====December 1st 2013
====K'vvan, M'tias, Ravene, Trek
====Casual conversation in the cantina gets heated, but only momentarily. Just like Igen's deserts.

Who K'vvan, M'tias, Ravene, Trek
What Casual conversation in the cantina gets heated, but only momentarily. Just like Igen's deserts.
When Spring, 7 months until the 12th Pass
Where Dustbowl Cantina, Igen Weyr

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Dustbowl Cantina

To enter the Dustbowl Cantina is to descend: the heart of the ancient tavern lies half underground, at the foot of ancient steps, insulated from summer heat and winter cold by the volcanic rock surrounding it. A windowless place well-lit by glows, it is homey, even cozy, with a certain bijou charm - but for the deep gouges worn in wooden table and solid stone, some clearly lingering evidence of boisterous brawling. The wall behind the well-polished bar, though, remains free from scars or graffiti, as does the door into the small kitchen, and the stairwell up into the owner's quarters: the barkeep and his staff reign, and they guard their territory well. After all, only a fool angers the source of the booze.

It had been a day, a long, long day. K'vvan's face bears the marks of too little sleep in the circles under his eyes, and the wrinkles on his otherwise immaculate shirt. In front of him sits a bowl of soup, steam having long ago ceased to issue from the top. He has a hide record in his hand and is reading it. It seems to be a wing formation where each dragon's place has been recorded in an attempt to show the placement of each dragon.

While some might make the Oasis Inn their sanctuary, this tavern is Trek's. She has left her work at home, but that doesn't mean she's been able to shake the aftereffects. Her own features look about as drawn as K'vvan's, so it's with some curiosity that she views the greenrider while sliding into a barstool next to him. Her gaze then lands on the hide he's holding, but the look quickly glances away. The bartender waves to the newcomer but is currently busy with something else, so Trek folds her hands on the edge of the counter and waits. Unable to sit perfectly still and quiet, however, she eventually pipes up with, "It's hard to concentrate when tired." Stating the obvious? Sure. Such is smalltalk.

K'vvan's eyes flick upwards off his pace for just a second. He's about to respond with the grunt of go-away-stop-talking-to-me when he notices the knot on her shoulder. The grunt makes it half out before he stops it. "You're that female wingleader… Arroyo." See, powers of observation strong in this one.

"Hmm. That one, yes," Trek replies with a wan smile. "Trek. Seems I became famous overnight, yet no one seems to know my name," she quips, though there is something dark in her expression that ruins the otherwise light effect. Pausing momentarily to order a drink from the bartender, she soon turns back to K'vvan. "I didn't mean to distract you from your chart, there."

"Screw it," K'vvan tosses the chart just a bit away from him onto the bar proper. "The logistics of it aren't going to change no matter how much I look at the f*ing thing." Perhaps only now does K'vvan remember that there is soup in front of him, because he draws the cold concoction closer. "You turned everything on its head." There is accusation in his voice there. "Not sure how in blazes you managed to get W'rin to agree with setting that up."

"It's my sheer animal charisma," Trek answers just shy of a very tired drawl. In truth, she's probably just tired of deflecting that particular topic. "As for everything standing on its head… better now than when that Red Star finally gets here. This is nothing compared to what that's bringing us." She quietly thanks the bartender as her drink is served, then draws the short tumbler toward herself so she can wrap both hands around the glass.

"Till your "brilliant" idea gets everyone killed. Tell me, were you by any chance taking notes from Q'fex on how to screw up a wing?" K'vvan's not in the best of moods, and tired plus not drunk isn't helping any. He swirls the cold soup in his bowl, perhaps pondering eating it, or maybe just staring at the grease that has congealed at the top.

"Everyone?" Trek asks, her own mood having greatly eroded throughout the day. "Now that would take someone downright diabolical." That one was a drawl, spoken into her glass just before she takes a long sip. After the liquor has cleared her throat, she gives K'vvan a sidelong look. "Don't worry. I take notes on everything. Granted, Q'fex was easy to watch. Made the note-taking even better." She takes another sip, then sets down her glass and leans back, the better to get a good view of the greenrider. "Tell me… do you think I want to die? Is that your assumption here?"

"I can never figure out what the hell you oldtimer females want. Half the time it is rainbows and other s*t , then it's leading wings and trying to screw with the chain of authority." K'vvan pushes the soup away from him, and his gaze shifts back to the hide. "Though it's not like Igen wasn't already in the midden already. So, what does it matter?" Disgust tinges his voice.

"So, you're saying all women are the same," Trek summarizes. There is a small, lopsided smile at odds with her worn down tone. "Because, clearly all men are the same, too. All the empirical evidence points to that. Clearly." She takes another sip of her drink, then looks away to take stock of who else might be in the tavern, but her attention soon returns to K'vvan. "So. Why is it your very first assumption is that I'm going to fail? Be blunt. I want to know."

