R'zel, Z'bor, Myssioli


Two WingSeconds seek some peace and quiet and a drink, they end up brainstorming instead while Myssioli provides the drinks.


-- On Pern --
It is 1:48 PM where you are.
It is afternoon of the nineteenth day of the fifth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the forty-ninth day of Spring and 91 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.
In Southern:
It is the forty-ninth day of Autumn and 50 degrees. Clouds hang heavy in the sky, driven by a hard wind. A storm threatens on the horizon, towering thunderclouds caught over the mountains. Only a light drizzle falls here and there throughout the day.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the forty-ninth day of Autumn and 19 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Southern Weyr; The Tipsy Kitten

OOC Date 08 Nov 2017 07:00


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"Running does a lot, but definitely not enough."


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.

Early evening in the Tipsy Kitten. With most people either in the living caverns for supper, or about to be, the place isn't that full yet. One can still hear oneself think, or make conversation without shouting. R'zel is not a regular here, in fact, he hardly ever comes in: his usual haunt is the Treble Clef, if he goes anywhere at all. But tonight, he in the mood for a beer, so the Clef just won't do. He's found a corner to sit in, and he's nursing his pint, looking as if he's deep in thought.

Z'bor is a semi-common face in the Kitten, Serval wingriders like to come here and Z'bor is no different. Though, coming here now means the Serval WingSecond is looking for peace, and he finds it when he walks in and finds the place near empty. Thank Faranth. The man has come along way from the shy wallflower he used to be, but large crowds are still a thing. He walks to the counter and orders a whiskey before turning to find some place to sit, not that the room is lacking. He settles on a seat almost directly next to R'zel, hands rubbing at his eyes as the day falls on his shoulders. He's tired.

R'zel's reverie is broken by the arrival of someone next to him, but he smiles, somewhat relieved, when he sees who it is. "Evening, Z'bor. Long day?" He blinks, also looking weary - perhaps it's catching! Or perhaps being Ocelot's wingsecond is weary work these days. He takes another sip of his beer, offering no more to the conversation for now.

Z'bor looks over to R'zel with a friendly smile and wave. "Yeah, you could say that…" Z'bor had ordered a double run on PT today and an extra set of sweeps for training purposes. It had definitely been a long day. His drink is brought and poured, and Z'bor requests the bottle be left, it is. He downs the finger of whiskey poured and pours a double. "Figured I'd get some peace and quiet before I went home." Having two kids in the weyr is a noisy experience and sometimes the greenrider just needs some peace.

R'zel grins at that, though he also casts a curious eye over the whiskey bottle. "This isn't usually the place for peace and quiet! But actually, that's pretty much what I was after too - well, peace, quiet and beer." He stretches his arms out, keeping them low over his knees. "We've been drilling to get the lineup changes settled down." Ocelot had a bad fall, to say nothing of losing a wingsecond, so there are gaps to adjust round.

That the search for peace and quiet has brought the two riders here is worth a soft chuckle from Myssioli, who flips her pale blond hair over one shoulder as she dries glasses behind the bar, watching the pair drink away their sorrow — exhaustion, whatever — at their table. Poor, poor babies! "Y'all need anythin' else over there?" She calls in her rich Keroonian drawl, smiling sunnily at them and displaying even white teeth. What? The job of a female bartender is to be utterly charming, isn't it?

Z'bor chuckles. "No, not usually, but I try to get in here before the crowds, so I can enjoy my drink, and be home at a suitable hour." Z'bor lifts his whiskey and has a bit, looking back when the young barmaid addresses them. Z'bor shakes his head with a vibrant smile, indicating that no, he doesn't need anything at the moment. Though she's given a look from head to toe that says there are other things he's enjoying. He doesn't get too look much, and when he does, he takes advantage these days. He's less and less shy the older he gets, and the longer he's in a position where he can't really afford to be shy. He turns and nods back at R'zel after. "Hmm. We seem to be doing well with our drills and lineups, I've been working on physical health and fitness, a thing I think my wing might someday despise me for." Z'bor's a right taskmaster when it comes to PT.

R'zel smiles up at Myssioli. "Not right now, thank you." His eyes rest on her as he speaks, but he returns to his conversation. "D'wane and Rocketh have left something of a hole, but we're adjusting." Southern's new Weyrsecond was an Ocelot, of course. "And PT is much more his thing than mine, especially the self-defense, but it looks as if I'm going to have to broaden my horizons. I can't keep just taking them for runs." R'zel may be known, at least in his Wing, to be an enthusiastic distance-runner, but he's less keen on other forms of exercise.

Z'bor laughs. "You're more than welcome to sit in, or run with, one of our sessions. It may give you some ideas." Z'bor is more than happy to share training techniques with his fellow Wi2's. He knocks back a bit more whiskey and refills his glass. "Running does a lot, but definitely not enough." Particularly any wings that might be heavy in green and blue dragons. Speed and flexibility, it's a thing.

Myssioli flips her hair over her back with a saucy little grin at the pair, then raises the glass she's polishing to ensure its crystal clarity in the winking light of the glowbasket she holds it over. Oh, dear, there's a spot, and she rubs at it again, ridding the clean surface of that little bit of a fingerprint. "Well, let me know if that changes, willya?" R'zel's gaze is met with a saucy little wink before she turns away to pick up another glass and begin polishing it.

