Talking Over Drinks

Western Weyr - Tiki Lounge Patio
As one walks onto the wood panelled flooring, they are greeted with the scent of burning oil, the likely source the various torches burning along the perimeter of the flooring. The flooring is littered with tables shaded with umbrellas, matching chairs tucked beneath when not in use. People of all sorts gather in clusters to talk or people watch. One can easily see into the tavern, its large windows usually open to the outside. Music flows in from inside, carried by the sea breeze, encouraging some people to dance, or even sing along.
Electric lights light the entrances as those on night duty come out to take over, moving quietly in the night so as not to disturb those sleeping about the Weyr.Summer is upon the Western Isles, longer days and shorter nights making for a restless feeling that seems to invade every resident and urge them towards the beaches. This is the desc of the full moon.

Never a dull moment in the life of a Candidate, most of the day spent out in the gardens, weeding, sowing seeds and harvesting ripened crops has left her feeling slightly, temporarily lethargic for the time being. The afternoon personal time is being well utilized, basking in the afternoon heat on the Tiki Lounge patio, sipping on some redfruit juice, dressed up to look like something fancy with a colorful straw and multicolored umbrella. A brisk waft of seabreeze and ocean spray mists across the shoreline, lovely weather calls for plenty of lovely Westernites and visitors wandering about. The Candidate sits in a relatively open seating area, politely answering non-stop questions from one curious youngin who wants to know all about her experiences so far.

Enka has forsaken the dull quiet of the office for the more lively atmosphere and fine weather of the patio outside the Tiki Lounge, the goldrider tucked comfortably into one of the more plusher seats, no doubt purloined from a location considerably ritzier than the patio itself, paper spread about the table as the weyrwoman jots down notes onto a clipboard. Just at that moment, a waiter's appearing at her elbow, a tray of some fruity cocktail-slushy drink on the tray. "Thanks," Enka beams up at him, all cheerfulness. "Always lookin' out for me, I see."

One heavy boot climbs upon the steps, followed by another as S'rorn makes his way across the patio. He grabs an extra stool left off to the side and moves it to a quiet corner away from the bar to an empty table. The chairs are usually taken for more people at a table inside or out, in any case, so he might as well secure a seat before there's nothing left. The brownrider manages to wave down the waiter, ordering his drink before taking a seat. He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face before stretching those arms over head with back and shoulders popping from the effort. The tasks are finally over! Until something else comes up for the poor Wingleader.

The barrage of Q&A time has finally worn the inquirer out as well, and the Weyrbrat at Zahleizjah's side departs with many thanks and promise to catch up with her again soon. A searingly sweet smile and wave completes the departure, and the small beaded smattering of perspiration forming on brow is wiped with back of hand. Vibrant amber-brown orbits scan the area, noticing first the Wingleader arriving, heavy boots and all, looking like maybe he could use a moment to receive his own beverage before her own Candidate ramblings of inquisitions begin. Hidden away, somewhere beyond the crowds, Enka is seen. The paperwork looks uninviting, but she stands and makes a slow approach anyway. As she is close enough, resonating voice smoothly speaks up "Afternoon m'lady.. s'anice day to have all this work, though I bet a Weyrwoman's work is never done. Anything I can help with?"

Enka's head tilts, the heavy sound of clumping and clomping hard to ignore before she lifts her chin, gaze flickering briefly towards S'rorn. "You," the pen in hand is pointed towards the wingleader with a rather definite stare. "Somethin' botherin' you, S'rorn?" she queries, one brow arched into an expectant quirk. "Duties gettin' to be too much for you, maybe?" The pen is tossed down, Enka lifting her now-freed hand to retrieve her drink and taking a long sip, leaning back into her chair, the movement of which brings the candidate, Zahleizjah more into her line of sight. "Work is never done," she comments dryly, "especially when one has the disadvantage of having both capable juniors out on the sands, and a dimglow in the office. So I escaped." A cheeky smirk is made, the goldrider tightening her grip on the clipboard and pressing it closer to her chest. No peeking, mind! "The offer is well appreciated," she continues, "but I've got this."

Perfect timing for the Weyrwoman. Right when the waiter departs after giving S'rorn his drink, right before the precious ale reaches his lips, the sound of her voice causes him to flinch. With the flinch, several drops of ale spill out of his mug over his fingers and onto his clothes. The brownrider sighs, shoulders slumped in mourning for those first precious chilled drops but there's more where that came from. Hazel eyes glance over and he holds it up in salute to Enka. "Nothing bothering me for a change, Weyrwoman Enka. Everything seems to be under control for now. Faranth knows for how long but I'll deal with the creatures as they come up." Be it Spiderclaws or White knots, he'll figure something out. "So far, the weyr seems to be doing good on the extra marks and bartering from the pests. We haven't had to touch our non-perishables for a while. Which is good, more for stores." Before something else comes up, the brownrider quickly drinks half of his mug before slowing down and waving the waiter over once more.

