Roa to say, calm and expressionless, "You didn't give your name, so they won't know who you are. You're going to have to forgive them, or if you can't, the two of you had better steer out early." Ashwin is given a quick, cool look. It's certainly not -Aramia's- fault that Triess was offered no introduction.
Roa only shakes her head. "The knot's off for a reason, ma'am. I'll take what's coming, although I'm suddenly thinking I might want to get busy with this beer first." Said mug is lifted and sipped. The comment, at least, calls forth the ghost of a smile to Aramia's lips as well as a tiny nod of approval.
"Thanks, Ma." Ashwin's reply is dry, and with another squeeze, Roa's hand is released so he can reach for his drink. She was indeed on his arm, and if he did so under orders, it cannot be imagined that he did not expect some sort of reception from the other women in his life. A long pull from his glass, before he sets it down. "How long's he home for?" There's not a glance towards the lanky, blonde man still laughing with his shipmates. Neutral voice.
Aramia leans back in her chair, hands resting in her lap. It's done different than when Roa makes a similar gesture. Roa is tucking things away, controlling her fingers, stealing calm. Aramia is simply drawing attention to the fact that she has hands and that they are steady and reliable things. "Two more days. Then back out for another pair of sevens." Like Ashwin, Aramia doesn't bother to look towards the pale sailor. "You'll see him, before you leave." One cannot call those words a request.
Roa has simply fallen quiet to take small sips of her beer. She doesn't say anything. She only watches the interactions in a sort of comfortable silence. Things are lining up in her head, and besides the sipping, Roa barely moves. Perhaps she's worried motion will jostle the bits and pieces before they can fully come together.
Just watch Ashwin's face close over for a moment. "Mmmm." That's acquiescence, as he reaches for his drink once more. Another long swallow. "Before I leave." Right before he leaves, to judge by that tone. He's silent then for a few moments, turning his glass in his hands, studying it. A slow breath in through his nose, and his expression unwinds a little, head coming back up. "Ulric been in lately?"
"He comes by. Checks in once in a while. News from the bar is easy to get. News from the Weyr isn't so much." Again that direct and pointed stare of Aramia's is leveled onto her son.
Roa sits quietly. Sip. Sip.
"I'll make a note to write," Ashwin replies, meeting his mother's eyes squarely, as blank as can be. "No real news to speak of." So. That's his father covered, Ulric covered, the girls covered. Efficiency abounds. More silence.
And then it clicks. Small snippets of old discussions flit through Roa's mind as she slowly lowers the beer mug which has, for all her sipping, only decreased about a quarter of the way.
...Not as easy for some of us...Why is it important?...Your wishing it does not make conversation easier for me...I am what I am is all...Just don't feel the need to talk all the time...that's why you were always going to be the Captain's, he knows how to talk...I can't be likable without all the conversation?...I don't know /how/ to say it...
Oh. Faranth.
The weyrwoman turns her head to study the guards and their cohorts in crime, mostly because she doesn't trust her expression enough not to give away that something in her head has changed. But, it ultimately ends up serving as a warning, because the girls have clustered and the guards have clustered, and they're heading towards the little table in two purposeful groups. It's a different sort of hazing to be sure, but a trial by fire is coming just the same.
It might be that Ashwin is looking for a way out, or that he sees something flicker in her face when he glances over. At any rate, he turns his head to spot the men he once helped command making his way towards them, and pauses. Still no flicker in expression, although there's faint tension across his shoulders now. "Don't let them bother you," he murmurs to Roa, unconcerned by his mother's presence. Indeed, she's addressed next. "Try and keep an eye on the girls." Not a request, so much as an injunction.
Aramia pushes back her seat and picks up her tray. "Triess has been behind the bar long enough. She's too keen on sneaking free drinks to the sorry ones." In other words: you're on your own, son. And, indeed, Aramia departs only a few moments before the pair of groups arrive.
With a grin, one of the other women snatches Roa by the hand and just starts walking so that she's scrambling upwards in order to avoid falling on her face. They close around her, Perri tossing a sharp grin over her shoulder at Ashwin, and then the hoard swarms through the bar and up the stairs, Roa somewhere among their ranks. A door along the balcony closes with a loud click, the women sealing themselves within.
As the girls abduct, the men surround, and extra chairs are dragged over so that they can plunk down around their once Lieutenant, grinning to a man, and looking almost malicious about it. "Lieutenant," warbles one of the youngest. And then another, "You just cost me a week's pay, man. A -week's-." Really, how unthoughtful can the once-Lieutenant be?
Ashwin lifts his head for a moment to meet Perri's eyes. He might have used that moment to shoot her a warning, but he knows better than to challenge these women, and inspire them to greater efforts. So instead he's blank, meeting her grin with... nothing. Then his attention is on his men. He slides back into this moment as easily as though he never departed it, leaning back in his chair, and eyeing the speakers with a measuring gaze. "Did I?" Faint, easy amusement. He's not worried. Just look. "Thoughtless of me."
"Incredibly," agrees the one who has lost his marks. And then, belatedly and with a smirk, "Sir." He is one Neslan by name and another, Cormac, is plunking his own tankard on the table to announce that he intends to talk next. "Least you can do is give us the news." "Little, ain't she?" this is the youngest, Fressir, again. "Not who I'd'a thought you'd settle on." "It's true, sir," pipes up brown-haired Samtin, "We sort of figured the one you'd pick'd be able to change hair and eye color at a whim. So as to hold your interest." "And height!" Cormac adds. "And--" but Fressir is elbowed in the gut before he can finish. Not that the men care, really, but any excuse to elbow Fressir in the gut. They know Ashwin, and they know, when talking with Ashwin, they mostly have to make their own conversation.
Ashwin listens in silence; Cormac earns a hint of an approving nod as he remembers his 'sir'. Far less formal than Captain Harley, or than his co-second, Ashwin nevertheless intends - tonight at least - on requiring that small measure of respect. The only protection he has, perhaps. "That," he returns, sliding his own quiet contribution into the general babble, "is because you are inexperienced, boys." A pause, for the inevitable reaction, before he continues. "There are plenty of reasons for a man to let his interest settle one particular place."
And it is that last, even more than the jab about inexperience, that has the men roaring with laughter, those close enough pounding Ashwin on the back. A trait many of the men absorb while working under Harley. How often have one of them tried to go on about their girl to a blank and slightly perplexed face? How many times had their queries about Ashwin 'just picking one' been met with two word denials such as 'no thanks' or, the very favorite 'what for?'. It is Fressir who catches his breath first and, after finishing his ale, says what they're all burning to say. "Well, sir, you're our superior. Reckon it's your job to fill us in on the knowin' that we lack." "Give us some reasons, sir," adds Neslan. Cormac and Samtin add their own agreements to this request.
He's had plenty of practice with the blankness, and it serves him well now. Still, there's something different about this stoicism. It's not the stony, expressionless wall that Ashwin throws up when uncomfortable. It's a sort of calm serenity that does not require smiles or scowls. Ashwin, two months short of his twenty-seventh birthday, fixes his men with that serene glance, lips twitching to a brief hint of a smile. "Thought it was about time I did the right thing, stepped back. Let the rest of you have a fair chance at some of them."
That, of course, elicits more laughter, more back pounding and the ordering of some sort of whiskey and five shot glasses. They will eventually arrive and get plunked down at the table. "Oh, come on, sir," chortles Samtin. "You may have had them all, but you didn't have them all at -once-." "And it ain't exactly like they're too discernin'," notes Fressir, but that gets him another jab in the gut and the hasty cover from Cormac, "Which ain't sayin that they ain't fine girls. They are." "You not gonna give us a thing, sir?" quips Neslan as the whiskey and the glasses arrive. Fressir, still wincing a bit, pours.
Fressir earns himself a long, level look from Ashwin, to go with that jab in the gut - an assertion of authority, and insistence upon a point, both silent. Then he's released from that gaze, and reprimanded further by the fact that it is turned away towards Cormac, accompanied by a twitch of a grin. "Not a thing," Ashwin replies serenely, reaching for his glass. "If you need educating, I'd recommend Perri. She doesn't mind innocent." So bland, that jab, barely a flicker of humour. "I'm certainly not explaining it to you." He turns his glass in his fingers, pausing for a moment to mull over the question of a toast. Finally, simply this. "Women. Trouble and delight." And up goes his glass.
Fressir gets cool glares all around. There are unspoken rules about this bar and these girls and Fressir danced carefully close to breaking one. So he sits, quiet and sullen for a round, until Ashwin's toast has all of them lifting their shots and, with heartfelt agreement, knocking them back. It's Cormac that pours this time. "Speaking of women and Weyrs..." he begins, "you still thinking you can win that week's wage back?" This is some other chain of banter, directed at Neslan, that has been going on without Ashwin. He's been gone, after all. "Well, we got the Lieutenant here for inside information, now." "It's Sinopa," grunts Samtin. "It's gonna be her. She was there first, and nobody's going to want a foreigner after what happened. She's runnin' things now and they patched up Nabol."
Ashwin leans forward, holding his glass out for a refill. He listens in silence for a moment, and there's a brief retreat for a moment from that easy serenity into something a little more reserved. Then, with a slow breath out through his teeth, he's speaking. "Very respectful, putting money down on the Weyrwoman. Can't say I know that one in particular very well. What are you betting on her doing, exactly?"
