====February 9, 2014
==== Mayte and Terrian
====Mayte steps out back of the Cantina for lunch and gets interrupted by an off-duty Guard.

Cantina Back Alley
A little too quiet, a little too dim. The alleyway behind the Dustbowl is not… unpleasant, exactly: the tavern staff have a little raised garden, and the brickwork of the ancient buildings all around offers a subtle beauty, with raised arches leading into little courtyards. And yet. There's something uncomfortable about the way the shadows linger here. Something distressing about the stink of the place, quite unrelated to the midden that lies at its end. Whatever else this alley might be, one thing is as certain as the goosebumps it gives: it's not a place for good little girls and boys.

Even on the brightest, sunniest winter days at Igen Weyr, people bustle back and forth throughout the Bazaar. One lonely alley remains quiet, almost hostilely so, when the back door of the Dustbowl Cantina creaks open to slowly expel the short form of Mayte. She's got a wineskin in one hand and a sandwich in the other, peeking cautiously down the alleyway to ensure her solitude. Except she doesn't look both ways before settling her back to the doorjamb and taking a large bite of sammich. Omnom.

Footsteps precede the averaged sized Terrian in the alleyway behind the Cantina. They have a particular metal ring to them, as if the boots making them have metal placeed right into the heels to add an extra click to them. As the footsteps draw closer a relatively unshaved Terrian appears, his posture relaxed as if walking through slightly dangerous alleyways were the norm rather than the exception to his day. His eyes are not still however, and they move across each lit inch of the area as if memorizing it for later. His eyes pause upon the young lady eatting outside the doorway. An eyebrow ticks upwards. "Strange place for an apprentice to be sittin'." His voice rolls out slowly, each word measured before allowed to fall.

Footsteps are not the norm for this part of the alley, so Mayte looks up, mid-bite, her sandwich following her chin to avoid spilling anything. Her eyes brighten in memory of the guard from a few days ago and she waves a cautious hello with the wineskin-encumbered hand. Chew chew swallow: "It's not that strange out here," Mayte defends, "Usually there's a guard having his own break, so no one comes over." While it might be misconstrued, the apprentice is not staring at Terrian like she's trying to make a point. Instead, she's letting the sandwich fall from lip-height: "You on duty or something?" Perhaps there's a bit of challenge to her tone, but followed by an easy grin.

Terrian's footfalls finally slow, then stop just a few paces away from the apprentice lass. The guard recruit leans his shoulder against a wall with his legs crossing slightly in a relaxed posture. Arms fold themselves across his chest. "Not on duty no, unless you're needin' me to be." His head jerks slightly in the direction of the cantina itself, "Ain't in there a bit more social? Or were you lookin' for quiet and I'm comin' and runin' it?"

"Nope! No guarding needed here," Mayte replies cheerfully. As for why she's not with the other diners inside, Mayte shrugs a little, "Just didn't want to listen to all the talk." She screws her face up into mimicry of some of the louder talkers in the Cantina, "'Is Thread really coming? Why hasn't it hit Igen yet? Are those Starcrafters as right as they want to be?'" Is there such a thing as falsetto tenor? Because Mayte is trying for it. Anyways, she shrugs a shoulder and drops the facade, "Naw, yer okay." A gulp of wine to underscore her point, then dark eyes flick curiously over Terrian: "You new here or something?"

"Ahh." Terrian signals his understanding of her plight with that brief interjection and just a blink at her sudden Falsetto tone. A glance is flicked inwards before his gaze turns downwards to meet Mayte's. "Aye. Been guarding caravans for the last," he pauses, "oh six years. With thread fallin' the caravan lost some of its shine so. Igen. Bazaar seems interestin'. You been here long?"

Mayte's upper lip curls in agreement with Terrian's 'ahh'. "Yeah. I was at Keroon the time that rogue Threadfall hit. I'm tired of hearing speculation about Thread." Then she eyes the man curiously, up and down, "Y'like it here? With the," tone is carefully controlled and even, "Oldtimers? Me, I've been here about… two Turns now." And then Mayte seems to realize something: the sandwich gets shifted awkwardly out of her hand and Mayte wipes her fingers before thrusting her hand forward: "Mayte. Senior Apprentice, Vintner."

