Who

Mayte, K'vvan, Zephanya, A'lira

What

Old faces meeting new in the Cantina.

When

It is afternoon of the fourth day of the sixth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dustbowl Cantina, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 10 Nov 2017 05:00

 

"I tasted it," Mayte replies, "And then I swallowed," please no jokes, "because spitting is pretty rude."



Dustbowl Cantina

To enter the Dustbowl Cantina is to descend: the heart of the ancient tavern lies half underground, at the foot of ancient steps, insulated from summer heat and winter cold by the volcanic rock surrounding it. A windowless place well-lit by glows, it is homey, even cozy, with a certain bijou charm - but for the deep gouges worn in wooden table and solid stone, some clearly lingering evidence of boisterous brawling. The wall behind the well-polished bar, though, remains free from scars or graffiti, as does the door into the small kitchen, and the stairwell up into the owner's quarters: the barkeep and his staff reign, and they guard their territory well. After all, only a fool angers the source of the booze.


Summer is always an interesting time in Igen, and it might become a little more interesting. The doors to the Cantina open and in walks a slight woman in a flight jacket and a far-away knot. Her long hair is touseled from wind and tossed over one shoulder but the look on her face is a grin that dares, one with caution. She bellies up to the bar and plunks her ass down on a seat, holding up a finger for the first bartender to come by. One is soon by to take her order and a glass of red appears before her… but then as Mayte takes her first sip, a sour look crosses her face and she's desperate to call another bartender's attention - the last one has buggered off on break or something.

As one bartender disappears, another takes his place; Zephanya's slim form glides through from the back, a cluster of glasses gripped by their thick handles soon plunked down upon the bar. Cool, dark eyes survey the room, lingering to watch the young woman serving drinks to a pair of men near the door. After a moment, she begins stowing the heavy glass mugs under the bar, allowing her wary gaze to drift across the room, checking the levels of glasses and the attitudes of the patrons for any hints of need or trouble. As her eyes flash over Mayte's face - and that sour look - she raises one thin eyebrow in inquiry. "Somethin' you need?"

Raspy and annoyed, Mayte's voice tells poor Zephanya, "This is what passes for wine in Igen?" One hand holds up the glass of thick reddish liquid and swirls it a little: "Look at this. It's the bottom of a bottle. A really bad bottle," and now she tips it for a brief sip, "Something they preserved trundlebugs in, I think." She's totally fine with talking shit about someone else's wine but it's not getting her a better glass, so: "Could I please get another glass of wine, from a fresh bottle?"

K'vvan is escaping the fact that it's raining like fuck right now in Southern. Igen's an.. okay place to visit, right? Someone pointed him in the direction of the Cantina to track down a friend and instead… "Aren't you suppose to be in fucking Bendan being all shitty and important?" (K'vvan should know better than to talk to weyrwoman like that, but… Mayte.)

Mayte, the Gordon Ramsey of Pernese Wine.

There is a sweep of long lashes over onyx eyes as Zephanya offers Mayte a slow blink, then she reaches out to pluck the glass from goldrider's hand. Lifting it, she sniffs thoughtfully at the open mouth of the glass, swirling the crimson liquid and watching the play of sediment against the bottom of the glass. "You actually drank this?" she asks, a hint of diasappointment tinging her husky voice. "Tsk, tsk." Offending glass is gripped between disapproving fingertips, to be placed far, far away and replaced by a clean one. K'vvan's entrance is noted, his words frowned at. "Is it possible to be both shitty and important at once? Wouldn't that be a contradiction, or some such?"

A correction: "I tasted it," Mayte replies, "And then I swallowed," please no jokes, "because spitting is pretty rude." SPEAKING of rude, Mayte turns when K'vvan's not-dulcet tones and Zephanya's response. She'll add to the bartender's sass-back to the greennrider, "Aren't you supposed to be getting rained on?" She knows what the weather's like in Southern. But Mayte says it with a big grin, opening her arms in some imitation of a welcome to a hug. To Zephanya, Mayte asks, "Could I please get a glass of whatever K'vvan here would like? And, you know, some good wine."

"Fuck yes it's possible to be shitty and important." K'vvan's hand comes up and gestures at ALL of Mayte, but honestly, there's a half-smile that plays against his lips as he holds up a hand in a NO HUGS MAYTE gesture. He doesn't COMPLETELY mean it. "Did you realize you're serving crappy wine to fucking Benden's senior fucking Weyrwoman?" That said conversationally to Zephanya. Just in case Mayte is sans knot, or like, Zephanya is blind. Whichever. "Whatever wine you serve her is going to taste like ass."

"Only if you do it wrong," Zephanya murmurs in response to Mayte's comments, back to the riders as she considers the wine selection. The conversation winds on behind her, half-heard, as she selects a bottle, drawing it down to read the label thoughtfully. "I didn't serve her the wine," she retorts mildly, turning back to place the bottle before Mayte and allow the Weyrwoman to determine whether the vintage suits her picky palate. "I like to believe I'm a little more discerning than the average lug. And what," she adds, dark eyes lifting from one out-of-towner to the next, "would a K'vaan like to drink?"