Zahleizjah bows her head "Much respect m'lady. I would imagine that'd make the office environment quite undesirable on a day like this. She very much minds the Weyrwoman's space and privacy noting with a shrug "Administrative duties and dimglows must prove for a dim outlook here and there." Her glass-o'juice is raised as a toast to the work that is never done at the exact same moment S'rorn is spilling and raising. She giggles a bit, hinking to herself about how drastically her life has changed as of late. As for those pesky pests, this immediately turns giggle to grimace "Ugh, those creppy crawly spiderclaws make me cringe!" She wriggles and crosses arms, rubbing triceps as if her skin is crawling at the thought. "I woke up with one in m'hair the other night.. need t'get more firelizards around the barracks!"

"Well," Enka remarks, matter-of-factly, "that's precisely the reason why I thought I'd come on out here and enjoy the sunshine rather than suffer indoors, as it's not quite as easily to remove that particular dimglow from said office. Better that I leave before I decide to break somethin'." the goldrider gives a wry little smirk, twisting a bit to regard S'rorn for a moment, and then hefts her own drink a bit in return salute. "Sounds splendid, Wingleader. Havin' everythin' go just right for you and everythin' under control." There's a sip taken, the goldrider reclined back at her ease, moving only a bit to snug her legs up under her, curled into the plushness of the chair. "I like when everythin' goes well around here. Has candidacy been treatin' you fair?" the question is, no doubt for Zahleizjah.

"So far so good, and here's to hoping that it stays that way. We got traders, travelers, fishermen and even the ocassional drudge and rider asking for the things. Whatever brings the weyr marks." Never let an opportunity for a trader to make some marks for his home go undone. Traders love a good bargain as much as they love making their marks. Rorn takes another drink of his mug before glancing over to Zahleizjah with a grin. "Well, if you find any more, least you know there's a want for them and they won't be plaguing you for too long. What you want is less lizards, then you could leave a fish or scraps out and it'll bring 'em all out of hiding. Less to search for later."

Enka's fingers steeple in front of her, the clipboard slipping down onto her lap, any paperwork thereupon unseen as she smiles benignly at the brownrider. "I must say, you seem to be doin' a grand job managin' to get some good marks for us. Knew Zi'on and I had a good idea in lettin' you take Seamount." It's sound business practice, put a trader in charge of a wing intended for making money and transportation. "Nonsense," Enka makes a sound, something like a little flutter of her lips — pfft, in fact! "You aint interruptin' anythin'. It wasn't really work anyway." A pause, Enka reaching for her drink again, cradling the glass between her fingers. "Fun," she answers. "Didn't have skitterin' critters or crazy dreams, but we had to jump of a cliff. And chase some wherries around." Oh, hang on, that was a prank. "It's a character-buildin' time, they say. Don't think it's changed me much though."

Right when the last golden droplets of ale settle at the bottom of the mug, the waiter comes to save the day with a fresh cold one and a small bowl of sliced redfruits. S'rorn pays the man and doesn't waste any time taking another sip. "Can't let a good bit of business just slip past me. If the weyr benefits, even better." The brownrider turns to the candidate as he takes up a piece of fruit, and he nibbles thoughtfully. "I don't quite remember my candidacy too well. It just went by too fast. In my down time, I was still working on my craft and Wilson was keeping me busy the rest of the time." Ah yes, Wilson. He's been quiet for too long. As he finally gained some discipline? Or is he to blame for the horde? No one knows for sure…

Zahleizjah's expression, sincerely genuine, grateful for the words of encouragement "Fun.. I'm excited for that kind of fun. It has taken a bit of time to get settled in to the chores and such, but I do like the hard work aspect of things. Makes me feel a bit more accomplished and all.." There is a great sense of honor that has been bestowed upon the gal through all of this, nodding in agreement "Growth only compliments a solid core like yours m'lady.. can't change a solid soul." A quizzical brow is waggled S'rorn's way "Wilson you say?" Suddenly it is as if the Candidate has become astutely aware of the amount of time that has passed. "Oh my! Speaking of chores, and work, and fun.. I've got a bit of work to finish up in the gardens for the day. I'll bring a bouquet by each of your Weyr's later if that's ok? The blossoms this season are abundantly unreal.. until next time.." belongings are gathered, empty drink sent off with a waiter and she departs with a wave.