Apparently, the female thinks this is all funny. K'vvan returns her smile with a scowl. "Because everything is f*n screwed up and there isn't much anyone can do to fix it. You've got what, seven months according to the charts to take a cross section and turn it into something not screwed up?" K'vvan picks up the hide and shoves it at Trek. "You have a solution for how to mix these idiodicly huge dragons with my little Nadeeth without her getting caught in the crossfire?"

Apparently, some of the male riders find this to be amusing too. M'tias has been close enough to hear most of the conversation, if not all of it. When it comes time for him to get up and obtain a refill at the bar, he intentionally and visibly slows down when he passes Trek and K'vvan. There's little good caution or manners presented by him as he puts a hand to the back of the bluerider-turned-Wingleader's chair, leaning over to squint at the chart the other man presents. "You could learn how to properly ride your green in a way that doesn't result in instant death? Just my advice. From one greenrider to another." And what wing is M'tias even in? Is that a Sandblast badge, isn't he in Tumbleweed now or? Who knows?

"Two months, actually," Trek replies with an alacrity she doesn't really feel. "Which will leave another five if I fall flat on my face." She drinks to her own statement, draining her glass and pushing it toward the bartender's half of the counter. It frees up her own half to take the hide being shoved in her direction. There is a brief perusal of the diagrams, then a somewhat rolled-eye glance toward K'vvan. "Please tell me this is not what your wing has been doing in drills. Did the Igen desert dry up all the good hides during this Interval or something?" It's her own turn for some disgust. She's too tired of playing the role that was assigned to her to be a meek little woman just now, and M'tias' words haven't helped. She gives the other rider a brief study, then smiles. "See, part of it is knowing how to fly without bending and scraping every time a fat ass bronze swings by. Simply won't do, when there's fire involved." Yay for mixed metaphors.

K'vvan shoves up from his chair as the green rider decides to push his way into the conversation. "Go screw yourself." His hands have curled into fists, but he manages, just at the last second to not punch the short rider. Barely. He forces himself to breathe deeply, then pointely turns away. "Sure as hell better then what was going on in Sandblast." Better, but the bitterness is still there in K'vvan's voice as he holds out a hand for the hide. "So, what are you going to do about it?" Fix the world's problems will you Trek?

M'tias is an awful, terrible instigator and anyone that's had the unfortunate luck of meeting him once or twice will usually key into that. Some people enjoy his company, while others… they don't. And who could blame them? "I think it does. I had great skin when I was born, now look at me." All perpetually sunburnt. He slaps his own cheek with one hand as he leans forward a bit to catch another peek at that hide. Still a bit too far into in Trek's personal bubble for a stranger, the greenrider eases off finally. She gets a flash of his lopsided smile for her response and a short chuckle of laughter before he drags his eyes up to the taller, younger man. "I already did that this morning. But if you're inviting me to do it again, here, well. Might be too public for me." And oh, Sandblast. He sighs mournfully at the mention of it. "Yes, yes. We can't all be overachievers."

"Do about… this?" Trek asks K'vvan, too wide-eyed as she hands back the hide. "Why, you're not in my wing. So I can do nothing for you. Unless you wished to leave your wing, of course." She just has to get that in there, of course. This is just after watching the one greenrider come close to blows with the second. She remains seated, herself. Luckily for M'tias, her personal bubble is pretty much… her skin. Which remains tanned rather than sunburnt. Tropical native, see. "I wouldn't have minded trying to fly with Sandblast. Especially if I were behind K'ane."

The smell of fresh breads precedes the arrival of Ravene. A basket is carried in one hand, and is wrapped with a clean linen cloth. This is the source of the warm bread smell, and it's placed on the counter top with an eye given to the barkeep. It's an arrangement, freshly baked nibbles for something to drink and sure enough a mug of klah is soon placed next to the basket. The barkeep unwraps the basket, and moves it to a midway point between the baker and the riders. The breads aren't really breads. They're small bite sized pokets with a spoonful of fruit jams in the center. This has been folded up to look like a tied up handkerchief that's been set on the end of a stick. Grab fast, these nibbles aren't likely to stick around long.

K'vvan's gaze narrows as he watches the woman before him. It isn't hard to read the disgust battling with… want that crosses his face. "I'd have to talk to W'rin." Already standing, K'vvan takes the rolled up hide back, and shoves it into his belt. He turns without a goodbye and shoves the smaller rider to move past him towards the doorway. "If you staff that wing of yours with only old timers it is going to fail." One last personal opinion from a green nobody as he leaves the cantina, still sober and without having eaten anything.