"I don't know," pipes up Fressir, "that new one they say is smart. And the folks there like her. Some say Sinopa's only doing so well cuz she's there towin' the line." "Lexine, too," notes Neslan, "not that she's in the runnin', really. Not with the wings and just going at Telgar." There's a faint murmur of agreement when Ashwin asks his question and Cormac answers, a bit of puzzlement that the Lieutenant doesn't know, "Goin' up first. Bein' senior." A tiny smirk before Cormac lifts his glass. "To weyrwomen their their winnin' us marks from time to time." Another murmur of agreement and a communal shot swallowed.
Except by Ashwin, who declines to drink to his lover's impending flight. He prefers to glance down at his glass for a moment, treating the contents to a slow blink. Then he swallows, mouths something - one word, her name - and downs his shot, leaning forward only a few instants after the others to set his glass down. "Couldn't say who'll be first," he murmurs, then raises his voice. "Good luck with your wagers. They're unknowable, those queens. Unnerving, eyeballing a man."
Neslan and Samtin have gotten into a quiet debate about it, but Cormac maybe notices the change in the Lieutenant. "Makes me edgy too," Fressir admits as he hefts the bottle to refill the glasses. "Big mouths. And temperamental." "That depends on the rider, though," notes Cormac. His brother was searched turns ago. Never mind that the lad didn't impress. It makes Cormac the current Weyr expert among their ranks. "New one's supposed to be nice. Morley likes her." That would be his brother. "You know, actually, she's meant to look a fair shake like your girl, sir." Fressir picks up this line of thought immediately. "That what you were waiting for, sir? Holdin' out for a weyrwoman?" This has Neslan and Samtin stop short and for a moment all four of the men stare at Ashwin in quiet shock. And then the sniggering starts and the absurdity of the whole idea has them dissolved into laughter.
So serene, Ashwin's smile. He leans forward a third time to watch his glass splashed full, then eases back into his chair, allowing the banter to flow over and around him. He meets that shocked observation with the same serene smile - there's nothing to be gleaned from it, and raises his glass as they laugh. Finally, when the sound lowers enough that he can be heard, "That's right, boys. Holding out for the very best." He could be serious, technically. But surely there's no way he'd be announcing such a thing with such an expression.
More snickering and the other four lift their glasses. "To the very best, for our Lieutenant," grins Neslan. The other three murmur their agreement and the alcohol vanishes down their throats.
Upstairs...
There's gales of laughter as the girls push open the door to Perri's quarters, tumbling through en masse. Seyra goes up on her toes, feeling around on top of the closet until she locates a bottle, and pulls it down as they collapse onto the bed, onto the floor, sprawling cheerfully, the door closing loudly behind them. "Well!" That's Seyra, laughing, pulling out the cork with a flourish. "Tell us everything! /How/ did you manage it?"
"I..." Roa is still reeling from the fact that she was just sort of kidnapped and locked into a room with many women of negotiable affections. Who want to know about her. She backs up a little, sinking onto the edge of the bed to stare at her hands a moment before lifting her gaze to let it flit around the ten faces. Her smile is tiny, but sincere. "I haven't a clue, actually."
"Oh, come on," Perri scoffs, friendly, although her eyes gleam with mischief. Triess sinks down next to Roa, slinging a companionable arm around her shoulders. "Must have been quite a campaign." Her words are a purr, and draw laughter. "Or you must know something worth teaching us. We're all ears girls, aren't we?" More laughter, as Seyra offers their guest the bottle.
She gets a whole bottle? Roa lifts the thing and takes a gulp, swallowing it down before passing it off to Triess. "He hit his head," Roa notes with a tiny smile. "I think that's really what did it, more than anything. We were...I would call it friends, before that. -He-, well, he didn't want to call me much of anything." Except 'ma'am'.
"What, on the headboard?" From the blonde in the corner, a joking, half-confused question. From the rest, screams of laughter. Triess takes the bottle, pulling a long slug from it before it's passed along. "And what, then you jumped him?" Her question is sly, and earns her a quick glance from Perri.
Headboard? Oh! Roa bites her lower lip and shakes her head. "No. We weren't...it was a frying pan. There was a bar fight. He was, uhm, angling for twins. Got a frying pan instead. When he came back, Morley, that's one of the guards, woke me up. Because I do a bit of healer work so..." Roa clears her throat, studying her hands. "Anyhow, he was out of his head. And talking. As in, I couldn't get a word in edgewise. And saying things I knew he'd kick himself for in the morning. So. I gave him my knot and I wouldn't take it back until he brought it to me." A small pause, a tiny shrug and just the hint of a smile. "That's when I jumped him."
There's soft laughter at the mention of a frying pan, and a roar of laughter at the mention of twins, the girls nudging each other, exchanging glances, thoroughly amused. "Of /course/ he was," one girl snickers, dark haired and dark eyed. "Think about it, who're the only two he ever wanted together more than once?" There's a series of quiet noises of understanding, although nobody offers Roa illumination. She earns herself a smattering of applause for her final confession, although Triess reaches down to claim the bottle halfway through its round, plucking it from a redhead's hand and passing it back to Roa. "Healer's a good match for a guard," Perri observes, approving. "You can patch him up when he gets back at night. Now, girls." They know what's coming, ten sets of eyes on Roa, in anticipation of her reaction. "I suppose we'd better make sure she's keeping Ash happy."
Blue eyes flick over to the dark haired dark eyed girl as the bottle returns to Roa's hand. Sip. This time it's passed off to a girl on the floor seated opposite of Triess. "So, wait then. I mean, I just want to be clear. You've all..." brows lift high in query as she studies everyone in the room a second time. "All of you?" And then those final words set in and wide eyes widen more. Oh. Boy.
There's a pause, then, as ten sets of eyes fix on her with a mixture of surprise, faint consternation, and amusement. Then understanding seems to strike several of the girls, and a soft wave of laughter sets in. "Oh, don't worry." The redhead leans forward from her spot on the floor to reach for the weyrwoman's ankle, squeezing it reassuringly. "Your man doesn't pay. It's our pleasure."
Very softly..."Oh." Roa clears her throat. "I think I'm a bit out of my depths," she admits. The girl has had two swigs of dubious bottled alcohol and a quarter of a beer. With her body mass, that's enough to make her tongue a touch looser than it should be. "I mean, I can't catch up the same way he did, obviously, and he...knows. A lot. Of things."
"I should say he does," Triess agrees beside her, silky in her ear. "We put a lot of time and effort into teaching him, and he's a man who takes instructions very well." Giggles, from the floor. "I suppose," Seyra observes, fixing Triess with a prolonged glance, then sliding her eyes across to Roa with a smile, "we'd better do him a favour, and teach you some tricks of the trade, so to speak. You can thank us later." "Don't mind the swearing." That's the blonde from the corner, chipping in. "He'll do that, when he likes it. It's a good sign."
"That much, I've figured out," Roa notes wryly. "There's a whole hierarchy of them." But, of course, they'd know that. Because they all...she swallows once and then reaches down for the bottle again. In part for fortification, and in part so that she can resettle a foot further away from Triess and her whispers.
"Where do you start, really?" Perri's flummoxed by that one for a moment, glancing up to Seyra - it's into that breach that the blonde steps, chirping cheerfully. "What do you think, Triess?" A sly giggle, although there's no malice in it. "Where do you usually start?" Triess' lips curve to a slow smile, and she reaches over to claim the bottle from their guest, lifting it to inspect it for a moment. "Take the neck of this bottle," she begins, as superior as any harper who ever lectured. "Now, imagine..." What comes next is frank at best, disturbingly detailed at worse. Complete with demonstration.
Eidetic memory can really have its uses. Roa watches the demonstration, nodding to this or that point and even, once, asking for a touch of clarification. She is not, however, certain she wants to drink anything more from the bottle. She remains mostly quiet, now. A willing pupil. Or, at the very least, a captive one.
The conversation degenerates from there, and as Roa does not quail, pale or flee, the other women become more detailed, almost businesslike, albeit also delighted. They're working their way around the circle now, relating personal specialties. Perri has just explained a complicated arrangement that involves enough flexibility to hook one's legs up over one's partner's shoulders, and now it's around to Triess. "If you really want to get him," she murmurs, pausing for effect - she's the expert here, and the others know it, leaning in. "What you do is reach out, hook a finger through his belt, and yank him in against you. Then you reach up, get a hand around his neck, and just haul him down to kiss you." She smiles, the cat that got the cream. "You just watch. Not that uncommon amongst the guards. They like it when their woman lets them know what she wants. Ash sure likes it."
Some of the mechanics of some of the endeavors...Roa is not certain she -is- that flexible. Bending over and touching your toes during stretches is one thing. Some of these suggestions...quite another. But knowledge is knowledge, and suddenly there is a very large list of things to try, which is not something the little weyrwoman finds unappealing. Triess' latest confession has her tipping her head to the side and smiling faintly. Because of course that would work. Of course it would. Why didn't Roa ever think of that before? "Thank you." The words could be for the women in general, but she looks at Triess when she says them.
