Who

Bailey, Kriane, Dione

What

Having hit on an excellent idea to get rid of some old stock, Sevreni decrees Amateur Poetry Night a thing. Bailey, Kriane and Dione try to survive it. Warning: NSFW mutters. Minors, go away.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Tipsy Kitten, Southern Weyr

OOC Date

 

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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.


Timor: 1_m5.jpg Belior: 1_m8.jpg

Amateur poetry night at the Kitten. It's one of the most horrible ideas Sevreni could ever have come up with and oddly, it's one of the most well-attended. She even got people to make a little impromptu stage on one end. On it currently is a rather young chap, dressed in drippy romantic fashion, clutching a glass of cheap wine (of course he's penniless, given his daytime occupation as a weyrherder), who is disclaiming at the top of his breath. In the back, behind the bar, Dione is wiping it with the grim determination that suggests she's already killed herself in her mind. Ten times over, one for each poet so far.

The current verse: It is a mass of knotted joints, / A wretched thing forlorn. / It stands erect, and like a stone / With lichens it is overgrown.

Behind the bar breezes Bailey, as is her wont when the Kitten is packed: she's poured a mean ale since the Kitten's inception, after all. It's so loud — so loud, at the bar, but Bailey doesn't pause in pouring a shot of gin into a glass and frowning up at the froofy-froo-foo and muttering something over at Dione, her expression sarcastic and oh-so-terribly-amused.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "… that little … … impress … … … … in … … clutch, … … … …" to Dione.

Kriane gives the man on 'stage' a /look/ as she enters. She turns to Dione with raised 'brows, gesturing with her hand towards the young man, as if wanting an explaination on what EXACTLY is going on here. She's just here for the booze, shard it, not this prattle. With a sigh, she settles herself at the bar of the, uh, bar.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "I … … you … anything strong enough … make that … decent? … … …" to Dione.

Dione gives a grimace, a bleary expression of PAIN, one that suggests that she can do with a gin as well. In fact… out comes another glass and she slips it over to Bailey, because there's only so much pain one's allowed to take unmedicated. Mutter mutter mutter. Kriane, poor dear Kriane, who is about to get her ears defiled by long, drippy ballad, merely gets a shrug of the bartender's shoulders. Mutter Mutter, and a Special Bottle from beneath the bar comes out, wax-sealed, looking like it was brewed in a scummy pond by some hillfolk hag. The one standing next in the poetry queue, in fact.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … … goats … … … … … … missed the last … … waiting … … … … … … … to flip … … … … gonna be … … … … … heard … previous one about a … rider's ass." to Bailey.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … some … this. Guaranteed …" to Kriane.

The poet goes on to punch it up, and Hag #3 steps onto the stage, beginning with a rousing epic of love: When all the stars shone clear and bright, / That I have heard her cry, / "Oh misery! Oh misery! / "O woe is me! oh misery!"

Bailey nods over to Kriane as the rider approaches the bar, but apparently doesn't find it in herself to try to shout over the noise of the Kitten. Instead she finishes off the gin with a splash of tonic and delivers it to a brownrider down the bar, taking another order and breezing past Dione to procure one of the brown-bottled ales at the end. She laughs aloud for whatever the barmaid has to say and responds in similar vein, smirking along and lofting that uncapped ale to the line of MISERY. O misery.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "… … really … … about Th'seus's ass? … mean, … fine and … … … … imagine … … … … … be like … a … That … … …" to Dione.

Kriane returns the nod to the goldrider, giving her a tiny wave across the bar. Mutter mutter to Dione, with a grateful look as she settles herself into a seat and unzips her heavy riding jacket, shrugging it off and slinging over her shoulder as she wiggles over a few seats so she can talk to both of them without yelling too much. Mutter…

You overhear Kriane mutter, "… … … … I … … … to bear this … … … this … Th'seus's … … … … … stay … … … … … all, … with … … … as … please … it … … … … Keep it coming, … … …" to Dione.

