====February 16, 2014
====Br'er and Cha'el
====Cousins meet up, and catch up.

Who Br'er and Cha'el
What Cousins meet up, and catch up.
When It is mid afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where IGW - Oasis Inn

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Oasis Inn
Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there //is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.//


It's always strange to visit your old stomping grounds (especially when you left them in a hurry under awfully awkward circumstances). Quite possibly certain none-too-recent departees wouldn't have come back. But - business! Well, business, and also family. A message was sent a few days ago, a polite request to visit with a relative long neglected. Now, Br'er sits in one of the side booths, elbow on the table, chin in hand, with his Southern knot bright on his shoulder. The greenrider is watching the once-familiar inn with an expression that is… thoughtful. Perhaps a little wistful. The faintest HINT of 'wist'.

Said message was met with one of those head-scratching, 'Aroo?' type of responses. Never having been that close with extended family for one reason or another, recent events - Thread falling out of pattern and now NOT falling when it bloody well should be - finds the Istan branch of said family, strangely nostalgic for the 'good ole days'. Thus it is that one brownriding former Istan meanders his way into the appointed place of meeting, a smile full of charm and empty promise flicked the way of a buxom blonde waitress, shoulder free of the big ole fancy knot that should be there. "Cousin," is the greeting Cha'el extends the greenrider along with his hand, "it's been too long."

"It has been," replies Br'er, taking the hand for a firm shake. "Haven't seen you in ages. Hopefully I'm not pulling you away from anything important -" the lack of a shoulderknot is eyed, but no comment is made. The greenrider instead favors Cha'el with an exceptionally charming smile full of white teeth. Some things about Br'er haven't changed since he was a teenager: that's one of them. "C'mon and sit." Four questions follow, in a row: "How are you? And Sikorth? How is your mother doing? Can I have the barmaid grab you anything?"

The solid clasp of hands exchanged, Cha'el sets the greenrider with a wry curl of lips. "Between meetings." And doesn't that sound like FUN!? If his knotless shoulder is being eyed, he's either unaware of it or ignoring the fact. Folding his frame into the booth opposite Br'er, that charming smile all full of bright teeth pulls a short chuckle from the brownrider. Some things indeed do not change. But then, rapid-fire questions. The first two are easily answered and bundled into one, "Well enough." The next however finds sea-blue eyes dropping to a knot in the table top. "She uh…she died about a turn ago." A frown pushes dark brows together which are then forcefully smoothed free of each other. "Rum. And you and yours? Still sucking up to leadership?" Smiiirk.

"Oh!" This is what happens when you lose touch with FAMILY. Awkward questions. "Shit. I'm sorry to hear that." Br'er is silent for a moment, before the passing of a barmaid gives him an opportunity to place an order: rum for Cha'el, wine for himself. After the girl leaves, he turns to smile again (the intensity is lowered by a candlewatt) and say, "Inlayraith and I are fine. And -" his mouth twitches, "- I prefer the term advise. All the fun of power," he lifts his eyebrows, waggles them, "none of the obligatory meetings. Except for wing meetings, anyway."

The smile Cha'el flicks his greenriding cousin is small and only meant to convey appreciation for his condolences. "I sent a letter," he adds, pausing when Br'er places their drinks order and picking up again once the girl has left to fill it, "didn't think to check if it got to your mother. How is she doing?" One question for another and then amusement once again manages to find its way back across the former Istan's features. "Ah, advise. So that's what we're calling it these days, eh?" A pause and then the brownrider leaning back in his seating and slinging an arm over the back of the booth, cocks a brow. "You come to check up on that Southern upstart of yours to see if we've locked him in the brig for stealing Elicheritath's flight?" Grin.

"Letters have a tendency to go missing in Crom," observes Br'er, with the macabre addition of, "sometimes from the messengers falling down a mineshaft." He's hesitant for a moment, and then adds, "Mam's fine, I think." He thinks. Someone hasn't been a very diligent son. The greenrider lets the subject drop, moving, smilingly, to other and more amusing topics. "I'm only sleeping with one of them," delivered baldly, "so 'advising' is the best term, yes." Their drinks arrive: Br'er waits until the barmaid shuffles off again before observing, "No one would jail El'ai." His mouth twitches. "My condolences to your poor weyrwoman, though."

There's a quiet snort for messengers falling down mineshafts but aside from another wry twitch of lips for the answer given of his aunt, he leaves the matter there and utters a gruff sound of amusement. "Only sleeping with, can get your head or other bits separated from your body in some parts." Cha'el quips back though not with quite the degree of humor one might expect. Nodding his thanks to the barmaid, he curls a hand about the glass and draws it closer toward him but doesn't drink just yet. Genuine amusement lifts up at Br'er's last. "I think it might be the other way round. I give the kid," yeah, he's done some asking about even although he wasn't in Weyr at the time, "five days before Tuli sends him home with his tail between his legs."

