No Lushes Yet

A'tae.jpg Brentram.jpg Meiglen.jpg

Participants: A'tae, Brentram, Meiglen
IC Date: Day 1, Month 10, Turn 3
OOC Date: Sunday, September 19th, 2011
Location: Eastern Weyr: Jaya's Bar
Synopsis: After-dinner drinks, underage drinking, impotent threats, smarm, charm, and veiled allusions.
Rating: PG / PG-13, language
Posted by: Brentram

A dark, cozy room has been carved out of the wall on this section of the hallway. It looks as if it was meant to be an archive of sorts, but when the back wall caved in, it made most of it too low for efficient shelving space. Instead, the remaining shelves have all been pushed back against one wall and a large wooden counter - so new it still smells of tree - blocks it off from the rest of the room. A few small tables take up the rest of the place; simple chairs sit around them. It's bare bones and boring, now, but there's potential. It just needs the right touch.


It is, at least, after dinner. So nobody in here drinking looks like a lush yet. This is a definite plus for A'tae since he's already well into his third glass of something that looks like it might be strong. Might be, since it doesn't appear to have affected him any. He's right up at the bar, preferring that to a corner table as well. And, watching the comings and goings with the eye of someone who people-watches as a hobby. Or, as self-preservation.

Someone isn't supposed to be here. Whether it's because he's supposed to be working, just not supposed to be here because of the day of the week or the hour of the day, or maybe because he's only seventeen, Brentram really shouldn't be lurking in the corner of a bar. And yet: there he is, looking sullen and furtive at the same time, nursing something in a large, opaque glass. What's inside? Hard to tell. Could be alcoholic. Could be water, or milk. Could also be an inch of liquid in a ten-inch-tall glass, and there's really no way of telling without looking in through the top. But he definitely doesn't look old enough to be drinking anything like what A'tae is.

One of the comings is Eastern's newest goldrider — well, that's not accurate. Eastern's most recently arrived goldrider. Not actually the newest, as Svaldirath isn't all that young. Meiglen's still dressed in her leathers, as evidently she's been flying somewhere or another, and just as evidently has never been in the bar alone before. This second part is more evident by the fact that she walks in and then stops just shy of the doorway, trying to measure up who is in the room, where to sit, and presumably also what she wants to order.

Pretty goldriders are a good way to catch A'tae's attention; the brownrider's gaze lingering just longer then is probably considered polite when she pauses in the doorway. But hey, he raises his glass as a greeting anyway. Because it's a weyrwoman and it's polite. And she's hot. What isn't so hot is how when he looks back over at his glass he happens to see Brentram. Whom he recognizes. And doesn't /want/ to recognize. "Hope there ain't anything strong in that glass. He's too young to drink, let alone hold his liquor." is commented to the bartender.

Whatever's in the glass is staying there, unless it's to pass Brentram's lips — which is small reassurance, when he recognizes the goldrider from the laundry room a few days ago. She brought all sorts of strange and delicate items in to be laundered! And of course, items that require extra care can't be handed over to the simple-witted drudges. So it's a good thing that glass is so large, now; it makes it a lot easier for Brentram to hide his crimson cheeks behind it.

"Maybe then he shouldn't be drinking?" Meiglen suggests as response to A'tae's comment, but since the bartender isn't taking it away, evidently whatever the boy has is nonalcoholic. As for her delicate clothing, they were mostly shirts and skirts thank you very much! She doesn't have a drink to raise to the brownrider, but she does offer him a bow of the head as she tries to figure out where to sit — okay. Barstool. Not next to Brentram, but a few seats down, where she orders an Istan Wave.

"Probably not." A'tae agrees, an easy smile appearing on his face. "But then, he's young enough to need a drink to survive the hormones." See? It's aperfectly logical explanation given that he still likely remembers being 17. "Evening, Brentram. I didn't know you'd found your way down to Eastern at the same time I did. What a coincidence, that." Said in such a way that the lad can assume he doesn't think it much of a coincidence at all. "I'm A'tae, brown Mazameth's rider. A pleasure to meet you, Weyrwoman." he then concludes, finishing off the last of his drink and sliding his glass back at the bartender.

"Not paying a whole lot of attention, were you?" is the teen's snide reply — and then he realizes that that really is that stupid, and flushes again, and hides himself in his glass, again. It's not because A'tae is a rider. It isn't even because A'tae was at Fort. It's because the Weyrwoman he was blushing about before is, in fact, sitting next to A'tae, and talking with him, and oh, crap.

The weyrwoman also has a name: "Meiglen," she offers back to A'tae, having not given her name yet to Brentram either, "Svaldirath's, though your Mazameth may have told you that already; she's been going around introducing herself to everyone, or so I hear." Somehow, Svaldirath is even socializing — sort of — with Rikath. One of the pair, at least, is doing a lot of figurative lip-biting and breath-holding. She turns toward the teen once she's given the brownrider her introduction, and queries, "You're Brentram?"

"Meiglen. That's a lovely name. The same prior to impression, or yours get shortened?" A'tae wonders, curious. "Mazameth made some noise about getting an introduction, indeed. He's quite taken with Svaldirath." But, is also as skittish as a deer surrounded by wolves, so… well, yes. If there's a flash of irritation in his eyes when Brentram speaks (or breathes), it's cleverly hidden behind a new glass. Not so cleverly hidden with words though. "It's not difficult to overlook pipsqueaks. At least until you accidentally step on them."

"I might be a little short, but that doesn't mean I can't bleach all your clothes if you keep pissing me off," Brentram tells his drink, scowling deeply into it. At least he knows how to make a threat that counts, right?