It's time now for M'tias to shoot K'vvan a curious, puzzled expression as he listens to Trek's remark that the other man isn't even in her wing. It would seem by his reaction, he'd assumed that he was. He actually starts to laugh again, a reaction that's only partially disrupted when the other greenrider pushes him on his way past. Choking the amusement back as he stumbles to regain balance, he takes the abandoned seat. "All that trouble and he's not even one of yours? Who is he anyway?" His attention is only momentarily distracted as he glances past Trek to the recently placed baked goods, gaze lingering there briefly.

"Now what on the face of Pern would be the point of that?" Trek asks the retreating form of K'vvan, but it is obviously a rhetorical question, and she is soon distracted by fresh bread pockets. "Ooh… are these to share?" she asks, splitting a curious look between the bartender and Ravene. "They smell fabulous. Might curb the buzz I was hoping to acquire tonight, though." She teases. Maybe. As M'tias takes the former greenrider's seat, Trek can only shrug. "No idea, honestly. If they didn't fly with Tumbleweed and haven't ended up in the dragonhealer caverns, there are still way too many riders here I don't know." Like M'tias, apparently, as she goes searching for a knot. "I'm Trek, by the way. Blue Kanyith's?" Yeeeeah. That one.

Ravene chuckles as she watches Trek look at the basket, then herself and the bartender, "There for whoever wants any," she answers before the 'tender can. She's been bringing new recipes to the Cantina for testing since she opened her shop.

"Oh. Blue Kanyith's. Of course, how could I forget?" He poses, attitude full of 'I don't really know who your dragon is but I'll blatently pretend that I do'. Meanwhile, "M'tias. Green Siabeth's." He plucks that knot on his jacket, at least that's up to date. "I've never met him before either. But I can't help myself when I see a person like him." And he makes a stabbing motion with his index finger, like a little kid repeatedly poking another little kid. "Don't mind if I do." In another terrific display of manners, he reaches just about over Trek and snags one of the baked goods. "Thanks!" He calls down to the baker.

Trek nods her thanks to Ravene and takes one of the bites of bread. "Thank you so much," she tells the baker with a wide smile before spooning some of the jam into the bread pocket. She takes a little nibble. Then a bigger one. "Very nice," she adds once the bite is clear, in compliment to Ravene before she splits her attention back to M'tias. "Shells, right? I've been dealing with assholes all day, just couldn't take it from one more. Can't the cantina be declared neutral ground or something?"

Ravene nods to M'tias, and sits back in her chair to observe the goodies slowly vanishing as people are drawn to their smell. Mental note is made to tweak the recipe, perhaps the bread is too dry? Or maybe the fruit filling is too sweet? Whatever the reason, the nibbles are slow to be eaten. Of course, it could be the riders that are almost right next to the basket? Right, riders, "You're welcome, and thank you. I'm always open to suggestions for new recipes," she says to Trek.

"Next time just throw your drink in his face. That would have solved the problem." Yeah, sure. M'tias takes a bite out of the piece of bread, not a small tentative one either. It's a full on bite where he takes down like half of the pastry. "Delicious. You should come around here more often. You know, with food. And things." He comments to the baker, gesturing around at the bar at large. "And I don't think so. Once you give someone some booze, suddenly they're the bestest, smartest, person in the whole world and they all know better." He pauses faux-thoughtfully. "Or is that all the time? I forget."

"I might take you up on that," Trek tells Ravene, just after she's polished off the last of that bread pocket. "There's a pastry I knew from Oldtime Southern… but another time, I think." The look she gives M'tias is both amused and tempted, though she shakes her head a moment later. "As much as I could have liked to…" No, she'll have to leave it there. She'll have to leave the tavern, in fact, as she murmurs something to the bartender about her tab, then gets to her feet. "Alcohol is double-edged. It can help one moment, hurt the next. Which is why I'm going to call it an early night and get back to my newer duties. With Arroyo. Ruining the Weyr, according to some." She pops off a cheeky salute, followed by a wink for M'tias, then heads up the stairs toward the bazaar.

Ravene nods at Trek, and then she too is being called away by a smallish 'lizard, "Wobbles, you're supposed to be," she stops and sighs, "It was nice meeting you," she says to M'tias, "Ravene's bakery and Sundries is just down the sidestreet. Stop in some time if you're of a mind for meals on the go," in other words her now nearly famous stuffed loaves of bread. Easy to carry, and always filled with something meaty, and cheesey.

"Hey, it wouldn't have made him a nicer guy. But he would have left at least twenty minutes sooner. Twenty more minutes you could have been-" Oh, she's going to leave. Such is M'tias' luck. He waves Trek off as she leaves the bar to go off and ruin the Weyr at large. "I was going to say twenty more minutes she could have been talking to-" …me? Ravene is leaving as well. "Suit yourselves then. I'll just have another beer and another one of these…" The greenrider drags the little basket of pastries closer to himself along the bar counter. If he was a different kind of man he'd look more disappointed, but as it stands he seems content to eat up the leftovers and drink his beer alone.

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