Log: In which Glacier is awesome
Date: Day 10, Month 4, Turn 25 of Interval 10
Summary: Glacier's having a pretty normal night - booze and cards and good (or not-so-good)-natured ribbing. Leova's dealing in both cards and questions-- and Taikrin's more than willing to play.
NorCon MUSH - 3/21/2011
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Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.
Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.
Contents:
Leova
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
It is a spring night, 22:26 of day 10, month 4, turn 25 of Interval 10.
It's late and getting later, the glows nearing their changing once again amid the ratcheting conversation, when abruptly the Glacier table explodes. Oh, not literally this time, but three-to-four clumps of people suddenly push off in different directions, one large man shoving his friend by the shoulder towards the infirmary. They're laughing. And by the time the admittedly none-too-speedy server gets near, there's no blood visible, and the visitors have been made to vanish.
So it's late. Of course it is. And there's gambling going on. Of course there is. And there's drinking... when is there ever /not/? It's at a rare less-loud point, when one round's nearly drunk and the next pitcher's just been poured, that Leova leans on one leather-clad elbow to eye her injured wingmate. No, not S'trun; he'd stumbled off all a-purpose a while back, with a redhead for consolation. Maybe he'll even get laid before his near-broken nose swells up. No, it's Taikrin she's looking at, even as she shuffles the cards without bothering to look at /them/.
The ample plying of alcohol has already made Taikrin forget about her bandage a handful of times, resulting in much mocking and requisite grumbling at the beer sloshed over the table from her fumblings. It's not surprising, then, that when she meets Leova's gaze from over the top of her mug, it's a little defensive. An eyebrow raises, accompanying a gruff bark of, "Oi, you dealin' here, or we just gonna moon over my pretty face?"
"Depends," says the rusty-haired greenrider, no true red about her, and waits a deliberate moment before obliging. Vrianth would be proud. "Gonna hold your cards in your paws this time, or your teeth?" Flick, flick go the cards, so much more smoothly than they'd been before she joined that wing, before she finally sat down and dealt with more than just those cards. Rhonda appears over her shoulder, briefly. Whispers into her ear. Leova laughs.
"I dunno," Taikrin retorts, rising too-quickly to the bait. "Why, you wanna come over here'n put 'em in my mouth for me?" There's an accompanying lewd gesture, tongue run over lips and eyebrows waggling. Her gaze flickers towards the other greenrider then back again, all brash promise. "Promise I don't bite /real/ hard."
"Depends," says Leova amiably, once Taikrin's gotten her attention back from her clutchmate. /More-or-less/ back, seeing as how Rhonda's now got her elbow planted on her seated clutchmate's shoulder, the better to lean over and give Taikrin's twice-her-age neighbor the eye. It's got to be a sharp elbow, especially without even any firelizard-padding for Leova's shoulder, but she's accommodating with the ease of long familiarity. "What'll you bet? Because I reckon as how I'd just about have to see your cards."
Taikrin bends her cards upright just far enough to take a peek at their values, then folds her hands (rather awkwardly) atop them. "Reckon you might have t'be playin' for my team, then, won't you? Plenty of room over here." The rider on Taikrin's other side is apparently unamused: she gets an elbow to the ribs, and a hissed command to 'sharding ante up already, dimglow'. Feigning unconcern, the brownrider tosses her chits into the pot without taking her attention off Leova-and-Rhonda. "You got somethin' in mind?"
Funny how Rhonda can giggle out of nowhere even while it /seems/ she's got all eyes for older-but-not-too-old!-rider: other team! So funny. Leova's only got a, "That all?" Could be challenging, that, but it's more like she could be disappointed somehow. Like somehow, something Taikrin might have come up with could be more interesting than all that. It doesn't stop her joining in the pot, though, nor dealing out to those who signal they need another card. "Anyhow. Heard you got Y'sen thinking you broke into our smith's workshop, sprung a booby trap, that's how you did yourself in." Poor Y'sen.
That Taikrin, she's a font of crude humor. Like: "Reckon it's more'n you can handle, anyways." She taps the fingers of her undamaged hand atop her cards, then turns the gesture into a flick that sends a single discard Leova's way. One please! "Y'sen'd believe Timor was laid by a sky-dragon if y'put the story to him proper," she snorts dismissively, though there's something wary in the way her posture straightened from its lazy slouch. "I ain't sloppy enough to spring no booby trap, you guys oughta know better."