Triess smiles, smug, but she manages to summon something that at least seems a little more genuine when she returns Roa's glance, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "It's the least we can do," she murmurs. "Isn't that so, girls?" A chorus of giggles and agreement. "We had our turn," the redhead agrees, laughing, lifting the bottle for a mouthful. "And he's a good man. The least we can do is see he enjoys himself." An exaggerated wink, then. "And you, with any luck." Perri begins to unfold from where she's seated on the ground, and Seyra follows suit a moment later, stretching. "Speaking of other people's enjoyment," she says, reaching down to offer the blonde her hand. "Some of us are due back down there to see they get just that."
"None better," Roa says with a tiny smile as Ashwin is noted as being a good man. As the girls stand, so does she, sliding off the bed and turning towards the door. There is a bit of her, certainly, that cannot wait to leave. And, strangely, a bit of her that's sorry to go. "Thanks. For the kidnapping." But Roa eyes are bright with mirth as she says it.
"Most welcome," comes the chorus, with a collection of laughingly theatrical imitations of a guard's salute. "You make sure he comes back to see us, you hear?" "You do your homework, come back with your questions!" "Make sure you try the bit with the hot tea, then come back to thank me." These, and a dozen more, as she's hustled out and down the stairs - from there, some of the girls fan out, back to work, and Seyra and Triess escort her back to where the guards wait.
The guards have gone through a few more rounds of shots and a few more topics of discussion, though glances were starting to drift upstairs more often than not. It's one thing for the girls to have their fun, but it's another for that fun to be had at the expense of gaining access to said girls. Did they -all- have to go? So as the door opens and there is a flood of female spilling down the stairs, the four excuse themselves with murmurs of "Sir" and "You picked a good one" and, from Fressir, "Seems just as fine as any weyrwoman." And then he too is off to pick his own 'weyrwoman' for the night. This leaves, in the end, Roa standing in front of Ashwin's chair, smirking slightly. "I think I've been initiated," she informs him softly.
Ashwin accepts their words placidly, a nod indicating that he is quite secure in his choice - that their approval is appreciated, but unnecessary. His faint smile is still in place as he looks up to Roa, and for a moment he's pulling his legs in, sitting up to begin to reach for her, as though he'd pull her down into his lap. Then he pauses, and his hand thumps down onto his knees instead. "What did they tell you?" So very wary.
Roa shrugs. "Not so much. Girl things, mostly. They all seem very nice." As she has not been yanked into his lap, she moves to seat herself across from him. "Anyone else we have to say hello to?" She hasn't forgotten, perhaps, Aramia's edict, but she sounds innocent enough when she asks.
"Don't sit, I'd say we're done." Ashwin's easing forward already, hands braced against his knees so he can rise. "We're not going to get a better swing at my Ma. I'll have to come back to eat some time, if I want to have a conversation. Probably time we got back, anyway."
"I wouldn't mind," Roa admits, pausing midway seated to straighten again, "heading out. Tia's been asking when we're coming back for a bit." Her head tips to the side as she asks, gently, "Ash. You sure there's no one else?"
"Quite sure," Ashwin replies, brusque in that moment, straightening up abruptly. Then his tone is softened, a small smile added, and he leans over to claim her hand. "We'll just give her a wave on the way out the door. Busy, this time of night, with the drinks." And indeed, he's steering a course that way, ready to pull her along in his wake.
So Roa follows, keeping her own expression neutral as he makes his choice. Aramia is busy, the bar is hopping, but her eyes are on Ashwin as soon as he starts moving. They follow him as he makes his way towards the door, and somehow, by the time he arrives, Aramia has freed herself, Kava is, for a few minutes, seeing to the customers on her own, and his Ma is there. Waiting for him.
Ashwin isn't fool enough to try and get past that. Aramia's presence is registered, and, ducking around a group of holders, he comes to a halt in front of her, fingers tightening around Roa to pull her in. "Night, Ma." Innocent as anything. "Won't be so long again before I'm back."
Aramia says nothing. Not a single thing. She only holds her son's eyes and arches a single golden brow.
Roa, for her part, is all silent interest.
If only she weren't standing in front of the door. The shutdown begins, light fading from Ashwin's eyes, jaw squaring, gaze growing distant. A process that Roa has watched so many times now, as he begins to extract himself mentally from the situation. "He's busy." Of course that's going to be inadequate. He adds another, quietly expressionless. "Tialith's getting restless."
Roa has seen this, many times. She's caused it her fair share as well, and she draws in a deep breath to ready herself for either a hasty departure or a careful dance of backstepping and cajoling between mother and son. Neither of these things happens, however.
What happens is that Aramia narrows her eyes slowly and presses her lips together. Her right hand reaches up to curl around Ashwin's chin and lower jaw, jerking his head from where he stares off over her shoulder to force his eyes back to her face. "Ashwin!" The word is not loud, but it is sharp and clear. "Enough. Go. See. Your father."
And lo, it works. He lifts his chin almost immediately, to pull it free of her grip, scowling. But he's scowling, not blank, brows crowding together in a fierce frown. He's back. Roa's hand is released, and he turns away to angle a shoulder into the crowd, expertly creating a space through which he can move. There is neither an invitation that his weyrwoman join him, nor a ban on her doing so.
It works. Roa's mouth is slightly agape as she simply stares at Aramia. The other woman watches Ashwin only long enough to see he's headed the correct way this time before turning her attention to Roa. "I wouldn't," she says simply. "He's used to it from me." A small pause before a final bit of advice is dropped, "Or if you do, save it up." Then she's turning and making her way to the bar, arriving just in time to keep Kava from getting overwhelmed.
Wordless, Roa turns to follow quietly after Ashwin as he makes his way to the blonde sailor and his cohorts.
Wrendall is laughing and somehow, from when Ashwin and Roa entered until now, his pile of marks has grown impressively. His bad luck seems to have taken a better turn, and right now he's listening with a grin to one of the other men telling a bawdy joke.
Ashwin inserts himself at the edge of the group, and when one man completes his stocktake of his pockets, and fades backwards, Ashwin steps forward to take his place, edging sideways so that there's room for Roa to insert herself in front of him. Not unaware that she has followed. He doesn't speak, but simply joins the audience, polite, if not openly amused.
The little weyrwoman accepts her offered spot, moving to stand in front of Ashwin as she...they...wait for something.
Wrendall is grinning widely at the punchline, his own features holding a distinct similarity to his son's, but without that same reserve. Eyes are the same color, but they manage to be playful instead of solemn. Lips are of similar shape, but they beam instead of quirk. Jaw is the same, but it is hard to imagine it clenching. Finally, amusement fading away, the sailor looks over towards the small gathering of watchers and then blinks in sudden and obvious surprise. It says something, perhaps, that this is truly the first moment Wrendall had any idea his son was even in the room. "Ashwin," The grin he offers is broad and uninhibited, if the name itself is nearly as softspoken as when his son talks. "Good to see you. Your mother told me things had settled down. Join us for a game?" Never mind that the chairs are full. Wrendall will work around it. Just you wait. Roa is given a glance, a nod, but no formal greeting yet.
"Father." Ashwin's greeting is delivered with a nod, one hand curving around Roa's waist to pull her back in against him. "We can't stay, we're due back." He's not quite closed down, not quite completely hostile. Not quite completely neutral. By all appearances, polite, relaxed, almost as serene as he was when holding court with his men. His hand, resting on Roa's stomach, is rigid, tendons almost standing out.
Roa's fingers move, then, her palm flattening over the back of his hand as she offers a small smile to the older and more jovial rendition of Ashwin. Wrendall does not seem put out by the refusal, and if his smile is a touch less broad now, there is certainly no surprise in his features. "Ah, well," he says. "Next time, then. You have time, I hope, to make introductions?" Pale brows lift in a question as his card buddies study their hands and wait.
"Next time," Ashwin agrees, without a trace of enthusiasm. "Roa, this is my father, Wrendall. Father, Roa." Her name's spoken clearly enough, but there's no title attached to it, no hint - he'll have to make the connection on his own, if he's to deduce just who it is that his son's got his arm around. His father's friends are ignored, the guard's pale eyes on his father, fixed there. "We'd best be off."
The trouble, really, with sailing is that you lose a lot of the current news. So either Wrendall is oblivious or he's incredibly good at appearing to be so, because all he does is lean forward and hold out a hand, palm up, by way of greeting. Roa obliges by slipping the hand that settles over Ashwin's into his father's and so Wrendall lowers his head to place a polite kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it. "Pleased to meet you, and safe travels too. Hellos and goodbyes come very quickly together, wouldn't you say?" Roa only smiles again. "Pleased to meet you as well, sir. Have a good evening."
There's a pause then, just slightly too long. A moment in which Ashwin would say something, or do something, or hear something. But he remains just where he is, and his father remains just where he is, surrounded by his friends - to be shared, perhaps, with too many. So Ashwin summons a twist of a smile, and nods. "Good night." And that's all, for he's turning again, Roa firmly in tow this time, to depart.
Ashwin is given a nod from his father at the farewell, but he's turning back to his cards even as Ashwin is turning his back. Roa lingers a moment longer to study the tableau at the table, but Ashwin has her arm and she quickly has to turn and catch up, or get dragged. A far cry from trailing three paces behind her, tonight.
He lifts his hand once or twice, farewelling girls as he passes, and then they're at the door, and out - this time there's no backward glance, no opportunity for his mother to pull them up. The air outside is crisp, and Ashwin lifts his chin, sucking in a lungful, and clearing the door by several steps before he slows his pace, and looks back for her.