The bartender lets out a bray of laughter, shutting it away behind a hand as, with the other, she pours Kriane a drink of such vile splendor that, quite likely, some poor defenseless 'snakes died to produce it. The glass and tiny mouthful gets passed over before she helps with a whispered request for more cheap wine - Sevreni is a ruthless bitch when it comes to business, and likely came up with this night to get rid of all her old stock. Bailey's muttered at again, and the girl takes a deep sip of water before leaning on the bar and gesturing to the drink, then Kriane. Another mutter. Hag #3? She goes on merrily: And some had sworn an oath that she / Should be to public justice brought; / And for the little infant's bones / With spades they would have sought! Mutter mutter MUTTER, this one with an accompanying hand-gesture.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… me, yes. You … have … … going on about … … brazen thews, … don't … me started … … odes … the front and his … … … why do they always pulsate? … … … the … A … infection? … … able … … … … the … … this." to Bailey.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "It's … kind of … isn't … … … to keep to … … … … bad … … think … … … dimglow … on about …" to Bailey.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … missed … … Ode … a … … … … thews, pulsating … … … … … Which … … as … as they made him … … … poor …" to Kriane.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… careful of … … Mountain. It'll … you … … as … … what … lost a flight." to Kriane.

Bailey laughs at BOTH Kriane and Dione, terribly amused as she throws down the ale to the man who requested it and cashes him out, gestures neat and deliberate. That done, she scans for new drinkers, but the bar seems to be at a lull, so she checks her hip against the lower shelf behind the bar and takes a pull on her glass of water, calling something out to both of the girls, her face FAR too amused.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "… … … … … … … he's so … tall! … … … … … … … … heads off. … … them anchovy cream puffs… …" to Dione.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "I … it's … ironic, … inflicting … … composing … … … … … should call for … At least he … what … … But … … … he … be quite … entertaining… … … … … horrible." to Kriane.

Ja'kai walks in from the Weyr Entrance.

Kriane's eyebrows just barely manage to not meet her hairline at Dione recalls the poem, covering her mouth to stop her gale of laughter from traveling too far. She mutters something in response to Dione, eyes sparkling as she knocks back the glass of sweet, sweet relief and licking her lips to make sure not a single drop of alcohol goes to waste. She nods agreement to Bailey, raising a (hopefully refilled) glass in salute to the sentiment.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "… … … … … … … … … of a bronzer … … freshly missed … bitch might … … … … right … … … Ikk … see … … … enough, but." to Dione.

The next poet up is SRS BSNS, marked so by the ultra-tight leather leggings and romantic, floppy way he flounces onto the stage. The title, 'On Threadfall' gets him a LOOK from the few riders whose dragons haven't bothered protesting brain-death by poetry, and a whistled, foot-stamping applause from the rest as Hag #3 retires, and the second-to-last case of thin, bitter Tillek sells out. He clears his throat, strikes a pose, and grabs at his breast: "Death! Plop. Flop, plop! Above, beneath! From the slimy branches the grey drips drop, / As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky, / Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly / To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop / On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop, / As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top!" Yes, you can hear him screwing on the exclamation marks.

Dione, who knows what's good for her body if not her soul - that shrivelled twelve poems ago - does not swallow before Bailey's done speaking, which is as good, because she's snickering so hard she has to pause to breathe. There's a refill, and a gesture to Bai and Kriane, trying to reach them both at the same time… just before the subject matter makes her groan.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … … … you two … kill … … … recognise the type, … … to … … … … inch … … plant." to Bailey.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … … pay you … to kill … now. … … the type, … … … talk … … sodding inch of … …" to Kriane.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "You're telling … … Shells, my … … improve … … … slop, … … can't even keep … … … … … … … of … …" to Bailey.

And then there is Ja'kai, moving into the bar with a sneer for the poet and a total breaking-of-the-rules as he LOUDLY asks all of the assembled young women, "Is it ENTIRELY appropriate for someone who has hardly SEEN Thread to be composing terrible lyrics about it?" His dark gaze is disapproving and vast, glowering towards the poet - and silence follows them like crickets, the bar drawing to an unexpected inhalation of oh-god-this-bitch-is-about-to-go-cray. "Perhaps we shall take you with us the next time we fight Thread, cretin, and then you can compose your sonnets about your silver lover of death." Guess he isn't going to have a drink after all that, is he.

Bailey laughs into the faint silence, startled and hilarious, and clears her throat when eyes turn towards her. Sotto-voice she mutters something towards Dione, flashing Kriane a quick grin across the bar before leaning back indolently. What? NOTHING TO BE SEEN HERE, carry on.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "Well, there's … way … get this limp-dick … shut the … … … … Maybe … … eat him … for … … … … … listen … … instead … … atrocious …" to Dione.

Kriane jerks her head back to consume more alcohol more efficiently, the sudden outburst of Ja'kai and ensuing silence making the burn of it down her throat painfullly obvious. Her hushed tones manage to carry to both Bailey and Dione, but hopefully not Ja'kai.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "Well, at least … saved … … … of … to the sordid detail of … … being … … by … in … rhyme. … … could … to take the stick … of … … … … … and … … … … about … … …" to Dione.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "… … … that's … us … pain … … to the sordid … of a daisy … … inch … inch in … rhyme. … Ja'kai could … … … … … … of … … … … … … … … a poem about … it smells." to Bailey.

