Son Of A...?


Dubose.jpg Max.jpg

Date: 2010.07.18
Location: Beast Caverns
Synopsis: Max returns from wherever he had been and sets Dubose straight about something.
Rating: If above PG-13, please note here.
Logger: Max

[ Eastern Weyr: Beast Cavern ]

Sweeping upwards from the tunnel's entrance at the easternmost end, this cavern arches well over the heads of its inhabitants; both two- and four-legged. Wooden stalls and pens have been built in rows. Two rows are built into the north and south walls and two are back-to-back down the center, leaving two aisles up and down. Each animal enclosure is spacious, well-built and solid; the whole place smells of new timber and sawdust, with the subtle undertones of leather, animal and hay. The western end opens out into the feeding pens and from there into the upper bowl. The opening is large enough to allow a decent amount of sunlight to enter the cavern, but not quite big enough to allow the adult dragons inside.

[ Players ]

[ Exits ]
[ FP ] Feeding Pens
[ BT ] Beast Tunnel

It's been a few hours since the Headwoman swept in and scared all the boys away. Bit by bit the workers are coming back though, ruffled and blustering about the whole deal like boys will do. Dubose is still near the stall by his runner, still leaning against the wall with the same distant expression. Now and then he does look into the isle of the stalls to see what the stablehands are up to, listening into conversations from his private spot but there's not much to make him want to draw attention to himself. What does he care who is getting down in the hay with whom?

There is little to herald the arrival of the beast manager, save for the faint clink of spurs. Which might have given some the chance to hop to whatever they should have been seeing to in his absence, if they are alert enough to the sound. The yelp that comes from a young ‘hand catching a cuff to the back of the head is followed by a low growl of annoyance, “I’m gone a few sharding hours and you lot take it as a chance to slack off!? Renus, why by the first egg, is that runner still out in the paddocks gorging itself? And Leron, you swore if I gave you this chance you’d put your back to it! Why in Faranth’s sweet name, is that stable –still- not mucked out yet!?” One by one the caverns staff that had slacked off are each ripped a new one as Max makes his way down toward the end of the stalls, and what the stall he’s taken to using as both office and sleeping quarters. The one as it so happens, that is directly opposite where Dubose and his runner are situated.

Curious as to this new turn of events, Dubose pokes his head from above the stall door to see just who is getting the short end of the stick from the 'boss'. Seems one of those lads getting chewed is the one boasting the loudest and most detailed about his latest conquest. He doesn't say anything at first as amusement lifts from the earlier moody scowl. At last he steps out of the stall, fussing with the latch as though he can't even get the thing secured with the bit of rope.

Stripping gloves off as he walks, Max is clearly not in the best of moods, sending dark glares to whomever catches his gaze. That is until it lands on an unfamiliar face. Pause is taken as he gives Dubose the once over and then as he turns to set his hat to a peg, dark hair damp with the sweat of a hard ride, his dust croaked voice gives verbal notice of the stranger’s presence, “They get your runner properly situated?” Those self same ‘idiots’ he’d just given a blazing mouthful too.

Dubose finishes with the knot and dusts his big hands together with a couple of slaps. "Ah, they got scattered by the Headwoman before they could offer much help. No problem though, I got him settled in just fine." Behind him, the runner looks no worse for wear. Taking Max in, he offers out his hand, "I'm Dubose. Looking to rent out some space for half a dozen runners and a couple oxen-bovine. Think you have room for such?"

Max’s expression tightens as he rubs a weary hand over his eyes and back across his head, letting out a gusty sigh, “What did she do this time?” Apparently familiar with the Headwoman and her ways. The hand offered is taken in a firm grip, a nod for the name given, “Well met, Dubose. Max.” his name given in return. Turning toward the office/stall/sleeping quarters, “Got some brandy if you’ve got a dry throat,” not waiting for reply he’s soon within the small area and pulling out a decanter and two glasses, “We’ve got room for the runners, the oxen-bovine we’ll have to send to the top paddocks. There’s thread shelter there,” the young beast manager re-assures.

"She didn't do anything." Dubose says, curious about this suggestion, "does she usually do things when she comes in here looking for you?" Hiding his interest about the response that might follow he falls in step with Max, a casual stroll. "Brady sounds great." Listening to the suggestion for beast-board he nods his head in agreement, "Sounds fine. So long as the beasts don't get mixed up with the bovines for eatting. Thoes fool-critters cost me too much to make steaks out of them."

“She was looking for me? Oh right, she wanted to go riding this morning,” Max shrugs at that lapse in memory a snort erupting, “When does she not stir up a nest?” As if Dubose would know. The arrangement in the dark haired young man’s quarters is simple. Worn desk with a chair on either side, with shelving behind his head, a small press to one side and mattress neatly made up in the far corner. Sparse but functional. Sprawling into a chair a grin casts out as the other is indicated for the dark skinned to take up, “Trail oxen are stringy,” he notes, then asks with interest, “Didn’t see any coming in, where you got them holed up now?”

For the remark about wanting to go riding Dubose nods his head, "That's what the lady said. I guess she didn't want to go riding with anyone else." A thoughtful look for the stableman and then a small shrug of his shoulders. "Not much for runners myself if I can avoid them but they beast wearing your feet out." Easing into the chair offered to him, the big man doesn't hide the fact that he's looking over the quarters and what they hold. "Ah, had a bit of a mishap on the trail and they are bringing them along now. Gotta get a smith down to deal with the wagon. Sharding mess of things out there right now."