She's there, of course. He still has her hand, and she'd be there anyhow. But Roa waits until he slows and calms before she's catching up, head tipped to meet his gaze, arm moving to pull free of his grip and come around his waist. "You all right?" she asks quietly.
He looks down to her, arm winding around her shoulders as she comes up beside him. "Fine." And just like that, out the door, it would seem that he is - tension is gone. There's relaxation in the way he pulls her in against him, a grin for her that's the most relaxed thing he's offered all evening. "You? Girls behave?"
"Mmm...I sort of gathered the impression that behaving isn't so much a thing that they do," Roa muses. Her free hand comes up to curl around the one that hangs from her shoulder as they begin the walk towards Tialith. "They were kind, though. I didn't feel unwelcome. I think...I'm glad you had me do this. Thank you, Ash."
"Well, they behave," Ashwin murmurs, amusement in his voice. "Definitions of good behaviour and bad behaviour, though..." He shrugs, matching his stride to hers. "They're good girls, though. I'm glad you liked them." He's silent then, for a time. "Perhaps you'll come back another time, then." This, quieter. He's had some news to mull over tonight.
And at that Roa laughs. "And usually I'm the one couching things in definitions." His hand is given a squeeze and he is offered her expression as she tips back her head to grin again. and then she turns away to look ahead as the hold proper tips into view, the dragonheights not far beyond. "I'd come back," she notes quietly. "Your Ma's really something."
"My Ma is something," Ashwin agrees, wry. "Hard to say what, sometimes, but she's something. Takes a bit, to keep on top of a place like that." There's a flicker of pride there, for her achievement, although it's crowded out by the quiet words that come next. "Got asked whether I've made a bet on the next goldflight."
"Takes a bit," comes the soft agreement from Roa. She seems, for a moment, inclined to drift down into her own musings. She's certainly had plenty to consider herself, but then Ashwin speaks again. The weyrwoman snickers, rolling her eyes, "Did you?" she asks around a lazy smile.
"I declined," he returns, trying for lofty, and falling short. He's pulled up by his own gravity once more. "I know I should have realised what it would mean, if Tialith did. I just didn't..." He shrugs, arm loosening around her, so he can lift his hand to rest it on one shoulder. "I didn't consider it."
Her walking slows, her fingers releasing his so his hand can rest on her shoulder. Roa draws in a slow breath. "It would be a problem for you? If she rose first?"
"I don't know what it would be," he admits, more open in this than is his custom. Still caught off balance, perhaps. Consciously or unconsciously engaging in this conversation, a preferable option to any that might involve his family. "It'd be something for you, that I know."
"Yes. It would," Roa agrees quietly. "It'd be more work, less time, more likelihood of making a mess of everything. It would mean working, closely, with a Weyrleader." She falls quiet for a little bit. "It might not happen," she says simply. "But it might. And I won't know she's ready until a day or so beforehand. I'm sorry. I would have told you, but I assumed you understood how seniors were chosen."
"Might not happen, might happen," Ashwin allows. "Weyrleader doesn't bother me." He's quiet then, as they begin their climb to the fireheights. "We'll find time, if you get busier.”
A slight relaxing to her shoulders at that last. And there is the gold in question, swooping down from her perch with a low rumble. She crouches and extends a leg, ready and waiting. "Good," is all Roa says before scrambling aboard and, for once, scooting back so Ashwin can sit in front of her.
"Sorry we kept you waiting," Ashwin greets Tialith, reaching out one hand to rest it against her forearm for a moment in greeting. Growing comfort, small degree by small degree. "Obligations." Which is how he summarises what's just happened. Then he hauls himself up, more practiced now, settling into place without comment on their reversal.
Tialith offers a faint rumble for his words, though precisely what it means, that sound, is unclear. Once he settles and straps are fitted in place, Roa leans forward to rest her cheek against his back, arms coming around to clasp at his belly.
...I don't know /how/ to say it...
Oh, Ash. I'm going to show you.
Eyes shut, Roa only murmurs softly, "Let's go home, Tia." The gold needs no further urging. She crouches and then launches herself up and into the sky.
Time: Night on Day 19, Month 9, Turn 2
Players: Roa, Ashwin, Aramia (NPC), Triess (NPC), Wrendall (NPC) and various other bar patrons.
Scene: Roa goes to Tillek to meet Ashwin's family. She learns a lot more than she expected.
This scene was the culmination of a lot of back history. To fully understand the nuances, you can go here to get a glimpse of young Ashwin growing up. Then check out what happened when he joined the Guard, and what his mother had to say about it afterwards. Then there is this scene in which Ashwin discusses his upbringing with Roa, and this one in which Roa is convinced to visit Ashwin's family. Finally, look here for a layout and description of the bar and those who work there.
The day was hectic and there are, really, still things to do. But certain readings have been left for later, certain infirmary tasks reassigned. Roa bathed, and secretly panicked over what to wear and ended up settling on her usual fare. This elusive woman was, after all, going to meet -her-, so she might as well be herself. Or as much of that as she could be. So the braided bun is the same, if a little tidier. Her general aesthetic is her own, if a little crisper.
The flight to Tillek is short and cold, and perhaps to spare Tialith the stares, or perhaps to spare the bar the questions, the queen, once finished delivering her passengers to the main hold, wings off to the dragonheights. This necessitates a brief but pleasant greeting, Roa dropping in to pay her respects to Anshuman, chatting lightly about Nabol and G'thon and Lexine (all in very vague and courteous terms) before beating a hasty retreat. By this time it's full dark, and the plan seems to be walking the next leg of the journey. Roa has removed her knot, shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket (which is not, as it happens, a riding jacket just now) and follows besides Ashwin in pensive silence. There's a sort of grim look about her features. Marching to the gallows, but too proud to show them her fear.
Ashwin is comfortable with both the parts he'll play tonight. He's comfortable as he stands by the door, waiting for his lover to finish her conversation with the man he was once sworn to. He waits until they're well clear, and in the dark, before he reaches out to wrap an arm around her, shortening his stride carefully. He looks no different to usual - shirt sleeves, underneath his jacket. Light, laughter and sound stream out the windows of the tavern, and the door flies open to allow a group of sailors to exit, singing loudly. Ashwin draws to a halt, keeping her with him, to allow them to pass. Then, with a squeeze, she's released so that he can claim just her hand instead, and pausing only for a brief, encouraging grin, lead her in.
Oh, for a longer pause. Oh, in fact, for turning around and going home. It's one thing to know Ashwin grew up in a bar. It's quite another to be expected to go there when the place is in full swing. Still, if she cannot quite muster a return smile, she can at least follow after, fingers squeezing Ashwin's somewhat frantically.
Inside, it's a typical night. The place is kept immaculate by bar standards, and the floor only really gains any sort of stickiness by the end of the night. The room is warmly lit by a generous fire and equally generous glow sconces, and folks are drinking, laughing, shouting, playing cards. Women's heads bob in and out of the mostly male populous, some carrying trays of drinks and others just carrying themselves. There is a tall, slim, blonde woman working behind the bar with a shorter fuller figured brunette. The slender woman's green eyes are crinkled into a smile as she takes this or that order. Over at one of the tables, a group of sailors includes another pale head: a tall, lanky man currently losing a few of his marks to his compatriots. Somebody at the table's recently said something to set the whole group laughing.
It is, however, one of the women without tray who finally notices their arrival. She too is tall, her skin tanned, her eyes a unique shade of pale brown. She wears a burgundy dress that draws forth the reddish highlights in her hair and as she spots the guard, she begins to weave her way though. "Ashwin!" The woman starts to lean in for a moment, as if to steal a kiss or perhaps demand one, but she stops short, eyes flicking over and finally taking note of that other figure. The little dark-haired one. Holding his hand. There is, for a moment, simple surprise on the woman's face, but then it blossoms into a gentle smile. "Oh, you poor dear. Did he find you working yourself up to it on the stoop? He's kind that way, isn't he, but I'm afraid we're not hiring just now."
Ashwin lifts his head to scan the room, taking in the woman behind the bar, the sailors at the table, and any number of the other patrons and women in between. Just what he would have done, had the woman demanded a kiss, is anyone's guess. He's spared the decision, and offers her a wry, familiar smile - he's at ease with her, whoever she is. "You're certainly not hiring this one," he replies, a tug on Roa's hand aiming to bring her in against his side, out of the stream of traffic, and perhaps to serve as a more concrete signal. "She's spoken for. You working tonight, or you going to have a drink with me?"
'She' is studying the interaction with quiet curiosity, because it is perhaps the first time she's seen Ashwin openly at ease around anyone. Let alone a fully dressed female. Roa offers a small smile and a nod, and if the comment about hiring has flown over her head, maybe that's just as well.
"Spoken for?" This time the surprise is feigned and the little scrap of a thing is given another bit of scrutiny in the guise of a warm smile. "Well, welcome then." And then back to Ashwin. "Seyra's going to flip. Does Aramia know? I'm workin', but only a half-night, so save a drink for me, would you, Ash? I can cover the bar for a few, you wanna go say 'hi'."
