==== January 7, 2014
==== Cerise, Hannah
==== Hannah is trying to enjoy a performance in the archive library. Operative word: trying.

Who Cerise, Hannah
What Hannah is trying to enjoy a performance in the archive library. Operative word: trying.
When There are 0 turns, 3 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
Where Archive Library, Southern Weyr

cerise18.jpg hannah_default.jpg


archive_library.jpg

Archive Library
Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.


-- On Pern --
It is sunset
It is 5:37 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 3 months and 9 days until the 12th pass.
It is the twenty-first day of Spring and 77 degrees. It is sunny and bright. The skies are clear.


Dinner might hold most of the weyr's attention with such delectables as doughy pastries and flakey biscuits and wherry and dumpling soups, but it's the archive library that holds no small amount of overflow. The newly minted 'open mic' night is thus far a success, if dismally so. Talent is not as talent does, but Hannah's curiosity lies more in the tasty offerings offered on the side. A sugar cookie is what draws the pick of her fingers, a side-glance given to the man in front of her as he scratches his ass and then reaches for a pastry. Her nose wrinkles. Gross.

You know who had talent? A certain pair of siblings who now occupy weyrs and ride dragons, to various degrees of success. But performing was their thing and for one of them, this library was her baby before Jiamoth made an appearance. So it's natural that she appears in the doorway behind Hannah, right? Just checking out open mic night, having a peek at the improvements that have been made since she first tackled the problem that was the rubble- and spinner-filled library. It's late enough that she won't get too many funny looks for carrying around an open glass of a honey-colored liquid, which smells strongly of peat, and she's even gone to the effort of changing into a loose cotton skirt and tunic set that fits the casual motif pretty well. All's well until the ex-performer saunters forward- and gets a good look at what is (or in this case, isn't) surrounding the skybroom tree. "…what the fuck?" is her first query and, "Where's m'fuckin' stage?" is her second, in a voice loud enough that several heads turn.

Hannah's attire is less than 'casual' but no where near formal, consisting of a flared skirt and blouse done in neutral blues and greens. She's just about to put the pastry in her mouth when Cerise's query reaches her ears — how can it not? The ass-scratcher is glared at again but the goldrider's much more interested in what's going on with the greenrider than food. Well, maybe not as she snatches another little delicacy from the offerings. "Cerise?" It's clear that she has not been in here for quite a while either. "Oh. Hmm." Now her attention is on the sky broom tree as well. "I don't know." It's the truth, simple as that, but given with a touch of concern to the performer. Her and Dimitri — D'tri — were good.

Hannah! Hannah will know! The sound of her own name from the goldrider's lips sees Cerise's scowl blurring at the edges. She's ready to hear an explanation and to be soothed! So much so that she turns from the spectacle of no stage towards the other woman- only to come up short when she confesses to a lack of knowledge. "But…my stage," she says, tone exceptionally patient given the level of inebriation apparent in the greenrider. She points with her glass-bearing hand, dribbling a bit of whiskey over her fingers as the beverage sloshes about and thus earns its own frown. "Y'know how much I worked for…well, Aaron did that part, but I had t'go head to head with fuckin' Renalde for that stage, why wasn't I told." More heads turn; a few brave souls hiss for quiet. Cerise, naturally, ignores the lookyloos and appeals to the weyrwoman. "You'll make 'em put it right, of course."

Gently, if Cerise will allow, Hannah attempts to catch hold of Cerise's elbow and lead her off to the side. "Let's talk about this over here." She shifty-eyes the rest of the patrons, sighing a little sigh over the pastry that won't get eaten — at least not fresh. "I don't know, Cerise. I think — Nora! Nora will know." Because Nora is so efficient and knows everything about everything going on. "Renalde, too." She frowns slightly at the thought of Renalde making this decision, "I don't know what happened…" As far as the last, she suggest gently, "Let's find out what happened first. Maybe Renalde moved it."