R'zel grins up at Myssioli. "If I need another beer, you'll be the first to know." He hastens the moment by taking another pull at his glass, then returns to the subject of PT. "Running's good for stamina, though, and that's important for us," he tells Z'bor. Ocelot is an upper flight wing and balanced towards the heavier dragons: most riders can look forward to a busy time throughout the entire Fall. "But you're right: a balanced programme's important. And we do quite a bit of self-defence because of the guard element, so we need to work on strength and speed for that, as well as for Fall and so on. D'wane was heading up that side of things - I've been more on Search and Rescue. And thanks for the offer; I might take you up on that."

Z'bor nods. "Oh of course, it's all important, but shaking things up now and again is never a bad thing." Z'bor lifts a glass in acknowledgment of the barmaid's request and sends her another smile. "She's cute, eh?" He asks, giving a nod towards the bar. Hey, he can notice right? He sips from his whiskey and raises a brow.

Of course Myssioli goes out of her way to present herself well; it's how the girl keeps the marks coming. A brilliant smile and sunshiny hair go a long way with male customers, even as she keeps her distance from the rowdier set. She's deliberately posing with one hip cocked against the bar, taking her time about the busywork of her shift.

R'zel glances at the barmaid. "Yes, she's pretty." His eyes linger for a second before drifting back to Z'bor with a grin. "If you want to, uh…." His head makes a faint backwards movement in the direction of the bar. "Don't mind me." He will leave it to Z'bor to work out any domestic complications of that course of action!

Z'bor chuckles and shakes his head. "If it happens it happens." Z'bor need not worry about domestic implications, he and H'ris have a good lifestyle that they both love and enjoy, and it impedes their relationship not one iota. He takes another drink. "You know, it might be good to do a couple of inter-wing drills, a mock threadfall or two. Might help if we work together to improve things."

"That's an interesting thought," R'zel agrees, and pauses to raise his glass to his lips, then sets it on the table again. "High flight and low flight - what sort of thing did you have in mind? I can't remember ever doing a two-wing drill with Serval since I've been in the Wing." He thinks for a moment, apparently decides that he agrees with himself, and shakes his head.
Finally, the last of the glasses are spotless, and Myssioli moves on to plates, now; those, too, get the detailed treatment, polished until they sparkle beneath her care. The talk of drills captures her attention, and she turns to the pair, brimming with curiosity. "Sounds like you fellas are gettin' quite the workout in."

Z'bor shakes his head. "I don't think we have, but it might be a good idea to try." Z'bor is always coming up with new ideas, not that all of them are great, but some of them may be worth testing out. "Might be better if the wings know how to help each other out in a fall." Z'bor looks over to the barmaid and laughs. "Ask any Serval rider, I'm sure they'd be more than willing to complain about the workouts."

R'zel raises his glass to Myssioli, grinning. "We're having a productive evening here. Nothing like a good beer to get the ideas flowing!" He turns a speculative look on Z'bor. "Do you think a bit of inter-wing co-operation - or competition - would spice up those workouts a bit?"

Alcohol is an excellent lubricant; Myssioli ought to know. She's poured enough of them to see the magic work time and again. There's a flash of white teeth as she finishes up setting the bar to rights. "Oh, I heard a few in here complaining about it, but isn't that what a body signs up for when one Impresses a dragon?"

Z'bor nods at R'zel, an excited sort of look taking over his scarred features. "Aye I do, and I think it'd be good for wing moral and cooperation." And it's an idea he must now run by Rielle, because it really is a good one. "I think it'd at least be worth trying, eh?" Myssioli's comment is chuckled at. "Aye, that and a great deal more lass."

R'zel laughs. "I don't think anyone really knows what they're signing up for, though. I'd never have guessed that my job would include beating up wingmates with a big stick." Ocelot's repertoire includes self-defense with a quarterstaff. At least it doesn't involve the wingmates beating up R'zel with a big stick so much these days! He has a somewhat wry smile in his face as he suggests to Z'bor, "Maybe we could come up with a plan and put it to our wingleaders? I'm not inclined to suggest something to K'vvan that I haven't thought through, right now."

Aw, poor, poor candidates, to be unsure of what they're getting into. Myssioli merely fluffs her hair absently, preening a little in a glass to make sure her hair is on point. "Beating up…" She pauses, eyeing R'zel for a long moment before she grins impishly. "Sounds naughty." She offers Z'bor a wink of amusement for his sally.

Z'bor nods. "Aye, I think mapping this out in its entirety would be a good idea." Z'bor wouldn't want to pass anything half-assed to Rielle either. "When do you have a rest day? Perhaps I can schedule it so that we can get together and work something out." He's no doubt Rielle would let him move a rest day around if it was for the good of the wing. Z'bor looks over at Myssioli and has to laugh. She has no idea.

Myssioli definitely does not. She has no idea about many things, bar the Bar. And the fact that her little outfit is getting way, WAY too friendly with her butt right now. Good thing she's behind the bar where the guys can't see her extra wiggle to get the lead out, so to speak. Again with the hair-fluff just to double-check the 'do, and she sidles along the bar, reaching out for a glass to pour herself some water. What? She's thirsty.

R'zel thinks for a moment. "Not for several days, but how about before dinner in a couple of days time? If you want to ask Ozriath to tell Verokanth when you're free, we could do it then. It shouldn't take too long if we think about it beforehand." He finishes his beer. "And talking of dinner, I think I'm going to head that way."

Z'bor nods. "Sounds good to me." Z'bor gives a glance to the pillar candle that marks the time and nods. "Aye, it's getting around that time, I should probably go myself." He caps his bottle of whiskey and downs what's in his cup. He needs to settle his tab first though, so, he staands and gives R'zel a friendly salute. "I'll have Oz in touch then. Now if you'll excuse me…" Z'bor has a tab to settle, and a barmaid to flirt with.

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