"Try not to faint dead away," Ashwin murmurs, dryly amused. "Seyra got her flipping over last seven, I hope." Not a great deal of optimism, there. "And Aramia knows. Visiting under orders." He glances down at Roa for a moment, arm tightening to a squeeze around her shoulders. "We'll find a table, if you'll cover and let her know we're here?" Another glance down to Roa, then. "What'll you have to drink?" And eyes up again. "Beer, for me." And finally, belatedly, "I'm sorry. This is Triess."
Triess rolls her eyes. "There's only one way you manage to make me nearly pass out, and it ain't by bringing girls home. Not even Weyr girls. As for Seyra, I wouldn't get your hopes too high that there won't be shriekin' and huggin' before the morning." She looks down at Roa, "Nice to meet you. Me and the rest of the girls'll be by in a tick, right around when you start to get tired of the two-word sentences." Roa's thrown a wink.
The little weyrwoman offers another smile (just slightly forced) and then a quiet, "Well met, Triess. I'd have a beer too, please." And then the woman behind the bar is given a second, longer glance, now that she's been identified.
"Two beers it is." Triess turns and makes her way to the bar, though more of the girls are starting to notice Ashwin and his tagalong. Instead of rushing to Ash, however, they are quietly creeping towards Triess. Get the news. Formulate a plan of attack.
For his part, Ashwin wrinkles his nose at Triess in return for her 'two word sentences' barb, pausing only for a moment as the two women exchange glances. Then there's a roar from the far side, a group of men wearing the badges of guards exploding into laughter and catcalling at some remark. That decides him, and with a nod for Roa, he turns his back on the departing Triess, steering Roa towards one of the corner tables as it comes free - away from the group of his former colleagues, for now at least. He does pause in his stride as he watches two of the girls moving past in a purposeful manner, but then his attention's back on Roa as he pulls out a chair for her. "You all right?" See, three words!
Working. Covering the bar. Half the girls don't have trays and one is seated on some sailor's lap. So Roa is coming to quickly understand just who, and what, the girls might be. Her brows quirk upwards slightly, but then there's roaring and, thank goodness, steering away. And there is also Triess' first comment to mull over as she sinks into the offered seat. Elbows are on the table, hands clasping so when she settles, her face from the nose down is hidden. She does lift her head to reply, "I'm all right. How many of all these folks in here know you?" Danger, danger, red alert. The pair of girls that moved in and out of Ashwin's line of sight are, in fact, talking quietly with those roaring guards.
Ashwin sinks down into his chair after she does, back to the bar in general, studying her face in silence for a moment. "Fair few," he concedes, reaching out to wrap one of his hands around hers. "Spent a bit of time here at one point." It's a dry understatement, delivered with a faint smile. "You need to be somewhere else, you just give me the eye, understand? We'll back out. She'll have had her chance to clap eyes on you."
Roa's eyes travel over to the stairs that lead up into the rooms above. "You lived up there?" she asks, curious. "Since you were thirteen. Which means you know all the girls and a fair few of the locals. I'm all right." Her fingers curled in his give a little squeeze. "If I can manage a gather in heels, I can manage this."
And speaking of clapping and eyes, the drinks are coming over on a small tray, and it is Aramia who holds them. Approaching the table, she sets one down then the other before pulling out a third chair and seating herself, tray resting against her chair. Ashwin's offered a single nod and then Roa is given a long and open look before Aramia turns back to her son. "Squared away?" is all she asks.
For the time being, the guards have all manage to acquire a girl for each of their laps. But it seems to be more a matter of having a place to sit than anything seductive. There is quiet talking, some gesticulating, a few glances towards Ashwin's table and, occasionally, laughter.
He glances briefly back over his shoulder, to the balcony. "Sure, up there," he agrees. "Not the whole time, though. I was in barracks after a couple of turns. Still, the point stands. Spent enough time here to know them all." A quirk of a smile for her words, and then Aramia's arriving. Look how Ashwin's trained - he comes politely to his feet when she arrives, and sinks back down as she does. "Ma, this is Roa," he murmurs, hitting the quietest volume available to him that will still carry over the noise. "Roa, my Ma, Aramia." There's no sign of nervousness at this introduction. No sign that he knows that behind him, his old friends are getting a little free attention.
Roa's not noticing that either. What she is noticing, instead, is Aramia's arrival. Not so much that she arrives, but the -way- in which she arrives. And the way in which Ashwin responds. Roa doesn't stand, but she does offer a nod as she's introduced and a quiet, "Pleased to meet you."
Aramia doesn't look surprised. Not outwardly. However, her eyes return immediately to the younger woman as her name is given. The gaze is returned, blue eyes and green studying each other in silent speculation. 'Roa' is a name Aramia knows. Folks have been placing bets on that name when there's nothing else to bet on. There is just the slightest tightening of her jaw before a decision is reached and Aramia offers Roa a small nod. "Welcome," she says plainly enough.
It may be that it has not occurred to Ashwin that her name will be known. If that is the case, then he's disabused of that notion, now. His thumb, in the act of tracing gently over her knuckles, pauses - his jaw squares in a movement that's a more obvious version of his mother's. Then she speaks, and he resumes movement once more, squeezing the smaller hand within his, gently. "Try and fend the girls off a little if you will?" he asks, retreating fractionally from the ease with which he addressed Triess. "I've got a feeling about their reception."
Aramia quirks a single brow at her son. "You brought her in here without a knot and on your arm. You knew what that meant. Fend them off yourself." And then she turns to Roa to say, calm and expressionless, "You didn't give your name, so they won't know who you are. You're going to have to forgive them, or if you can't, the two of you had better steer out early." Ashwin is given a quick, cool look. It's certainly not -Aramia's- fault that Triess was offered no introduction.
Roa only shakes her head. "The knot's off for a reason, ma'am. I'll take what's coming, although I'm suddenly thinking I might want to get busy with this beer first." Said mug is lifted and sipped. The comment, at least, calls forth the ghost of a smile to Aramia's lips as well as a tiny nod of approval.
"Thanks, Ma." Ashwin's reply is dry, and with another squeeze, Roa's hand is released so he can reach for his drink. She was indeed on his arm, and if he did so under orders, it cannot be imagined that he did not expect some sort of reception from the other women in his life. A long pull from his glass, before he sets it down. "How long's he home for?" There's not a glance towards the lanky, blonde man still laughing with his shipmates. Neutral voice.
Aramia leans back in her chair, hands resting in her lap. It's done different than when Roa makes a similar gesture. Roa is tucking things away, controlling her fingers, stealing calm. Aramia is simply drawing attention to the fact that she has hands and that they are steady and reliable things. "Two more days. Then back out for another pair of sevens." Like Ashwin, Aramia doesn't bother to look towards the pale sailor. "You'll see him, before you leave." One cannot call those words a request.
Roa has simply fallen quiet to take small sips of her beer. She doesn't say anything. She only watches the interactions in a sort of comfortable silence. Things are lining up in her head, and besides the sipping, Roa barely moves. Perhaps she's worried motion will jostle the bits and pieces before they can fully come together.
Just watch Ashwin's face close over for a moment. "Mmmm." That's acquiescence, as he reaches for his drink once more. Another long swallow. "Before I leave." Right before he leaves, to judge by that tone. He's silent then for a few moments, turning his glass in his hands, studying it. A slow breath in through his nose, and his expression unwinds a little, head coming back up. "Ulric been in lately?"
"He comes by. Checks in once in a while. News from the bar is easy to get. News from the Weyr isn't so much." Again that direct and pointed stare of Aramia's is leveled onto her son.
Roa sits quietly. Sip. Sip.
"I'll make a note to write," Ashwin replies, meeting his mother's eyes squarely, as blank as can be. "No real news to speak of." So. That's his father covered, Ulric covered, the girls covered. Efficiency abounds. More silence.
And then it clicks. Small snippets of old discussions flit through Roa's mind as she slowly lowers the beer mug which has, for all her sipping, only decreased about a quarter of the way.
...Not as easy for some of us...Why is it important?...Your wishing it does not make conversation easier for me...I am what I am is all...Just don't feel the need to talk all the time...that's why you were always going to be the Captain's, he knows how to talk...I can't be likable without all the conversation?...I don't know /how/ to say it...
Oh. Faranth.
The weyrwoman turns her head to study the guards and their cohorts in crime, mostly because she doesn't trust her expression enough not to give away that something in her head has changed. But, it ultimately ends up serving as a warning, because the girls have clustered and the guards have clustered, and they're heading towards the little table in two purposeful groups. It's a different sort of hazing to be sure, but a trial by fire is coming just the same.
It might be that Ashwin is looking for a way out, or that he sees something flicker in her face when he glances over. At any rate, he turns his head to spot the men he once helped command making his way towards them, and pauses. Still no flicker in expression, although there's faint tension across his shoulders now. "Don't let them bother you," he murmurs to Roa, unconcerned by his mother's presence. Indeed, she's addressed next. "Try and keep an eye on the girls." Not a request, so much as an injunction.
Aramia pushes back her seat and picks up her tray. "Triess has been behind the bar long enough. She's too keen on sneaking free drinks to the sorry ones." In other words: you're on your own, son. And, indeed, Aramia departs only a few moments before the pair of groups arrive.
With a grin, one of the other women snatches Roa by the hand and just starts walking so that she's scrambling upwards in order to avoid falling on her face. They close around her, Perri tossing a sharp grin over her shoulder at Ashwin, and then the hoard swarms through the bar and up the stairs, Roa somewhere among their ranks. A door along the balcony closes with a loud click, the women sealing themselves within.