Kayse has been puttering around just beyond the edge of the patio for the better part of an hour. The woodcrafter has been painstakingly planting damp seeds in a rectangular planter on the lagoon side of the patio, pressing small holes into the dark soil, dropping a few in, and then smoothing the soil over again. When finally finished the crafter rises, dusting her hands off on her already well-smudged trousers and makes her way onto the patio proper, neatly stepping around the departing candidate with barely a glance for the other teen. She instead looks at the newly emptied seat, then to the remaining occupants of the table. "Mind if I claim that seat, ma'am, sir?"

As they say, once a weyrbrat, always a weyrbrat, and no doubt such holds true for the weyrwoman. "Well, like I said, it aint changed me much. Still the same, no matter what." And despite the job, and that tubby-tailed queen dragon of hers. "Still," Enka remarks to S'rorn, "you do a damn fine good job of it, bringin' in the marks." There's a soft chuckle for the mention of Wilson. "Still keeps you plenty busy, I'd wager." The sound of Kayse's voice has the woman turning her head, and she waves the younger woman in. "Oh, sit, sit, don't stand much on ceremony, m'self." Most of the time, that is.

S'rorn holds his hand out in offering to the seat and goes back to his mug, taking another slow sip before leaning back against the wall on his stool. "That it does. I do the weyr business and I do a bit of my own. As long as my weyr wants for nothing then my family's caravan will want for nothing. If I have too much free time, someone else has my marks in their pocket and that doesn't sit well with me." Never take a trader's marks, it's like trying to take one of the children he does mind losing.

Kayse dusts a loose bit of dirt off one leg before she sits, waving for a waiter when one happens to look that way. "Thank you, ma'am," she says to Enka, either ignoring or not understanding what the rider means by her comment on ceremony. A waiter heads over and to him she says, "A glass of water and one of, ah, is that ale you have, sir?" The last is toward S'rorn, though she doesn't wait for him to answer. "That looks perfect. A glass of the same, please." The waiter nods and heads off as Kayse turns her attention back to the table, starting to listen to the conversation between the riders without commenting.

"Enka," the goldrider remarks. "Or if you must, Weyrwoman Enka, although hearin' someone call me ma'am makes me feel like I'm as old as Moreta. Maybe I'll feel differently when I've been at the job for more than seven turns." she gives a wry smirk at that before nodding at S'rorn. "A fine philosophy," she comments. "Lookin' out for your Weyr and for your family. Good way of balancin' the two."

"Shards, if I'm failing at one, that's that much less marks for me to see." S'rorn winks and nods to Kayse while tilting his mug from side to side. Sweet, sweet golden goodness is ale. Not as strong as the potent stuff but good enough to take the edge off of the day, after a mug or two, of course. "Least you know," he begins while glancing up at Kayse, "Ale is something the weyr will never run out of." S'rorn lets his shoulder sag a little and his posture relax. The air is growing cooler, his lifemate is sleeping and quiet, and the creatures are slowly but surely leaving the weyr. True, he could just dump them back at sea, but why do that for free?

Kayse blinks in surprise when Enka speaks so, rapidly nodding as she replies, "Yes, ma- uhm, Weyrwoman Enka. I'll try to remember that." This idea seems to perplex the crafter, who turns her contemplative attention toward the waiter as he returns with her glasses. "Thank you," she offers politely as the drinks are deposited and she starts on the water, quickly draining the glass. Rorn's comment on the ale has her smiling shyly as she moves on to that drink, taking a sip and rolling the fluid around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. "It would be a bad day indeed to have no ale in the Weyr. Especially on a warm day after working hard," she comments between sips.

Enka nods in satisfaction. "That's better. Course, I'll probably insist on bein' called ma'am when I'm about forty turns or somethin'. Or retired." she shrugs. "Not yet anyway. And maybe you'll get to a point where you can call me Enka. Like plenty of people do." there's a wry smile from the goldrider before she pushes her chair back, slowly unwinding herself from that plush seat, and begins to collect her things. "I'd better go throw Liora out of my office and finish up there for the day." there's a bit of a cheeky grin. "Do take care, S'rorn." a nod towards the Wingleader. "And for you." Another nod for Kayse. And then off the weyrwomam goes.

"Take care, and be sure not to send her our way. We've only done good things and shouldn't deserve such punishment." All in jest, anyway. Liora couldn't find her way around the weyr if it weren't for her dragon to tell her how to get there. S'rorn takes another slow sip as his firelizard glides in. The fresh scent of sea water masks the green's meal scent from her as she preens. "Always been a clean and proper one, Pearl. Good girl." The little green tucks her head under her human's chin and croons before going back to her preening. S'rorn laughs, lightly touching her drying wings with a fingertip before going back to his mug. "It would, thankfully the dear Westerner's assure there's a constant supply and if they don't, we trader's do." The brownrider winks, then returns his attention to the bowl of fruit. Rather, what's left of it.