Shitty and important? Mayte drawls, "For example, K'vvan here…" and pauses for the appropriate canned applause. The hand held up earns K'vvan a promising, dark look. One that threatens appropriate contact, like a hug. In Zephanya's defense, Mayte does add, "She didn't. It was some idiot who left on break right after and poor…" one hand waves at Zeph, "gets to deal with me." Dark eyes examine the bottle and Mayte hmms, "Not one I recognize, but I'll try it." She gives the barmaid a half-grin and turns to K'vvan: "So what the fuck are you doing here?"

First important details first - "A K'vvan doesn't fucking drink." So Zephanya can just not on that. There's a joke in there somewhere about the Queen of Wine-land and the teetotaler walking into a bar. He does sit though, not quite intent on leaving just yet. "Not getting fucking rained on. You know Southern's shitty weather. Nadeeth wanted to be dry, so I brought the twins up to see Sienna's pair."

"As you say." Zephanya's words could be in answer to so many of the comments flying about, but she takes up the bottle and deftly decorks it, pouring a mouthful of wine into the clean glass and swirling it lightly before setting it before the Weyrwoman. As she replaces the cork, she inhales briefly - but whatever opinion she may have of the wine, she withholds it until she sees Mayte's reaction. K'vvan's declaration earns a quirk of smile, and without a word but with a glitter in her eye, she places the wine aside and scoops up a mug, filling it with water from a pitcher. "On the house, then." Plunk.

If Mayte raises an eyebrow when K'vvan refuses alcohol, it slams down again into an impervious mask and Mayte is quick to tell him, "You're not in Benden where Rhiscorath won't shut up about how snow isn't sand." The wine Zephanya puts before her gets a critical look and all the usual nonsense that wine-tasters like to go through, before a little sip and then Mayte's mouth puckers a little: "Tillek? Tastes like it." Tillek and Benden haven't been besties lately, so there's a little condescention in the goldrider's tone. As for who served it up, Mayte wonders of Zephanya: "You been around here long? Don't think I've seen you here before." A shoulder hitches towards K'vvan and his water, "And this is K'vvan, he's pretty good." Though good doesn't mean nice.

There is a marked silence as K'vvan tries to remember if he's ever seen Rhiscorath around snow. The answer is… "How the fuck do you bathe her in Benden?" Random very important question. K'vvan remembers this gold having a fondness for sandbaths… Suspicious K'vvan eyes that glass of water and doesn't go for it. "Don't fucking believe her. I'm just required to be halfway nice because of her knot."

"Not very long at the Weyr," is Zeph's curiously flat reply, dark eyes wary as she regards the goldrider. "Tillek," she confirms, a hint of smile lurking at the corner of her lips. "A fairly decent Tillek, as I understand. I admit, wine's not my drink of choice." Laughter sparks deep in her eyes, edging out the caution for a brief moment before it returns to the forefront. As the young serving woman approaches the bar, she moves to fill the girl's tray with mugs of beer, offering a murmur or two before watching her walk off. "Don't believe you're pretty good?" she asks of K'vvan, sliding her gaze to his and smirking briefly. "If you insist, but that's not what they usually say."

In response to K'vvan, Mayte just murmurs, "Please don't ask. The juniors are already pissy about having to dig into the hatching sands for extra sand." She nods at Zephanya, "I'm Mayte. Recently of Benden. Well met." Zeph's preference of not-wine doesn't draw any ire; instead, curiosity: "What's your preference?" The serving girl interrupts her, but now the attention moves onward: "Don't believe him. He's really good, he just doesn't like to talk about it." Mayte, being smug, is smirking at K'vvan now.

K'vvan turns slowly to glare at Zephanya. "I didn't realize that was any of your fucking business." Yes, he caught the innuendo in that. It's probably good there is a bar between them, or K'vvan MIGHT actually take up bar fighting again! Woho! "You fucking know better than that Mayte." Seriously. The Senior Weyrwoman gets a glare too. "You don't look completely like shit." It's a compliment!

"Zephanya, of right here, right now," comes the bartender's reply as she fills the Weyrwoman's glass with more of that foxy Tillek vintage. "And give me a nice whiskey any day. Maybe even a bit of scotch if I'm feeling civilized. Not that that happens but once in a blue moon or two." She catches sight of the serving girl's exasperated look and wrinkles her nose. "None from you, miss. Work." K'vvan's rather beligerent response gets a single raised eyebrow from the barkeep, who hefts the Weyrwoman's wine bottle suggestively in one hand. "I only repeated out your own words to you, rider," she replies, a thread of iron bolstering the mild words. "However, I'll apologize for the suggestion." After all, she can ill afford a bar fight when she doesn't own the bar in question.

