==== August 27, 2013
==== Th'seus, Paige
==== A quick bar conversation between two riders.

Who Th'seus, Paige
What The two riders are ducking out of the rain for a drink and have some casual conversation.
When 1 turn 4 months and 18 days until the 12th pass
Where Tavern, Southern Weyr

thseus.jpg paige.jpg


Of course this should be renovated with alacrity: though the glass is yet to be replaced in the windows, there is a large marble-topped bar along the western half of this standalone building, and a random tangle of chairs and tables much like the living caverns. For now, assistant headmen man the meagre stock of beer and wine and whiskey, and no fancy drinks issue forth.

"Most of it tastes like piss unless you're going to order off the top shelf." Th'seus drops down onto the stool next to Paige without even a 'hello' or 'is this seat taken?' to announce his arrival. The newly minted Wingleader of Lynx is pretty much soaked to the bone because yep, basically it's been raining continously for the nearly a seven now. In fact he's probably hitting that point where you start to run out of clothes that are actually dry-dry to start off with. He shrugs his coat off and onto the back of the chair before sliding a sideways glance towards the greenrider.

Cue the sidelong glance as blue eyes give the other rider a quick once over. "Yeah well, I dun think I've got that refined a "palette" ta begin with," she retorts, once again bringing the glass to her lips and downing the drink in a single swig. Two fingers raise to signal the bartender for another. Paige obviously isn't the most social of creatures, but there is a shift in her posture as she allows herself to slightly face the man a bit more. "Jus' tryin' ta keep from goin' stir crazy. When ya've got a green like mine.." Who is, for the record, watching the storm with rapt attention and attempting to 'dodge raindrops', "ya gotta do sumthin'."

"Just saying." Th'seus orders his own drink, which well, is also whiskey. But he appears to be used to the fare being ordered because he doesn't bother to take a sniff or swish it around in the glass or anything. The bronzerider puts the short glass to his lips and tips it back, swallowing the contents. "You can certainly put a drink down, refined palette or not." He observes, turning his head to regard her a little more fully. "Aren't we all? I think it's only a matter of time before this storm finally breaks. Then we can all get some fresh air before we kill each other or go stir crazy."

"Yeah well…" Paige begins, staring for a moment at the empty glass, "used ta tend bar, once upon a Turn." There's perhaps the /tiniest/ bit of vibrato in her otherwise flat tone, but if there's even a moment of nostalgia, it's masked when that next whiskey gets pushed in her direction. The new glass is again brought to her lips and /sipped/, before his comment about killing each other hits. "Fardles, don't I know it," she mutters somewhat darkly before blue eyes give him another half-glance. "S'worse than snowstorms."

"Yeah, where?" Th'seus wonders curiously as his eyes drift across to her shoulder, checking out her knot before returning his gaze to the bartender nearby. He lifts his index finger to indicate he'll need another. "That's the truth. It used to snow up at Benden and I thought days of that could get repetitive and boring. I didn't realize nearly a week straight of rain storms would be worse. Silly me." He remarks wryly with a small smirk and accepts the new glass with a quiet thank you to the man.

Now /there/ is a flicker of emotion. Paige's face almost twitches, and that whiskey is /downed/, before she turns back to full face the bronzerider, tilting her head to the side. "The Frozen Klah." Consonants are a bit gritted, but she keeps her expression thoughtful. "Back at 'Reaches. My wing ran it. Not a bad gig." One eyebrow is cocked as she smirks, tossing a few marks towards the bartender, making a hollow thudding noise as they clunk against the bar surface. "S'better than rain." And with that, the greenrider stands and strides off — not a farewell gesture nor other comment spared. There is, however, an old beat up jacket that's grabbed on her way out — one may notice some wherhide patterns of flames if they squint hard enough, but it's hard to tell from all the turns of wear and tear.

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