Now, them's fighting words, but Meiglen is letting Brentram's attitude slide as a good reason to ignore her query as to his name. "Oh, it's always been Meiglen," she tells A'tae more sociably, with a hint of a smile. "While I'm sure there is plenty one could shorten it to." She's not about to offer up her nickname to people she doesn't really know, though Svaldirath sometimes refers to her rider as Meg to other dragons. "Svaldirath aims to intrigue and to satisfy, though more than anything I think she aims for — efficiency."

"Really? Then I'll know who to tell Mazameth to trample next time he's feeling feisty." A serene smile accompanies the thinly veiled response-threat to Brentram. "I expect improper use of bleach may not go over well with the Headwoman, either." If he had pointy teeth, surely A'tae would be showing a little fang right now. "Maybe you -should- put a litle something in that drink, lad." But on to more pleasant topics, right? "Efficiency, eh? That's a good trait for a queen I would imagine. Mazameth aims for careful planning and… the safety of the herd." Much to his personal dismay. Safety. Psssht.

"You're an ass," Brentram informs A'tae shortly. "And it would, in fact, serve you right if all your trousers stopped having any, because you're enough of one for all your clothes!" Scowl, gulp, slam — at least his glass doesn't crack, right? He peers at Meiglen. "Don't spend time around him," he advises. "He's rude and crude and mean, and pretends that flirting is a solution to every problem. He got kicked out of his previous Weyr!"

What Brentram is impressing most upon Meiglen is that he is a very mature specimen of teenage boy. Very mature. About as mature as kittens. "Evidently flirting wasn't a solution to whatever that situation was," Meiglen replies cooly to both parties at once, maintaining diplomacy — though it's unclear if it's forcibly or just naturally, especially considering how possible it is Svaldirath is doing more of the talking than Meiglen here.

If there is anything that maks his teeth grind, it would be mention of 'the incident'. "No, flirting was not a solution to that problem." A'tae agrees, perhaps a little too easily. Nor does he provide any information that could suggest it really is what he tried - and further, he supplies to explanation for why he was kicked out of Fort Weyr. If anything, there was a flash of amusemnent at the idea of walking around with assless pants though. "Great way to get attention, those assless pants. But I think I'll pass for now. It would also be good for a nize breeze, but again… your desire to see my behind is not reason enough for me to agree. Sorry lad." He tips his head politely at Meglein for her even tone, making no excuses for his behavior whatsoever though.

"Flirting with me is not a solution to keeping your pants intact, either," Brentram announces stolidly, without actually considering his grammar — is he saying that flirtation is more likely to ruin A'tae's pants, or keep them whole? Probably not even he knows, at this point. But at least he seems to have scored one point! That totally counts!!! A couple of moments later, after a bit of quiet discussion, Brentram settles back in his seat with some very salty nuts, and starts chomping on them, very, very noisily. Crackle. Snap.

Meiglen is not trying to keep up with the — ahem — manly banter, here. She is vaguely at least trying to keep track of what each party is saying, and has discovered that she cannot decipher Brentram's last comment. She squints down at her drink and takes a long swig of it as a means of distraction from trying to figure out teenage commentary. "Where are you — both — from?" she finally asks.

That's ok, for A'tae can't seem to translate it either. And just looks over at the boy with a blank expression. Hopefully those salty nuts keep him busy. Very busy. "Fort Weyr. We're both from Fort Weyr." he supplies, after a moment's hesitation. "You going to tell her who your daddy is, since you're so interested in sharing information today?" Smile. "If I've heard the rumor mill correctly, you're from Ista? I always wanted to visit the area. You know, on a vacation sort of thing. Where's a nice spot to go?"

Brentram glares sugar-coated daggers at A'tae for that little comment, and chomps on the nuts very aggressively. However, they're salty enough he's not so much saying anything, no.

"I am," Meiglen confirms softly. "From Ista, that is, and I'd be happy to endorse the entire island as a vacation spot, but it depends on what exactly you're looking for. Romantic getaway or a solo expedition? Interested in stargazing or sleeping or sandforts? It all depends." Her thin smile, at least, sticks as she sips her drink. "I've never been to Fort, either. Never gone to a meeting of the Council or anything, I've always been far too junior."

"Adventure, actually. I'd be looking for adventure." A'tae decides, taking a safe route for an answer. "Well, allow me to give you a small piece of advice should you ow find yourself in the positon of having to attend a council meeting. Especially if it's at Fort." The tone and expression both remain casual, and he even manages not to give the nut chomper a dirty look when he says the rest. "Watch your back, or you'll find someone's knife in it before it's over. And you…" he adds, taking a loooong drink. "..seem just too nice for me to allow that to happen to without at least having a warning to prepare yourself."

"— The hell are you talking about?" spews Brentram's nuts. (Wait, that doesn't sound quite right…)

Meiglen is thinking. Meiglen is thinking hard, and drumming her meticulously manicured fingernails on the bartop lightly while she does so — and eventually names a small cothold, with a beach. "Plenty of adventure to be found there. Also attractive farmers' daughters, I hear, and a good surf." The exchange between A'tae and Brentram, though, simply gets her calculating eye on it — and no further comment.

"Ask your father, kid. Maybe he's finally clueing in." A'tae returns, allowing a vague hint of 'bitter' to thread though his voice before it's replaced with smooth inflection. "Ah, a good surf? Attractive women? And adventure. Doesn't get much better then that now, I have to say." Finally, he digs through his pocket to pay for his drinks and slides enough over at the bartender to pay for his, and Brentram's, and even Meiglen's. Though he doesn't say anything about it. "Lovely conversing with you, Weyrwoman. You have yourself a nice evening."

Brentram is left staring at A'tae, bewilderment writ clear on his face. Give the kid a break — it's not like he even really knows his father, on a personal level, to have even the least idea of what A'tae's talking about.


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