"Not in Southern it won't," retorts Br'er, drily. "Unless I went and slept with some rude savage," cultural sensitivity! "amongst the Wildlings." The greenrider pauses here for his wine, sipping with the subtle pleasure of a man who rarely partakes. Which is a little weird, since Br'er has always been a drinker. "El'ai grows on you," the man observes, after. "Like a kitten, or fungus. I avoided the lady when I was here, so I can't say I know her, but - well, you never know." His eyebrows lift. "Could be a useful tie, a Southern bronze and an Igen gold. We'll see what they clutch."

Wildings. That's enough to have Cha'el shuddering. "Uh no, thanks. Like my bed partners a little more civilized and with an understanding of personal hygiene." Because he's HEARD things! Taking his cue from Br'er, the rum is taken up and a sampling sip enjoyed followed by an appreciative sigh. "Aye," he goes on to agree about the Southern-Igen match. "Feel sorry for them weyrlings though. They can thank Faranth they got Sienna as a buffer between them and O'ell and A'dan." Another drink of rum and the greenrider is set with a long look. "You ever imagine we'd wind up here?" Open ended the question, left for Br'er to interpret however he wishes too.

"Why, what's wrong with O'ell and A'dan?" You can all but SEE Br'er's little gossip antennae, twitch-twitch-twitching for news. "Sienna is… W'rin's weyrmate, right?" This is said in carefully neutral tones. The greenrider again pauses to enjoy his wine, gaze drifting off for a moment to examine the once-familiar setting. "Life takes odd twists and turns," he agrees, finally. "Sometimes very odd." He is silent, and then asks, smilingly: "How does Igen suit you, Cha'el?"

"Seriously? A'dan walks around scowling like he needs to take a shit and O'ellwell" broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, "If those two can't put a brass pair on each weyrling, then no one can." It's a compliment. Really. It is. "Aye," he confirms on Sienna's attachment to the Weyrleader and then narrows a contemplative look on Br'er. "How's the antiquities business these days? Found anything interesting?" But then question of his hasty departure from his home Weyr is brought up in a roundabout way and Cha'el plays for time by nursing his drink. "Its growing on me," he eventually decides on as an answer, flicking the greenrider an enigmatic grin.

"The Southern continent is full of remarkable antiquities. Some of them are people." And that's all that Br'er has to say about THAT. Well, except for a brief diversion of, "I got my hands on the most remarkable little statuette from the ruins of the original Southern. A pretty little avian made of some type of stone. From one of the Wildmen. We have a few tame specimens living in the Weyr, and semi-tame ones visiting it." A pause for wine, and oh-so-thoughtful contemplation of Cha'el's response. And then, somberly delivered: "I hope it suits you better than it did me."

As unexpected as it might be, Cha'el actually listens with interest. Arm dropping from its drape along the back of the booth, he leans forward with forearms resting on the table between them. "Aye? Like Oldtimers?" For they continue to remain a curiosity with him. "Did you bring it with you?" The avian that Br'er describes. A simpler time once spent as children scouring the beach for treasures after a storm during a rare visit, springs to mind. One in particular stands out, "I've still got that old tin box you found. The one with the rusted knife in it that you gave me a black eye over? Your ma was so pissed!" Wide the grin that peels out for having dropped a young Braner in the shit that day. Humor and fond memory slips away and the dark liquid in his glass is given quiet study. "You ever gonna tell me what really went down?"

"No, but I can have it sent up, if you want to take a look. The Bazaar's where it needs to end up, anyway." Br'er's mouth twitches, eyes flicking to his left hand (he's never been much for jewelry, but there's a subtly beautiful silver ring glinting there), before he explains: "I'm looking to sell it. Expensive purchase to make." He waves his hand airily. "You know how it is." Cha'el ALSO knows how much of a grudge young Braner had about that damn tin box - the older version gives his cousin a LOOK. "Yes, I remember that sharding box distinctly. You little shit." He tries to fight the smile for a moment, fails, and gives in to a toothy grin… that fades, slightly, as the conversation turns. "Maybe," he says, finally, mildly. "It depends on what you're referring to."

"Or I could come down and take a look. You're probably the better of the two of us to flog it in the Bazaar any way. But I can ask about if you have a drawing of it made." That flash of silver Br'er is wearing about his finger isn't missed and a querying brow hikes upward but just as Cha'el's about to ask, older Braner is growling about his tin box. Again. And of course, as the 'victor' whether fair or not, older Chadarel is going to look as smug as the day he cheated his cousin out of it. "Bigger'n you now," the brownrider asserts. "Besides. I let you keep the knife." As worthless as it turned about to be when the rusted blade fell out of the hilt. "Not my fault you always broke your toys." Grin for matching grin until topics switch. A healthy swallow of rum followed by a hiss for the after-burn and then somber the look fitted to his cousin. "Why you left Igen." There's more but he'll start there.

