Who

Mayte, D'wane

What

Mayte and D'wane end up discussing a possible (?) new fuel for Agenothree, proving that neither of them should go anywhere near the drawing board, much less go back to it.

When

It is 6:23 PM where you are.
It is evening of the thirteenth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Tipsy Kitten

OOC Date 12 Jan 2018 07:00

 

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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.


Despite all the things that Southern might try to throw at him, D'wane does manage to eke out a few hours every now and again for some personal time. A wiser man than D'wane would probably try to seize upon those rare windows when nothing seems to be on the verge of breaking down immediately and run far aware where people would have to look for him if they wanted to find them, but he's got other priorities right now. Like where is the closest beer from where the council room is. After the bazillionth council meeting of the day, an ale or two is required stat and so directly to the Kitten he goes. Straight for a stool with absolutely no concern for who his neighbors might be. all he wants is a stout. Or two or three. He'll settle for asking for one from the barkeep for the time being at least.

The best part about Fridays is the end of it; except Thread doesn't really take weekends, so neither does Pern. Mayte, however, has left whatever her last meeting with Laeiva was about, escaping to the calm normality that is the Tipsy Kitten (which just showcases her day). She breezes through the doorway, marching through the small throng, and bellies up to the bar, calling loudly for, "Your best wine, your biggest wineglass; make Vintner proud." Or whatever; in the span of time it takes the barmaid to bring something to the bar, Mayte looks around at her partners-in-vice: "Heya, D'wane!" It's almost aggressively cheerful.

D'wane probably got a little bit too carried away with his shaving and got rid of all those itty bitty neck hairs that would have been so handy to warn him of impending DOOM that might happen from random encounters with weyrwomen. Alas, he had no early detection system for goldriders and so it's far too late for him to just slip out when Mayte comes up to the bar to demand her bucket of wine. But he doesn't look particularly inclined to run away at the moment. He just got his beer and it's so nice and cold and refreshing on a hot summer's evening. The bronzerider will give the woman a polite 'Hey what's up' headnod, but when it takes longer than expected to fetch the biggest wine glass they have, he can't help but wonder outloud… "Think they'll come back with one of those fishbowls they serve some mixed drinks in?" You know the ones.

Truly, to have an early detection system for every goldrider is a feat beyond technology. While she waits, Mayte returns the little head-jerk of 'Yo', eyeing D'wane's beer thirstily. Fortunately, he reminds her she's got more comping except, "I hope not. Shouldn't put good wine into a mixed-drinks glass or you ruin the bouquet. No one likes a ruined bouquet." Whatever that means, Mayte just props one elbow on the nearest hard surface and watches D'wane. "Had some good meetings?" Her tone is so cheerful, so positive, that her next sentences is a lie: "Very sorry I missed it."

D'wane is not going to be gentlemanly enough offer to share his drink while Mayte waits or abstain from drinking until her order arrives. He was here first and thirsty, so he'll drink it while nodding along like he totally understands what bouquets and wine have in common. "Yeah… cause proper stemware keeps the flowers out of your wine." That's why champagne flutes are so tall, right? He even looks halfway serious as he says it too. Although it helps that she's so quickly brings the subject back to those endless meetings which cheerfulness is met with a bit of a glare. "Uh-huh. So next time Wyeren and the miners come in with piles of hides, I should hold all discussion until you get there? Will do!" D'wane can be cheerful too!

The nodding indicates D'wane understands, and Mayte smiles. The words… Mayte just doesn't look certain; more like someone who realizes there are two different trains of thought happening here, but she's been out of the wine biz long enough not to launch into a rant on stemmed glassware, known to bring talks with various Halls to a standstill. "Well, I guess it depends," oh look, wine! "what the hides are about! If Wyeren's talking about talking with Lemos again for easy timber again, I can totally help. But Wyeren just loves talking to the big manly Weyrleaders, doesn't he?" Over the rim of her unnecessarily large wineglass, Mayte quirks a teasing eyebrow at said big manly Weyrsecond.

D'wane might like the delicate stemware. It can make him seem fancy and sophisticated or something, but that's not his concern tonight. Nope, it's a much more casual, no pretensions type of drinking night tonight. As for what the hides were, he just shrugs it off. "Nah, nothing so interesting as that. More along the lines of we have X many tons of firestone and X many tons of metal and X many tons of bovine crap that apparently is very important with making of agenothree…" Here he pauses and glances at the goldrider next to him for a minute. "Did you know they put bullcrap in the flamethrowers?" D'wane may have been sleeping in that part of his weyrling lessons. As for the weyrsmith's preferred audience, he just laughs. "Don't know… from most of the meetings sounds like he just likes to hear himself talk. Doesn't matter as much who the audience is."