Kayse sticks with a respectful nod in response to Enka's comments, playing it safe or just plain quiet, who knows. "Have a good evening, Weyrwoman Enka," she says as the goldrider departs, looking up when she rises then back to her ale after she has gone. After another sip she glances at S'rorn curiously, watching him and his firelizard before she ventures a question. "So what kind of ale is this, sir? It has a nice flavor to it and I'd like to know what to order next time if you are not here to use as an example." There's a another shy smile as she adds, "If I'm lucky I'll be by here at least every third day to weed, and this would make for a nice end to the workday each time."

"When you come in, just ask for the 'house ale'. It's made by the bartender's family and always a pleasure. I prefer the family run stock over the crafter variety. Some things from crafters are good if you want things to never change and taste the exact same way every single time. Made from an individual? It'll have a different bite every time but will never lose that home spun comfort." S'rorn nods and glances out onto the beach. His brown lump is still sleeping heavily out there, which is a good sign. Pearl is nestled up and quiet, while the other two are still out and about. "Just seems more personal. We traders prefer personal touches, brings character. Something mass produced? Not so much. Doesn't stand out."

"House ale. Got it," Kayse replies, digging a small paper tablet from her beltpouch and jotting that on it, among half a dozen other short notes. As she tucks it back away she comments, "I've noticed the variety in different holds, sort of, but I hadn't realized the crafter products were so uniform. I'll have to pay more attention the next time I'm out visiting logging camps and the like to see who has local make and who has purchased from a larger batch." Kayse's gaze wanders back to the now nestled firelizard and something about the relaxed green prompts the girl to ask, "You're Qiana's weyrmate, right? Or would it be proper to say that she is yours, since you are a rider and she is not?"

"Weyrmates are one in the same. I'm hers as much as she is mine. Nyzieroth is just there for comedic moments of commentary during the most inappropriate of times." S'rorn frowns at his lifemate but shrugs, the brown has been that way since he broke shell. Took a while for Rorn to get used to it and now if it doesn't come up, it gives him reason to worry. "Depending on where you go, some of the ale or wines will taste the same only so far within the territories. You'll get ale from Boll, it's going to taste nothing like Eastern's or Igen's. Different growers and different methods but you'll only get to taste the difference if you travel. Don't, and it'll all taste the same."

Kayse develops a faint blush as S'rorn's meaning settles in, focusing on her drink again while waiting for the pink tinge to fade from her face. "Ah, right. Though does she still get called your weyrmate while a candidate?" She shakes her head, dismissing that question, and focuses on what she actually wants to know. "Do you know if she has enough free time to give riding lessons?" Now that she has put the important question out the crafter seems to relax a little. Or perhaps the larger drink she takes is a sign of being more nervous, instead. "Mostly I travel around the islands and the rest of the Western Continent, when I travel at all. When I was at the Hall there was a rather understandable preference for wine, being so close to Benden's Vintner Hall."

S'rorn chuckles a bit but doesn't say anything more on the matter of his weyrmate. The blush isn't going to be easy to hide when the torches of the tiki is quick on the tail of day light. There's no good shadows to hide in. "If she's not tasked to anything, she should be able to work within her craft and it would help if she taught the other candidates to ride as well. True, runner back is different than dragon back but if it'll give you a taste of what's to come… Sometimes a little experience is all you need. Even if it's not your time on the sands. That day will come eventually, too." The waiter comes out and collects the empty dishes, but not without leaving another mug for the rider. They know him all too well in any case. "Ah yes, Benden. Benden and Tillek have such a rivalry for wines even to this day. People swear by Benden for the red and that's a tough challenge to try and better it, but… At times I think people are just wanting the name because it's… it's almost the same of being richer." The brownrider shrugs, perhaps the ale is getting to him or he's relaxing a bit more. At least he's not a scary drunk, just a lazy one.

"That's good to know," Kayse replies, sounding relieved. "She offered once to teach me but I didn't want to ask if she is going to be too busy for it," she adds as she takes another longer drink, only to stop mid-drink and blink at the rider. "How can riding a runner be anything like riding a dragon? I mean, dragons are, uhm, huge. And wide. And smarter than runners by a lot." She's back to seeming rather confused as she regards the wingleader. "Maybe it will make more sense after I've been on a runner. Or a dragon. Or something." As for the part of the conversation involving alcohol, she seems to have lost track of that as she tries to sort out this odd concept.

