====Oct 19, 2013
====Bailey, Donatien, V'dean
====Heat, boots and introductions at a shared tavern table with a redhead view.

Who Bailey, Donatien, V'dean
What Heat, boots and introductions at a shared tavern table with a redhead view.
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 6 days until the 12th pass.
Where Tavern, Southern Weyr



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.

It's been a hot, hot day, closing into a hot night - the day's overcast of clouds just keeps the humidity pressed close to the ground, where relief is found either in water, or in a bottle. To that end, Donatien is sitting at a table, nursing his beer and watching the parade pass before him. The cheer of the recent hatching is only just starting to give way to the realization that no, baby dragons don't magically make the heat lift, but Dien is enjoying the murmurs and muted laughter from his seat against the wall.

V'dean entered a short while ago, not that the bluerider is likely to be particularly notable in this crowd. He's been long enough to collect his own frosty mug of the place's lightest ale, but now — after exchanging grinning words and slapped shoulders with a Tigris rider — he's setting out from the crush at the bar to find a seat. Cool green eyes flick about, weighing options, and eventually lead him over towards the available chairs aside Dien. "Hello, friend," he opens with an easy smile and an offer of his hand. "Bluerider V'dean. I don't think we've met, but you look to have a surplus of seating?"

An eye gets cast to the new-comer, who seems to quickly ge taken into a new conversation, so Donatien goes back to his crowd-watching-with-beery-accents until that same new-comer is in front of him. A generally cheerful grin and Dien takes V'dean's hand for a good solid greeting shake, "Well met, blue-rider V'dean. I'm Donatien, Senior Journeyman Weaver, specializing in Cobbling." Freeing that one hand again, Dien waves to the seats before him, "Please, do sit. How do you fare tonight?" Fancy talk never hurts, right?

"Journeyman Donatien," the rider repeats for memory over their shake. "Well met. And, thank you." V'dean steps around to get at a better seat-taking than hand-shaking angle as he sets his bar-fresh pint down upon the table. "I'm doing better now that the sun's left us for the day, I have something cold in hand…" And has a seat, all his own. He drops into it with a sigh, limbs slumping loosely as he just enjoys the sensation of kicking back and gets a bead on the view the cobbler has found. For a moment. Then it's all roping in his beer and turning a smile back to his tablemate. "And what of you, sir? A good day at the… anvil?" He squints, obviously uncertain of the details of the man's craft.

Donatien chuckles and is not loathe to share his particular view of the goings-on in the tavern. One pretty little woman catches his eye with a bright smile and though Dien smiles back, he doesn't move to invite her over or anything - unless she's bringing another beer, which she doesn't seem to be. Too bad. "Ahh, it was a long day of boot-making," and a sip of his own beer, "Those new Weyrlings are going to go through boots quickly enough, soon, so I thought to start preparing now." A grin to V'dean and Donatien asks, "And you? Good sweeps? Is it cooler up there?" A hand waves sky-ward.

Red hair, long legs, well-worn boots that are nonetheless obviously cared for. A glass of whiskey. Unintentionally smoky laugh, somewhere between mocking and flirting. Or both, simultaneously. Bailey navigates the crowded bar with ease, ending up in one little corner looking down at a table with spare seats. She kicks out one of the spare chairs at that table to seat herself with her back to the hubbub. "Gentlemen," is her greeting to the two of them, after she's seated herself.

"Mm," V'dean has a scrunchy moue is sympathy for long days. "That's a good point," he has to say for the journeyman's foresight, fingers dropping from scritching through his beard into an outward acknowledging turn towards Dien. "Smart man. Get out ahead of it." A little nod fits in before he lifts his glass, slurping with a squint before giving his own answer. "Usually a little cooler, yes, up in the winds. Though the glare, this time of year…" He starts to make a face, to give a shake of his head, when cool green eyes latch onto the leggy woman helping herself to the table. "Ma'am," he inclines his head, gaze roving. "Pleasure to have you join us. And how was your day?"

And what better way to spoil the view than to have this looker before them? That is, until Donatien eyes a bit closer and seems to recognize, at least from a distance, this woman. He's still nodding a little in response to what V'dean was saying, but he will follow up the bluerider's greeting with, "Ma'am. We're honoured." Well, Donatien is, he can't exactly speak for his tablemate. "How's the weather finding you?" Not the other way around, because there's no escaping this heat. Except, apparently, with 'up'.

