==== October 13th, 2013
==== A'lory, W'rin
==== A'lory and W'rin are both taking a breather from the weyr, and run into each other at their favorite hideaway.

Who A'lory, W'rin
What A'lory and W'rin are both taking a breather from the weyr, and run into each other at their favorite hideaway.
When 11 months and 27 days until the 12th pass
Where Igen weyr



Oasis Inn

Darkness has been falling earlier and earlier at Igen Weyr, as winter takes its short hold over the place. So it isn't very late, but past sun down when the weyrleader trudges into Oasis Inn. The fire in the tavern is already going, and it is before it that W'rin sheds his riding jacket, and gloves, before slumping down into a chair. One of the few places that people have not yet learned to look for him while he's hiding away, a thing he rarely does as much as the unsocial introvert wants to avoid the populace at large. It is not long after his arrival that one of the 'tenders brings a whiskey over to him, and receives his customary grunt of a thank you from the giant of a man.

Escape is a lovely thing: from the Weyr, from expextstions, from life. And so A'lory comes strolling into the Oasis looking for that escape in the form of whiskey and quiet.

Well the Oasis is the place to find whiskey and quiet, at least pulled away from all the tables, it is a more orderly sort of clientelle that grace this bar than one might find at the Cantina. And it is just the peaceful, thoughtful atmosphere that led W'rin this way between meetings, he does after all still have a wing to think about, and less than a turn from thread. His mind is occupied with things beyond shaking hands with self-important Holders. He's left that to Corelle for the rest of the evening. And with one leg crossed, propped up on the other by the ankle he's settled back, not lazy - but with head full of wing formations, trying to imagine every possible senario. Still the stroll of his weyrsecond is well known and rouses him momentarily from his academic pursuit, lifting his whiskey in greeting to the lankier man.

A'lory turns from the bar with whiskey in hand, pleased with the quiet order and absence of political dancing about for the sake of ego stroking. As W'rin lifts his glass, A'lory lifts his in turn, moving to join the man in his all-too-brief respite from humanity at large. And, natch, there's the usual bro-grunt of masculine greeting as the lanky Second sprawls comfortably. "Good riddance to meetings. For an hour, anyway."

W'rin grunts in return, his answer to both the greeting and the question, a verbal sound of 'dudeyouaresoright'. As he downs his political meeting blues at the bottom of his tumbler. "Dumb ass dragon." Because they both know it's his bronze's fault they have to kiss ass to being with. Well, A'lory covers that part of the job, W'rin mostly keeps his mouth shut, unless a good verbal head bashing is required of a particular thick holder. It is the very essense of their perfect partnership. Their own twist making it sarcastic, tongue in cheek good cop, and bash your head into a wall while explaining just where he will shove things bad cop. "Least the whiskey is good here, and no one is complaining about life at us." His head flops to the side to consider the man next to him with a knowing grin, an apology for dragging him into this written on his face.

A'lory snorts softly at the very idea. "Occassionally, they have a point. Rarely, I might even agree with them." Smirk. Apparently, the holders find his ability to twist their heads right 'round disconcerting, to say the least. "Ah, now, they can't help their ways any more than we can."

W'rin snorts at A'lory's defense of the holder, "It's a simple system, you feed my people, we make sure they don't get all eaten up by thread." His heavy shoulders lift upward. "It seems we could leave my lips and their asses out of it the equatation more than they think. Perhaps you'd just let my fist run the meeting next time." Letting gravity pull him further into the chair, his grin widens, his way of letting A'lory know he knows it's an impossiblity. Do worried friend. Though it sure is fun to imagine.

"To you, yes. To them, not so much," A'lory grins wryly. "We've been in a long Interval. Crops are hard for them, let alone a force of thousands who are not turning them any profit. They believe we owe them mch ceremony." He lifts his shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I don't agree, mind; I just believe it pays to understand their thinking." He raises innocent eyebrows at W'rin. "It's punching without punching. And more amusing."

"Well then, we just let that first thread fall on 'em…" W'rin waggles his eyebrows, he's joking seriously, though he does raise his hand in defeat. "I know. I know. I just like to imagine that there is a holder or two out there that isn't so inbred they can actually see the bigger picture." He snorts and shrugs, "Corelle is better with them anyway. More amusing -?" He cuts off in a fake huff at the man. "Clearly you haven't done enough punching. It can be quite amusing." Liquid peace is twirled slowly in his glass before he takes another sip.

A'lory chuckles — wistfully, one might add. "Oh, how you tempt me." Cause really, he could do without quite a few human beings currently on the planet. His drink is sipped appreciatively. "Or at the least, let it decimate all that greenery, a few herds — you know, show them the destructive force of Thread… " What? He hasn't been thinking about that at all. Much. The mention of Corelle is acknowledged with a little twitch. Oh, her. "She's welcome to them." And they to her; A'lory's skin crawls at the very idea of being in close proximity to the woman, though he hides it behind a coldly polite veneer. And then he smiles - a sly not-smile that doesn't exactly bode well. "Oh, I've a plan to indulge in a little punching, and soon." Oh, Peaston, your face will be so very sore.

