Who

Igraine, Kyrrin

What

Igraine goes for a drink and recruits a new spyling

When

-- On Pern --
It is 6:59 PM where you are.
It is evening of the twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month of the sixth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the fifty-fifth day of Autumn and 72 degrees. The day dawns bright and clear. Everything is coated in sand, but no clouds linger on the horizon.
In Southern:
It is the fifty-fifth day of Spring and 93 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the fifty-fifth day of Spring and 17 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Where

The Dustbowl Cantina, Igen's Bazaar

OOC Date 18 Jan 2016 07:00

 

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"Seems like a real pain to me. Can't even drink without having to fiddle with the thing."


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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.


Timor: moon5.jpg
Belior: moon6.jpg



It's early in the evening yet and plenty off people are still wandering the streets of Igen's bazaar. One of the milling is a new Zingari face, one new to these parts anyhow. Elvish looking in stature and with an equine beauty about her, Igraine is hard to miss, unless she wants you too, and then you couldn't spot her in a crowd if you tried. Tonight, she has no need of being invisible. So, she wanders the streets and observes the goings on, learning the heartbeat of this beautiful culture. She ends her wanderings by slipping into the Dustbowl Cantina, eager to see if anything the bar supplies is better than Zingari whiskey. Her entrance has little effect on the denizens of the bar, just a few turn to look, and they lose interest quickly. Igraine breezes by them all to the bar, where she orders a rum and waits for it to be delivered.

With the Weyr deep within the grip of autumnal weather, the day's so-called 'warmth' is easy to forget as night slips cooler and cooler. In an effort to combat both the cool, and people's perceptions of who she is, Kyrrin has donned a full length skirt, along with an elbow-length blouse and a shawl of medium weight. A cotton shawl effectively obscures both hair and face, draping just so to hide just who the person behind this garb may be. Her entrance into the cantina is mere steps following Igraine's, and therefore garners her perhaps even fewer looks, especially once the veil is glimpsed. Moving with deliberate demure strides, the woman finds a place at the bar, and waits just long enough to place an order before settling into her seat. Igraine gets a curious look - not being someone the woman behind the veil immediately recognizes, but Kyrrin does not go immediately out of her way to investigate the unfamiliar face…not just yet.

Igraine is not so unobservant as to not notice that she's being looked upon. The barkeep brings Igraine a tumbler with two or three fingers of rum poured in it and the rest of the bottle besides. Igraine smiles salaciously at the barkeep and thanks him one of her raven locks of hair falling in her hair as she does. She tucks the marks for the bottle into the man's breast-pocket with a wink. The man turns slightly pink and thanks Igraine for her business, then goes about doing his own. Igraine knocks back her first drink with a satisfied smack of her lips and pours more. Her eyes stay focused on her task, but her senses are alert, hyper aware of the veiled one next to her. "Why is it that all the rockbound women chose to wear those silly veils?" She asks abruptly, staring forward and knocking back another drink, and pouring. "It's too damn hot in this desert weather for all that unnecessary covering."

"Not all wear veils," Kyrrin replies cryptically. "And not all who wear veils are veiled." Her eyes stray away from the other woman, to study the man as he fetches the drink she requested. A glass of red wine, wine all the better for being served chilled. Marks are slid discretely to the man, and the glass is cradled between her fingers idly. "To the veiled, you are just as strange for going without." A glance is slid to the other woman. "Though I can understand the appeal of both sides." The veil slides, just a little, revealing a little grin playing on her lips, before the wine is savored testingly and all is concealed again. No one's going to comment on a little veil slip. Right?

"Aah, perhaps." Igraine gestures at the veil and it's hindrance in Kyrrin's wine drinking. "Seems like a real pain to me. Can't even drink without having to fiddle with the thing." Igraine shakes her head and drinks, turning around, drink in one hand and bottle in the other, she rests her elbows on the bar. This makes a slight display of her chest, which is full beneath the leather of her vest. "Seems like the only good that would come of that scrap of material is to keep the sand at bay."

"Oh, it's good for more than that," Kyrrin's voice drops to a slightly lower voice - though not a whisper. "Some veils indicate marital status, and can therefore be used for keeping men at bay, other veils indicate a family's social standing - which can be good for attracting men. Other times it's good for keeping dirt at bay…just as well as sand." The woman winks conspicuously at the other, before taking another sip of her wine. "It's worth it, to wear one." 'Sometimes' isn't said, but it hangs almost audibly on the edge of her words. The other's conspicuousness is eyed, eyebrows are raised by the time the barkeep's fully turned around, and then dropped when he's turned away again. "It's all about knowing the people." A lower murmur, that time, one not necessarily directed at Igraine, but one that Kyrrin doesn't bother keeping solely to herself.

Igraine listens and drinks, eyes wandering the different patrons of the bar, taking in faces nd accents and everything else. She shrugs nonchalantly at Kyrrin and grins. "To each their own I guess." Is her only reply to veils and their various uses. "A good fist or a charming smile can do much the same as those veils, I say." And they mark a person, make them both easier and harder to remember. "Though I can admit that in certain situations they provide a type of camouflage." Igraine looks over, eyes sparking with mischief and a keen sense of observation. "Seems to me that most wear them because they feel they should hide away. Why hide?"