"Well, the dragons mean well, they just have an orthodox way of doing things where runners often just do what they need to do without too much thought. There is a bit… Shards, there's a large size difference even from the smallest green to the largest runner, but the feeling of being off the ground is relatively the same. Only, as they age, the runners don't take flight and that's where the real experience comes. That feeling like you're not even touching the ground. Some well trained runners can travel over land to give you that feeling but you can only get so high in the air." S'rorn chuckles and slowly nods, taking a small sip of his last mug for the night. Any more, and he'll be sleeping alongside his lifemate out on the beach.

Kayse shakes her head slightly, though whether it is at S'rorn's further explanation or her own thoughts is unclear. "Well, I'll be happy to stick to learning to ride a runner. I'm not sure I like the idea of flying all that much, now that I think about it. Qiana's description of falling of a runner was scary enough, and if dragons are that much bigger, and fly, well…." Kayse shudders visibly and finishes off her ale in a single large gulp. The drink seems to steady her a little, at least, and she leans against the table to regard her now-empty mug. "I'm think glad I've been able to sail everywhere. Having family in the Seacraft made it a matter of supporting the family trade, but now it just seems less scary."

"Well, with the dragons, you have alot more in the way of straps, vests, belts and harnesses to keep you in place and it's not cheap material it's made from either. Part of your training as a weyrling would be on how to make your straps, test for durability and strength and only if you pass the basics do they go into how to custom your own to fit you and your dragon. After all, they keep growing, so you have to constantly make straps. You could have someone else make them, sure, but you can't guarantee the same peace of mind in the end." S'rorn shrugs and finishes off his mug, placing it back on the table. The waiter shows up just in time to collect it on his rounds and the brownrider pays him once more for both he and Kayse. A deep rumble comes from the bowl as the brown stirs but the lazy lump doesn't want to get up just yet. His rider can sit for a spell longer. "I grew up on the caravan alongside my sisters. When you grow up into it, you've pretty much went through it all, but change the setting, and it's like the rules changed. Some days I don't mind the mystery of it all and others, well, I'd rather go back to those old comforts of knowing what's gonna happen through the day and night. Well, 'spose I still can, only the beasts don't care for 'im much."

Kayse looks rather overwhelemed by the amount of information S'rorn is willing to provide about the matter of riding straps. "I didn't realize how much goes into the straps," she says faintly as he finishes, shaking her head again. The motion freezes as she realizes that the wingleader has paid for her drink. "Oh, you don't have to do that, sir! I have enough to buy my own drink," she insists, trying to catch the waiter's attention to rectify that situation. S'rorn's further talk distracts her and her hand falls still. "Really? I mean, I figured it would be a change for anyone, but I didn't realize you might want to go back to what you did before. I thought that for a rider being part of a Weyr is supposed to be, well, what feels right?"

S'rorn finally pushes himself up off of the stool and straightens out his clothing a bit. He checks his pockets and self to make sure he has everything he brought with him. Three glasses of ale are good enough to help him sleep without the hang over. If he didn't have an early rotation to wake for, it would've taken more than that to put him down. There is a limit, and this time, he's choosing to listen to that limit. Pearl stirs a little, fluttering her wings at the sudden movement of her perch but she tucks her little head under wing and settles down to sleep once more. "It is but for most riders, they're born and raised in a weyr. They aren't missing anything at all. For those of us that come from all over, you always remember home and as long as time and duty allows, there's nothing stopping you from going back and getting a taste of it." Nyzieroth finally pushes himself to his feet, stretching wide wings with his rump in the air before switching to one muscular rear before the other. He bellows, turning his head towards his rider impatiently. "And now he wants to go, yet when I want to, he's never ready. Typical. In any case, clear skies and pleasant nights to you. A good drinking limit, is when you suddenly have the courage to do foolish things you normally wouldn't. A good stopping point." S'rorn grins and nods his head, slowly shuffling off towards his lifemate to home.

"Huh. I guess that makes sense," Kayse remarks when S'rorn explains the different perspective. If she had an empty glass left she'd be turning it between her hands, but lacking that she plays with the tableware instead, running her fingers over it as she thinks. Realizing the wingleader is actually planning to leave and not just stretching she rises as well, glancing from rider to the now mobile, and vocal, brown in the bowl. "Ah, the same to you, and thank you. For the drink and the conversation. You've given me a lot to think about, and I appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions." She makes sure to step clear of his path away, watching the rider depart before she checks the table to be sure she hasn't left anything behind and leaves herself, headed for the caverns.

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