"You go on thinking that," Leova agrees too readily, too dryly, amid speculation of handling and, of course, smiths' hammers. Not to mention just how thick their klah really is. Taikrin gets a card, the brownrider's neighbor on the far side gets two, and /she/ gets herself a drink somewhere in there... even if it does mean dislodging Rhonda /right/ when the other greenrider might defend what passes for her honor. There's a, "Not /serious/," a couple seats down. A sniff from Rhonda, who promptly steals what's left of Leova's drink by way of payback. And, "Won't hurt him to think what he likes, hm?" from the dealer herself.
"'Sides," Taikrin goes on, spurred by the commentary around the table, "You seen that new journey-smith? He's got somethin' out to here all right, but it ain't what /I'm/ interested in." She sketches out a crude shape at chest height, eliciting a guffaw or two from those who might have run into the portly man in question. Smugly, she adds, "Y'all're just jealous of me and my Southern adventures, anyways." The evidence of which is still flaking off the exposed bits of her shoulder and neck in oh-so-attractive fashion.
Dragon> << Why, >> and it's a flick of energy, right /there/, no warning. << Does she shed. >> (Vrianth to Szadath)
Dragon> Such time has passed that even Szadath is a little hazy on the details. << It itches because, >> he drawls out, slowly, as he diiiiigs back into recall, << she refused to oil herself properly. I think. >> More confidently, << I /warned/ her about cracked hide, but she didn't listen. >> (Szadath to Vrianth)
The amber eyes fix on Taikrin for a long moment, not diverting at the brownrider's gesture. /Hers/ is a lift of her own shoulder, just a flick before it falls. Around them there's noise, there always is, now chorused with catcalls and older-neighbor reaching to jovially clap Taikrin on the shoulder: he's folding, but maybe he's getting something better. Certainly Rhonda's on the way out. Certainly he's hoping. Leova: "Raise. Or fold."
Dragon> There's silence. Then, agreement: <> Surely not just about that. And /then/, Vrianth relenting somewhat, << They seem to have their own ideas about things. Let us hope she learned. >> Before she sheds all over Vrianth's rider's table. (Vrianth to Szadath)
There's a smirk for the shoulder-clap, a glance over that finally breaks eye contact with Leova to impart full eyebrow-waggling meaning to the departing rider. Then: "Pssh, fold. Here." Taikrin idly tosses a few more chits into the pot, all easy bravado and big talk. "Anyways, was /real/ nice t'see a set of girls who ain't gotta wear a thousand layers just to get through the day, know what I'm sayin'?"
/Leova/ will fold without fanfare, but then, she's dealing, and there are a couple of boisterous thugs still in the mix. But they're /Glacier's/ boisterous thugs! Dryly, "Never heard even Lessa could do that and go /between/. She'd have frozen her..." and there's a clash of glassware behind her, not quite breakage, but not quite loud enough to drown out that it's not the fabled golrider's nose that was endangered. Looking down the table, "'Nother card? Last call."
"Ehh, reckon I'm good." Taikrin taps her cards for good measure, then leans out onto the table. "What, all you suckers still playin'?" To Leova, a flashed grin: one of Taikrin's finest. "Too hot for you?" Somewhere in there is a guffaw for Lessa's-frozen-bits, though somehow she restrains herself from speculating. Somehow. "Oi, Leova, how long's it been since Vrianth went, anyways?" She's piling on the charm, now, smarmy-thick. "Szadath wants t'know."
Still playing?! There are jeers, of course, promises to last past anything /Taikrin/ thinks she can come up with. Cards fly this way and that, mostly according to the rules. Or at least the house rules. Such as they are. From Leova, amused half-despite herself, "Could say that." If her gaze catches on Taikrin's shed-on shoulders, it's briefly. And for Vrianth, nothing that'll make her miss her toss, "Forever. What, he too scared to nose around, makes you do the work?" On the end, there's a bluerider who just doubled the pot, all surreptitious-like. Just ignore her.