Deep into her sip of wine, Mayte scrunches her nose at the possibility of math happening tonight; the chemistry doesn't even get a raised eyebrow: "That'd account for about half its smell, at least." As if Firestone is the Old Spice of Pern. "I don't remember that from my weyrling classes, but then, Rhis was more interested in chewing firestone than letting me learn about flamethrowers." A brief shrug and Mayte sets down her goldfish bowl for a moment. "It's the getting a word in edgewise that's the trouble," she says mournfully, rubbing her hands together briefly before she straightens, "I'm glad it's not just me, though. I wonder if they could use the crap from the privvies." The human ones. "Maybe that'd make a different flamethrower scent too!"

And isn't it so much more fun when you make up the math on the fly anyway? It's not like they're making important decisions tonight… at least hopefully they won't be. The only thing D'wane's working on at the moment is making his beer disappear. It's halfway there already. "You can always have about five conversations in the course it takes him to get one done. He comes prepared with all those diagrams and stuff you can scan over in between…" It sounds like D'wane's been doing this for nearly a turn. It might be a science. Although his nose is going to wrinkle up a bit at the thought of using the human waste in the flamethrowers. "Do you really want to be that close to that?" Cause she'll be the one using a flamethrower, not him. "Especially after what this whole bug diet has been doing to some folks." The latrines might be an even less pretty place than usual at the moment.

As long as the math doesn't make Mayte the flamethrower. Eyes dropping to D'wane's beer, the young woman picks up her own drink and takes a good mouthful of it, focusing thoughtfully on D'wane's expression: "So, we could actually be really efficient in meetings with him if we carried on the rest of the items and stuck him in a corner to keep talking?" It's like speed-dating but with agenda items! "Great idea, D'wane. Thanks. And hey, being close to my own poo…" but then he just has to bring up the bug diet. "Well. After that's done. But does it really smell that much worse than bovine shit?" But hark! An idea! "What if we asked our dragons to stop going while *between*? We could, like, ask them to contribute." Is D'wane yet regretting that little nugget of info on agenothree?

D'wane might be regretting just a little bit, but he's full of all sorts of helpful nuggets. Like when Mayte brings up dragons contributing, he takes an even longer drink than he has been before responding. "We got more than enough dragons in the ground weyrs at the moment." That catastrophic fall over the Western Seahold just all too recent for his liking. "But I mean, if we need mountains of shit, well…" he shrugs. He's not quite sure how much crap Mayte needs, but it's in her power to collect that poop if she wants. You know, for science.

You know what helps with science? Alcohol. Mayte takes a long, deeeeeeeep quench of red, and nods! "Exactly! We can save their riders the effort! We'll tell Wyeren at the next meeting." More wine. "And if it's successful, we could tell the rest of Pern about this discovery!" One hand waves in the general direction of Pern, barely avoiding blinding a barmaid. "You'll be famous!" After that Mayte falls quiet for a little, nursing her drink. She gives D'wane a long side-eye and asks quietly and somewhat out of the blue, "You still holding up? After Bailey?"

And what D'wane really needs to continue this conversation is another drink. Luckily, most of Southern's barstaff is pretty good at their job considering how much practice they get serving the den of chock full of borderline (or not so borderline) alcoholics. A hand is raised, a beer slides over, he catches it and yay more drink. "I think I'll let you take credit for that possible discovery. And I'll be sure to keep Wyeren talking long enough for you to get there to share your idea with him." Cause he's totally generous like that. D'wane doesn't straighten up immediately at the unexpected question, returning Mayte's long side-eye with one of his own. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

Mayte's eyes widen in surprise: "You don't want some of the credit? 'D'wane's Thread-fighting Fuel'?" she guesses with a small grin but the attempt to stay light and breezy falls flattish. "It's not my first Threadfall," she says, straightening a little and shifting in her seat. A quick look over her shouder to anyone who might be listening and Mayte continues, "but it's worst when it's the Senior. And when you worked with her for a while." A little shrug and Mayte looks down into her glass: "I keep wondering if I missed something. Amani's doing good, though, thank Faranth. She gets it."