Mayte nods slowly, slowly… "To each their own," she replies to the bartender, eyeing the little serving girl again with an eyebrow that mimics Zephanya's again. "K'vvan," Mayte says, "Don't be that much of a dick." Zeph is giving her own apology and Mayte gestures, "See? You can be a definite amount of dick, but this isn't our Weyr anymore." And getting kicked out of the Cantina is kind of a reputation demerit point. Sipping the Tillekian again, Mayte hehs quietly: "No one's really had a barfight in a while - has R'xim been around?" Idle curiosity.

"We'll always own a small fucking part of Igen." K'vvan isn't about to concede that he needs to be less of a dick. Nope nope nope. He leans against the bar and listens into the answer. He and Rix never got along perfectly, but they also didn't-not-get along either. #complicated.

"Don't mind her. She prefers to believe that somehow I work in a bar, but don't drink." Zeph smirks at the server's sigh and waggles her fingers, shooing her off to work again. "My own daughter wants me to be a teetotaler, can you ken it?" She sets the bottle down by Mayte again before nudging that forlorn glass of water towards K'vvan. "I don't know a R'xim, but I can't say as I know the names of everyone that comes by the bar, unless they feel the need to mingle. I can tell you we haven't had a good fight since I took up the stick these months now. Can tell you I'm not sad for that fact. Bar fights are only fun if you're not cleaning up after them." There speaks the voice of much experience.

With another sip, Mayte is scrutinizing that bottle set before her closely, seemingly to ignore K'vvan for a moment. But, oh yeah: "Don't tell Rhis that. She says she still owns the deed to this place." Don't tell a gold what she can or cannot do. A dark eye blinks at K'vvan moment, promising retribution on the less-of-a-dick thing until back to R'xim: "Tall, Wingsecond or Wingleader, I don't remember. Used to start fights," she warns Zephanya, "An' I liked to finish them." The implications of this comment go unremarked by Mayte but she tells the barmaid, "Barfights are the best. When you're not cleaning them up." That, she'll admit.

"There's nothing wrong with not drinking." K'vvan is as defensive about it as a former alcoholic can be~ Shifting himself up to his feet he glances around then focuses back on Mayte. "I need to go and figure out where the fuck Ch'ale is. Don't be a fucking stranger - but also, don't come visit." Southern has a goldrider who is SUPER DUPER already way too opinionated. Plz don't put Bailey and Mayte together. K'vvan would die. No formal goodbye gets given, K'vvan is just gonna head out that backdoor without more words.

That's basically asking Mayte to visit, K'vvan. Do you know what you've done?!?

As one disappears, one appears. Only A'lira does not use the back door, because that would make things even more awkward, maybe. Instead, he waners right through the front door, edging his way through the joint with every intent on buying himself a drink. Or maybe a few of them.

"I've started - and ended - a few bar fights in my day," Zephanya admits, ignoring her daughter's stare as she plucks up a rag and begins shining the bar in the fashion of all bartenders since ancient times. "But I've found that cleaning up after them - especially if they're well-done - is not really my cup of tea. Or whiskey. Or scotch. So I have a tendency to discourage them these days." Usually with a wine bottle. Or a giant stick. Or, on occasion, the thick bottom of a beer mug. She pauses mid-shine to watch K'vvan leave, whistling lightly before grinning towards Mayte and resuming her cleaning. "G'day," she greets A'lira affably enough.

Mayte just looks at K'vvan, neither disappointed or not disappointed, as he vanishes. Boy can care for himself. Turning back to the bartender, Mayte takes another small sip and nods: "Best way to discourage cleaning up is discouraging the need to clean up," she says lightly. A'lira gets a quick nod as Zephanya nods to him. "Hello," she says amiably.

"Hey." A'lira returns greetings to the two women amiably, coming to a stop at the bar. He really wants a drink, and badly. Just because he can, today. He'll have what he usually has, though: "Whiskey. Make it tall."

"My thoughts exactly," Zephanya agrees as she begins pulling drinks for a trio at a nearby table, as her daughter hovers nearby with her tray at the ready. "Not as I'm worried there'll be much here today," she adds, dark eyes flashing around the bar, much as they have been the entire time she's been at the stick. "I think we're pretty good." She slides the appropriate drink towards A'lira - with an approving nod - and loads up the tray with the rest, then begins to scrub at imaginary stains with her cloth once more, allowing her attention to drift from customer to customer, waiting patiently for the next order.

The talk is moving to whiskey and Mayte, though able to compete, hates coming in last. "I see a dragonhealer I need to talk to," she says suddenly and with a tip of her glass neatly towards Zephanya and A'lira, mentions, "Put it on my tab," before moving away from the bar and towards a blue-rider who has an 'oh shit' look in his eye. For one reason oranother.

A'lira merely smirks at Zephayna's nod of approval — anyone who's known the brownrider more than five minutes knows he does what he wants — and begins to nurse his drink, watching thw comings and goings of the bar denizens with mild curiosity. Too bad he's soon to be called away for something healer-related, else he'd probably eventually offer Zephanya some form of conversation, or whatever. But he does finish that drink — and leave the appropriate amount of money for the payment thereof.

Zephanya polishes the bar. Because, you know, that's what bartenders do. Wax on. Wax off.

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