Taikrin /is/ ignoring that bluerider in her continuing efforts to get a rise out of Leova, though her pointed stare is briefly broken by a flying card smacking against her cheekbone. There's a brief scuffle: who-did-that and I'll-wreck-your-face and your-face-is-ALREADY-wrecked but it never goes beyond posturing and the whole thing lasts a couple of breaths, max. Then: "Nah, /he's/ too busy trying to wrap himself around one he KNOWs is goin' up in a coupl'a days." Smug: "Just checkin' out secondary prospects, like. 'Case he gets bored."
...Leova, who makes a habit of avoiding being provoked, though at least she doesn't have her mild face on. Yet. "Hard work," she says, all commiseration. "Good thing he has you on his side. Charming, and all." A glance to the bluerider becomes a glance back, but it's the bluerider who has the sweetest of smiles, because look, those two are the only ones left.
"Shardin' right it's hard work, keepin' up with him." There have been no few rounds of ribbing about Szadath's renewed proclivities, now that Iskiveth seems so far from rising, and Taikrin is quick to play up her 'hardship'. "Always wantin' to know about this green an' that greenrider an' what about distractin' that bluerider--" A smirk down the table catches the tail end of that sweet smile and obviously misinterprets, because there's an awful lot of suggestion of the hey-baby sort being broadcast down towards that end.
With the hand almost done, Leova can play along, can commiserate here too... except all of a sudden she doesn't, just has a brief sharp shake of her head as she sets down what's left of the deck for the next dealer. At least the timing's good: the cards, they're coming up. Maybe that bluerider /has/ been bluffing, because what she's got is a plain old straight. Spades, but still. A straight. But she's still smiling, looking at Taikrin, even while Leova's mouth compresses in what's not quite a frown. While the greenrider gathers up her things, what there are of them. While she gets set to go.
And poor Taikrin? When she flips her cards up, it's a simple two pair, Weyrwoman-high. That doesn't stop her smirk, though, or the nonverbal insinuations flying down the table. "Oi, Leova," the brownrider calls, after making the effort to drag her gaze off the triumphant bluerider, "Don't feel bad, sure she'll go an' have a good time here /eventually/. She ain't /that/ old." A couple of boos from a pair of much-older-than-Taikrin riders, and a bluerider passing by even swats the back of her head-- but nothing takes the irrepressible grin off her face.
Summary: Glacier's having a pretty normal night - booze and cards and good (or not-so-good)-natured ribbing. Leova's dealing in both cards and questions-- and Taikrin's more than willing to play.
NorCon MUSH - 3/21/2011
------------------------
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.
Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.
Contents:
Leova
Obvious exits:
Hallway Patio Ledge
It is a spring night, 22:26 of day 10, month 4, turn 25 of Interval 10.
It's late and getting later, the glows nearing their changing once again amid the ratcheting conversation, when abruptly the Glacier table explodes. Oh, not literally this time, but three-to-four clumps of people suddenly push off in different directions, one large man shoving his friend by the shoulder towards the infirmary. They're laughing. And by the time the admittedly none-too-speedy server gets near, there's no blood visible, and the visitors have been made to vanish.
So it's late. Of course it is. And there's gambling going on. Of course there is. And there's drinking... when is there ever /not/? It's at a rare less-loud point, when one round's nearly drunk and the next pitcher's just been poured, that Leova leans on one leather-clad elbow to eye her injured wingmate. No, not S'trun; he'd stumbled off all a-purpose a while back, with a redhead for consolation. Maybe he'll even get laid before his near-broken nose swells up. No, it's Taikrin she's looking at, even as she shuffles the cards without bothering to look at /them/.
The ample plying of alcohol has already made Taikrin forget about her bandage a handful of times, resulting in much mocking and requisite grumbling at the beer sloshed over the table from her fumblings. It's not surprising, then, that when she meets Leova's gaze from over the top of her mug, it's a little defensive. An eyebrow raises, accompanying a gruff bark of, "Oi, you dealin' here, or we just gonna moon over my pretty face?"
"Depends," says the rusty-haired greenrider, no true red about her, and waits a deliberate moment before obliging. Vrianth would be proud. "Gonna hold your cards in your paws this time, or your teeth?" Flick, flick go the cards, so much more smoothly than they'd been before she joined that wing, before she finally sat down and dealt with more than just those cards. Rhonda appears over her shoulder, briefly. Whispers into her ear. Leova laughs.