"Why advertise?" Kyrrin counters, her eyes lit in a hidden smile. "A man might remember a woman who hit him moreso than the woman he didn't chase because her veil marked her as taken." She pauses a moment, sips her wine, and adds, "and that's not even counting that the veils obscure features. They can be a way of hiding while still being right there without someone even knowing." It sounds like something…she might have even done before, perhaps. "Every aspect has it's uses…and disadvantages. Much like the desert itself." Kyrrin has come to embrace the desert over the last eight turns, a feat she would have once declared impossible.

Igraine shrugs and lets the topic drop. It's the same all over, non-veiled women are appalled by the cloth, and the ones that are veiled, think the veils are just the bees knees. Igraine shakes her head. "Well, like I said, to each her own, I suppose." Igraine watches the crowd for a moment before turning back around to refill her glass. When her hands are temporarily free of bottle and glass, she shoves a hand out in greeting towards Kyrrin. "I'm Igraine, ZIngari healer, and you are?" She requests, putting on one of her many 'I really am interested!' faces on.

The hand that grasps Igraine's is perhaps surprisingly dirty around the fingernails and calloused, though only an actual examination might show exactly how dirty. Not the hands one might normally see accompanying a veil, but well, Kyrrin's not going to comment on them if the other woman doesn't! "Call me Kyrrin," she answers with a crinkling of her eyes. "Do you come to the Cantina often?" Of course, the woman's not about to mention who she is…or what she does on a day-to-day basis.

Igraine grins and shakes hands with Kyrrin. What she does or doesn't notice is kept to herself, after all, information is horded in her line of work. "Well met, Kyrrin…" She says, noting that the young woman names not her profession. Igraine sips at her drink this time, tuning out the din of the Cantina. "No, this is my first time here. I only arrived to join the mother clan a few days ago." That is harmless enough information to give. Igraine sips again, eyes sliding over to Kyrrin in wait of response.

"The mother clan?" Kyrrin inquires politely. The narrowing of her eyes indicates a greater line of interest than the woman perhaps meant to let on, though her eyes flick away quickly, and back down to her wine, which has been all but forgotten until just now. "It must be nice," she says lightly. "Had you traveled long without a caravan?" With her wanderings, it's not the first time she's heard a Zingari refer to the caravan here as the 'mother clan' - but it is, perhaps, the first time she's been in a position to dig even subtly for information about what that means.

Igraine raises a brow at Kyrrin. Was the mother clan not called such here? Were they considered just Zingari? Did the people here not know that Willimina's bloodline equates to royalty in the Zingari ranks? The thought surprises her, but it doesn't show outside. "The clan that resides here is the font of all Zingari clans, their bloodline is the first." Igraine sips more at her drink, eyes catching those shifty, curious looks Kyrrin keeps giving her.

"Hm," the woman replies. Though she tries to mask it, the curiosity lingers in her tone, that desire to know more - if lack of actual inquiry towards such knowledge. Perhaps Kyrrin feels she has reached the end of the rope of inquiry for the night; the point at which more questions are harmful rather than beneficial. "I did not know that about them," is all the woman says, finally. "It would seem there is much I did not know than I realized about your people." Not an inquiry, merely an admission. A sip is taken from her wine. A glance is slid at a man who comes too close - he redirects himself - before her attention returns to the woman near her.

Hmm. Smart girl knowing when to stop asking questions. The keen perception has the gears in Igraine's brain working. She had not missed the girl's subtle questions, had not missed that the girl gave hardly anything of herself away. There is promise there… Perhaps it's what Igraine sees beyond the veil, or perhaps it's the rum talking, but Igraine speaks up. "Would you like to know more? We are currently recruiting 'special' new caravan members for a project, of which I can't give you the details now. But if you show up at the Zingari encampment tomorrow, then you can learn all about it! I think you'd be perfect for the job!"

Never had Kyrrin thought her question asking would yield a job offer. The woman is silent for several long moments in the wake of Igraine's words, weighing what the woman has said against that which she knows now. When she does answer, her words are slow, as if each is being carefully weighted and measured. "One day is all I can promise," the person behind the veil says, finally. "Depending on how that day goes - well, perhaps what I do now has come to an end." Her eyebrows climb ever-so-slightly. Is that satisfactory to the other woman? Another sip of the wine is drawn, after she ceases speaking.

Igraine shrugs nonchalantly and grins. "One day will be enough, trust me." Igraine had a knack for picking out recruits, somehow it just seemed like this girl was built for espionage. It's quite a bit to hang on a gut feeling, but the feeling is there. "Well then, I guess we'll see you tomorrow then!" Igraine downs the rest of her drink, corks the bottle and slips it into her bag (she did pay for it after all), and turns to fully face Kyrrin. "I however, must get back, I have duties to attend to."

Kyrrin smiles - though it cannot be seen other than in the crinkle of her eyes - and clasps the other woman's hand for a moment before she departs. "Until tomorrow, then." The woman replies, her eyes lowering to hide the building excitement for whatever it is tomorrow may hold. "Fare well, Igraine." When dawn comes, Kyrrin will find her way to the Zingari camp, unveiled and dressed in more sensible clothing - and perhaps might have to re-introduce herself for the reason alone. But before the day is out, it is sure enough that the woman will have made her decision, for better or worse.

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