Cerise does allow but her head stays cranked over thatta way, to keep a stern eye on the proceedings. She's watching you, hissing missy. She's watching you close. At least until Hannah starts talking again and red-rimmed eyes are yanked back to focus on the goldrider. She squints at first, taking a moment to play catch up and process what's being said. In the end the pertinent aspects are absorbed: "Renalde. Of course it'd be Renalde, aye? Bet he didn't even wait 'til Jia was dry from her eggshell before tearin' that shit down." Her jaw sets in rampant displeasure that is slowly, eventually, soothed by taking another sip of whiskey. Maybe she can live with this. "Not like I'd been using it much, I guess. You could've though. If you're keeping up with your dancing."

"We'll find out why," Hannah promises, directing Cerise to a table or seating area, getting them out of the way of the foot traffic and attention. Slowly, the shock of the sudden disturbance fades to allow the dismal singer to start up their rendition of a popular Harper song. "I have kept up with it, but I am not sure anyone would want to watch me," she says with a crooked half-smile that's just a touch rueful. "Especially now. With…" She doesn't continue the thought, but it's not hard to hear the unspoken: Thread. "I even commissioned an outfit. All flame and obsidian, with yellow touches. A little risque." To that, she gives the greenrider an waggle of her brows, humor lurking within green eyes.

Sitting isn't a bad idea, and Cerise even thinks to set the glass down on a little table placed there for just that purpose before she flops into the chair. Future spillage prevented, huzzah! But there's no proper safety from the drunken ex-performer, even when she's been exiled to a corner. The singer up there giving it their all is offensive on a deep and visceral level, for a number of different reasons, and she's just drawing breath to share that opinion- when Hannah implies Thread. Now, she's no firelizard, to scatter at mention of the Red Star, but it does throw her into somber mode and leave her reaching for her drink again. "Least you're keeping at it, more'n I can say for me. That sounds fucking sexy though, good on ya." For that, she raises her glass. To risque! "Bet Th'seus likes watching you," is what she goes on to say, after that hefty swallow. "Bet anyone with a workin' penis and a thing for little ladies would, really. I mean. C'mon. We're not dead yet."

Brows raise, though Hannah doesn't mention Cerise's sorry state of drunkenness, rather turning to wince at the 'performer'. "You could still practice. Jiamoth sleeps, and duties don't take up all of our lives," she comments gently and is about to say more when the ex-performer continues on. "I haven't — yet. I was waiting for the whole thing to be finished and then, well. I want a right moment and — Cerise!" That last comes with laughter, though edged in slight incredulity. "No, we aren't dead yet. No where near dead. Let me have some of that." Surely, the greenrider likes to share!

"I couldn't, not while she's still hobbling about, and none too graceful. I'd feel guilty." Cerise says this as matter of factly as a weather announcement. The sparkle that she used to live and swear by doesn't reappear until Hannah goes all shocked on her, and even then it's a pale facsimile of what was. Still, it's a start, and she sweeps the glass towards the goldrider with a glint in her eye when the request comes. Bitran whiskey, and none too smooth, at that. "What? You telling me he doesn't? Pft. Like I'd believe that, aye? Can't fool a fool, unless you mean he doesn't get much plain watching done once you start moving…OY!" Aaand there it is, she's finally come back around to the "singer" and hit a new level of obnoxiousness. "Sing summat else, you sound like a dragon playing pipes made of a pride of spot-tailed felines!" Perhaps now the family resemblance to D'tri is better represented.

"No," Hannah takes the glass Cerise spins across to her and takes a good, ol sip. "I mean, I'm saving the dance for the whole ensemble." A naughty smile follows, which turns to laughter when the ex-performer yells at that deplorable singer. "A night to remember," she confides, pushing the glass back to Cerise. "It burns as it goes down," leaning on her elbows she puts most of her weight on them so she can push in closer to the greenrider. "It'll come easier and then you can practice. She would want you to. Promise me you won't let life stop you. Besides, I need more lessons." Hey, it's convenient, and true. A look is given to Cerise, the gentleness fading into a touch of feral glory, "It'll be the quickest dance I give, I bet. The weaver did an amazing job for such… sparse fabric."

Certainly there will be those who remember this night. With rampant disapproval. Cerise gets her share of boos- likely not a first, that- but settles back in her chair without a care for them. Instead she positions herself hunkered over, to better hear the confidences that Hannah's posture promises. And she isn't disappointed, no sir. Oho! Thick eyebrows are upswept and her hand curled loosely about the returned glass as she bends nearer still. Yes, yes, yes, practice and lessons. But the important bit is at the end. "Sparse is good for tearin', y'know," she says, imparting this in a tone of extreme drunken wisdom. "Had this one costume, called for me to be all threatened'n'shit by a big cat, and it was exactly the same. Bet it's more fun getting mauled by Th'seus though."