"I dunno," Taikrin retorts, rising too-quickly to the bait. "Why, you wanna come over here'n put 'em in my mouth for me?" There's an accompanying lewd gesture, tongue run over lips and eyebrows waggling. Her gaze flickers towards the other greenrider then back again, all brash promise. "Promise I don't bite /real/ hard."
"Depends," says Leova amiably, once Taikrin's gotten her attention back from her clutchmate. /More-or-less/ back, seeing as how Rhonda's now got her elbow planted on her seated clutchmate's shoulder, the better to lean over and give Taikrin's twice-her-age neighbor the eye. It's got to be a sharp elbow, especially without even any firelizard-padding for Leova's shoulder, but she's accommodating with the ease of long familiarity. "What'll you bet? Because I reckon as how I'd just about have to see your cards."
Taikrin bends her cards upright just far enough to take a peek at their values, then folds her hands (rather awkwardly) atop them. "Reckon you might have t'be playin' for my team, then, won't you? Plenty of room over here." The rider on Taikrin's other side is apparently unamused: she gets an elbow to the ribs, and a hissed command to 'sharding ante up already, dimglow'. Feigning unconcern, the brownrider tosses her chits into the pot without taking her attention off Leova-and-Rhonda. "You got somethin' in mind?"
Funny how Rhonda can giggle out of nowhere even while it /seems/ she's got all eyes for older-but-not-too-old!-rider: other team! So funny. Leova's only got a, "That all?" Could be challenging, that, but it's more like she could be disappointed somehow. Like somehow, something Taikrin might have come up with could be more interesting than all that. It doesn't stop her joining in the pot, though, nor dealing out to those who signal they need another card. "Anyhow. Heard you got Y'sen thinking you broke into our smith's workshop, sprung a booby trap, that's how you did yourself in." Poor Y'sen.
That Taikrin, she's a font of crude humor. Like: "Reckon it's more'n you can handle, anyways." She taps the fingers of her undamaged hand atop her cards, then turns the gesture into a flick that sends a single discard Leova's way. One please! "Y'sen'd believe Timor was laid by a sky-dragon if y'put the story to him proper," she snorts dismissively, though there's something wary in the way her posture straightened from its lazy slouch. "I ain't sloppy enough to spring no booby trap, you guys oughta know better."
"You go on thinking that," Leova agrees too readily, too dryly, amid speculation of handling and, of course, smiths' hammers. Not to mention just how thick their klah really is. Taikrin gets a card, the brownrider's neighbor on the far side gets two, and /she/ gets herself a drink somewhere in there... even if it does mean dislodging Rhonda /right/ when the other greenrider might defend what passes for her honor. There's a, "Not /serious/," a couple seats down. A sniff from Rhonda, who promptly steals what's left of Leova's drink by way of payback. And, "Won't hurt him to think what he likes, hm?" from the dealer herself.
"'Sides," Taikrin goes on, spurred by the commentary around the table, "You seen that new journey-smith? He's got somethin' out to here all right, but it ain't what /I'm/ interested in." She sketches out a crude shape at chest height, eliciting a guffaw or two from those who might have run into the portly man in question. Smugly, she adds, "Y'all're just jealous of me and my Southern adventures, anyways." The evidence of which is still flaking off the exposed bits of her shoulder and neck in oh-so-attractive fashion.
Dragon> << Why, >> and it's a flick of energy, right /there/, no warning. << Does she shed. >> (Vrianth to Szadath)
Dragon> Such time has passed that even Szadath is a little hazy on the details. << It itches because, >> he drawls out, slowly, as he diiiiigs back into recall, << she refused to oil herself properly. I think. >> More confidently, << I /warned/ her about cracked hide, but she didn't listen. >> (Szadath to Vrianth)
The amber eyes fix on Taikrin for a long moment, not diverting at the brownrider's gesture. /Hers/ is a lift of her own shoulder, just a flick before it falls. Around them there's noise, there always is, now chorused with catcalls and older-neighbor reaching to jovially clap Taikrin on the shoulder: he's folding, but maybe he's getting something better. Certainly Rhonda's on the way out. Certainly he's hoping. Leova: "Raise. Or fold."