"That knife was shit and you know it. Asshole." This is an old, old (enjoyable) grievance. "Don't think I couldn't whip you now, just because you're a hulking herdbeast." The greenrider squints at (up at) his cousin, and complains, as an aside: "How the fuck did you get so tall, anyway?" You'd think Br'er would be USED to other dragonriders being taller than him, wouldn't you? The greenrider is silent for a LONG time after this, obviously in… thought. He keeps spinning the ring around his finger. "Well," is said, finally. "If you really want to know… It mostly had to do with an old, uh. Boss of mine. You know of Q'ila at High Reaches, I'm sure." The legendary Weyrlingmaster, often rumored to be one of the true powers of a politically important Weyr.

Cha'el is entirely unrepentant and owns the title of Asshole with a grin. "You should be thanking me for teaching you the value of learning to barter after checking the goods and not before." Ha! Take that. You OWE him, Br'er! "Seaweed." He goes on to add about his size. "Ma boiled it up and made me eat it every day." Liar!! His size is simply thanks to genes, his father having been one big mofo. In the silence that develops, the brownrider drains his glass and then idly toys with it, tipping it at an angle and rolling it between on it arced bottom between one palm and the other. When his cousin finally replies, hands still and his gaze lifts. "Aye." Who hasn't heard of Q'ila. The prompt is there in the lift of dark brow for the greenrider to continue.

Though Br'er has a dark stare as reply to the matter of SEAWEED, his conversational attention has settled entirely upon the real topic at hand. The greenrider's voice has a distant, careful note; his expression is blank, eyes locked on his wine. "I was one of his little pets. Used to do all sorts of dirty work for him… I wanted power, and that was the only way I could see to get it." A pause. Br'er takes a drink, and then continues. "But the Oldtime goldrider who…" It's been well over three turns, now; there's still a lingering note of sad rabbit in how Br'er's voice gets when he alludes to Rhaeyn. "… Well, led to ALL our Oldtimers being here - gave me a second option." Another pause. With a sort of painful mildness, the man observes, "I always knew I would pay for it in the end, that Q'ila wouldn't be so lightly betrayed. I, uh." An awkward cough. "Didn't see him having the old Igen Weyrlingmaster killed and pinning it on me, though." The blank face turns to a wince. "So I suppose what happened was my own fault, for lacking foresight."

In attentive silence, Cha'el listens, brows drawing closer and closer toward one another in a frown. Finally, by the end of it and after a long pause, he glances up from his idle stare at that ring Br'er is wearing. "Shit." One word and yet filled with a level of intonation that suggests understanding and outrage combined. "The fucker sold you out." Statement not question. The weight of such a betrayal keenly felt despite that which had been leveled at himself back in Ista hadn't involved having a murder pinned on him. "Wanting to get somewhere in life isn't a reason for someone to take advantage make you their fucking bitch." Beat. "You shoulda told me. I coulda…" A frustrated sigh for he has no idea how he might have come to his cousin's aid. "Another round?" Because drinking fixes EVERYthing.

"It's alright, Cha'el. Honestly." Br'er raises a hand in placation. "I got out, didn't I? They realized I didn't do it." Eventually! The quiet that follows is this time more contemplative in its quality. "Everything that's gone wrong in my life," he says, finally, "led me to where I am. I'm happy at Southern." Even he sounds faintly surprised at that unlikely turn of events. "A real home, with real friends, and a real place to fill - not just being someone's… bauble. Inlayraith is bolder and happier than I've ever seen her. I have rank, security. A weyrmate." So that's what the ring's about, then. Silence, and then his mouth twitches. "Another round would be nice."

There's a tight smile and a short nod of head to Br'er's pacification. One that becomes more genuine in its construction, perhaps even warm when the other rider finally explains the origin of the ring he's wearing. "That's from him?" Asked as Cha'el lifts a hand in the air and flicks a beckoning gesture for the barmaid. "Glad you found someone worth settling down for." Almost wistful yet well hidden behind the easygoing smile he wears so well. "Another of the same for both of us," directed at the pretty young thing that's taken over from the buxom blonde.

"Heh. Yeah." Br'er shakes his head, expression fond. A little dopey, even. "Who would have guessed drunk-ass Q'fex would turn out to be such a… good man, underneath." And who would have guessed power-hungry Br'er would end up with a Weyrleader for reasons genuinely unrelated to his title? He lets the matter settle there (perhaps Cha'el's wist has been noted), and instead steers the conversation - after the fresh round arrives - to gossip concerning mutual acquaintances, tales of Southern's wild weirdnesses exchanged for talk of Igen's gritty glories, and other light amusements.

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