Hannah's given as much of the private details of her life as she's going to give, merely sitting back and smiling. Though the look she gives Cerise is searching, giving the greenrider a very sober regard for a pretty drunk woman. "Lets talk about you and your dalliances," the goldrider suggests instead, turning the conversation from her private life to Cerise's. "I seemed to recall a certain tension between you and an insufferable bluerider before you Impressed." If it's reaching, it's to keep from answering as to the viability of delicate cloth to shred.

"Well, he's not so insufferable once you get his clothes off." This is the disadvantage of drunkenness- sure, one has an opinion on anything and everything, and a willingness to share it, but there's also no filter. And that knife cuts both ways. Cerise may well regret this conversation later. For now? She dishes. "He's actually pretty agreeable in that circumstance, aye?" And by the twitch of those feathery eyebrows, she thinks Hannah knows just what she means, oh yes. "But with Jia needing so much help, hasn't been any dallying at all. Just…rolling bloody bandages and." The and is followed by the raising of the glass to finish what's left in there. She winces afterwards and gives her head a shake. "Hoooo."

"Aren't all men pretty agreeable when you get them that way?" Hannah comments blandly, beginning to really enjoy Cerise's drunkenness to her soberness. "Although, I must say that my experiences of the men at Southern are sparse indeed, so you'd better give me some good detail." Now? Now Hannah is having her way with Cerise, but not maliciously. It's a gentle tease that lurks in green eyes, and though the greenrider not know it now, the goldrider isn't going to blab her secrets. "You need a release, Cerise. Jiamoth would probably agree." Her eyes narrow slightly but whatever thought comes to her head is shaken off with a smile as she procures another drink from a passing person. Handwaving them off, she pushes it to Cerise. "Another!"

Well, if Hannah is going to insist! Cerise curls her hand around this fresh drink and takes a more cautious sip until she's certain of the taste. But after that? It's a toast and the sloppiest of grins for the goldrider, to demonstrate her thanks. "I've had but the three and Renalde didn't count, aye? E'don was useless since it was his first. V'dean though…aye. Haven't seen much of him since but…" She rolls her shoulders in loose exaggeration; it is just one of those things, something not given great account by the woman in her cups. "Don't need a release so much as a new foot," the greenrider chortles. The most morbid of humor!

Hannah is slowly creating a nice little controlled bubble, using her influence where she can all the while keep that smile on Cerise. "Well, well. No, Renalde doesn't count. Flights rarely count. Not if you can't count getting washed over by the ocean." Because, to her, that's what flights are like. Not that she knows what other gold flights ever feel like given how she has to flee, but. Surely similar. "You're not going to get a new foot, but you can stop punishing yourself." Gently. Concerned, even. "You can still enjoy life."

"It was exactly like that. You could've been a Harper, lady," Cerise observes, slightly distracted by squinting down into her drink. It's as if she's just realized that perhaps she is a touch inebriated. But if that is indeed the realization dawning in her foggy brain, it's not yet rooted enough to bring back the mental filters. "Not punishing myself, pfft. If I was punishing myself, wouldn't be like…bitching about rolling bandages, aye? I'd deserve to roll bandages. See? See??" That's logic there, punctuated with more raised eyebrows, a glance at Hannah and a lifting of her glass. As if gestures could help convince. "I'd deserve it. And the knots, I did the knots too and complained about it." Which doesn't really answer the enjoyment aspect of the other woman's comments, a thing which leads to uneasy. "I think I'm in need of the privy if you'll…" Excuse her? Please do, for she's standing without being bid.

"Go, go." Hannah just laughs and waves the drunken greenrider off. She can't understand, but she also doesn't try to push the mire of the other's life when a good drink is a good enough balm. "When you come back, we can go up and sing together." Unlikely that Cerise will be back, but the goldrider will linger a while, watching the weyr residents and carrying a heavy, thoughtful expression. Until she, too, slips away.

Add a New Comment