As the girls abduct, the men surround, and extra chairs are dragged over so that they can plunk down around their once Lieutenant, grinning to a man, and looking almost malicious about it. "Lieutenant," warbles one of the youngest. And then another, "You just cost me a week's pay, man. A -week's-." Really, how unthoughtful can the once-Lieutenant be?
Ashwin lifts his head for a moment to meet Perri's eyes. He might have used that moment to shoot her a warning, but he knows better than to challenge these women, and inspire them to greater efforts. So instead he's blank, meeting her grin with... nothing. Then his attention is on his men. He slides back into this moment as easily as though he never departed it, leaning back in his chair, and eyeing the speakers with a measuring gaze. "Did I?" Faint, easy amusement. He's not worried. Just look. "Thoughtless of me."
"Incredibly," agrees the one who has lost his marks. And then, belatedly and with a smirk, "Sir." He is one Neslan by name and another, Cormac, is plunking his own tankard on the table to announce that he intends to talk next. "Least you can do is give us the news." "Little, ain't she?" this is the youngest, Fressir, again. "Not who I'd'a thought you'd settle on." "It's true, sir," pipes up brown-haired Samtin, "We sort of figured the one you'd pick'd be able to change hair and eye color at a whim. So as to hold your interest." "And height!" Cormac adds. "And--" but Fressir is elbowed in the gut before he can finish. Not that the men care, really, but any excuse to elbow Fressir in the gut. They know Ashwin, and they know, when talking with Ashwin, they mostly have to make their own conversation.
Ashwin listens in silence; Cormac earns a hint of an approving nod as he remembers his 'sir'. Far less formal than Captain Harley, or than his co-second, Ashwin nevertheless intends - tonight at least - on requiring that small measure of respect. The only protection he has, perhaps. "That," he returns, sliding his own quiet contribution into the general babble, "is because you are inexperienced, boys." A pause, for the inevitable reaction, before he continues. "There are plenty of reasons for a man to let his interest settle one particular place."
And it is that last, even more than the jab about inexperience, that has the men roaring with laughter, those close enough pounding Ashwin on the back. A trait many of the men absorb while working under Harley. How often have one of them tried to go on about their girl to a blank and slightly perplexed face? How many times had their queries about Ashwin 'just picking one' been met with two word denials such as 'no thanks' or, the very favorite 'what for?'. It is Fressir who catches his breath first and, after finishing his ale, says what they're all burning to say. "Well, sir, you're our superior. Reckon it's your job to fill us in on the knowin' that we lack." "Give us some reasons, sir," adds Neslan. Cormac and Samtin add their own agreements to this request.
He's had plenty of practice with the blankness, and it serves him well now. Still, there's something different about this stoicism. It's not the stony, expressionless wall that Ashwin throws up when uncomfortable. It's a sort of calm serenity that does not require smiles or scowls. Ashwin, two months short of his twenty-seventh birthday, fixes his men with that serene glance, lips twitching to a brief hint of a smile. "Thought it was about time I did the right thing, stepped back. Let the rest of you have a fair chance at some of them."
That, of course, elicits more laughter, more back pounding and the ordering of some sort of whiskey and five shot glasses. They will eventually arrive and get plunked down at the table. "Oh, come on, sir," chortles Samtin. "You may have had them all, but you didn't have them all at -once-." "And it ain't exactly like they're too discernin'," notes Fressir, but that gets him another jab in the gut and the hasty cover from Cormac, "Which ain't sayin that they ain't fine girls. They are." "You not gonna give us a thing, sir?" quips Neslan as the whiskey and the glasses arrive. Fressir, still wincing a bit, pours.
Fressir earns himself a long, level look from Ashwin, to go with that jab in the gut - an assertion of authority, and insistence upon a point, both silent. Then he's released from that gaze, and reprimanded further by the fact that it is turned away towards Cormac, accompanied by a twitch of a grin. "Not a thing," Ashwin replies serenely, reaching for his glass. "If you need educating, I'd recommend Perri. She doesn't mind innocent." So bland, that jab, barely a flicker of humour. "I'm certainly not explaining it to you." He turns his glass in his fingers, pausing for a moment to mull over the question of a toast. Finally, simply this. "Women. Trouble and delight." And up goes his glass.
Fressir gets cool glares all around. There are unspoken rules about this bar and these girls and Fressir danced carefully close to breaking one. So he sits, quiet and sullen for a round, until Ashwin's toast has all of them lifting their shots and, with heartfelt agreement, knocking them back. It's Cormac that pours this time. "Speaking of women and Weyrs..." he begins, "you still thinking you can win that week's wage back?" This is some other chain of banter, directed at Neslan, that has been going on without Ashwin. He's been gone, after all. "Well, we got the Lieutenant here for inside information, now." "It's Sinopa," grunts Samtin. "It's gonna be her. She was there first, and nobody's going to want a foreigner after what happened. She's runnin' things now and they patched up Nabol."
Ashwin leans forward, holding his glass out for a refill. He listens in silence for a moment, and there's a brief retreat for a moment from that easy serenity into something a little more reserved. Then, with a slow breath out through his teeth, he's speaking. "Very respectful, putting money down on the Weyrwoman. Can't say I know that one in particular very well. What are you betting on her doing, exactly?"
"I don't know," pipes up Fressir, "that new one they say is smart. And the folks there like her. Some say Sinopa's only doing so well cuz she's there towin' the line." "Lexine, too," notes Neslan, "not that she's in the runnin', really. Not with the wings and just going at Telgar." There's a faint murmur of agreement when Ashwin asks his question and Cormac answers, a bit of puzzlement that the Lieutenant doesn't know, "Goin' up first. Bein' senior." A tiny smirk before Cormac lifts his glass. "To weyrwomen their their winnin' us marks from time to time." Another murmur of agreement and a communal shot swallowed.
Except by Ashwin, who declines to drink to his lover's impending flight. He prefers to glance down at his glass for a moment, treating the contents to a slow blink. Then he swallows, mouths something - one word, her name - and downs his shot, leaning forward only a few instants after the others to set his glass down. "Couldn't say who'll be first," he murmurs, then raises his voice. "Good luck with your wagers. They're unknowable, those queens. Unnerving, eyeballing a man."
Neslan and Samtin have gotten into a quiet debate about it, but Cormac maybe notices the change in the Lieutenant. "Makes me edgy too," Fressir admits as he hefts the bottle to refill the glasses. "Big mouths. And temperamental." "That depends on the rider, though," notes Cormac. His brother was searched turns ago. Never mind that the lad didn't impress. It makes Cormac the current Weyr expert among their ranks. "New one's supposed to be nice. Morley likes her." That would be his brother. "You know, actually, she's meant to look a fair shake like your girl, sir." Fressir picks up this line of thought immediately. "That what you were waiting for, sir? Holdin' out for a weyrwoman?" This has Neslan and Samtin stop short and for a moment all four of the men stare at Ashwin in quiet shock. And then the sniggering starts and the absurdity of the whole idea has them dissolved into laughter.
So serene, Ashwin's smile. He leans forward a third time to watch his glass splashed full, then eases back into his chair, allowing the banter to flow over and around him. He meets that shocked observation with the same serene smile - there's nothing to be gleaned from it, and raises his glass as they laugh. Finally, when the sound lowers enough that he can be heard, "That's right, boys. Holding out for the very best." He could be serious, technically. But surely there's no way he'd be announcing such a thing with such an expression.
More snickering and the other four lift their glasses. "To the very best, for our Lieutenant," grins Neslan. The other three murmur their agreement and the alcohol vanishes down their throats.
Upstairs...
There's gales of laughter as the girls push open the door to Perri's quarters, tumbling through en masse. Seyra goes up on her toes, feeling around on top of the closet until she locates a bottle, and pulls it down as they collapse onto the bed, onto the floor, sprawling cheerfully, the door closing loudly behind them. "Well!" That's Seyra, laughing, pulling out the cork with a flourish. "Tell us everything! /How/ did you manage it?"
"I..." Roa is still reeling from the fact that she was just sort of kidnapped and locked into a room with many women of negotiable affections. Who want to know about her. She backs up a little, sinking onto the edge of the bed to stare at her hands a moment before lifting her gaze to let it flit around the ten faces. Her smile is tiny, but sincere. "I haven't a clue, actually."
"Oh, come on," Perri scoffs, friendly, although her eyes gleam with mischief. Triess sinks down next to Roa, slinging a companionable arm around her shoulders. "Must have been quite a campaign." Her words are a purr, and draw laughter. "Or you must know something worth teaching us. We're all ears girls, aren't we?" More laughter, as Seyra offers their guest the bottle.
She gets a whole bottle? Roa lifts the thing and takes a gulp, swallowing it down before passing it off to Triess. "He hit his head," Roa notes with a tiny smile. "I think that's really what did it, more than anything. We were...I would call it friends, before that. -He-, well, he didn't want to call me much of anything." Except 'ma'am'.
"What, on the headboard?" From the blonde in the corner, a joking, half-confused question. From the rest, screams of laughter. Triess takes the bottle, pulling a long slug from it before it's passed along. "And what, then you jumped him?" Her question is sly, and earns her a quick glance from Perri.