It takes a moment or two for Max to figure out quite what Dubose is getting at. When he does, the young beast manager throws back his head and laughs until his eyes water. Still chuckling, he wipes at his eyes with his knuckles. “Faranth knows I needed that. You’re one funny man, Dubose,” filling both glasses he lifts one in toast as he nudges the other over to the newcomer. “I know she likes ‘em young these days but,” and here comes the clanger, “she’s my mother.” Lines crease between his brows for the trouble the trader finds himself in, “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

Dubose blinks at the laughter, apparently that sort of belly-rolling has been gone awhile from him and while it makes him smirk, it also makes him shift uncomfortably. Then the punchline comes out and he does join in with the laughing, "Well shit." And a pause before, "Shit. She can't be. She's not that old." Teeth click together a bit before another comment comes out. Oh look, a drink. That he tosses back quickly and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth afterwards. "If you know the smith around here and can get him or her out of tasks to help me, that'd be great."

Amused, Max watches Dubose stumble through the information just handed out. “The lady got style,” he’ll give his mother that much. As to her age, the beast manager settles back, lacing fingers over his stomach, smirking “I’m big for my age,” sardonic in its delivery. The trader empties his glass and the beast manager fills it right back up again, “It’s Indira,” not mother, “you’re gonna have to smooch up to if you’re wanting that kind of help. Me? I’ll take of your beasts when they arrive.”

"I'm not very good at smooching up to people." Dubose admits without appology. "But maybe she'd be up for some trade. She seemed interested in what I'm selling anyway." He mulls that over, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "The first meeting didn't end as well as it /could/ have perhaps. Nothing that can't get smoothed out though. I have very, very good brandy in the wagon you see." And doesn't that solve most ills?

There comes that laughter again, Max obviously finding the large trader to be easy company, “Oh, I’ll just bet she was,” he quips on his dam’s interest in what the other man might be selling. He doesn’t ask what that might be but does seem to be strangely prepared to help him succeed with whatever his goals might be, “She turned cold on you, huh?” shrugging, “She does that.” The woman still a bit of a mystery even to her own son. Tipping his glass to his mouth, “You plan on sticking around some?”

Dubose's smile is crooked, "Oh, no. I sort of insulted her I think." From the slight crinkle of his nose, he must not be completely sure about this though. "So, you'll have to key me in on how to get on her good side next time." As to her being cold, he shrugs, helpless how to answer that, "I wasn't exactly warm and cuddly to her either." He taps a finger along the empty glass, "I might stay. Depends on how things go…..have a bit of work to do here first."

His hand rubbing along his stubbled jaw, Max puts a dubious look over to Dubose, “And have to call you Daddy in a few months? No thank you.” The glimmer in dark eyes so like his mother’s, telling of the unspoken jest in there. Having taken a healthy mouthful of the brandy, the beast manager ends up choking on it as laughter wars with the need to swallow. Once again having to brush tears from his eyes, the dark haired young man simply sits there shaking his head in high amusement, “You try warm and cuddly with her, she’ll eat you up and spit you out breakfast. You want something from her, take it.” That’s his advice. Let’s hope it’s not advice designed to see the trader landing on his ass. “Got somewhere to bunk down yet?”

Dubose is lucky he's not drinking when Max issues that statement. The sputter is a loud and comical one and he has to laugh at his own response. "I'm not anyone's daddy and imagine /that/ is not even an outside possibility." He settles back into the chair, looking bemused at the idea, a little more relaxed than his arrival thanks to the drink. "Pretty sure she couldn't chew me up on her best day anyway." Is the confident response before turning to other matters. "Don't have a place to sleep yet. Not sure what there is around these parts. Not sure I'm up for sleeping in the public dorms." A small shudder about that.

Oddly enough, Max’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his jaw for a few moments at talk of parentage or the siring of offspring. Eased away by another refilling of his glass and swallow of soothing liquid, tipping it next Dubose’s way, “I’ll lay good marks on seeing the two of you square off against each other.” Ever the gambler, the thought idly amuses. Back to the topic of finding the trader somewhere to bunk down, the beast manager stands to his feet, throws back the dregs of his glass and heads for the door beckoning the bigger man to follow, “If you ain’t fussy, there’s a hayloft you can use.”

The jaw twitching has Dubose's attention right away. "You have many sisters and brothers?" Maybe not a good subject to touch on, one never knows. "As for facing off with the Headwoman, I think I'll wait until I get my gear out of thread-danger first, otherwise it'll be a very short stay." The suggestion of sleeping in the loft draws out a low groan of disapointment, "Honestly? I don't know, might just see about buying a ride from a dragonrider and sleeping in my comfortable wagon."

“No. Just me,” Max’s reply probably sounding more terse than he’d intended. He doesn’t offer further information, simply pauses in the doorway, his eyes casting passed Dubose and back into his multi-purpose room. Finally hands find their way to his pockets and he rolls out a shrug of shoulders, “Not opposed to double bunking. So long as you don’t snore. Need my beauty sleep,” his amiable nature returning with a cocky grin. Just then a thump of hooves against wooden planking followed by a yell jerks his attention back out and down the line of stalls, “I swear if I have to replace boarding again, I’m going to drown someone in the trough as sure as dragons flame thread!”

To be continued…

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