D'wane snorts at Mayte's naming suggestion. "I see why they didn't let you become a harper. Could have at least gone with some alliteration. D'wane's Dynamic…" And for all he was trying to come up with something better, he fails as well. But at least he got a bit more creative. He might not be as dumb as he look. Or acts some of the time. He does nod in agreement at the very serious topic at hand, twisting his glass a bit on the bar in front of him. "It is. And she'd been around Southern so long. I'd only been here for about two turns or so myself, so didn't ever know the place without them. Half expecting to see Khalyssrielth terrorizing some candidates whenever I turn a corner."

Mayte tries to let D'wane's joke fall flat except there's some things that are too funny not to be joked about. "That and I can't carry a tune in a bucket," she admits after a moment. "And D'wane's Dynamic is better than what I came up with." There's a lull briefly in the noise of the crowd and Mayte waits for it to pick back up before commenting, "She and Hannah brought this place to life, with Lendai. Sooner or later, they're probably all related to their golds' lineage." About Khaly scaring candidates? "Well, how else does she know they're worth to Stand?" Says the goldrider. That or some golds just like terrifying people. Ahem. Mayte looks down at her slightly-more-than-half-gone drink and hmms, eyeing where D'wane's drink is and her lips move according to calculations of how long each drink will take.

"See, there's where you went wrong. You shouldn't carry them in a bucket. Tunes are best carted around in a wheelbarrow." Why did D'wane pick a wheelbarrow? Who knows. Probably because it was the first other vessel he could think of and also one he could mime out a bit. But only briefly. "I was too tall to end up spending a life in the mines. Guarding just made sense." And guarding led to impressing which led to wingseconding and weyrseconding where he is now. Life story in two sentences. He does contemplate the goldrider next to him as she possibly reveal some of the inner secrets of those queen dragon minds. "So is your's one of the ones that likes to test all the potential candidates to see if they're worthy to stand for her clutches?" Cause with talk of loss of one senior, or course minds move to the fact that there's going to have to be another leadership flight eventually. Most of the Weyr probably hoping for sooner rather than later.

Mayte's almost-understanding 'ahhh' and nod probably means D'wane's advice is received and appreciated for what it is. But she's still smiling, grinning a bit more when D'wane speaks of himself. Speaking of life in two sentences, Mayte shrugs: "I was way better in Vintner than at Harper." And even Vintner couldn't stand her after a while. AS for Rhiscorath, Mayte grins: "She practically tests their intelligence. Last time it was how many synonyms for 'cold' someone could find." A very brief shrug, "Rhis was really pissed when her babies didn't choose the ones she thought would do the best, according to that." It just goes to prove that IQ is just a number, people.

D'wane can't help but laugh out loud at the thought of a dragon testing how many words for cold there might be. Especially considering it's summer right now. He might laugh a little bit too hard at it, but he manages to pull himself together with a little bit of coughing. Laughing spell passed and only a COUPLE folks looking at him like he's a crazy man. At least he has a shirt on tonight. For the moment anyway. "I'm sure some folks from Southern Barrier will be in the next class. And they should have a few new words for cold. Could always come up with some new ones when the weather drops even colder than you previously imagined possible." And honestly, that little far northern cothold he's from isn't much different than the weather at Southern Barrier. "And at least dragons don't normally remember long enough to stay mad about something for more than a seven…" It's a bright side at least. Even if living with a pissed off lifemate even for a bit of a time is never pleasant.

Mayte is trying really hard to not look faintly alarmed at D'wane's coughing spell but when he recovers to speak, she smirks, "She's mentioned something about asking for treatises," a brief pause to make sure she's pronouncing that right, testing out "treatees? treat-eyes?" whatever, "about humidity and cold, this time. But who knows; Rhiscorath tends to like eating romance novels when she gets close." Which is all the warning Mayte will give a new bronzerider at this point. "That reminds me, I should go down and visit Southern Barrier. Any suggestions on a good time of day?" One elbow on the bar, Mayte tucks her chin into that hand to watch D'wane enquiringly.

And inspiration strikes when Mayte mentions her dragon eating romance novels. "How'd she feel about eating playing cards?" Cause there might be a couple decks or so stashed in places throughout the Weyr that he wouldn't be too sad to see go missing. And card stock is kinda like books right? As for when to go to the hold, he shrugs. "This time of turn? Whenever you feel like escaping the heat. Go during daylight though and there's a frozen forest to explore. And the waterfall. Then the klah bark—" And thought is interrupted by that look riders get all too often when draconic message is being relayed. Business never ends it seems. "Shards. Gotta go." He'll down the rest of his drink and give a hasty salute towards the weyrwoman and off he runs to do whatever emergency came up now, muttering something under his breath about how next time it'll be Va'os's turn to answer the late night call. Hopefully at even later of an hour.

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