"We heard about that. Part of the reason I figured it was time to take a break from the road." As she thrusts out her hand Terrian straights up, reaching out his own to take hers. His hand envelops hers with suprising gentleness and presses just firmly enough for it to be felt. There is no subtext to the grip, though perhaps he holds it a bit longer than is strickly necessary. When he releases it his hand will fall back to his side to hook into a loop which holds up his pants. "Terrian. Ain't seen anyone eatin' babies nor with two heads. Maybe havnen't ment any though." A small smile quirks onto his lips.

Mayte nods, though her tone is a bit flat in her response, "After that, there's no way I'd be caught outside in a Threadfall." She's brought out of it when she feels Terrian's hand enveloping hers, and Mayte squeezes back firmly. "Well met, Terrian." She's starting to withdraw her hand as Terrian doesn't quite let it go on time, her eyes narrowing so slightly. But he does release it, so Mayte lets the corner of her mouth curl up in amusement, "I've met a lot of them and I can say that they're pretty cool people." As if they're from some undiscovered country, "And the girls are pretty neat too." If Mayte's tone is cautious, her gaze might be weighing, calculatings.

Terrian's small smile stays fixed firmly in place. "Seems like there's plenty of ladies what are 'neat'." His droll tone puts a slight emphasis on the word. His attention drifts away from the vintner, upwards towards where the moons hang in the sky. "Course." His eyes drop down and that smile on his face gets slightly wider, "it all depends on whose doin' the askin' and the answerin'."

The sandwich is freed from Mayte's tightly clenched fist and brought up for a quick bite, avoiding having to answer about 'neat' women. She follows his gaze up for a moment but shrugs as she swallows her mouthful of sandwich. "Dunno what you mean by that," is the quick answer from Mayte, "Cuz if you're doing both, then you're sort of in a conversation with yourself and," wrinkling of nose occurs here, "then I think the Healers have to get involved." In other words, she's NEVER done it herself.

The chuckle that rolls from Terrian's lips is just as slow as his speech, and deep to boot. "How would you be classifyin' yourself? With these 'neat' oldtime lasses, or are you a modern woman above such things?" His arms fold again, the picture of innocence in his questioning. Only that smile tugging at the faintest brush of a five-o-clock shadow shows that perhaps he is joking still.

"Hah!" Mayte grinds out - perhaps this is a bone of contention, but she'll reply, "I'm from now. But," a slight sniff of derision, "Most of those silly now-girls are only good for fluttering around when Thread is falling, as opposed to helping with the healing or taking up a flamethrower." For such a joking question, it's gotten a serious response! So Mayte takes a few deep breaths and calms enough to say, "Anyway, I like it here at Igen. I fit in better with Oldtimers about." The sandwich waves to her jacket and scandalous pants-usage. "S'hard to make wine in a dress."

"To each their place," Terrian replies amicably, the roll of his shoulders a clear shrug. "Usefulness is qualified by what you're required to do. I am perfectly happy to have a lass willin' to stitch up my shirt if it happens to get torn. Ain't no shame in not wantin' to get your hands dirty when ye ain't got the talent to do so." His hand delatches from the belt buckle as he pushes himself fully upright. "Is there a time I might come callin' to ask you and yours about those thefts?"

"Useful!" Mayte snorts, "You'd be lucky if some of the silly wherries I saw at Vintner Hall could thread a needle without puncturing their left toe." She shakes her head and mutters, "Talent," as if it's some gift that she's seen so rarey. But Terrian is moving and so Mayte watches him cautiously, sandwich brought up as a reminder - 'eat me!'. "Tomorrow, just before noon is convenient enough," she'll admit to, "the store is less busy before the lunch rush." There's this awkward moment from Mayte before she says, "Should I expect you then, then?"

Terrian examines Mayte from top of hair down to her toes before shruging again. "Too critical by far for a lass your age," the words roll quietly, more of a mutter than an actual statement for the vintner to respond to. "I'll be callin' on you then. Or sendin' a message if somesuch takes the time." His head turns to look down the dark ally way before he resumes motion, this time towards the backdoor of the Cantina. It is pulled open, and sounds rush out. In Terrian takes on step before pausing, "Ain't no guard here now, a 'neat' lass like yourself might be seekin' a different place to finish a bite. 'course, mayhap a lass like yourself is lookin' for trouble. Don't be mindin' what I'm sayin' in that case." With that rather cryptic remark Terrian disappears into the Cantina allowing the swing of the door itself to close it or not as it would see fit.