A curve of lips, amused light in grey eyes. "Hot," Bailey returns to V'dean. "I'm not sure if I'll ever quite get used to this heat." She shakes her head and smirks at Donatien: "Oh, no, I'm no ma'am. You can call me Bailey," a flicker of a glance between them; "Both of you." She sips at her whiskey, a neatly prim motion despite the fact that it appears to be unwatered. "And how are you two this evening?" her rich Benden-accented alto queries, light and inquisitive.

The weyrwoman's reply blossoms a skewed grin across the bluerider's features. It's like swimming against current, pulling his gaze away to flick a receptive look towards the other man. Another slurp of beer seems to help, at least. "Oh, firming up after the day's melt," V'dean answers for himself, incorrigible mirth not quite suppressed by the fix of his smile and lazy-dipping blink of lashes. "Futile as trying to stay cool might seem. Are you sure you should be making boots instead of sandals?" he wonders with a tip of a brow towards the cobbler.

Donatien ahhs and sips his beer with a nod to Bailey, "A pleasure to meet you, Bailey. Donatien, somewhat recently-arrived Weaver," he says by way of introduction, and then nods in agreement with V'dean, "Hoping the chill of our beers can lessen the heat of the day," and his glass is lifted to the middle of the table in beery salute. Dien gives the bluerider a wry glance, "I've been looking into some patterns, but I'm sure the Weyrlings will need something more solid as their lifemates grow. And sandals are so easy, this is quite the challenge." And then to Bailey, Dien adds, "And for the winter, which I've heard is quite rainy here. I'm looking forward to seeing that…" No talk of a wet t-shirt contest, at least not on the first beer.

"Firming up." Bailey's lips ghost over the words, barely-voiced but rather humored at the… particular turn of phrase. "I'm sure that must be delightful." A ruddy eyebrow arches at the incorrigible bluerider, not-quite-phased. "Donatien," she returns, tasting the name thoughtfully, drawing out all four syllables. "I've heard about you." That isn't scary at all. The only thing she comments thereafter: "It does rain a considerable amount in the winter, here."

"Mm." V'dean agrees with Bailey, smirking brightly around a mouthful of beer. "Yes, very practical," he is also in agreement with Donatien, this given with a relaxed exhale as he melds more deeply into his chair. With his glass set before him, his fingertips drag idle patterns through the condensed frost. "There was a storm lasting over a seven," he seems to recall. Cool green eyes slide from the redhead to the cobbler. "That sounds ominous," he sideline comments with a playful twist of a grin.

There's only two reasons why a goldrider should know Donatien's name at THIS point of his service to the Weyr, but Dien doesn't bat an eyelash, "I hope it's about the excellent footwear I provide," he says easily, leaning back into his chair. The promise of a seven-day-long rainstorm does get a 'huh' from the man, "Perhaps I should look forward to swimming about, come winter-time. And oiled boots…" There's a brief moment where Dien looks off in thought, but brings himself back to sip from his beer again. Okay, he'll bite, "May I ask, then, what you've heard of me?" he asks Bailey, after a sidelong look to V'dean with an easy grin that adds twinkle to his eyes.

Mysterious creature that she is, Bailey only gives Donatien a cloaked smile at his question, a hint of teeth on display. "Hold that thought boys." Enigmatic, the goldrider turns on the balls of her feet, her saunter away from them a lithe movement that gives a lot for the eyes to feast upon. The sway of hips, the tumble of her red curls; all given as the goldrider takes herself out of the equation. Exit; stage left.

Hanging on the answer as any good little spectator behind his lifted beer, V'dean is well situated for watching the redhead sashay away. It takes a moment for the crowd to flow into the wake of her path, but then a loft-browed look is quick to sliiide back to the other man. There's a quirk of a grin lurking when his glass lowers. "Or maybe promising?" he muses in alternative to Donatien. In any case: "You must be from drier weather, is that right?"

Yup, that's a triple-A, top-of-the-class saunter, and Donatien is not afraid to watch it move out of sight. Oh, and good night, Bailey. Dien is too old to whistle appreciatively but he does grin back to V'dean, "I like the sound of that a lot better. As for the weather, "Well, Weaverhall, so… we'll have to see, comparatively." A last sip of beer has Dien eying the bottom of it with a sigh, "And yourself? And why did you come to Southern?" Apparently the reasoning of near-daily body finds is just not enough for this Weaver.