Headboard? Oh! Roa bites her lower lip and shakes her head. "No. We weren't...it was a frying pan. There was a bar fight. He was, uhm, angling for twins. Got a frying pan instead. When he came back, Morley, that's one of the guards, woke me up. Because I do a bit of healer work so..." Roa clears her throat, studying her hands. "Anyhow, he was out of his head. And talking. As in, I couldn't get a word in edgewise. And saying things I knew he'd kick himself for in the morning. So. I gave him my knot and I wouldn't take it back until he brought it to me." A small pause, a tiny shrug and just the hint of a smile. "That's when I jumped him."
There's soft laughter at the mention of a frying pan, and a roar of laughter at the mention of twins, the girls nudging each other, exchanging glances, thoroughly amused. "Of /course/ he was," one girl snickers, dark haired and dark eyed. "Think about it, who're the only two he ever wanted together more than once?" There's a series of quiet noises of understanding, although nobody offers Roa illumination. She earns herself a smattering of applause for her final confession, although Triess reaches down to claim the bottle halfway through its round, plucking it from a redhead's hand and passing it back to Roa. "Healer's a good match for a guard," Perri observes, approving. "You can patch him up when he gets back at night. Now, girls." They know what's coming, ten sets of eyes on Roa, in anticipation of her reaction. "I suppose we'd better make sure she's keeping Ash happy."
Blue eyes flick over to the dark haired dark eyed girl as the bottle returns to Roa's hand. Sip. This time it's passed off to a girl on the floor seated opposite of Triess. "So, wait then. I mean, I just want to be clear. You've all..." brows lift high in query as she studies everyone in the room a second time. "All of you?" And then those final words set in and wide eyes widen more. Oh. Boy.
There's a pause, then, as ten sets of eyes fix on her with a mixture of surprise, faint consternation, and amusement. Then understanding seems to strike several of the girls, and a soft wave of laughter sets in. "Oh, don't worry." The redhead leans forward from her spot on the floor to reach for the weyrwoman's ankle, squeezing it reassuringly. "Your man doesn't pay. It's our pleasure."
Very softly..."Oh." Roa clears her throat. "I think I'm a bit out of my depths," she admits. The girl has had two swigs of dubious bottled alcohol and a quarter of a beer. With her body mass, that's enough to make her tongue a touch looser than it should be. "I mean, I can't catch up the same way he did, obviously, and he...knows. A lot. Of things."
"I should say he does," Triess agrees beside her, silky in her ear. "We put a lot of time and effort into teaching him, and he's a man who takes instructions very well." Giggles, from the floor. "I suppose," Seyra observes, fixing Triess with a prolonged glance, then sliding her eyes across to Roa with a smile, "we'd better do him a favour, and teach you some tricks of the trade, so to speak. You can thank us later." "Don't mind the swearing." That's the blonde from the corner, chipping in. "He'll do that, when he likes it. It's a good sign."
"That much, I've figured out," Roa notes wryly. "There's a whole hierarchy of them." But, of course, they'd know that. Because they all...she swallows once and then reaches down for the bottle again. In part for fortification, and in part so that she can resettle a foot further away from Triess and her whispers.
"Where do you start, really?" Perri's flummoxed by that one for a moment, glancing up to Seyra - it's into that breach that the blonde steps, chirping cheerfully. "What do you think, Triess?" A sly giggle, although there's no malice in it. "Where do you usually start?" Triess' lips curve to a slow smile, and she reaches over to claim the bottle from their guest, lifting it to inspect it for a moment. "Take the neck of this bottle," she begins, as superior as any harper who ever lectured. "Now, imagine..." What comes next is frank at best, disturbingly detailed at worse. Complete with demonstration.
Eidetic memory can really have its uses. Roa watches the demonstration, nodding to this or that point and even, once, asking for a touch of clarification. She is not, however, certain she wants to drink anything more from the bottle. She remains mostly quiet, now. A willing pupil. Or, at the very least, a captive one.
The conversation degenerates from there, and as Roa does not quail, pale or flee, the other women become more detailed, almost businesslike, albeit also delighted. They're working their way around the circle now, relating personal specialties. Perri has just explained a complicated arrangement that involves enough flexibility to hook one's legs up over one's partner's shoulders, and now it's around to Triess. "If you really want to get him," she murmurs, pausing for effect - she's the expert here, and the others know it, leaning in. "What you do is reach out, hook a finger through his belt, and yank him in against you. Then you reach up, get a hand around his neck, and just haul him down to kiss you." She smiles, the cat that got the cream. "You just watch. Not that uncommon amongst the guards. They like it when their woman lets them know what she wants. Ash sure likes it."
Some of the mechanics of some of the endeavors...Roa is not certain she -is- that flexible. Bending over and touching your toes during stretches is one thing. Some of these suggestions...quite another. But knowledge is knowledge, and suddenly there is a very large list of things to try, which is not something the little weyrwoman finds unappealing. Triess' latest confession has her tipping her head to the side and smiling faintly. Because of course that would work. Of course it would. Why didn't Roa ever think of that before? "Thank you." The words could be for the women in general, but she looks at Triess when she says them.
Triess smiles, smug, but she manages to summon something that at least seems a little more genuine when she returns Roa's glance, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "It's the least we can do," she murmurs. "Isn't that so, girls?" A chorus of giggles and agreement. "We had our turn," the redhead agrees, laughing, lifting the bottle for a mouthful. "And he's a good man. The least we can do is see he enjoys himself." An exaggerated wink, then. "And you, with any luck." Perri begins to unfold from where she's seated on the ground, and Seyra follows suit a moment later, stretching. "Speaking of other people's enjoyment," she says, reaching down to offer the blonde her hand. "Some of us are due back down there to see they get just that."
"None better," Roa says with a tiny smile as Ashwin is noted as being a good man. As the girls stand, so does she, sliding off the bed and turning towards the door. There is a bit of her, certainly, that cannot wait to leave. And, strangely, a bit of her that's sorry to go. "Thanks. For the kidnapping." But Roa eyes are bright with mirth as she says it.
"Most welcome," comes the chorus, with a collection of laughingly theatrical imitations of a guard's salute. "You make sure he comes back to see us, you hear?" "You do your homework, come back with your questions!" "Make sure you try the bit with the hot tea, then come back to thank me." These, and a dozen more, as she's hustled out and down the stairs - from there, some of the girls fan out, back to work, and Seyra and Triess escort her back to where the guards wait.
The guards have gone through a few more rounds of shots and a few more topics of discussion, though glances were starting to drift upstairs more often than not. It's one thing for the girls to have their fun, but it's another for that fun to be had at the expense of gaining access to said girls. Did they -all- have to go? So as the door opens and there is a flood of female spilling down the stairs, the four excuse themselves with murmurs of "Sir" and "You picked a good one" and, from Fressir, "Seems just as fine as any weyrwoman." And then he too is off to pick his own 'weyrwoman' for the night. This leaves, in the end, Roa standing in front of Ashwin's chair, smirking slightly. "I think I've been initiated," she informs him softly.
Ashwin accepts their words placidly, a nod indicating that he is quite secure in his choice - that their approval is appreciated, but unnecessary. His faint smile is still in place as he looks up to Roa, and for a moment he's pulling his legs in, sitting up to begin to reach for her, as though he'd pull her down into his lap. Then he pauses, and his hand thumps down onto his knees instead. "What did they tell you?" So very wary.
Roa shrugs. "Not so much. Girl things, mostly. They all seem very nice." As she has not been yanked into his lap, she moves to seat herself across from him. "Anyone else we have to say hello to?" She hasn't forgotten, perhaps, Aramia's edict, but she sounds innocent enough when she asks.
"Don't sit, I'd say we're done." Ashwin's easing forward already, hands braced against his knees so he can rise. "We're not going to get a better swing at my Ma. I'll have to come back to eat some time, if I want to have a conversation. Probably time we got back, anyway."
"I wouldn't mind," Roa admits, pausing midway seated to straighten again, "heading out. Tia's been asking when we're coming back for a bit." Her head tips to the side as she asks, gently, "Ash. You sure there's no one else?"
"Quite sure," Ashwin replies, brusque in that moment, straightening up abruptly. Then his tone is softened, a small smile added, and he leans over to claim her hand. "We'll just give her a wave on the way out the door. Busy, this time of night, with the drinks." And indeed, he's steering a course that way, ready to pull her along in his wake.
So Roa follows, keeping her own expression neutral as he makes his choice. Aramia is busy, the bar is hopping, but her eyes are on Ashwin as soon as he starts moving. They follow him as he makes his way towards the door, and somehow, by the time he arrives, Aramia has freed herself, Kava is, for a few minutes, seeing to the customers on her own, and his Ma is there. Waiting for him.
Ashwin isn't fool enough to try and get past that. Aramia's presence is registered, and, ducking around a group of holders, he comes to a halt in front of her, fingers tightening around Roa to pull her in. "Night, Ma." Innocent as anything. "Won't be so long again before I'm back."
Aramia says nothing. Not a single thing. She only holds her son's eyes and arches a single golden brow.
Roa, for her part, is all silent interest.
If only she weren't standing in front of the door. The shutdown begins, light fading from Ashwin's eyes, jaw squaring, gaze growing distant. A process that Roa has watched so many times now, as he begins to extract himself mentally from the situation. "He's busy." Of course that's going to be inadequate. He adds another, quietly expressionless. "Tialith's getting restless."