W'rin is blissfully, at least as blissful as he gets, unaware of any problem between his weyrsecond and the weyrwoman. She runs a tight ship, a tight ship like W'rin runs the wings, who is he to interfere. Besides planting, what turned to be a rather useful, man in the guards. "Ladivos already letting us down so much you need to go smash someone's face?" A fair question, though the way the giant man is grinning at A'lory states he may have witheld just a little bit from his man-friend. Woops. "Who though, and would you like help?" Bro's, they stick together.

A'lory is sure he has — don't all men withhold just a little, even from their nearest and dearest? His dislike of Corelle, for instance, is a well-hidden secret. There are those who may cotton on, through years of knowing the lanky, scruffy bronzerider; and yet, he's learned much of conssumate acting over his Turns in the diplomacy wing of Ista, though he rarely chooses to use that knowledge these days. "Oh, it's a small matter; I believe I can handle one greasy Harper on my own. So far, I have no complaints of Ladivos." Only time will tell if the man begins to grate on the Second's nerves or no.

"Alright then, try to keep it from the crafthall, would you?" W'rin apparently trusts the man enough to not forbid the pummeling of greasy harpers, surely A'lory is level headed enough to only pulpify the most deserving. "He get handsy with Sara, or something?"

A'lory grins wickedly. "Oh, I will. It's more a matter of his having insulted my mate one time too many — and likely having gotten handsy at least once that I know about." He's certain there may have been a time or two that Sara would not admit to, knowing her mate's likely reaction. "And in public, assuming Sara was merely selling her body for favors. Idiot didn't bother to ask the nature of our relationship. There were witnesses, at least two of whom are interested in lodging a formal complaint against the man at his Hall. The fight — well, I'm not interested in making it too public. Just enough witnesses to ensure safety. No knives, that sort of thing, for Eisheth's sake."

"Fucker." Is W'rin's polite assessment of the man, his faith in A'lory's depiction complete. "Well if it does get to the hall, I'll make sure to take my diplomatic skills up there." His turn to give a wicked grin, being known as a bull when it comes to relationships does have a time and place, just not as often as the smoother talking kind. "If he's aware that you are coming, you could always take it to The Pit." He snorts, then the craft hall really wouldn't have leg to stand on, "Though he seems the cowardly type from your description. I could always take it to them myself, see if we could have him transfered. Unless you think a few good punches will straighten him out."

"Huh. I doubt it; however, a few good punches will assure him that this particular dragonman does not tolerate calling women whores for no reason." And A'lory tilts his head, a wicked smile flashing across his face. "Besides, I owe him for scaring Mayte. She won't go within ten feet of the man, and you know that girl's fearless. I can't have him frightening my niece like that, either. Basically called the child the same as Sara, and that DEFINITELY won't fly." A man has to draw a line somewhere, and all. "I can almost forgive him for accusing an adult woman, but a sixteen turn old? No."

"Seems the man has a fascination with prostitution." W'rin gives a wry grin, as he draws from his whiskey, "Perhaps you should take him for a walk down to the whorehouse after, show him what a prostitute looks like." Or maybe the man just needs a good bang, ease him up some.

A'lory laughs softly. "Now there's a thought: instead of beating the shit out of him, force him to get laid. That'd probably be more embarrassing for him than getting beaten by a man half his weight." Not that Peaston's all that large — it's just that A'lory is the size of a very young sapling tree, and Peaston… well, isn't. "Though I'd have to explain to Sara how I even know about that whorehouse in the first place."

W'rin laughs roughtly, "Tell her I gave you directions. She'd at least believe it." Oh he knows the woman doesn't like him, but at least he has enough respect for her to have a good humor about it. "In any event, after you're done rearranging his face I'll be sure to have a pretty little woman all wrapped up in a bow to console him." A hearty and bitter laughter is given as he imagines that particular scene in his head.

A'lory rubs a hand over his face, heaving a shrug. "It's more what you represent than you, specifically, man," He chuckles softly. "Don't take it personally. She occasionally hates my guts, too." And isn't shy about letting him know it, either. As for the pretty little thing in a bow, he suggests, oh, SO, innocently, "Aisha. Definitely Aisha. SHe likes interesting games." Don't ask how he knows that information. Just don't.

W'rin shrugs and waves it off with his glass, "Look man, can't say I'd interact with her much if she wasn't with you. But you like her, so it's whatever to me." Cause that's just how that works. "You think the man is ready for games. Should probably just give him one who is skilled at the basic styles. Gradually work him up." An interesting progression of conversation from beating the man to a pulp to buying him multiple and progressively more interesting prostitutes.

A'lory is perfectly all right with that; he's very easy with the knowledge that not every person is for everyone. "Ha. I'm trying to humiliate him, not give him pleasure. It's the point of this exercise — to ensure he learns to mind his manners around his betters." And the least little child is better than Peaston, in A'lory's never to be humble opinion. From outside, there is a slow rumble. "Oh, fuck. Partys over, the grumpy one calls." Eisheth, the ever twitchy. "He's been getting steadily worse as the Turn goes. I think he feels it coming. At any rate, I'd better go tend him before he decides he's going to instruct the children on some fine point or other — and succeed in gettin my weyr painted pink or something." And up he is, strolling out the door to waylay whatever wierd plan is going on in his dragon's mind.
Which leaves W’rin once again to his thoughts, the man settled back into his chair, the short meeting with his Weyrsecond having centered him. Nothing like getting one’s mind off things for a moment to make everything so much clearer. Thread. Less than one turn.

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