It does sound so much better, doesn't it, says the bluerider's grin. "Ah, Weaverhall. Right." V'dean stretches a long nod, his gaze going a bit edgewise on the older man as he peeks around the lift of a forearm while brushing quick neatening fingers into his hair. "South Boll. That's my best experience with similar weather, before." His shoulder lifts, careless, as he gives a little idle spin of his glass within its condensation ring. "I was up at Fort Weyr," is thus both answer and explanation. "I have a friend who was coming down here to see about helping get things started. And, well…" A helpless upturn of his palm. Here he is.

Donatien chuckles quietly, nodding, "South Boll. My sister and her family live around there," he replies slowly, as if trying to remember if that's where they are. Well, anyway, "Ahh, Fort. One of the Weyrs I didn't spend a lot of time in," and the reason for this is not expanded upon, "But I'm finding the company down here much more, ah, welcome." For example; he indicates V'dean with a nod and grin, "And apart from the weather, life seems easier. On the joints, at least!" he says now, eleven months before silvery thready DEATH is due to fall…

"Around there." There's a touch of… skepticism, perhaps, in a brief note of reserve within the bluerider's tone. It isn't anything so great as to mar the easy smile he wears, the one that flashes deeper dimple for the inclusion as welcome company. This wins a little loft of his glass before another sip. "It's a nice spot," V'dean must say, the run of his fingers back to scritch at his close-trimmed beard as he casts forward to lean an elbow upon the table. "The weather really isn't all that bad," even though he can't help but wrinkle his nose at the humidity when mentioning it even glancingly. "The beaches are gorgeous, the hunting is good… I don't suppose you've ventured far from the craft complex, if you've only just arrived during our heat wave?"

Donatien mms and he eyes V'deans beard a moment with something that's either envy or amazement, "And you manage to keep a beard here," you brave, brave man. Dien chuckles, "I've just out to the beach for a swim and back. Keep the fitness level up and all," and then Dien considers, "I've heard the felines down here are quite large - is there truth to that? I've seen a couple of hides the Smith was showing. Shells, those are big."

"What can I say? I've grown attached." And when V'dean grins, that scruff does keep his dimple from looking too adolescent. But he's nodding, too, for swimming. "I jog." Which is so much less pleasant in this sort of weather. Then again, the bluerider is perhaps not as bound to stay in the heat as the journeyman. "And I haven't had the opportunity to come across any felines," is another regret, in this time of heightened drilling. "But judging from the wherries? One of those big suckers got Ekerth hard enough upside the head that he needed stitches."

Donatien laughs at the prospect, one hand rubbing against the pre-dinner scruff that has grown, and shakes his head, "I can't imagine keeping it in this heat. And what I wouldn't do to get a good jog in," the weaver says in reminiscence. "Part of why I came here was to do more swimming." Eyes darken briefly and Dien closes his mouth firmly on that to listen intently about the felines and wherries, "Faranth, I hope that healed up fast enough! Haven't seen any live wherries yet, but maybe I'll get out, sometime soon." And then Dien adds with a slow grin, "When the heat dies down, of course." A sad look at the bottom of Dien's mug again: nope, hasn't fixed itself and refilled with beer, so, "Unfortunately, Ekerth's V'dean, I'm afraid I should be heading to my bed." Stupid entropy.

There's a lingering of cool green eyes, light curiosity for the flash of intent darkness. "It did, thank Faranth," V'dean assures in regard to his blue. A companionable nod and nearing lean on his elbow put him on the cobbler's side when it comes to soon — soon, the dying of the heat. They can only hope. "Certainly, Journeyman Donatien. It shall be calling me shortly." He raises his glass, in farewell and in example of what will keep him for awhile. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Have a good night."

Donatien slowly rises to his feet, not the least bit ashamed to use the back of his chair for a bit of aid at a certain point, and turns to smile down at V'dean, "Good night, Bluerider V'dean, and a pleasure to meet you as well. My greetings to your dragon, of course," because Dien has been around Weyrs enough himself, and with one last jaunty little grin-and-nod, the Weaver takes himself out in the same direction as Bailey did not too long ago.

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