==== January 23, 2013
==== Bailey, B'ruka, and Yules
==== Bailey's trying to examine her way into a bottle of Whiskey. Yules and B'ruka arrive, and Yules wants to know B'ruka's opinion on something.

Who Bailey, B'ruka, and Yules
What Bailey's trying to examine her way into a bottle of Whiskey. Yules and B'ruka arrive, and Yules wants to know B'ruka's opinion on something.
When One month and 21 days until the 12th Pass
Where The Tipsy Kitten

Yules5.jpg bruka13.jpg bails_4.png


The Tipsy Kitten
Here there be drunkards: a marble bar and the gorgeous array of colored bottles behind it would be enough to draw them in, but more yet lures those to enjoy the recreation the Kitten has to offer. Windows allow light to naturally illuminate the first floor of the tavern in the daytime, while green-tinted glows shine after nightfall. A door behind the bar leads to the tiny kitchen, while a stairway leads above to the rooms available for rent. Among the hubbub and the ruckus, a calamity of tables scatter through the open space, plenty enough for dragonpoker tournaments on restday eve.

What is there to do when your dragon is being an icy whore — well, more of an icy whore than usual? If you're Bailey, you go to the closest bar and get smashed. Not working the bar for a change, Bails is sprawled in a chair at a table conspicuously empty in the middle of the packed Kitten. She has a single bottle of whiskey in front of her and zero glasses. She is currently intently glaring at the label of the bottle, as if she could set it on fire with just the power of her grey-gazed glower.

Not having proddy dragon issues doesn't mean Yules doesn't have an excuse for being in here. She is quick through the doorway, looking over the crowd briefly before making her slow way to the bar. There, it's "Two whiskey sours. Straight. Soon." And as an afterthought, "Please." Their arrival means it's time to find a seat and OH LOOK, Bailey's conveniently saved a whole table. Instead of choosing everyone else's option of anything-else-including-standing-awkwardly-in-the-corner, Yules makes her way over and stands there. Maybe someone in the background gasped, or maybe someone didn't, but Yules clears her throat, "Hello, goldrider. You have a very nice table. May I sit at it?" It's been a long day, and Yules' social skills are exhausted, it seems.

In comes B'ruka, long-legged strides carrying him directly through the crowd to the bar, not shoving but slicing through like a shark, minus the fin. Maybe people just want to avoid the inevitable scorn should they accidentally brush against him. Once he's ordered his drink he turns to survey the crowd with his blank, emotionless face, eyes coming to rest on Bailey sitting there by herself and, yes, conspicuously so. It takes a moment to get the glass filled with ice and brown liquid, and he brings that with him in the walk over to her table. Except Yules has just arrived at the same time. His eyeroll is long-suffering and he does a slow about-face to undo this decision.

There's something of strain that shows in the lines of Bailey's face — like a person who's presented with a horrible morning sans coffee, or some other atrocious set of events. Grey gaze focuses in on Yules' face: her face momentarily darkens before the redhead impatiently shakes her head as if to clear it. "Of course, Yules." Her voice is normally husky, rich and thick and velvety enough to seem a tangible object. It is currently hoarse, as in whiskey-drunk-for-thirty-years, two-packs-a-day, screaming-concert-or-a-night-of-great-sex hoarse. "Have a seat." She eloquently flickers fingers to a seat one removed from her own. "I'm surprised you have the balls to sit with me. There are no few cowards about." Scorn drips copious from the ragged threads of her voice.

Victory! Yules places down her drinks and slides into a seat, a little huffing sigh of her own escaping, though not nearly as sexy as Bailey's, followed by, "Thanks. I like to think it's because I don't have any." She has balls because she doesn't have any. Is that some kind of Zen? "What are you… enjoying tonight?" Bailey is enjoying, right? There seems to be some question. Through this, Yules has had an eye on B'ruka turning, then snaps a finger in almost-remembering - "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? B'ricky? B'rutus? Starts with a B…"

It's kind of mid-way through that slow, enduring turn that Yules snaps her fingers and starts spouting off sounds that might be his name; B'ruka turns back to the table, not as painfully deliberate about it as he was before, and puts on a small, distant smile. "B'ruka," he provides, monotone. He stands there, looking like he might not know what to say next, and studying first Yules, then Bailey. Eventually he gestures with his drink-hand at their general arrangement and asks, "Care if I join you?" with all the enthusiasm of a person who's asking simply to be polite instead of because of any real desire.

Yules slipped through the cracks just because Bailey happens to really, really like breasts. What? They're fun to look at. And Yules is generally, er, harmless. B'ruka, however, receives a narrow-eyed look. "And what if we do?" is her raspy response is level; by-the-by, it's more than entirely probable that they know one another from Bailey's couple of turns at Fort, some four turns back. Her eyes deliberately return to the brownrider. "Whiskey." Simple. Isn't it obvious? She's drank her way a quarter through a bottle, it looks like.