Dragon> There's silence. Then, agreement: <> Surely not just about that. And /then/, Vrianth relenting somewhat, << They seem to have their own ideas about things. Let us hope she learned. >> Before she sheds all over Vrianth's rider's table. (Vrianth to Szadath)
There's a smirk for the shoulder-clap, a glance over that finally breaks eye contact with Leova to impart full eyebrow-waggling meaning to the departing rider. Then: "Pssh, fold. Here." Taikrin idly tosses a few more chits into the pot, all easy bravado and big talk. "Anyways, was /real/ nice t'see a set of girls who ain't gotta wear a thousand layers just to get through the day, know what I'm sayin'?"
/Leova/ will fold without fanfare, but then, she's dealing, and there are a couple of boisterous thugs still in the mix. But they're /Glacier's/ boisterous thugs! Dryly, "Never heard even Lessa could do that and go /between/. She'd have frozen her..." and there's a clash of glassware behind her, not quite breakage, but not quite loud enough to drown out that it's not the fabled golrider's nose that was endangered. Looking down the table, "'Nother card? Last call."
"Ehh, reckon I'm good." Taikrin taps her cards for good measure, then leans out onto the table. "What, all you suckers still playin'?" To Leova, a flashed grin: one of Taikrin's finest. "Too hot for you?" Somewhere in there is a guffaw for Lessa's-frozen-bits, though somehow she restrains herself from speculating. Somehow. "Oi, Leova, how long's it been since Vrianth went, anyways?" She's piling on the charm, now, smarmy-thick. "Szadath wants t'know."
Still playing?! There are jeers, of course, promises to last past anything /Taikrin/ thinks she can come up with. Cards fly this way and that, mostly according to the rules. Or at least the house rules. Such as they are. From Leova, amused half-despite herself, "Could say that." If her gaze catches on Taikrin's shed-on shoulders, it's briefly. And for Vrianth, nothing that'll make her miss her toss, "Forever. What, he too scared to nose around, makes you do the work?" On the end, there's a bluerider who just doubled the pot, all surreptitious-like. Just ignore her.
Taikrin /is/ ignoring that bluerider in her continuing efforts to get a rise out of Leova, though her pointed stare is briefly broken by a flying card smacking against her cheekbone. There's a brief scuffle: who-did-that and I'll-wreck-your-face and your-face-is-ALREADY-wrecked but it never goes beyond posturing and the whole thing lasts a couple of breaths, max. Then: "Nah, /he's/ too busy trying to wrap himself around one he KNOWs is goin' up in a coupl'a days." Smug: "Just checkin' out secondary prospects, like. 'Case he gets bored."
...Leova, who makes a habit of avoiding being provoked, though at least she doesn't have her mild face on. Yet. "Hard work," she says, all commiseration. "Good thing he has you on his side. Charming, and all." A glance to the bluerider becomes a glance back, but it's the bluerider who has the sweetest of smiles, because look, those two are the only ones left.
"Shardin' right it's hard work, keepin' up with him." There have been no few rounds of ribbing about Szadath's renewed proclivities, now that Iskiveth seems so far from rising, and Taikrin is quick to play up her 'hardship'. "Always wantin' to know about this green an' that greenrider an' what about distractin' that bluerider--" A smirk down the table catches the tail end of that sweet smile and obviously misinterprets, because there's an awful lot of suggestion of the hey-baby sort being broadcast down towards that end.
With the hand almost done, Leova can play along, can commiserate here too... except all of a sudden she doesn't, just has a brief sharp shake of her head as she sets down what's left of the deck for the next dealer. At least the timing's good: the cards, they're coming up. Maybe that bluerider /has/ been bluffing, because what she's got is a plain old straight. Spades, but still. A straight. But she's still smiling, looking at Taikrin, even while Leova's mouth compresses in what's not quite a frown. While the greenrider gathers up her things, what there are of them. While she gets set to go.
And poor Taikrin? When she flips her cards up, it's a simple two pair, Weyrwoman-high. That doesn't stop her smirk, though, or the nonverbal insinuations flying down the table. "Oi, Leova," the brownrider calls, after making the effort to drag her gaze off the triumphant bluerider, "Don't feel bad, sure she'll go an' have a good time here /eventually/. She ain't /that/ old." A couple of boos from a pair of much-older-than-Taikrin riders, and a bluerider passing by even swats the back of her head-- but nothing takes the irrepressible grin off her face.