Roa has seen this, many times. She's caused it her fair share as well, and she draws in a deep breath to ready herself for either a hasty departure or a careful dance of backstepping and cajoling between mother and son. Neither of these things happens, however.
What happens is that Aramia narrows her eyes slowly and presses her lips together. Her right hand reaches up to curl around Ashwin's chin and lower jaw, jerking his head from where he stares off over her shoulder to force his eyes back to her face. "Ashwin!" The word is not loud, but it is sharp and clear. "Enough. Go. See. Your father."
And lo, it works. He lifts his chin almost immediately, to pull it free of her grip, scowling. But he's scowling, not blank, brows crowding together in a fierce frown. He's back. Roa's hand is released, and he turns away to angle a shoulder into the crowd, expertly creating a space through which he can move. There is neither an invitation that his weyrwoman join him, nor a ban on her doing so.
It works. Roa's mouth is slightly agape as she simply stares at Aramia. The other woman watches Ashwin only long enough to see he's headed the correct way this time before turning her attention to Roa. "I wouldn't," she says simply. "He's used to it from me." A small pause before a final bit of advice is dropped, "Or if you do, save it up." Then she's turning and making her way to the bar, arriving just in time to keep Kava from getting overwhelmed.
Wordless, Roa turns to follow quietly after Ashwin as he makes his way to the blonde sailor and his cohorts.
Wrendall is laughing and somehow, from when Ashwin and Roa entered until now, his pile of marks has grown impressively. His bad luck seems to have taken a better turn, and right now he's listening with a grin to one of the other men telling a bawdy joke.
Ashwin inserts himself at the edge of the group, and when one man completes his stocktake of his pockets, and fades backwards, Ashwin steps forward to take his place, edging sideways so that there's room for Roa to insert herself in front of him. Not unaware that she has followed. He doesn't speak, but simply joins the audience, polite, if not openly amused.
The little weyrwoman accepts her offered spot, moving to stand in front of Ashwin as she...they...wait for something.
Wrendall is grinning widely at the punchline, his own features holding a distinct similarity to his son's, but without that same reserve. Eyes are the same color, but they manage to be playful instead of solemn. Lips are of similar shape, but they beam instead of quirk. Jaw is the same, but it is hard to imagine it clenching. Finally, amusement fading away, the sailor looks over towards the small gathering of watchers and then blinks in sudden and obvious surprise. It says something, perhaps, that this is truly the first moment Wrendall had any idea his son was even in the room. "Ashwin," The grin he offers is broad and uninhibited, if the name itself is nearly as softspoken as when his son talks. "Good to see you. Your mother told me things had settled down. Join us for a game?" Never mind that the chairs are full. Wrendall will work around it. Just you wait. Roa is given a glance, a nod, but no formal greeting yet.
"Father." Ashwin's greeting is delivered with a nod, one hand curving around Roa's waist to pull her back in against him. "We can't stay, we're due back." He's not quite closed down, not quite completely hostile. Not quite completely neutral. By all appearances, polite, relaxed, almost as serene as he was when holding court with his men. His hand, resting on Roa's stomach, is rigid, tendons almost standing out.
Roa's fingers move, then, her palm flattening over the back of his hand as she offers a small smile to the older and more jovial rendition of Ashwin. Wrendall does not seem put out by the refusal, and if his smile is a touch less broad now, there is certainly no surprise in his features. "Ah, well," he says. "Next time, then. You have time, I hope, to make introductions?" Pale brows lift in a question as his card buddies study their hands and wait.
"Next time," Ashwin agrees, without a trace of enthusiasm. "Roa, this is my father, Wrendall. Father, Roa." Her name's spoken clearly enough, but there's no title attached to it, no hint - he'll have to make the connection on his own, if he's to deduce just who it is that his son's got his arm around. His father's friends are ignored, the guard's pale eyes on his father, fixed there. "We'd best be off."
The trouble, really, with sailing is that you lose a lot of the current news. So either Wrendall is oblivious or he's incredibly good at appearing to be so, because all he does is lean forward and hold out a hand, palm up, by way of greeting. Roa obliges by slipping the hand that settles over Ashwin's into his father's and so Wrendall lowers his head to place a polite kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it. "Pleased to meet you, and safe travels too. Hellos and goodbyes come very quickly together, wouldn't you say?" Roa only smiles again. "Pleased to meet you as well, sir. Have a good evening."
There's a pause then, just slightly too long. A moment in which Ashwin would say something, or do something, or hear something. But he remains just where he is, and his father remains just where he is, surrounded by his friends - to be shared, perhaps, with too many. So Ashwin summons a twist of a smile, and nods. "Good night." And that's all, for he's turning again, Roa firmly in tow this time, to depart.
Ashwin is given a nod from his father at the farewell, but he's turning back to his cards even as Ashwin is turning his back. Roa lingers a moment longer to study the tableau at the table, but Ashwin has her arm and she quickly has to turn and catch up, or get dragged. A far cry from trailing three paces behind her, tonight.
He lifts his hand once or twice, farewelling girls as he passes, and then they're at the door, and out - this time there's no backward glance, no opportunity for his mother to pull them up. The air outside is crisp, and Ashwin lifts his chin, sucking in a lungful, and clearing the door by several steps before he slows his pace, and looks back for her.
She's there, of course. He still has her hand, and she'd be there anyhow. But Roa waits until he slows and calms before she's catching up, head tipped to meet his gaze, arm moving to pull free of his grip and come around his waist. "You all right?" she asks quietly.
He looks down to her, arm winding around her shoulders as she comes up beside him. "Fine." And just like that, out the door, it would seem that he is - tension is gone. There's relaxation in the way he pulls her in against him, a grin for her that's the most relaxed thing he's offered all evening. "You? Girls behave?"
"Mmm...I sort of gathered the impression that behaving isn't so much a thing that they do," Roa muses. Her free hand comes up to curl around the one that hangs from her shoulder as they begin the walk towards Tialith. "They were kind, though. I didn't feel unwelcome. I think...I'm glad you had me do this. Thank you, Ash."
"Well, they behave," Ashwin murmurs, amusement in his voice. "Definitions of good behaviour and bad behaviour, though..." He shrugs, matching his stride to hers. "They're good girls, though. I'm glad you liked them." He's silent then, for a time. "Perhaps you'll come back another time, then." This, quieter. He's had some news to mull over tonight.
And at that Roa laughs. "And usually I'm the one couching things in definitions." His hand is given a squeeze and he is offered her expression as she tips back her head to grin again. and then she turns away to look ahead as the hold proper tips into view, the dragonheights not far beyond. "I'd come back," she notes quietly. "Your Ma's really something."
"My Ma is something," Ashwin agrees, wry. "Hard to say what, sometimes, but she's something. Takes a bit, to keep on top of a place like that." There's a flicker of pride there, for her achievement, although it's crowded out by the quiet words that come next. "Got asked whether I've made a bet on the next goldflight."
"Takes a bit," comes the soft agreement from Roa. She seems, for a moment, inclined to drift down into her own musings. She's certainly had plenty to consider herself, but then Ashwin speaks again. The weyrwoman snickers, rolling her eyes, "Did you?" she asks around a lazy smile.
"I declined," he returns, trying for lofty, and falling short. He's pulled up by his own gravity once more. "I know I should have realised what it would mean, if Tialith did. I just didn't..." He shrugs, arm loosening around her, so he can lift his hand to rest it on one shoulder. "I didn't consider it."
Her walking slows, her fingers releasing his so his hand can rest on her shoulder. Roa draws in a slow breath. "It would be a problem for you? If she rose first?"
"I don't know what it would be," he admits, more open in this than is his custom. Still caught off balance, perhaps. Consciously or unconsciously engaging in this conversation, a preferable option to any that might involve his family. "It'd be something for you, that I know."
"Yes. It would," Roa agrees quietly. "It'd be more work, less time, more likelihood of making a mess of everything. It would mean working, closely, with a Weyrleader." She falls quiet for a little bit. "It might not happen," she says simply. "But it might. And I won't know she's ready until a day or so beforehand. I'm sorry. I would have told you, but I assumed you understood how seniors were chosen."
"Might not happen, might happen," Ashwin allows. "Weyrleader doesn't bother me." He's quiet then, as they begin their climb to the fireheights. "We'll find time, if you get busier.”
A slight relaxing to her shoulders at that last. And there is the gold in question, swooping down from her perch with a low rumble. She crouches and extends a leg, ready and waiting. "Good," is all Roa says before scrambling aboard and, for once, scooting back so Ashwin can sit in front of her.
"Sorry we kept you waiting," Ashwin greets Tialith, reaching out one hand to rest it against her forearm for a moment in greeting. Growing comfort, small degree by small degree. "Obligations." Which is how he summarises what's just happened. Then he hauls himself up, more practiced now, settling into place without comment on their reversal.
Tialith offers a faint rumble for his words, though precisely what it means, that sound, is unclear. Once he settles and straps are fitted in place, Roa leans forward to rest her cheek against his back, arms coming around to clasp at his belly.
...I don't know /how/ to say it...
Oh, Ash. I'm going to show you.
Eyes shut, Roa only murmurs softly, "Let's go home, Tia." The gold needs no further urging. She crouches and then launches herself up and into the sky.