From her seat, Yules watches B'ruka turn to return, looking vaguely smug, "B'ruka. That was it." Knew it all along. As for his sitting down to join, the brownrider looks a little more concerned, but Bailey seems to have the situation in hand. The glass in hand is brought to Yules' lips where it pauses, "So, our drinks are like kissing cousins." A little heft of it, "Whiskey sour." Drink genetics - there should be a Vintner getting on that. Back to B'ruka: "How are you tonight?"

That might be recognition in B'ruka's gaze when he focuses it on Bailey, though very likely he's seen her around Southern already and made that connection, so maybe it's just… familiarity? Something. "I suppose," he begins slowly, "it would depend. Since we're still speaking in hypothetical, I'll say I'd sit down anyway." Whiskey? "Same," he adds, maybe a little too firm, with his attention still on the weyrwoman for that, and when he answers Yules with a dry, "Still not overly fond of small talk." But, "I'm well. You? Not sprawled limbs akimbo in your chair I notice."

Bailey doesn't repeat the bronzerider's name, just watches him with the patiently steady regard that one would direct towards a known predator. Everyone knows Khalyssrielth is more honeyed-rose than dark gilding at the moment; and everyone knows what that means. "Then sit," she states to B'ruka, shifting her attention back to Yules. "Kissing cousins," causes her lips to twist in a smirk. "Interested choice of words, there. Are you from Keroon, then? I think I've heard Q'fex speak of this concept." She wouldn't know of it. In Benden, incest is strictly forbidden. (She is, by-the-by, half-sprawled in her chair in a most feminine aggression.)

So, good. Yules nods as she watches B'ruka closely for a moment. "But you're still doing it," she points out unnecessarily, but she's also happy to point out, "This chair isn't good for sprawling like that in. I'd fall off." Is Bailey being weird and unique? Not that Yules seems to be paying much attention at this very moment, until she's given to reply, "Uhhh, nope, not from there. I think I worked there for a while, though." Sitting further back into her chair, legs crossed loosely at the ankle, Yules muses, "Was a bit of a strange place. They always laughed when I asked what they were talking about." She turns back to B'ruka, "Unless you're from Keroon," but there's no follow-up to that. Instead, Yules asks, "Are you… planning to sit down? Thinking about it? Calculating the procedure of sitting?" Usually this is sarcasm, but Yules is entirely honest in her questioning.

Thus far B'ruka has made no comment on Bailey's posture. He also hasn't sat down, which Yules is kind enough to point out after their discussion re: Keroon. He regards her with an eyebrow lifted, a subtle expression of something, then replies with a nonverbal gesture, that being to go to the next available chair 'round the table and, eyes on the brownrider, take a seat. Maybe not for her, but certainly with her in mind; he also makes a display of crossing one leg over the other, quite proper, though his one hand forms a fist while the other lifts his glass for a drink. And that's all.

"Keroonites are strange people." With that said, Bailey seems more than happy to lapse off into silence. Instead, she picks up the whiskey bottle and takes a drink without bothering with such niceties as cups, and returns to her previous occupation of staring at the label. Yules? B'ruka? Other people? No, right now there is only BAILEY AND HER WHISKEY. It's like an indie band, except less cool.

"You can say that again," Yules says gravely; finally, a saying she gets the gist of. And… Bailey's gazing into her whiskey, so hazel eyes return to B'ruka, "Oh, good. Now my neck won't hurt from looking up at you." He fell into her devious trap! "As nice as that angle is, this one is better." Not an irony to be found 'round here, people. The whiskey sour in Yules' hand comes up for a long sip, almost mirroring B'ruka's. Then, like an idea has hit her between the eyes, Yules asks the man, "What would you say to a new WingSecond in Lynx?" Eyes slide quickly to Bailey to see if that whiskey's going anywhere yet.

Bailey is allowed her peace with the whiskey bottle, B'ruka doesn't bother her. Unless you count the occasional glance that might linger a second too long. Might. Yules draws his attention away, his light-colored stare fixing her now. "Ah," about having to look up. Yes, she got him. Ah ha. So enthused. The look he gives her for her question is so… so serious. And then he lifts his eyebrows and smiles a smile that has no warmth in it. "From my understanding you have enough on your little plate as it is. Or are you saying I have the job?" His brand of humor is dry, of course, and not without its cynicism. He answers truthfully next, though it seems to bore him, "Lynx is doing well enough with what it has." The 'what' meaning Jedi? "Why."

Bailey shifts Yules a dry glance. She heard about the bronzerider clause of Yules' contract, so-to-speak. But she doesn't MENTION anything. No, she just sits here with her bottle of whiskey. Don't mind her just yet. She probably is fending off a tremendous amount of encroaching ice mentally. Could take a moment to gather up the social energy for smalltalk.