"My thought is running out of my head; / My love is running out of my heart, / My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead, / For my life runs after to catch them… oh, I say, good sir!" As J'erkass interrupts, and makes him the offer, the poet's eyes actually glisten with tears, tears soon smothered with a glass of red. "Oh happy man that you make me… but not right now, lover, afterwards, hm? Poetry first!" That's right: the bar might have heard a put-down, but Soulful Poet heard a come-on, and is winking to go along with it. Dione, meantime, is face-down on the bar, howling with mirth. She barely gets time to mutter to the two women with her, and pours them each a shot. Because seriously, they're going to need it.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… … oh shards, we're going to … man-jerky … … … here today, … … … … … so … can … … … back before … … blood, Bailey? … I'd be tempted … let … murder … … … … is damn …" to Bailey.

You overhear Dione mutter, "… hell, … … … I'm … … … … … I … pay … five marks if … … Ja'kai whether … into … … … swear … the first … … … … … … … … is?" to Kriane.

There will be no holding anyone back, because Ja'kai rears up as if struck and then STALKS THROUGH THE TABLES towards the poor, poor lad, his giant hands — no seriously, bitch got huge hands — clenching back and forth. When he reaches the poet, that boy is going DOWN with one meaty closed-fist pop to the nose, before being dragged off his perch and then taken OUTSIDE by the giant of a man, who hauls him along by the front of his shirt, kicking and screaming, blood streaming down his face.

Well, that's what one deserves when you put forth that shoddy verse, right? Karma's a bitch… named Ja'kai apparently.

Bailey about FALLS OVER between the come-on and the ensuing BEAT DOWN, her laughter so raucous and loud it drowns out most anything she could POSSIBLY hear. Between the gales she wheezes something or another out to her compatriots, her voice hysterical.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "I can … a happy, … … … life is complete. … … think … … … her poetry night … … … … … … … … that … doesn't … … blow … … … … …" to Kriane.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "… can … … happy, … person. … … … … I … … … … thought … … night … … … THIS. Oh god, … … … … doesn't … … … to the nose as …" to Dione.

Kriane leans her elbows against the countertop, giving Dione a nod of thanks. She looks like she's about to take the barkeep up on that offer when Ja'kai straight up slams the poor poet in the face. She whistles in appreciation of the punch, but Bailey's laugher soon infects her as well. When she can breathe again, the next shot is downed. She wheezes back to Bailey, then puts her head on the counter while her shoulder still bounce with mirth.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "Seems like the only … … blowing he's going … … any time soon, … … … … … it's … to be." to Bailey.

"Oh my lov…" Down goes the poet, and the crowd whistle shrilly. As one, as Ja'kai drags the poor lad out, they starts hissing, stomping their feet and applauding because this is how amateur poetry night is supposed to end, right? With a mauling. Dione can no longer speak, she can only hold up her thumb in a 'Hell Yes' to Bailey and Kriane. In the larger group? A serious set of wagering starts up, wagering on the lad's chances to survive … and Ja'kai's bedroom technique. That is enough to set the bartender off in fresh gales of laughter, and a shrill, laughing-too-hard mutter to the two closest.

You overhear Dione mutter, "As … … … get … the … … … that man's idea of … … … likely a … … … …" to Bailey.

You overhear Dione mutter, "As … … didn't get … … … … that, that man's idea … … … … … a … … … …" to Kriane.

Kriane tries to lift her head to speak again, but keels over once more at Dione's comment. She manages a response, somehow, through the laughter.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "… baby. Rub … that … juice, … like … oh!" to Dione.

Bailey finishes her laughter and wipes her eyes, still grinning. She twitches at whatever Dione has to say but moves off with a shaking head and shoulders rising and falling with the remnants of mirth — she is out, then, moving towards the door with purpose. If the bets start to get weirder because of it, well, she's seasoned enough to not let things overheard bother her overmuch.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "Well, … … to make sure … … … … … … … the … doesn't … … get him naked. Or … It's … to … … no matter what, hmmm? … … … Ja'kai … Augh." to Kriane.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "Well, … … to make … Ja'kai … kill … … lad. … the lad … try … … … … Or … … going to … … … matter what, … … … or Ja'kai … Augh." to Dione.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "… the … … … … … …" to Bailey.

You overhear Kriane mutter, "For … … sake, … … it's …" to Dione.

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