Who

Divale, Silounas

What

Wingsecond and Guardsman have some people watching in the Cantina.

When

It is sunset of the nineteenth day of the eleventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr - Dustbowl Cantina

OOC Date 04 May 2018 05:00

 

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"There is, as always, one or two entrepreneurial souls in the room…"


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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.


Sunset brings with it a drop in temperature and while it's still reasonably comfortable outside, the Cantina is bursting with activity. Several of the regulars have already made camp in their usual spots, adding to the cacophony of multiple conversations. Laughter occasionally bursts out, as well as more heated voices though nothing more seems to come of it (yet, just let the alcohol set in). Divale lounges in a seat nearest the door leading the back alley and there's likely a reason for it. She doesn't appear dressed for duty, but she has never slipped out of her jacket; it's only partially undone to keep her from becoming too warm. Clearly, she has no intentions to linger long enough to bother getting too comfortable! The brownrider's eyes are focused ahead, alert and predatory though her expression appears distant and thoughtful. A drink rests in front of her, of which one hand idly tap-taps a finger against the side.

And what's one more regular to add to the throng at the Dustbowl this evening? Silounas could walk into the Cantina with his eyes closed and still make it to the bar without stumbling, which is at least partially proven by the fact he seems more engrossed in whatever conversation he's having with his buddy there than watching out for navigating the crowd, or looking for that one step that's always tricky, but he does make it to the destination unscathed. The two men part ways with some mutual laughing and a brief pat on the back and the guardsman acquires his drink quickly enough. Left to his own devices, next step is acquiring a table and one of the first familiar enough faces just happens to be a particular Parhelion rider that he'll wander on up to. "Evening, 'second. Waiting on anybody?" Div clearly won't mind if he just sidles on into that vacant seat right there like he's doing right now, right?

Divale's gaze shifts, just a small movement, as Silounas arrives with his buddy. She recognizes him, of course but she will not even so much as address him until he's wandering closer ? and apparently helping himself to a vacant chair without invitation. That earns a quirked brow and a slight narrowing over her dark eyes, but her mouth draws into a vague hint of a smirk. "Evening," she murmurs gruffly, while keeping her hand at rest next to her pint with the idle tap-tapping now ceased. "No, I am not." Replied simply, if not a touch cooly. Another breath, as she observes him a moment as if weighing whether or not she wishes to bother engaging in small talk. It must be Silounas' "lucky" day, because Divale adds, almost as an afterthought: "… I am killing time, or however that saying goes."

Silounas eyes that once tapping hand as he takes his first sip of his drink, but he'll keep matching the brownrider's vague smirk for his own conceited one. And for all the heat of the day (and some grumpier bazaarites yelling at guards just trying to do their business) the coolness can be a relative relief. In addition to claiming on vacant seat, Silounas is going to really push his luck and toss his feet up on another one as well. "Probably half the folks in here are killing time for one reason or another."

Something flickers across Divale's expression. Temptation, perhaps? It happens right about the moment Silounas puts his feet up. Just a small dip in her otherwise constant stare and nothing comes of it… yet. She's known to be a patient woman and perhaps now is not the time. He will, however, earn himself a dryly spoken: "Are you always this lax in manners? Or am I just a favoured recipient?" Her hand moves then but merely to take her pint glass up and lift the rim of it to her lips. Her chuckle is low, muffled through the sip. "Mhm. Perhaps? And what would you say the other half are doing?"

Silounas should probably feel like a wherry that caught the attention of a feline, but alas, he's lived charmed life so far and continues on oblivious to just how thin the particular ice might be, or just daring it to break. He lifts an eyebrow as Divale questions his manners and gives a second glance at their surroundings. "Well, the harpers did try to beat some of those fancy etiquette lessons into my head once upon a time. This didn't really seem like the place where that would be required. No need knowing which of the three forks you use when and all…" He gives a bit of a dismissive wave although those legs do at least come off the chair. A concession of sorts. As for what the others are doing, he shrugs. "The rest may have made this their destination for the night. Or at least one of 'em."

It's true! Silounas is very much like a wherry stalked but more by wild canine than feline. That he remains oblivious is just the cherry on top, though Divale is bemused by his answer. He must be doubly lucky on this night; the brownrider is not often in decent spirits or it's all a ruse. Being of the Guard, it'd not do her any favours to be outwardly malicious for no reason or cause. "You do bring up a very good point," she remarks and, without saying it, her tone implies the rest. It's still impolite, even for the Cantina! Were they in the gambling den? She would care less (but oh, would that raise questions!). "Also true, but only a small percentage. Who else, do you think, are present here?" Her gaze moves for a moment to the crowded room, then slides back to him in silent intrigue. It's a challenge, set there for him to grasp or miss; she's testing him. At least, his people watching skills!

At least Silounas is not completely relax any more, as he's moved from a posture suitable for his best buddies sitting room to something that probably wouldn't get him smacked upside the head if he tried to sit down to dinner with his momma like that. The guard props his arms, but not his elbows, on the table as he takes a gander around the room. "There is, as always, one or two entrepreneurial souls in the room…" His gaze seems to pause momentarily on the young woman that is laughing much too loudly at a comment from two men old enough to at least be her father, if not her father's father. And a kid probably barely old enough to be drinking alcohol that's been nursing a drink for a good long while in an almost forgotten corner before moving onto a group of some of the usuals that aren't just getting started, but are continuing from the rest of their day of binging. "And of course, you got your addicts as well. Folks that wouldn't know what to do if they couldn't get a drink in their hand. Do some of them even have anything worth going home to?"

"Their home is often the brig," Divale's reply comes with no hesitation and no ounce of sympathy. By now, they all know the names of those who tend to frequent Igen's cells on a regular basis. "No sense in pitying them." She does, at least, don a more relaxed posture when he proves himself capable to her tastes. He's at least not been cast on the bottom of her lists of 'Guards of Note'. For now, he's averaging about the middle; still a threat but not an immediate one! The young woman's laughter draws her attention briefly, but it's the boy that she lingers on. There is a curt, subtle nod in his direction. "Wonder what his story is. Doesn't look to be one of the Bazaar's." she murmurs low, not that her voice has risk of carrying far over the din.

Silounas did at least pay enough attention in his training, and it wasn't all that long ago, that it'd be a real shame if he couldn't prove he had some basic observational skills. He gives a snort at Divale's comments and lack of sympathy, which is also at least something he can share. "Sharding wastes of space." Like they're paperweights instead of people, but his eyes also focus on the kid to try and get a better look. "He ain't flinching like some of the normal runaways, so probably not an abusive pa. Maybe he got tired of the cothold life and decided to come try out the licenstious mood of the Weyr."

A sliver of a darkened smile curves one corner of Divale's mouth, as she glances aside to Silounas. "For the most part," They are. "But very easy to use if needing to press for information. The reliable ones, anyhow. Not yet entirely addled that anything said could be dismissed." A man's vice is one's gain? She gives a scoff to his tale of the mysterious lad, but nods as if to find it suitable. Finishing the last of her drink, the glass it set with a decisive 'thunk' to the tabletop. Time's up! Only it's not for want of change in scenery. Divale's attention has returned to that young woman, who is looking more and more like a poor creature caught in a snare-trap. If that snare-trap were two older men. "If you'll excuse me?" she offers by way of farewell. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a respectful dip of her head, as she stands and straightens her jacket; all the more to look official. For what little good it may do; she is a woman after all, playing at a man's role, according to some. Yet it won't stop her from interrupting the sport going on and later the Wingsecond will be escorting that young woman away — with or without aid.

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