"No, no, no," Yules is quick to reassure? "I meant, like, if you got a new WingSecond, what would you say to that person? Would you say," and here, Yules tries soprano, which is just silly for her, "'Hi, WingSecond, enjoy your new job', or," down to a false tenor, "'Hi, WingSecond, your duty is making my life a hardship right now'?" Since Yules isn't used to speaking like that, the last of that primary whiskey sour is drained, and onto the second. Eyes cut to Bailey again - how's that whiskey doing - then back to B'ruka, "I'm not nearly as experienced as Jedi, though."

If Yules wanted an honest opinion, she came to the right place. B'ruka is perhaps a dark source for it, but there he is. He doesn't need any time to process her meaning, or digest, or formulate a response. "That would depend greatly on the nature of the Wingsecond. There are some who are more… appropriate for the position. Are the right make. And age." And if that point is a little pointier than the others, so be it. He glances at Bailey, carries on. "With all due respect, if I were to come to work tomorrow to discover a girl barely out of her teens whose dragon just hatched was my new boss, I might have all new opinions. You still haven't told me why."

"Who was fucking with you?" That's Bailey, squinting over at Yules. "Did you punch them?" Her voice is almost clinical in questioning. "I think some people just need a good punch." Beat. "Or a good fuck. But that may not be your," she gestures elaborately with a roll of a wrist, "Your cup of tea." Two guesses as to whose cup that tea fits oh-so-well into. It also brings a WHOLE DIFFERENT shade of meaning to not being as 'experienced' as Jedi.

Hazel eyes narrow thoughtfully at the dark B'ruka, Yules leaning in and listening very closely to what he's saying. In fact, in the hubbub, she's watching his mouth move. When B'ruka finishes, Yules relaxes a little and nods, "That's what I thought. Thank you." As for why? Yules looks perplexed, "Why? Why what? Why am I asking?" Bailey's outburst draws Yules from her line of questioning, the brownrider looking a bit surprised before she answers smoothly, "I thi…" No, there's no thinking on this, "Some of the wingriders are…" Diplomatic Yules hat please: "Taking time to adjust to the change." Ahem ahem, "And I haven't punched anyone." An afterthought comes out as, "Yet." This counts as permission, right?

"Or a bad fuck," B'ruka adds on the tail end of Bailey's tail—… statement, with another lift of his eyebrows and a 'why-not' shrug of one shoulder. In case anyone is wondering, he explains, "Puts everything into perspective." He's nonplussed by Yules's focus, wherever on his person it is, and takes another slow drink. She's getting feedback from the other riders? "Is that why you're asking?" he asks, and that might be a hint of a wry smirk. And then, with slightly furrowed brow, "Can you blame them?"

Bailey shifts a sharp gaze at B'ruka for even SAYING the words 'bad fuck'. That's like bad luck. No really, it's only one letter off. Ahem. "Well, you are a woman," she points out. "Just like Q'fex to break his own rules," she mutters more to herself than to the table at large, lifting a hand as if to forestall any arguments on that topic. "I'm leaving." Before the table's bad-fucks catch on like some sort of viral contagion. She abruptly gets to her feet in a coil of motion, a little too forceful. She takes her whiskey with her as she leaves, with no other form of goodbye. Proddy Bailey is, uh, proddy.

"If you say that too many times," Yules says idly, "You might just get it." A hmm and she shakes her head, "No, I just wanted to know how you'd react." A flick of her fingers, and Bailey gets a short grin, "I've heard that, too. I don't know if it's more that he's now got any WingSecond, or just that it's me." Bailey rising to her feet does make Yules look up in surprise. "Uh, good night then?" Too late. That leaves B'ruka, to whom Yules turns her look, and offers, "And good night as well," though Yules is not moving from her chair.

Oddly, B'ruka doesn't look all that surprised when Bailey gets the heck out. He watches her rise, real slow-like, and gives her a smile. It isn't entirely unpleasant. At least it reaches his eyes. "Sweet dreams, weyrwoman." Somehow, the lowercase 'w' comes through in his tone. Just nevermind. As for Yules, when she assumes he's going to leave too, or she dismisses him, whichever, "If you insist." Did she? Well he's getting up anyway. Towering over her again, he adds, "I hope it was everything you hoped for." Referring to his reaction, likely. And yes, he leaves her there, emptying his drink and dropping off the glass at the bar.

Bailey turns to glance over her shoulder, just briefly: "Did you say something, bronzerider?" The curl of her lip is briefly feral, entirely amused, and completely derogatory. "Good night, Yules," she leaves off, before the sway of her hips takes her completely out of the Kitten.

Who caught that lower 'w'? Yules did, and raises an eyebrow, but then B'ruka's getting up too. Did it work? Was that what she meant? "We'll see," she tells B'ruka absently, right around the time Bailey's adding her own last two cents' worth. And then Yules has a table to herself. Neat.

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